Author: Momo Chan

My master is the immortal final boss of the Eldritch Realm. And I am just the flower-selling NPC at his manor gate. Until one day, both the players and I saw the floating stream chats. [Want to kill the final boss? It’s simple. Just attack that flower girl NPC.] [Who would’ve thought an eldritch boss could be so innocent? He washes off his blood, dresses up cleanly, buys flowers, and blushes just talking to her.] [Lol, but the flower girl has severe face blindness. She hasn’t recognized him once.] 01 Late at night, I was tapping away on my calculator. This month, I had been caught in the crossfire of players challenging the final boss a total of five times. Three times my stand was flipped, and twice my flowers were trampled. Yet, every single morning, my little stall would miraculously restore itself, with fresh flowers arranged neatly as if nothing had ever happened. Meanwhile, the taco stand next to me, which suffered the same collateral damage, remained a total disaster. The taco vendor looked at me with deep envy. “Daisy, are you sure you didn’t hire some anomaly to clean up for you?” he asked. “You’re so pretty and sweet, maybe some secret admirer skeleton is quietly doing it?” I shook my head, offering a shy smile. “No way.” I have severe face blindness. During my worst years, I couldn’t even recognize my own mother, once crying and begging to go with an anomaly human-trafficker. The trafficker, having never seen a kid like me, was so terrified she jumped into her van and sped away. Because I was decent-looking, I received plenty of love letters from anomalies growing up, but since I could never tell who was who, I never replied. Consequently, I didn’t have close friends. My only real bestie was a skeleton spirit, but she felt walking around as bare bones was too exposing and recently underwent a full-body skin-graft surgery. Now, I couldn’t even recognize my best friend. But when God closes a door, He opens a window. I was incredibly lucky. Six months ago, I managed to score a vacant, unclaimed stall right outside the highly coveted Ashenvale Manor, the residence of the ultimate boss, and began selling flowers to make a living. The neighboring vendors affectionately called me “Daisy.” I thought my days would pass quietly like this. Until recently. Someone among the players placed a massive bounty on the boss’s head. Countless reckless players began swarming the place. 02 Late at night, I finished calculating my accounts for the month and counted the remaining stock. Just as I was about to pull down the metal shutter to go home, a hand firmly caught it. “Wait.” The shutter slowly rose, revealing a man in a well-tailored trench coat with a pale, strikingly handsome face. “Can I still order flowers?” the man asked, his voice gentle. “I want to buy a bouquet for the girl I like.” I was slightly dazed by his looks. “Of course. What kind of flowers would you like? Eyeball lilies? Finger blossoms? Our heart-shaped roses are selling well lately, though they’re pricier since player drops have been low.” “What about you?” Under the warm yellow light, the tips of the man’s ears turned a deep crimson. “What kind of flowers do you like?” Compared to the eyeballs and hearts popular in our world, I preferred the normal seeds brought over by the players. I walked into the back room and brought out a bundle of ignored yellow roses. “I like yellow roses.” The man looked thoughtful. “Yellow roses it is then. I think she’ll like them too.” Before leaving, holding the large bouquet, he asked, “Can I come back tomorrow to order more?” No one turns down easy money. I nodded. “Of course.” As he turned to leave, I noticed a trail of bloody footprints behind him, as if he had been gravely injured. No wonder he looked so pale. Even after being hurt like that, he didn’t forget to buy flowers for the girl he liked. I didn’t think much of the encounter. The next morning, I was still the first to open my stall. A crowd of players was loitering around the manor gates. I recognized the emblem on their clothes instantly, a black scythe. These people were here to kill the boss again. 03 “Hey shopkeeper, how’s business lately?” A few players approached my stall. The one bringing up the rear looked thoroughly bored, lazily flicking a lighter open and closed. Before I could answer, another player sneered, “Why are you asking a brainless NPC? Didn’t you check the guild archives? She’s just a D-rank flower girl with unknown attack power. She’s got a pretty face, but she’s clearly nothing special.” The player who asked scratched his head. “I wasn’t the one asking, it was him…” Snap. The bored player closed his lighter. The rest of the group immediately fell silent. He stepped forward, stopping right in front of my stand. “I’m Jude,” he said. “I wanted to ask if there’s been any unusual activity around the manor lately?” So this was Jude. Just as players kept files on us, anomalies had a leaderboard for players. Jude was a rising star who had climbed to the very top of the danger rankings at an alarming speed. I lowered my head, adjusting an eyeball lily. “No.” Actually, there was. Last night, our local forums had exploded with rumors that the boss had been ambushed, gravely injured, and was now unconscious. But as an anomaly, I wasn’t about to tell the truth to players. Before Jude could speak, the others grew impatient. “No way! Jude, don’t listen to her!” “I saw it with my own eyes. The Guild Master risked his life to corner the boss. We were so close, but the bastard managed to escape.” “Now that our Guild Master is wounded, the boss must be hiding in the manor to heal. Jude, you’re the only one who can…” “Are you buying flowers?” I interrupted, picking up the bouquet of eyeball lilies. “If not, please step aside.” I was clearly showing them the door. To my surprise, Jude pulled out a thick stack of local currency. “I’ll buy them.” “Since I bought your flowers, can you tell me a bit more about what you’ve seen these past few days?” “Sure.” I took the money without hesitation. Jude hadn’t specified that I couldn’t lie. So, I started talking about my ruined stall and ended with the yellow roses I sold yesterday, glossing over every important detail. Jude remained calm, but the players behind him were losing their patience. Just as one of them was about to cut me off, lines of glowing text suddenly floated in the air above us. [This is agonizing to watch. Want to kill the final boss? It’s simple. Just attack that flower girl NPC.] [They gave the boss such high defense and attack stats, so he had to have a weakness. Who would have guessed the boss’s weakness is the flower girl at the gate?] [Who would’ve thought an eldritch boss could be so innocent? He washes off his blood, dresses up cleanly, buys flowers, and blushes just talking to her.] [Not going to name names, but someone was sniffing those yellow roses like a lovesick fool last night.] [Too bad the flower girl is face-blind. She hasn’t recognized him once.] … I slowly raised my head. Suddenly, the eyes of every player in the square locked onto me. [System Notification: You have reached the end of the free preview. Please unlock the next chapter to reveal Daisy’s fate and the dark secrets of Ashenvale Manor.] My back was instantly drenched in a cold sweat. My skin prickled with danger, but I didn’t dare take a single step back. Regardless of whatever nonsense these floating texts were spouting, if the players believed it, the more aggressive ones would attack me immediately to force the boss out. Under the circumstances, I decided to play dumb. I pretended I couldn’t see the text. “Is there anything else you want to ask? Blocking my stall affects my business,” I said, pushing the eyeball lilies toward Jude. The next second, the air whistled as a dagger flew straight toward the space between my eyes. The eyeball lilies were knocked out of my hand, scattering across the ground. It was too fast. At this distance, I couldn’t dodge. But at the critical moment, the dagger was deflected. It grazed my ear, slicing off a lock of my hair. The strand twirled in the air before drifting slowly to the ground. “Jude, are you insane?!” A player wearing glasses held his bruised wrist, his eyes wide with fury. “Didn’t you see that? Attacking this NPC will draw the boss out!” “He’s heavily injured right now. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance! If we kill him, this nightmare realm will collapse, and you…” Jude’s expression was freezing. “This is the anomaly world. Are you sure you want to trust random floating text?” “Besides.” Jude’s eyes swept over the crowd of anomalies gathering around us, drawn by the commotion. “If the boss actually shows up now, do you think any of us are walking out of here alive?” The players looked at one another, and no one dared to speak. “My apologies. I won’t be taking the flowers,” Jude said, leaving double the payment on the counter. He turned and walked away, but some of the players still weren’t ready to let it go. The guy with the glasses was breathing heavily, glaring at me with raw resentment. A kind-hearted player pulled his arm. “Let’s go. Jude already left.” I gathered the scattered eyeball lilies from the ground. With a little dusting, they could still be sold. One batch of flowers, three payments. With that happy thought, I offered the glasses-wearing player a friendly smile. He froze, his eyes filling with sudden terror, and his entire body began to shake. Without waiting for his companion to urge him again, he spun around and bolted, running as if a demon were snapping at his heels. Huh? I looked behind me. There was no one there. Was my face really that terrifying? 04 Once the players left, the curious anomalies dispersed. Over the years, anomalies and players had maintained a tense but mostly peaceful coexistence outside of active trials. The taco vendor next door kindly helped me set up the potted plant the players had knocked over. “Those players are losing their minds,” he muttered. “Broad daylight, and they just start attacking you?” As he spoke, lines of text kept floating past, but the vendor didn’t seem to notice. It seemed only the players and I could see them. Being special is rarely a good thing. I had long outgrown the age of thinking I was the chosen protagonist of some grand story. I just wanted to run my shop peacefully, save up a fortune, and retire early. [Jude’s strategic retreat is brilliant. He pretends to argue and leave, but he’s actually watching from the shadows.] [If the boss comes to buy flowers tonight, he’s walking straight into a trap.] [What if the boss doesn’t show up?] [Trust me, that lovesick fool would crawl here like a caterpillar even if he lost all his limbs.] … I looked back at the yellow roses in my storage. Whether the rumors of his crush were true or not, the yellow roses were a hard sell, and I was close to losing money on them. So, I decided to pitch yellow roses to every anomaly who stopped by. Which one of them was the boss anyway? The rest of the day passed without incident. Night fell, and a light drizzle began to patter against the pavement. I organized my stock and cleaned up, preparing to head home early. The moment I reached for the light switch, the text in the air suddenly spiked in volume. I instinctively looked outside. “Can I still order flowers?” A man stood under an umbrella, tilting his head slightly to look at me. He really was remarkably handsome. “Of course! I have a special offer on eyeball lilies today. They’re visually stunning and edible, our best seller. Want to take a look?” He paused, his ears turning slightly red. “No, thank you.” “I would like a bouquet of yellow roses, please. Do you have any left?” The text was scrolling at lightning speed now. [Is the boss really injured? He looks completely fine.] [What if it’s bait? Maybe he leaked the injury rumor just to wipe out the top players in one go.] [Should we test him?] [If he isn’t hurt, anyone who tries to test him will be wiped out instantly.] … The sound of rustling leaves came from the trees nearby. Several players dropped down from the branches. Jude looked toward the flower shop with a complicated expression. “Jude, should we…” “Fall back for now.” I brought out a bundle of yellow roses from the back. As I arranged them, I couldn’t help but think how handsome this customer was. Wait, what did he look like again? I quietly sneaked another glance at him. Seeing this, the boss stood a little straighter. [If I counted correctly, that’s the seventeenth time she’s sneaked a peek at him. She gets starstruck every time, then immediately forgets his face.] [Look at him, his face is completely red. He’ll probably claim it’s just warm out.] [He’s probably already picked out names for their future children.] … I wrapped the roses and handed them over. “The girl I like is very fond of yellow roses,” he said, looking into my eyes. “I bought a bouquet yesterday too. Do you remember?” I shook my head. He seemed slightly disappointed, his eyelids drooping, casting long shadows with his lashes. “Silas. That is my name. Next time, will you remember it?” The customer is always right. I agreed. “I will.” As the strongest entity in this realm, I supposed I should technically call Silas my master. Before he left, I decided to offer a small warning. “Um, please be careful lately.” Silas’s eyes lit up instantly. “I will.” Once the transaction was over, I closed the shutter and caught the last train home. Back at the flower shop, the dark mist slowly coalesced into a human figure. Silas stood in the shadows, staring in the direction my train had gone. He pressed a hand to his chest, a trickle of dark blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Hearing a faint rustle in the dark, he raised his hand, and countless black tentacles erupted from his shadow. The player who had been tailing him from the trees was dragged out. Before he could even scream, his neck was snapped.

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1 In my fifth year driving nights for a ride-hail service, I finally saved enough for a home down payment with my boyfriend. Near dawn after my last fare, a young woman got in and immediately burst into tears. “Don’t go home. Just drive anywhere.” She then sent me twenty thousand dollars on Venmo. “Sorry if I scared you. I just feel pathetic. Consider it payment for some peace and quiet. Just drive.” Staring at the screen, my eyes burned. I nodded. With this money, Nathan wouldn’t have to work himself to death or live on plain noodles anymore. From the back seat, she sobbed, “Three years together, and he’s always been perfect. But I found a note in his phone. He bought a river-view penthouse under a stranger’s name. When I asked, he dodged. Is he hiding another woman?” My heart clenched, but before I could speak, her phone rang. A man’s gentle voice answered, “Baby, stop the tantrum. It’s under my assistant’s name, decorated in French style for your proposal surprise next month. Didn’t expect you to find out early. It’s snowing; send your location, I’m coming.” I slammed the brakes. Ice flooded my veins. The voice belonged to my boyfriend of seven years. Half an hour ago, he’d texted: [Something came up at work. Don’t wait up.] After the call ended, the girl in the back seat clearly calmed down. She pulled out two tissues, wiped her tears, sniffled, and her voice already carried the spoiled softness of someone used to being cherished. “I really made a fool of myself just now.” “He’s always like this. He’s obviously preparing a surprise, but he refuses to say a word and scares me half to death.” My hands were slick with sweat around the steering wheel. I could not have mistaken that voice. Seven years. Even if Nathan only said a few words, I would know him instantly. And just thirty minutes earlier, he had told me a project had suddenly gone wrong and that he had to stay at the office all night. I had even worried he would ruin his health from overworking and replied: [Don’t keep eating instant noodles. I’ll bring you porridge tomorrow.] Thinking about it now, I felt like a joke. The girl in the back seat lowered her head and played with her phone, continuing on her own. “I’ve felt like something was off with him lately. He wouldn’t let me see his phone, and he was acting all mysterious. I really thought he was keeping someone on the side.” She laughed at herself. “Thank God it was a misunderstanding. Otherwise, I’d go insane.” My throat tightened. After a long while, I forced out a soft, “Mm.” As if making casual conversation, she suddenly asked, “Driver, are you still out this late to support your family?” I stared at the road ahead and said quietly, “I’m saving for my wedding.” She paused, then her tone gained a trace of unconscious superiority. “Your boyfriend is way too relaxed about you. He actually lets you drive alone this late?” “If I go out at night by myself, mine gets so nervous. Like tonight, I ran out on my own and he almost blew up my phone. There’s no way he’d let me work outside this late.” The more she spoke, the stiffer my hands became. For five years, I worked at a bakery during the day and drove at night. At my busiest, I slept only three or four hours a day. I took orders during storms. I drove through snow. I was harassed by drunk passengers, reported unfairly, and cheated out of fares. Once, at two in the morning, after my last ride, two drunk men followed me down an alley. I was terrified and called Nathan. He only said, “Call the police first. Be careful. I can’t leave right now.” Another time, I fell off my e-bike rushing to an order. My knee was covered in blood. I sent him a photo, and he replied, “Go to a pharmacy and clean it up. Don’t make me worry.” Back then, I still made excuses for him. He was busy. He couldn’t get away. That was normal. I even felt bad for him. Men had pressure too. I shouldn’t trouble him with everything. So I worked harder, took more orders, earned more money, and poured most of my income into our life. Rent, utilities, the expenses he said were caused by “tight cash flow on the project.” If I could help, I helped. I always thought we were enduring hardship together. It turned out I was the only one enduring it. The car was quiet for a while. Then the girl in the back seat smiled, sounding much lighter. “But he really is good to me.” “He’s busy with work, sure. But when it comes to me, I’m always his first priority.” I said nothing. Before long, a black luxury car stopped by the road. The girl’s eyes lit up. She immediately opened the door, ran over, and threw herself into the man’s arms. The man caught her, then wrapped her inside his coat, lowering his head to tuck her scarf properly around her neck. His movements were natural. Familiar. As if he had done it countless times. Through the rearview mirror, I saw him clearly. That face belonged to Nathan. I had been with him for seven years. We lived in the cheapest shared apartment, ate the cheapest takeout, and only went to the movies on discount days. But I had never seen him wear a coat that expensive. I had never seen him drive a car like that. He always said he was just starting out. Always said the project was tight. Always said, “Someday.” But now, under the streetlamp, he held another woman, shielded her from the wind, opened the car door for her, and even his eyes looked softer than they had ever looked at me. That was the kind of preference I had waited seven years for and never received. Before Olivia Hart got into the car, she came back and tapped on my window. I rolled it down. She smiled and waved her phone. “Thanks for tonight. I was in a bad mood and made you drive around for so long. Take this as a thank-you.” The payment notification rang a second later. It was a huge amount. Her mood had clearly improved. Even her voice sounded light. “Oh, by the way, that apartment is almost done. Once we officially move in, I’m definitely replacing the whole floor-to-ceiling window wall with the style I like. At night, with warm lights on and the river view outside, it’ll be so cozy.” My head buzzed. Because just last week, Nathan had leaned against my old sofa and told me, “When we can finally afford a place, it has to have a river view, floor-to-ceiling windows, and warm lights you like.” At the time, I had leaned against him and seriously imagined that future. So it was never our future. Olivia waved goodbye with a smile and got into the car. When Nathan closed the door for her, he finally looked up at me. The moment our eyes met, brief shock flashed through his gaze. But the next second, he acted as if he didn’t know me. Calmly, he walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and drove away. My phone lit up soon after. A message from Nathan. [Don’t make a scene.] [And don’t show up in front of her.] [We’ll talk about this later.] I stared at those three lines and felt cold all over. After I caught everything, his first reaction was not to explain. Not to feel guilty. It was to tell me not to make a scene. Not to frighten another woman. I was just about to start the car and leave when someone knocked on my window again. I looked up. Nathan had come back. He opened the passenger door and got in without asking. The first thing he said after sitting down was not an explanation. He looked at me, frowning. “Why did you get this ride tonight?” My heart sank all the way down. I had thought that at a moment like this, he would at least feel guilty for a second. Maybe say sorry. But reality was that he cared more about whether the situation had slipped out of his control. I looked at him, my voice hoarse. “That’s what you’re asking me?” “I’m asking you,” he said in a low voice. “How did you get her ride?” I laughed. “The app assigned it. Was I supposed to get your approval first?” “Nathan, how long have you been lying to me?” He was silent for a few seconds, as if calculating. Then he finally stopped pretending. “Ava, there are things I didn’t plan to let you know this early.” “So it’s all true.” I stared at him. “The apartment is real. The car is real. That woman is real.” “Yes.” He answered cleanly. That single yes shattered the last bit of hope I had left. “You stopped being the ordinary office worker I thought you were a long time ago, didn’t you?” He leaned back in the seat, face unreadable. “Several years ago. I used the Hart family’s resources to enter a new circle. My projects changed. My life changed.” My eyes reddened. “If you stopped planning a future with me that long ago, why drag me along? Why watch me save every dollar for a down payment?” He lowered his eyes, his tone calm. “I didn’t plan for things to become like this.” “What does that mean?” “You’ve always been stable. Easy.” He said, “You don’t cause trouble, and you don’t force me to make decisions. I just hadn’t figured out how to deal with it yet.” I stared at him as if I hadn’t understood. “Deal with me?” He looked at me and added one more sentence. “Anyway, you’ve always been willing to wait.” Willing to wait. Those words pierced right through me. So all the delays, all the neglect, all the promises had never been because he couldn’t bear to let me go. It was because I was too easy to fool. “Then what am I?” I asked. Nathan was silent for a moment, then answered directly. “At this point in my life, I can’t give up everything in front of me. Olivia can give me resources, status, and respectability. You can’t.” “So the answer was decided long ago.” I stared at him, trembling all over. “What about our seven years?” He looked ahead, his voice faint. “Love has never been the only standard for making decisions.” When he said that, I suddenly understood. In his heart, those seven years were worthless. All my companionship, my patience, the hard days I survived, all of it was just an unpresentable past to him. And he hadn’t returned to my car to apologize. He came to clean up the mess. Sure enough, he spoke again the next second. “Ava, I won’t mistreat you.” “I can give you money. I can arrange another place for you to live. You won’t have to work this hard anymore. You can do whatever you want.” Then he turned to look at me. “The condition is that you behave. Don’t make trouble in front of Olivia.” Listening to him, I suddenly laughed. So he wanted to buy off my seven years with money. I raised my hand and slapped him hard. The sound cracked through the car. His face turned to the side. A few seconds later, he looked back at me, his expression fully darkened. “Calm down.” “Calm down?” I stared at him. “Nathan, you lied to me for seven years, and now you want me to calm down?” He suppressed his anger. “Making this bigger helps no one. Online or in real life, nobody will stand with you.” I reached for my phone, wanting to record what he was saying. Nathan noticed and snatched it from my hand, slamming it hard against the car. The screen cracked. Something inside me sank with it. I asked him, “Does Olivia know about me?” His eyes flickered. Then he only said, “She doesn’t need to.” I shoved open the car door and got out. Nathan followed and grabbed me. “Where are you going?” “Let go of me!” During the struggle, everything in my bag spilled into the snow. My savings book. Receipts. Account ledgers. Utility bills. Densely written across them was every dollar I had saved over five years. Nathan looked down and saw them. For a moment, his face finally paused. But just then, his phone rang. The screen flashed Olivia. Without hesitation, he let go of me and turned to answer. “I’m here.” “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.” “It’s cold outside. Get in the car first.” His back was to me. His voice was gentle and patient. He sounded like a different person from the cold, calculating man who had just tried to pay me off. Standing in the snow, I suddenly couldn’t cry at all. I crouched and picked up the receipts one by one, the paper already wet from the snow. Not long after, someone in the driver group chat posted a link. The title read: Late-night female driver harasses wealthy boyfriend, loses control emotionally. I opened it, and my face went pale inch by inch. In the video, there was only footage of me rushing toward Nathan, grabbing him, breaking down and questioning him. All the parts where he admitted lying, told me not to make a scene, and tried to pay me off had been cut. The secretly filmed clip spread fast. By the time I returned to my rental room, my phone had not stopped buzzing. People were talking in the driver group chat. Private messages kept coming. Unknown numbers kept calling. Just the few lines showing in my notification bar were already filthy enough. [Are designated drivers all this messy?] [She doesn’t look like a decent woman.] [Failed at climbing the social ladder, huh?] Before long, Olivia posted an update too. The picture was a photo of her and Nathan together. The caption was short. [Sometimes kindness only teaches people to push further.] She didn’t name me. But everyone knew who she meant. Olivia already had plenty of followers, and soon the public opinion turned completely against me. My driver account was exposed. My ride history was dug up. Even the bakery where I worked during the day was identified. More and more hatred surged toward me. I called Nathan. Once. Twice. Three times. He never picked up. I sent him messages. [Come out and tell the truth.] [Tell them you lied to me.] After a long time, he finally replied. [Endure it for now. Don’t escalate the conflict.] That was all. Looking at those words, I gave up completely. He would not clarify anything for me. He would only let me bear it all, so another woman’s dignity could remain intact. At that exact moment, my mother called. Her voice was shaking as soon as she spoke. “Ava, what is going on online? Are you someone’s mistress?” “No!” I shot to my feet. “Mom, I’m not. I’m the one who was lied to.” But she couldn’t listen. She only cried and said, “Your father saw those things and got so angry his chest hurt. He’s been taken to the hospital!” My mind went blank. When I rushed to the hospital, Dad was already lying in a bed. The doctor said his emotions had fluctuated too violently and his heart couldn’t take it. I had just reached the door when Mom turned, saw me, and slapped me across the face. “Your father’s health was already bad. How could you cause something like this?” “We cared about our reputation our whole lives. I never thought we’d grow old and still be pointed at because of you.” Holding my face, I burst into tears. All these years, I had been afraid they would worry, so I never dared tell them how hard my life really was. They complained that I had dated so many years without marrying, but behind my back, they still lived frugally and secretly gave me money. They were afraid I would suffer outside. But in the end, what I brought them was this kind of humiliation. I was about to explain when hurried footsteps came from the end of the corridor. Nathan had arrived. After entering, he didn’t look at my father in the hospital bed. He grabbed me and dragged me out of the room. In the corridor, he lowered his voice and demanded, “Why do you have to make this bigger?” I stared at him, finding it absurd. Even now, all he cared about was the impact. “I made this bigger?” I sneered. “Wasn’t the secret video posted by someone on your side? Didn’t Olivia’s post confirm everything against me? My dad is lying in there now, and you’re asking me why I made this bigger?” Nathan frowned. “Olivia is in a terrible state because of last night. If you keep provoking her, things will only get worse.” “She’s in a terrible state?” I asked. “Then what is my dad?” His face darkened little by little. “The Hart family has many partnerships with this hospital. Your father’s follow-up specialists, medication channels, hospitalization arrangements, none of that is something you can solve just because you want to.” “Ava, don’t be stubborn. If you insist on fighting head-on now, your family will be the ones who suffer.” My whole body stiffened. At that moment, my mother also came out of the room. She had clearly heard the latter half. Her face turned pale. She grabbed my hand, her voice trembling. “Ava, don’t be stubborn… save your father first…” At that moment, the last thing holding me upright was torn open. With red eyes, I looked at Nathan. “What exactly do you want me to do?” He said only one sentence. “Apologize.” I thought he meant privately. Only when I was taken there did I realize I had still thought too well of them. It wasn’t a hospital room. It wasn’t an ordinary lounge. It was a rest hall temporarily arranged like an interview set. Lights, cameras, livestream equipment. Everything had been prepared in advance. Olivia sat in the center. The moment she saw me, her eyes reddened. “Miss Reed, why do you have to do this?” “Nathan and I have been together for three years. Our relationship has always been stable. You knew we were about to get engaged, so why did you deliberately cause trouble in front of me?” The moment she opened her mouth, she placed herself in the role of victim. People around her immediately chimed in. “Look what she’s done to Olivia.” “She ruined a perfectly good relationship.” “Some people will do anything to climb up.” Every camera pointed at me. I turned to look at Nathan. He stood to the side and did not stop them. His silence was consent. I asked him, “Are you really going this far?” He avoided my eyes and said only, “Your father is still waiting for results at the hospital.” I looked at him and suddenly felt that for seven years, I had loved a stranger I had never truly known. My throat was blocked so badly it hurt, but I still forced my mouth open. “I crossed the line.” “I harassed him.” “I tried to destroy your relationship.” Every word felt like peeling my own skin off. Even so, Olivia was still not satisfied. She clutched her chest and said softly, “Now, whenever I see her standing, I think of last night.” Everyone fell silent for a moment. Then Nathan spoke. “Kneel.” For a second, I thought I had misheard. I raised my head and looked at him, my mind completely blank. His voice grew colder. “Ava Reed. Don’t make me say it again.” I slowly clenched my hands. In the end, I knelt. The sound of my knees hitting the tile was loud. It felt like my last scrap of dignity shattering. The cameras instantly turned fully toward me. Olivia looked down at me, finally showing a hint of satisfaction, but she still refused to stop. “Bow your head to the floor.” I lowered my head. Once. Twice. Three times. My forehead struck the floor hard. Soon the skin split, and blood ran down my brow. Only when Olivia finally said, “That’s enough,” did Nathan have the cameras removed. But just then, my phone suddenly vibrated wildly. It was the hospital. “Miss Reed, your father’s condition is critical. Please come quickly.” My head roared. I ran out like I had gone mad. When I stumbled back to the hospital, the hallway outside the room was already chaos. My mother sat collapsed on the floor, crying so hard she was nearly fainting. On the bed, my father’s face had been covered with a white sheet. I rushed over and lifted the sheet. When I saw his gray, cold face, my mouth opened, but no sound came out. A nurse hurriedly explained, “During the resuscitation, the doctor on duty was temporarily transferred. The new doctor was delayed getting here.” I jerked my head up. The next second, my mother collapsed too. “Family member down!” “Quick, get her into emergency!” The corridor filled with footsteps and crying. I knelt beside my father’s body and watched my mother get wheeled into emergency. It felt as if everything inside me had been hollowed out. And in the middle of that chaos, I saw someone standing not far away.

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After being bullied by the prettiest girl in school for three years, I did something petty and ugly. I used her photos and started an online relationship with a rich heir. He was gentle, polite, and generous with money. His only flaw was that he was a little too intense when it came to desire. Very quickly, with enough sweet talk, I got four years of college tuition out of him. On the day I decided to break up with him, I asked casually, “Baby, what would you do if I suddenly disappeared?” He laughed, his tone turning dangerous. “Sweetheart, don’t joke about that. I don’t like it.” I didn’t respond well to pressure. So I deleted him. Later, by accident, I ended up interning at the same tech company as the girl who had bullied me. On our first day, the CEO from headquarters came down for an inspection. I stood at the very back of the crowd. When I looked up, I saw a face so familiar my breath stopped. Before I could react, the man’s gaze landed on Summer Blake’s face. And his eyes suddenly lit up. 1 The man I had dated online for three years was standing right in front of me. The impact was too much. For a few seconds, my mind went completely blank. By the time I came back to myself, his steps had paused. Then he suddenly turned. And walked straight toward us. My heart pounded. I carefully lifted my eyes. The man was breathtakingly handsome, his expression unreadable, his whole body carrying a cold, untouchable aura. He wore a black shirt I had once seen in his photos. It framed his broad shoulders and narrow waist with clean precision. A section of wrist showed beneath his cuff. Faint veins lay under the skin, restrained and powerful. Bennett Vale. He was taller than in the photos. More handsome. Harder to look away from. Our supervisor whispered that Mr. Vale was here to inspect the work. She told us not to be nervous. He had no time to bother with interns like us. The words had barely left her mouth when Bennett’s steps slowed. A cuff link slipped without warning from his wrist. It hit the floor with two crisp taps. Rolled past my shoe. Then stopped perfectly at Summer’s feet. The air seemed to still for a second. Bennett stopped in front of us. More accurately, he stopped in front of Summer. The two of them stood face-to-face, very close together. One cold and elegant, the other bright and beautiful. They looked painfully well matched. I held my breath. Four words appeared in my mind: a perfect pair. 2 His secretary immediately moved forward to pick up the cuff link. But Bennett suddenly raised a hand and stopped him. Summer blinked. As if she understood something, she hurriedly bent down, picked it up, and handed it to Bennett with flushed cheeks. “Mr. Vale, you dropped this…” Bennett did not take it right away. Instead, he lowered his eyes and slowly stepped two paces closer to Summer. I was standing closest to her. As Bennett approached, a faint fragrance wrapped around me. Fir and citrus, cool with a thread of warmth. I knew that scent too well. It was the anniversary gift I had picked for him myself during our online relationship. I had visited so many fragrance counters, testing one bottle after another, before finally choosing that one. I pressed my lips together and glanced sideways without moving. Bennett was staring at the top of Summer’s head as if no one else existed. Dark emotion moved in his eyes. The joy of something lost and found again. The excitement of reunion. And even a trace of hurt from being abandoned. Summer held out her hand for a long time, but the man across from her did not respond. She couldn’t help reminding him softly. “Mr. Vale?” That finally seemed to pull him back to reality. He cleared his throat and accepted the cuff link without changing expression. “Thank you.” After a pause, his fingertips brushed lightly across Summer’s palm. Then Bennett added in a low voice. “Summer.” His voice was faintly hoarse. Summer’s face turned completely red. “Yes, I’m Summer, Mr. Vale…” “…” Bennett was silent for two seconds. Then he stared at Summer’s face for a full five minutes before finally turning away, reluctant. Only then did I dare breathe. When I touched my back, it was soaked with cold sweat. I dropped into my workstation, dazed for a long time, then pulled out my phone and searched Bennett’s name. A long string of financial news articles carrying his name appeared on the screen. I sucked in a sharp breath. 3 The big boss only came once every six months. And the moment he came, he fixed his eyes on an intern. A young, beautiful intern. My coworkers smelled gossip immediately and gathered around. Summer played with her hair, her voice soft as she answered everyone’s questions. “I don’t know Mr. Vale. This is my first time meeting him.” “Oh, wait, I just remembered. Mr. Vale went to my high school. He was a senior.” “I was kind of the school beauty back then. A lot of boys had crushes on me.” “Maybe…” Summer stopped there deliberately. The older employees immediately picked up the thread and began weaving a story about a secret crush that had lasted from school into the workplace. For a while, the whole office became unusually cheerful. “Oh, stop it. Don’t make things up.” Summer hurriedly interrupted their guesses, her tone reproachful. But there was a smug smile at the corner of her eyes. After that, I couldn’t hear another word they said. I stared blankly at the search results on my phone. Back then, my mother worked as a housekeeper for the Blake family. Summer lost a bet. So she encouraged my mother to help her steal my diary, the one full of my secret crushes. Then she posted it on the school bulletin board, took photos, and uploaded them to the school forum. Every student who passed by pointed at me and whispered jokes. I hated her so much my teeth ached. So I turned around, stole Summer’s photos and name, and started using them online to scam and cause trouble. Lost a game with a score of zero kills and twenty-eight deaths? I turned on my mic and said my name was Summer Blake. A stranger online threatened to come beat me up? I said without hesitation that my name was Summer Blake. Whenever trouble came, if anyone asked, I said I was Summer Blake. Viciously, I hoped that one day someone would show up and beat Summer senseless. But before Summer ever got beaten, I met Bennett. Bennett was well raised, sincere, and polite. He was also incredibly generous. His only flaw was that he was too intense. Looking at him just now, so elegant and immaculate, no one would imagine what he was like in private. But I knew. During the two years we dated online, after the first stage of getting to know each other, I almost had to listen to him over voice chat every day when he was alone and lost control. And whenever that happened, it was as if someone else possessed him. The graceful, noble image collapsed completely. His usually cool and proper voice would say things so filthy my face burned. Not a single line repeated. I would be so embarrassed I couldn’t take it anymore and scolded him for having no shame. He never got angry. He only laughed softly twice and coaxed me in that sweet voice. Later, Bennett seemed to sense something was wrong and firmly asked to meet. Only then did I suddenly remember that I had been using Summer’s identity all along. Panicked, I scrolled back through our chat history. The moment I found the sentence “My name is Summer,” my heart finally died. All those late-night confessions, all that tenderness exchanged through a screen, all those moments when I thought I was loved… They were all built on a lie. Even my name was fake. That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. My heart felt like it had been gripped by a giant hand. I regretted it. I really regretted it. Why did I say I was Summer in the first place? I buried my face under the blanket and cried silently. I didn’t know how long I cried. When I finally looked up and saw myself in the mirror, eyes swollen, I realized in a daze. I was just ordinary. I didn’t have Summer’s bright, pretty face. I didn’t have her wealthy family. I didn’t even have her confidence or boldness. Just an ordinary face. An ordinary person. If I hadn’t used Summer’s photos, someone like Bennett, born above the clouds, would never have liked someone like me. A little bug in a gutter. In the end, I forced down the sourness in my chest. I sent Bennett one message. [I’m sorry.] Then I blocked and deleted him. On the third day after cutting contact, Bennett sent me an email. Only six words. Summer, don’t leave me. Every word was full of pleading and the helplessness of being abandoned for no reason. Unfortunately. I was not Summer. Thinking back to that, I couldn’t help shivering. When I looked up, all my coworkers were watching me. I pulled at the corner of my mouth. “What… what is it?” Everyone smiled without speaking. Only Summer walked over with an innocent expression. “Grace, didn’t you hear us just now?” “Everyone wants to try that new milk tea shop. Would you mind going to buy some for us?” “It’s only three or four streets away. You can ride a shared bike. It won’t take much effort.” Senior employees bullying interns was common. But Summer naturally blended in with the older employees. All because Bennett’s attitude toward her had been unusual. I looked at Summer. Then at the people behind her, all standing on her side, as if they would jump out and attack me the moment I refused. Finally, I nodded. “Okay.” Summer was very pleased by my obedience. She turned back with a smile. “Aw, everyone, don’t feel bad.” “Grace’s mom used to be our housekeeper. She grew up doing errands with her mom, so she’s best at running around.” “If you need anything delivered in the future, just ask her. She loves it.” Every time Summer arrived somewhere new, she would bring up the fact that my mother had worked for her family. She had done it for years. I was used to it. Besides, I did want to step out for air. I ignored her, picked up my phone, and turned around. But I accidentally bumped into a man. When I looked up, I realized it was the secretary who had been following Bennett earlier. 4 The male secretary seemed to be in a hurry. He shoved me aside impatiently. I wasn’t prepared and stumbled. My knee hit the table leg hard. Pain shot through me, and I sucked in a breath. The secretary showed no apology at all. He gave me a casual glance, then hurried to the supervisor. “Excuse me, which one of you is Miss Summer Blake? Mr. Vale needs to see her.” Summer heard her name. And when she heard Bennett was looking for her, she rushed over in two steps. “I’m Summer. I’m Summer Blake. What is it?” The secretary looked her over, then made his tone more polite. “The CEO’s office is short a secretary. Mr. Vale wants you to go upstairs and fill in for a while.” Summer froze. Then her voice rose sharply, echoing through the whole office. “Me? Mr. Vale wants me to work by his side? He told you himself?” The secretary frowned almost imperceptibly. Then he smiled and nodded. “Yes, you. Pack up and come with me.” Summer covered her mouth, unable to hide her joy. She happily went to grab her bag. “Mr. Lang, I don’t really have anything. I can go now.” “Good. Follow me.” Summer smiled with her lips pressed together. Then she deliberately walked around to my side, looking innocent. “Grace, move a little. Mr. Vale wants me on the thirty-fourth floor. You’re blocking my way.” “Work hard down here, okay? Maybe after another ten years, we can sit together on the thirty-fourth floor.” I said nothing. Suppressing the throbbing pain in my knee, I quietly moved aside. Summer stepped away in high heels, practically glowing as she followed the secretary. Behind me, my coworkers watched her leave with eager eyes. Then the office exploded. “Whoa. That new girl Summer isn’t going to become the future boss’s wife, is she?” “Even if she’s not the boss’s wife, she’ll be his girlfriend for a while. He’s obviously interested. He transferred her to his side as secretary.” “Grace, didn’t you come in with Summer? Do you know what’s going on between her and the boss?” Hearing my name, I swallowed the lump stuck in my throat. Then slowly shook my head. My voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. “No. I don’t know.” 5 Summer went to the thirty-fourth floor. For the time being, I became the only new intern left in the office. They gossiped about Summer for a while. Then lost interest. So they turned their attention back to me. “Grace, didn’t you say you were treating everyone to milk tea? You’re not going back on your word, are you?” “Grace, I need to pick up my son from school tonight. Help me finish this work first.” “Grace, I heard you graduated from a top university. Your work ability must be strong, right? Here, take this…” Before long, the folders in front of me piled into a small mountain. By the time I finally finished all that miscellaneous work, it was already past eight at night. I stretched and finally had time to check my phone. A message from my dad popped up immediately. [Kid, your mom and I saved on food and clothes to raise you.] [This internship wasn’t easy to get. You need to know what matters. Don’t compare food or clothes with other people. We can’t afford that.] [Get along with your coworkers. Some things pass if you just endure them. There’s no need to argue.] [Be diligent. Go to the company early every day. Clean up. Pour water for your leaders.] [After a while, your managers will definitely think more highly of you. Then becoming full-time will be within reach.] I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the keyboard for a long time, not knowing what to reply. Finally, I sighed and opened Instagram, scrolling gently. Three hours ago, Summer had posted a selfie. She stood in front of a giant floor-to-ceiling window, flashing a peace sign at the camera. Her smile was bright and bold, like a pretty little fox. Caption: [Another hardworking day. Thanks to my big boss for supporting me.] My fingertip paused. I still couldn’t help zooming into the photo. In the reflection of the window, there was a silhouette. That person stood on the other side of the office. Turned slightly sideways, seemingly unaware of the camera, focused on something in thought. Even though it was only a blurry outline, I recognized him at once. Bennett. I stared at the photo for a long time, unable to look away. Until a voice sounded above me. “Why are you still here this late?” I jumped. I shot to my feet and grabbed the ashtray on the desk. A short, round man stood in front of me. He wore round black-rimmed glasses and looked at me curiously. I froze, then realized he looked familiar. After thinking for a moment, I remembered the supervisor had introduced him. He was also one of Bennett’s assistants. His last name was Harris. I quickly put down the ashtray and explained awkwardly, “Um, some work delayed me. I’m leaving now.” “Oh, okay.” Mr. Harris clutched his stomach, his whole face twisting in pain. He turned to leave, then seemed to remember something and turned back with a grimace. “By the way, you. Do you have a license? Can you drive?” I froze, then nodded. “I do, I…” Before I finished, his eyes lit up. He tossed a car key into my hand. “I can’t. My stomach is killing me. Boss’s car is downstairs.” “I’ll send you the address in a minute. Drive Mr. Vale’s car back for me, please, please. I’ll buy you dinner next time. Ow, it hurts.” “When you’re done, take a cab home. The company will reimburse it…” I stared at the car key in my hand, stunned. I waved quickly. “No, I can’t, I…” Mr. Harris no longer had time for me. He clutched his stomach and ran into the bathroom. 6 I stalled in my chair for a while. But Mr. Harris never came out. In the end, I accepted my fate and went downstairs with the car key. Only to discover the car parked below was a Rolls-Royce, the kind I had only ever seen on TV. I took a deep breath. First, I walked around the car once. Then I opened the door and sat in. I fastened my seat belt. Then reached to adjust the rearview mirror. Through the mirror, I saw a man sitting in the back seat with his eyes closed. High nose bridge, handsome features, thin lips pressed lightly together. Two buttons of his shirt collar were undone, revealing a section of collarbone and slightly flushed skin. Even asleep, he carried a lazy sensuality. He seemed to have been drinking. My mind buzzed. By reflex, I slapped a hand over the rearview mirror. An illusion. It had to be an illusion. I comforted myself in my head. Then gathered the courage to peek through my fingers. In the rearview mirror, the man had opened his eyes at some point. His dark gaze was fixed on me without blinking. Heavy and deep. Maybe it was my imagination. But at the moment our eyes met, I seemed to see his whole body stiffen. The hand resting on his knee curled slightly. Even his breathing seemed to slow beyond his control. I wanted to cry. I gripped the steering wheel tightly. It was too late to jump out and run. For all I knew, people would think I had stolen something. I quickly organized my thoughts and deliberately lowered my voice. “Mr. Vale, hello. Mr. Harris has a stomach problem, and he asked me to drive your car back. I didn’t know you were in the car…” He was silent for a moment, then looked away. He gave a faint “Mm” and closed his eyes again, brows slightly furrowed. Even though I knew he couldn’t possibly recognize me, I still secretly breathed in relief when he closed his eyes. But before that breath settled, another problem appeared. Wait. What kind of stupid car was this? Where did they hide the ignition? I searched everywhere and couldn’t find it. Sweat covered my forehead, and I wanted to turn the entire driver’s seat upside down. Just then, a low voice sounded beside my ear. The man behind me spoke again. “You don’t know how to drive it?” I sat up straight instantly. Embarrassed, I nodded, then quickly shook my head. My feelings were all mixed together, and I suddenly didn’t dare raise my head. But the more I thought about it, the more wronged I felt. Wasn’t it normal that I didn’t know how to drive this? Boss, don’t you know why I don’t know? The salary you pay me couldn’t even buy one wheel of this Rolls-Royce. It would be stranger if I knew how to drive it. When I got nervous, I couldn’t help picking at my fingers. I’d had this habit for more than twenty years. At that moment, my mind was blank, and my useless fingers had already twisted together. “Boss, I…” I looked up. And found his gaze fixed on my hands. My back went cold. I was just about to withdraw them when he looked away. He turned toward the window. His Adam’s apple moved. The car suddenly became very quiet. Carefully, I took out my phone and opened the browser to search. I had typed only half the question when a shadow fell over me. A faint citrus scent instantly wrapped around me. “Press here.” His voice sounded right beside my ear. Warm breath brushed lightly over my ear. My whole body froze. Too close. Close enough that I could feel the warmth coming through his shirt. Close enough that my hair almost brushed his jaw. I didn’t dare move. I even forgot to breathe. But Bennett only paused for a few seconds before sitting back in the rear seat as if nothing had happened. His expression was calm. Apparently, he really was just teaching me how to start the car. I tried to steady myself. Then started the engine mechanically. The whole drive was silent. Finally, we arrived at Bennett’s underground garage. Without another word, I jumped out of the car. “Boss, I’ll get going. Goodbye.” I didn’t wait for Bennett to respond. I ran. Completely unaware that behind me, the man narrowed his eyes and stared for a long time in the direction of my panicked escape. 7 I had chaotic dreams all night. The next morning, I washed my face casually and dragged myself to work with dark circles under my eyes. The moment I walked into the office, I discovered Summer, who should have been sitting on the thirty-fourth floor, sitting among the crowd and smiling brightly. “Yeah, yeah. The boss told me to come back first.” Her voice was still soft. Her delicately made-up face was flushed, and her eyes shimmered. “He said I had only just started and already went to the thirty-fourth floor, so I wouldn’t have time to make friends. He thought I’d be lonely.” “I think he meant he was afraid I wouldn’t fit in. I thought what he said made sense, so I came back for now.” As she spoke, she turned and saw me. She immediately came over and linked her arm through mine. “Baby, I’m back. Are you happy to see me?” The moment she acted so affectionate, I knew she was about to set me up again. I hadn’t slept well. The thought flashed through my head, and without thinking, I pulled my hand away. The atmosphere suddenly turned subtle. No one spoke. Summer still smiled at me. But her gaze had obviously cooled. Luckily, the supervisor came in and broke the deadlock. “Everyone’s here? Perfect. We’re having a team gathering tonight to welcome Grace and Summer to the team.” The moment she said that, the coworkers behind me perked up. Someone joked, “Team gathering? Is the big boss coming?” The supervisor waved with a smile. “The big boss is busy every second of the day. Why would he come to a gathering like ours?” “He won’t be there. Don’t worry. Have fun.” Everyone laughed, and the atmosphere finally eased. I lowered my head. Quietly swallowing the words I wanted to say to refuse.

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During Jasmine’s summer break, we road-tripped north, only to be stranded on a desolate highway with an empty tank. It made no sense; I had just filled the brand-new SUV. How could it burn a full tank in twelve miles? With zero cell service, a pack of massive, starving wolves circled the freezing car. Sarah shivered violently. “Dean, we just put eighty bucks in. We can’t be empty.” “Leak? Mechanical failure?” Risking my life, I stepped out. Wolves lunged. I lit a spare jacket, swinging flames to drive them back as I checked the chassis. Everything was intact, but the tank was bone dry. No punctures. No leaks. Where did the gas go? Forced back inside by snapping jaws, we locked the doors and prayed for a passing car. No one came. Helpless, I watched Sarah and Jasmine slowly starve to death before my eyes. Holding their lifeless bodies, I closed my eyes in suffocating despair, dying without answers. Then, my eyes snapped open. I was back at the gas pump, nozzle still in hand. … The station attendant reached out to grab the pump. I practically shoved him out of the way. “Hold on!” “Did you siphon my gas?” The horrific memories of my previous life were still burning in my brain. Because we ran out of gas, we had been trapped in that frozen wasteland. I could still hear Sarah’s dying sobs. You said this route was safe! You said there was no danger! Dean, she is only fourteen… The crushing guilt and agony made it hard to breathe. But beneath the grief was a boiling rage. How did my fuel vanish? My car was fine. The tank had no leaks. The only logical explanation was that the guy working the pump had tampered with it. The attendant glared at me, wiping his greasy hands on his overalls. “You stood right here watching me the whole time, buddy. How exactly would I steal your gas?” “Sounds to me like you cannot pay the bill and you are looking for an excuse.” His loud voice drew the attention of everyone at the station. Jasmine, always easily embarrassed, flushed bright red and tugged at my sleeve. “Dad, please do not accuse him like that.” “Look, the gauge says it is full. It is practically overflowing.” I followed her pointing finger and saw the fuel pooling right at the lip of the tank. Was it really full? Was there actually no problem here? Impossible. I had been driving this SUV for six months. I knew its exact mileage. Twelve miles would not even burn a tenth of this tank, let alone drain it dry. This was the last service station before a hundred-mile stretch of absolute nothingness. To avoid the nightmare I just woke up from, I had to be absolutely sure. I grabbed a clean dipstick from my trunk and shoved it down the fuel pipe, checking to see if there was some sort of blockage or trick. The guy in the pickup truck behind me laid on his horn. “Are you going to take all day?” “I have been coming to this station for years. They do not rip people off. If you are trying to scam free gas, you picked the wrong town!” The honking made Sarah and Jasmine even more anxious. They begged me to get in the car and stop making a scene. But this was a matter of life and death. I ignored them all. I pulled the stick out and inspected it closely. The depth was correct. The liquid was pure gasoline, not water or cheap filler. My confusion only deepened. If the gas station was clean, how did a full tank disappear into thin air? Unable to find a single flaw, I handed over my credit card, paid the bill, and drove off the lot. Jasmine muttered quietly from the backseat. “Dad, what is going on with you?” “You are never this paranoid. Why did you make such a huge scene over eighty bucks?” There was a hint of resentment in her voice, but I could not bring myself to be angry. In my previous life, when we were starving to death in the wilderness, Sarah and Jasmine had tried to force me to eat their last scraps of food. They loved me. To them, I was the most important person in the world. And yet, because I was always traveling for work, I barely spent any time with them. I had finally taken a vacation to bring them on this road trip, only to lead them straight into a death trap. This time, I swore to God, I would get them out of this wilderness alive. “This next stretch is a hundred and twenty miles of empty road. No towns, no stations,” I explained softly. “I just wanted to be absolutely certain we would not break down.” Sarah sighed, rubbing her temples. “Well, you checked the gas. It is fine. Can we please just get moving?” “Jasmine already had one episode with her heart condition. Every day we delay is a risk. We need to get her back home to her doctors.” My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white. This was supposed to be a month-long vacation. But Jasmine’s heart condition had flared up out of nowhere, forcing us to cut the trip short. I had chosen this remote mountain pass because it was the fastest route home. I thought I was saving time, but I ended up killing the two people I loved most. The dashboard showed a full tank, but the phantom memories of starving in the cold kept gnawing at me. “It is a long drive ahead,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Just to be safe, I want to pull into that mechanic down the road and have the car looked over.” The gas was fine. The station was clean. The only remaining possibility was a hidden mechanical failure. To eliminate every single risk, I pulled into the local auto shop. I handed the head mechanic ten times his usual diagnostic fee and told him to tear the car apart and check everything. Three hours later, I got the verdict. The car was flawless. “That cannot be right,” I argued. “Did you miss something? A loose valve? A faulty sensor?” The mechanic’s face darkened. “I ran the diagnostics ten times. There is nothing wrong with this vehicle.” “You stood over my shoulder the entire time. We checked every hose, every line, every electronic module. It is a brand new car, buddy. It is fine.” “Look, I will just give you your money back. Stop wasting my time.” Seeing him so absolutely certain made my anxiety spike. The condition of the car was exactly the same as in my previous life. If I could not find the problem, what happens when the gas vanishes again? While I was arguing with the mechanic, Sarah marched over, dragging Jasmine by the hand. “The professional just told you the car is fine. Why are you dragging this out?” “Are you waiting for Jasmine to have another heart attack before you finally start driving?” I looked at Jasmine. She did look paler, her breathing shallow. The car was a dead end. Stalling out here would not fix anything. I gritted my teeth and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go.” But before hitting the highway, I pulled into the only general store in town. I planned to buy out their entire stock of water and non-perishables. If we did break down, I was making damn sure we had enough supplies to wait out the wolves until rescue came. I walked through the sliding glass doors and froze. The shelves were completely bare. No bread. No canned goods. No bottled water. Just two dusty bottles of soda sitting alone in the cooler. The store owner shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, man.” “Supply truck broke down an hour out. Been delayed for days.” “Won’t get a restock until tomorrow morning at the earliest.” I stared at the empty metal racks. I turned to Sarah. “We need to stay at a motel tonight. We will wait for the truck, stock up tomorrow, and then hit the road.” Sarah cut me off, her voice sharp and impatient. “It is barely a hundred miles. We can drive that in two hours. We already have some snacks in the trunk. Why on earth do we need to stockpile food like the apocalypse is coming?” She was right about the trunk. We had enough snacks to last the three of us maybe two days. But I remembered the wolves. They had been relentless, circling our car for ten straight days until we starved. I grabbed Sarah’s hand, squeezing it tight. “If something happens out there, we need enough food and water to survive the wait.” “It is just one extra night. Jasmine will be fine.” Seeing the pure intensity in my eyes, Sarah backed down and stayed quiet. When night fell, Sarah and I slept in the car in the motel parking lot. We took turns keeping watch to make sure absolutely no one touched the vehicle. During my shift to sleep, I drifted off. A sudden, piercing scream jerked me awake. “Dean! Wake up!” “Jasmine is having an episode! She just took her very last emergency pill!” “We cannot wait for tomorrow! If she has another attack without her meds, she is going to die!” I jolted upright. Jasmine was slumped in the back seat, clutching her chest, gasping for air. Her skin was the color of ash. It looked exactly like a severe angina attack that was barely being managed by medication. I looked at the empty prescription bottle on the center console. We really could not wait anymore. I had checked the fuel. I had checked the engine. I had eliminated all the variables from the gas station. Whatever caused the car to die in my last life had to happen on the road. If I drove carefully, maybe I could avoid it. But if we stayed here, Jasmine might actually die from a heart attack. I stepped out into the freezing night air, checked the gas cap one last time. Still full. I took Sarah’s phone, securely taped it to the underside of the rear bumper, and turned on a live video feed to my own phone. I was going to watch the undercarriage the entire drive. I took a deep breath, put the car in drive, and hit the highway. For the next two hours, Sarah and I kept our eyes glued to the live feed and the road ahead. We hit no debris. We did not bottom out. I drove as smoothly as humanly possible. We crossed the twenty-five-mile mark. I glanced at the dashboard. The fuel gauge was perfectly stable. I let out a massive sigh of relief. I had done it. I had bypassed the event that killed us. I did not know exactly what caused it the first time, but we were going to survive. The very second that thought crossed my mind, the digital fuel needle violently dropped to zero. The engine sputtered, choked, and died. The headlights flickered out. And from the tree line just beyond the asphalt, glowing green eyes pierced the darkness. The wolves had arrived. “What the hell is happening?” I slammed my fists against the steering wheel, screaming into the dead quiet of the cabin. I checked the tank! It was full! The car hit nothing! Where did an entire tank of gasoline go?! “Dean, what is wrong?” “We are not at the hospital yet. Why did you stop?” Sarah rubbed her eyes, waking up from a nap in the passenger seat. I dug my nails into my palms, completely unable to form the words to tell her that we were trapped in the exact same nightmare. Looking at the wolves emerging from the shadows, the horrific memories of our slow deaths crashed over me. Did my rebirth mean absolutely nothing? Was I just doomed to watch them die again? I gritted my teeth, grabbed my lighter, lit a spare shirt on fire, and kicked my door open. Even if it killed me, I was going to find out where my fuel went. I swung the flaming shirt like a torch, screaming at the wolves to keep them back. I dropped to my knees and checked the tank. It was perfectly intact. Not a single scratch. But it was empty. I crawled further under the bumper and checked the phone I had taped there. The video feed was frozen. The signal had dropped. The last frame showed the undercarriage in pristine condition. The physical reality matched the video. The car was fine. A wave of suffocating anger and despair locked around my throat. Was I really going to crawl back into that driver’s seat and wait to die all over again? Just as the thought entered my head, a shockwave of absolute clarity hit me. My entire body went cold. I knew it. I finally knew exactly where my gasoline went. I knew exactly why it vanished into thin air. I knew who did it.

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01 I wanted nothing more than to be a mother. After marrying Marcell, I poured all my energy into getting pregnant, only for my single best friend, Rina, to conceive first. The paternity test confirmed the child was his. “Explain this!” I screamed, shoving the report in his face. Marcell turned deathly pale. “I swear I never touched her!” Rina sobbed, kneeling before me. “We are innocent! I don’t know how this happened, but the baby is just there.” Heartbroken, I filed for divorce. A year later, I started dating Oliver. This time, I kept it quiet, determined to get pregnant before marriage. If he cheated, I would raise the child alone. But a few months in, Rina showed up at my door with a prominent baby bump. Once again, the test named my partner as the father. Oliver tore at his hair in disbelief. “You’re insane! I don’t even know who you are!” Rina collapsed, drenched in tears. “I’m terrified too, I swear I don’t know how!” I broke down completely, broke up with Oliver, and fled abroad for a year to clear my head. No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t make sense of it: Why did every child I tried to have end up in her womb? To uncover the truth, I fabricated a new relationship. I found a photo of an elite businessman online and posted staged, intimate photos on social media. Three months later, Rina texted: [Are you seeing someone again? I… I’m pregnant.] … [Let’s meet up and talk. I’ll pick the place.] [Sure.] Rina replied instantly. I put my phone down and went back to watching the surveillance feed. In her cramped, rented apartment, Rina was breastfeeding. She cradled her one-year-old daughter in her arms, while her two-year-old son sat in a high chair next to her. Her hair was greasy and unwashed, and she wore a pilled, oversized hoodie. When the baby girl pulled at her shirt, Rina snapped, “Shut up!” Her son started crying from the sudden shout. She slapped his bottom hard, making him wail even louder. I clenched my fists. She didn’t deserve to be a mother. Why was it that I wanted a child so desperately but couldn’t have one, while she treated the miracle of life like trash? Three months ago, I returned to the country, determined to find out how she kept getting pregnant. I rented the apartment right next door to Rina’s. I still remembered the passcode to her door. It was her birthday, a detail she had shared with me back when we were inseparable. Under the cover of night, I slipped inside and placed tiny pinhole cameras in every corner of her home. At first, I thought she was doing this out of jealousy. She was jealous of my wealthy family, my looks, and the fact that my boyfriends were always successful men. I assumed she was seducing my partners to spite me. So, I invented the fake boyfriend. I grabbed a photo of an executive online, had my assistant edit us together, and announced my new “romance.” I wanted to see how she would manage to get pregnant this time. But over the past three months of constant surveillance, neither Marcell nor Oliver had ever visited her. I even asked mutual friends; both of my exes swore they didn’t know Rina, and their families wanted nothing to do with her. Could they… really be innocent? Even more bizarrely, Rina hadn’t brought a single man home in three months. Her only outings were to buy diapers and formula, and I had personally shadowed her every time. So where did this third baby come from? A wild, terrifying thought crossed my mind. Was she faking it? Was she doing all of this just to torment me? I sent her a follow-up text: [Tomorrow morning at ten, meet me at the central hospital. I’m taking you for a check-up.] The next morning, she arrived with her daughter in her arms and her son strapped to her back. Her face was sallow, with dark circles under her eyes. She looked ten years older than me. In the ultrasound room, the transducer glided over her abdomen. A tiny, faint shadow flickered on the monitor. The doctor confirmed she was six weeks pregnant. I stood frozen in the room. “This is impossible…” I dragged her straight to the office of the chief of obstetrics. The doctor was a female professor in her fifties. “Doctor, is it medically possible for a woman to become pregnant without any physical contact with a man?” I asked point-blank. The doctor frowned. “Medically speaking, it is impossible. Unless under two very specific circumstances.” “First, artificial insemination. You only need the male’s specimen.” “Second, the woman was assaulted while unconscious.” Artificial insemination? My new boyfriend was just a random picture from the internet. Where would she have gotten his specimen? And no man had entered her apartment in three months. “That’s impossible!” I blurred out. “No man has been anywhere near her these past few months!” The moment the words escaped my lips, I realized my mistake. Rina spun around to face me, her eyes wide. “How do you know no man has been near me? Have you been watching me?!” Clutching her children, she took a step back, her eyes turning red instantly. “It’s you! You’re jealous of my fertility! You’ve been desperate for a child but can’t have one, while I get pregnant so easily! You couldn’t handle it, could you?” “So you sent your man to assault me! I’m calling the police!” My father was the CEO of a listed company. A police report of this nature would devastate our stock price. I rushed to grab her. “Calm down!” She ignored me, pulling out her phone. In a panic, I grabbed her wrist. “Don’t call the police!” I screamed. “My new boyfriend is fake! He’s just a picture from the internet! There is no such person, so who could have possibly touched you?” Rina went dead silent. She slowly raised her head. There was no shock in her bloodshot eyes. Instead, a chilling smile spread across her face. “You’re lying.” She stared into my eyes, her voice dripping with venom. “You think I haven’t done my research? That man from your photos… he doesn’t just exist. I’ve already found him.” 02 “Look for yourself!” Rina shoved her phone in my face. On the screen was a search result. Xavier Ward, founder and CEO of Xenon Tech. The man in the photo was the exact same person I had posted on my profile. My brain went entirely numb. I had just grabbed a random picture online because he looked like a handsome businessman. Who would have thought he was a real, prominent tech CEO? Why couldn’t I have this kind of luck with the lottery? “You planned this with him!” Rina glared at me. “You had him assault me, and now you’re pretending you don’t know him!” “Are you out of your mind?” I pushed her phone away. “I don’t even know his name!” “Don’t know him? Then where did those cozy photos on your profile come from?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Even if I told her they were photoshopped, she would never believe me. “Fine!” I grit my teeth. “We’re going to his office right now to confront him! You don’t believe me? We’ll get a DNA sample right in front of him and see if he denies it!” Rina hesitated for a fraction of a second, then sneered. “Let’s go.” At the headquarters of Xenon Tech, on the top floor. The receptionist’s face paled when we stated our business. “Ladies, I am terribly sorry, but Mr. Ward is not taking any visitors.” “Not taking visitors?” I slammed the ultrasound report onto the desk. “This woman claims your CEO assaulted her, and this baby is the proof.” The receptionist’s lips trembled. “Mr. Ward is really…” “Get him out here, or I’m calling the press right now. Let’s see how your stock price holds up when a sexual assault scandal hits the news.” The receptionist’s eyes widened. She looked around nervously, then lowered her voice. “Follow me.” The corridor was dead silent, save for the click of our heels. She pushed open the door to the CEO’s office, locked it behind us, and turned around. “How far along is the pregnancy?” she asked, her eyes sharp and defensive. “Six weeks,” Rina said, looking around the empty office. “Where is he?” The secretary remained silent for three agonizing seconds, her eyes welling with tears. “Don’t bother looking.” “What do you mean?” “Mr. Ward… passed away six months ago.” The words hit me like a physical blow. “What?” “A sudden heart attack. Resuscitation failed,” the secretary said, her voice cracking. “The company hasn’t finalized the transition of ownership yet. To keep the stock price stable, the news hasn’t been made public.” She looked up, staring intently at Rina’s stomach. “How could a man who has been dead for six months get you pregnant?” “Impossible!” Rina shrieked. I, on the other hand, was dead calm. I had been watching her night and day. Even if Xavier Ward were alive, he wouldn’t have been able to get near her. Without a word, the secretary opened a drawer and placed a document on the desk. A death certificate. Then she showed us a video on her phone, a private funeral service, displaying the casket and the portrait of Xavier clearly. Rina’s knees buckled. Carrying one child and holding another, she collapsed toward the floor. I caught her just in time. “I need a strand of his hair,” I told the secretary. “For a DNA test.” The secretary frowned. “He’s dead. Why are you still…” “Hair, a comb, a glass, anything. If you don’t give it to me, I’m calling the press.” Grimacing, the secretary pointed to the private dressing room in the corner. Rina and I rushed in, searching like maniacs. At the bottom of the wardrobe, an old photograph slid out. It showed a young woman holding the hands of two young boys, about five or six years old. They were twins, smiling brightly. The woman’s face looked incredibly familiar. But in that moment, my mind went blank, and I couldn’t place her. “Found it!” Rina called out, holding a stray hair she had retrieved from a suit jacket. “Let’s go.” I quickly stuffed the photo back and pulled her out, heading straight for the lab. When the expedited DNA report was handed to us, my hands were shaking. The words on the paper were clear: Biological father of the fetus: Xavier Ward. Probability of paternity: 99.99%. My mind shattered. How could a man who had been dead for six months get Rina pregnant?

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1 To secure the development rights for the Apex Plaza project, I spent six months rotting in an absolute wasteland, pulling back to back allnighters across five different cities. The contract I practically traded half my lifespan to win made the company stock jump three whole percentage points. But when I brought a thick stack of expense receipts back to the corporate office, the new Legal Compliance Officer stopped me dead in my tracks. She claimed the corporate reimbursement policy had changed. All expenses had to be preapproved in the system, or they were completely void. Right in front of the entire Acquisitions Department, she offered a light, mocking sneer. “Acquisitions guys are just glorified middlemen who buy drinks for clients. Do not think bringing in a big contract means you are above the rules.” I thought about throwing my scalding cup of coffee right in her face. But that money was for my mother. It was the exact amount needed for her lymphoma chemotherapy next month. I did not lose my temper. I did not beg her either. I just looked at her and smiled. The corporate world is not a debate stage. The real kill shots are never fired in the conference room. My name is Declan Wright, Deputy Manager of Real Estate Acquisitions. After running myself into the ground in the middle of nowhere for six months, I finally returned to headquarters. Without even taking a day to beat my jet lag, I grabbed a stack of receipts half an inch thick and headed straight to the Legal Department. My project bonus could wait. But this hundred and fifty grand in out of pocket expenses was literally my mother’s lifeline for her next round of treatment. The Legal Department had a brand new frosted glass door. A shiny silver nameplate hung right at eye level. It read: Vanessa Pierce, Legal Compliance. I pushed the door open. A suffocating wave of expensive floral perfume hit my nose, making me frown. “Hi, I am Declan Wright from Acquisitions. I just need a signature on these.” I placed the receipts on her desk. Vanessa looked to be in her early twenties. Her makeup was flawless, looking more suited for a red carpet gala than a corporate office. She did not even blink, entirely focused on filing her brand new diamond encrusted acrylic nails with a tiny metal buffer. “Put it there. Get in line.” I forced my patience. “This is highly time sensitive. These are the out of pocket expenses for the Apex Plaza project.” “Apex Plaza?” Her hand stopped moving. She finally looked up, letting her eyes slowly drag up and down my body. It was a look mixed with pure contempt and heavy judgment. She looked at me like I was an outdated piece of merchandise. “So you are Declan Wright?” “I am.” She picked up the stack of receipts, flipped through them carelessly, and tossed them back onto her desk with a loud smack. “Denied.” I seriously wondered if all the red eye flights had given me auditory hallucinations. “Excuse me?” “I said, denied.” She crossed her arms, leaning back into her expensive designer leather chair. Her tone dripped with extreme impatience. “Mr. Wright, while you were away these past six months, the company policy was updated three separate times. Do you not read your emails?” “I did not have the time.” I took a deep breath. Half a year of extreme pressure and pure exhaustion had drained my patience. “Which specific policy says this cannot be expensed?” She pulled a binder from her drawer and slapped it open right in front of me. “Point one. Under the new regulations, all travel expenses must be preapproved in the internal system. No out of pocket payments are allowed under any circumstances. You spent over a hundred grand without system approval. Void.” “Point two. Lodging standards. Unless you are a board member, no one is permitted to stay in fivestar hotels. I see charges for Marriott and Hilton suites in here. Do you think I am stupid?” I stared at her arrogant face. A sharp cramp twisted in my stomach from the sheer anger. “Vanessa, when I was on that business trip, this new system did not even exist. How was I supposed to get preapproval? The Apex project is a multibillion dollar deal. The client explicitly demanded we meet in the penthouse conference room at the Marriott. Was I supposed to take a billionaire developer to a cheap roadside motel?” “That is your problem, not mine.” She let out a soft laugh. “I am Legal. My job is to make sure everyone follows the rules.” The entire office went dead silent. Every single pair of eyes locked onto me. I looked right back at her, and suddenly, I started to laugh. Perfect. It seemed a real princess had taken over the castle while I was away. “Who made these rules?” I asked. “I did.” She tilted her chin up, her voice cold and wildly proud. “I am Legal. What I say goes.” “Declan, do not think landing one project makes you untouchable. Acquisitions guys are just glorified middlemen who buy drinks for clients. No matter how good you are at your little job, you need to learn your place.” She paused, keeping her voice low but ensuring the entire bullpen could hear every word. “In my office, you are just another rule breaker. I am not signing this.” She clearly expected me to slam my fists on the desk, or maybe grovel like everyone else did. I did no such thing. I calmly picked up my receipts, neatly tapping the edges together until the stack was perfect. “Vanessa,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “Do you know what the Acquisitions team calls the Legal Department when we are out in the field?” She hesitated. “We say Legal is the heart of the company. Without your approval, not a single cent flows out. But if the heart gets blocked, it is the rest of the body that dies first.” I did not give her a second glance. I took my receipts, turned around, and walked straight to the elevator. I needed to see VP Henderson. He was the talent scout who hired me. Back then, he fought the entire board to transfer me from a tech role to Acquisitions. He used to pat my shoulder and tell me I had more drive than anyone he had ever met, promising the company would never mistreat its top performers. He tracked this Apex project from the very first pitch to the final signature. He knew exactly how much blood and sweat went into it. I knew he would back me up. 2 VP Henderson had a corner office on the top floor with a killer view of the city. I knocked and walked in. He was adjusting his silk tie in the mirror, but the second he saw me, a massive, overly enthusiastic smile plastered itself across his face. “Declan! You are finally back! Incredible work, absolutely incredible!” He slapped my shoulder hard. “Landing the Apex project was a masterpiece! You bumped the stock up three points! You are the MVP!” I was in no mood for corporate small talk. I dropped the stack of receipts right on his mahogany desk and gave him a blunt summary of Vanessa’s brand new rules. “Henderson, I paid this hundred and fifty grand out of pocket to secure the client. Now your new Legal officer is telling me it is denied.” The bright smile on Henderson’s face instantly froze. He picked up his desk phone and dialed an internal extension. “Vanessa, please come up to my office.” A minute later, Vanessa strutted into the room, her high heels clicking aggressively against the hardwood. When she saw me standing there, a provocative smirk curled her lips. “You needed to see me, Mr. Henderson?” “Well…” Henderson pointed awkwardly at the receipts on his desk. “Declan’s situation is a bit unique. Do you think we could make a special exception just this once?” Vanessa did not even bat an eye. She gave a rehearsed, robotic answer. “Mr. Henderson, the rules are the rules. Without order, there is chaos. If we break protocol for him, how am I supposed to enforce compliance moving forward?” She emphasized the word protocol like a weapon. Henderson’s face cycled through shades of pale white and embarrassed red. “But Declan did this for the company…” “Mr. Henderson,” Vanessa interrupted him. Her voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable, heavy threat. “My uncle, the Executive VP right down the hall, has constantly stressed that our corporate standardization starts with the fine details. He explicitly stated we cannot allow employees who think they outshine their bosses to receive special treatment.” “He is just an acquisitions rep. What makes him so special?” In that exact second, the puzzle pieces snapped together. Vanessa was the Executive VP’s niece. A nepo baby air dropped into the Legal Department to enforce standardization. Her actual job was to suppress any veteran employees who were getting too successful or making too much money. And I, the star employee who just brought in a multibillion dollar contract, was the very first head she wanted on the chopping block. VP Henderson let out a long, heavy sigh and slowly turned his gaze to me. “Declan, maybe you could… just take the hit on this one? Look, Vanessa is just looking out for the company’s best interests by strictly enforcing the rules. Since you are our star player, you should lead by example and support our new colleague, right?” He started spinning a web of corporate buzzwords, talking about the big picture and mutual understanding, trying to smooth things over with absolute garbage. I got the message loud and clear. Forced to choose between the Executive VP’s pampered niece and the guy who just generated billions in pure profit, Henderson chose to protect his own skin without a second thought. All his praise, all his promises. They were entirely worthless the second nepotism walked into the room. My so called mentor had just sold out his best workhorse to save his own career. I grabbed my receipts off the desk and walked out of the office without saying a single word. Vanessa followed right behind me. She walked with her chin held high, looking exactly like a peacock that just won a fight. When we got back to the bullpen, she purposefully stopped right next to my desk. “Did you see that, Declan? In this company, performing well does not give you special privileges. My uncle is the one calling the shots now.” She let out a soft laugh. Her tone was dripping with arrogance and absolute disgust. “From now on, you better run things by me before you try to expense a single dime. Save yourself the humiliation of running to Henderson just to get rejected again.” A few coworkers who always hated my success immediately swarmed around her, eager to kiss up. “Exactly. Vanessa is totally right. A company needs order.” “Declan has been gone for six months. He is totally out of touch. He has no idea the power dynamic here completely changed.” I ignored the background noise and quietly booted up my computer. They all thought I had swallowed the insult. They thought I was just going to sit there and take it. But they had no idea how a top tier acquisitions manager actually operated. When the rules no longer protect you, you learn to use the rules against them. Or better yet, you create new rules entirely. That night, I skipped the department welcome back dinner and went straight home to my empty apartment. I had not been back in six months. A thin layer of dust coated the furniture, and the air felt stale and heavy. I dropped my luggage and sat down on the sofa in the dark. I was too exhausted to even turn on the lights. A few minutes later, my phone screen lit up the room. It was an automated text message from the oncology hospital. “Mr. Wright. The payment for your mother’s third round of targeted lymphoma therapy is past due. Please submit the balance immediately to avoid treatment delays.” In that exact moment, the cold logic and forced calm I maintained all day completely shattered. Of the expenses Vanessa just voided, over a hundred and fifty grand came directly out of my own pocket. I had carefully planned every cent. That money was supposed to pay for my mother’s chemotherapy next month. During the fourth month of my business trip, my sister called me crying. My mother was diagnosed with stage three lymphoma. My mind went entirely blank. I wanted to book a flight home that exact second. But the Apex project was at the ultimate breaking point. A team of fifty people had been bleeding for this deal alongside me for months. One slight hesitation from the client could have destroyed the entire negotiation. I gritted my teeth and wired every last dollar of my life savings to my sister. I told my family to find the absolute best doctors and use the most expensive drugs available. I told them I would handle the money. I promised myself that if I secured this deal and secured my massive million dollar bonus, I could save my mother’s life. I forced myself to smile at client dinners while my heart broke, picturing my mother’s fading, pale face. After half a year of brutal corporate warfare, I truly believed I was a conquering soldier returning home to save my family. Instead, I found out the people I fought for had burned my supplies to the ground. They did not just mock my hard work. They were actively cutting off the money I needed to keep my mother alive. A violent, sharp cramp hit my stomach. I opened a drawer, grabbed a bottle of antacids, and swallowed two pills dry. Six months of chronic stress had absolutely wrecked my digestive system. Exhaustion and a deep, burning sense of injustice washed over me like a tidal wave. But I knew this was no time to fall apart. I could walk away from that money. But I absolutely had to get justice. I was going to make them pay for trampling all over my sacrifice. I opened my laptop and pulled up a familiar contact. Gordon. Gordon was a gold tier corporate headhunter in the industry. He had been trying to poach me for three straight years. I always told him the timing was not right. Well, the timing was finally right. Next, I dialed the personal cell phone of the primary client for the Apex Plaza project. Marcus Caldwell. You want to play by the rules? Fine. Let me show you how the real rules work. 3 My phone call with Caldwell lasted less than twenty minutes. I did not complain about my company once. I did not mention a single word about my blocked expenses or the office politics. Instead, I framed the conversation entirely from his perspective as a billionaire developer. I analyzed the recent structural and legal shakeups at our corporate office. I offered a very friendly, professional warning that this level of instability could pose a massive financial risk to the execution of Apex Phase Two. “Mr. Caldwell, good evening. I apologize for calling so late, but I wanted to personally update you on a minor internal shift at our firm.” “Declan! You are back in Chicago? Excellent. I am buying you dinner tomorrow to celebrate!” Caldwell’s booming, cheerful voice came through the speaker. “I appreciate that, Mr. Caldwell, but dinner can wait. There is something you need to know immediately.” I lowered my voice slightly. “We recently had a new Legal Director air dropped into the department. She is enforcing a radically different set of compliance standards. As you know, the Acquisitions team and the Legal team have to work perfectly in sync to clear your project funds and execute the timelines.” The line went dead quiet. Caldwell was listening closely. I continued. “I just wanted to offer a friendly warning. Massive personnel shifts and sudden compliance changes during a critical execution phase could introduce highly unpredictable risks. Especially considering the billions of dollars allocated for Phase Two.” I never said I got screwed over on my expenses. I never mentioned Vanessa was a nepo baby. Caldwell was an old fox in the real estate game. I did not need to spell it out for him. He threw billions of dollars into commercial development. He knew exactly what personnel shifts and financial risks really meant. He instantly read between the lines. Declan Wright, the core architect of his multibillion dollar project, was being stripped of his power. “Declan, thank you.” His tone turned incredibly serious. “You are the most responsible project lead I have ever worked with. Stability is my absolute top priority for Phase Two. I am going to have my internal team reevaluate our risk exposure with your firm immediately.” I hung up the phone. A cold smirk spread across my face. Vanessa, you actually thought you were defending the company rules? You were about to learn that the client is the only rule that matters in this industry. Next, I dialed Gordon the headhunter. “Gordon. Are you awake?” “Well, well, if it isn’t the golden boy! Long time no see, Declan.” Gordon was as slick and energetic as always. “I honestly thought you were going to stay at that firm until you retired.” “Cut the crap, Gordon. I want out.” The line was silent for three full seconds before Gordon exploded with pure excitement. “You finally woke up! The CEO at Horizon Tech has been asking about you for months! If you give me the green light, the Head of Acquisitions job for the entire Midwest is yours! You can even handpick your own team!” Horizon Tech. Our absolute biggest corporate rival. “Gordon,” I interrupted his rant. “I am not calling to accept the offer today.” “I am calling because I need you to set a trap for me.” Gordon paused, then let out a massive, booming laugh. “You are a terrifying guy, Declan. Tell me what to do. I always told you that your current firm didn’t deserve a guy with your brains.” “It is simple.” I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. “I want you to heavily negotiate the details of the Horizon Tech offer. Make the demands as specific and arrogant as possible. But remember, do not officially accept anything yet.” “All you have to do is casually leak the information. Make sure the entire real estate industry knows that Horizon Tech is trying to poach me. And make sure everyone knows Horizon is willing to buy out the entire Apex Phase Two contract just to get me in their building.” Gordon sucked in a sharp breath. “That is ruthless. Horizon wants that project so bad they are willing to authorize a ridiculous signing bonus.” “Perfect.” I nodded slowly. “Make sure that exact dollar amount casually gets leaked to the press too.” This is the reality of the corporate world. In one company, all your hard work and billions in profit can be erased by a single sentence from an executive’s relative. But at a rival company, that exact same hard work is a treasure they will fight over with cold, hard cash. All I had to do was make sure my current bosses saw exactly what my real price tag looked like.

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1 My father was a high school literature teacher. My mother was a university professor of comparative literature. To make me write a literary masterpiece, they forced me to eat spoiled food, rewarded the classmates who bullied me, and abandoned me on the interstate, forcing me to chase their car through the freezing night. When they looked at my half-dead body, they only smiled and offered cold comfort. “Dante wrote his masterpiece in the depths of exile, Lana. You simply haven’t suffered enough.” With fanatical gleams in their eyes, they eventually shattered my legs, hoping to breed the next Milton. But when they realized I still couldn’t produce the legendary prose they craved, they came up with a new, twisted script. “Perhaps the misery is still too shallow. In that case, we will use our own lives to pave your path to literary greatness in blood.” … I turned the doorknob with agonizing care, trying not to make a single sound. When I pushed the door open, the house was pitch black. Realizing no one was waiting for me, a sigh of relief slipped past my lips. But as I stumbled through the dark living room, I froze. Two perfectly upright silhouettes were sitting on the sofa. A sudden chill crawled up my spine, pinning me to the floor. Then, my mother’s soft, melodic voice drifted through the darkness. “Lana, the National Creative Writing Contest is tomorrow morning, isn’t it?” I began to tremble. I knew that whenever my mother spoke in that gentle tone, a new round of torment was about to begin. Terrified and unable to squeeze out a single word, I could only watch as she stood up. She slid my backpack off my shoulders, and her hands moved to unbutton my heavy winter coat. I looked at her with pleading eyes, my voice cracking with unshed tears. “Mom, please. I promise I’ll write about the cold. I’ll capture the hunger. But it’s snowing out there, and if I get a fever, I won’t be able to write tomorrow. Can I please keep my coat?” My mother hesitated for a fraction of a second, but my father stepped forward. With a rough, impatient yank, he stripped the coat from my shivering body and shoved me toward the front door. “The cold only tempers the soul, Lana. If you can’t even endure a little winter chill, how will you ever have the depth of a real writer?” “Lana, stop being so incredibly selfish,” my mother added, her voice hardening. “Your father and I are sacrificing everything for your future. Do you honestly think we’d do anything to hurt you?” The heavy oak door slammed shut in my face, locking me out in the freezing snow. My body went numb. I didn’t even dare to crouch down to preserve my body heat. I just stood there, stiff as a board, letting the snow cover my hair. The last time I had collapsed from the cold, a kind stranger had carried me into a nearby 24-hour convenience store. I had foolishly hoped my parents would feel a shred of guilt when they came to get me. Instead, the moment they arrived, they stripped me of my dry clothes right there in front of everyone, screaming and striking me. “You ungrateful little thief! Stealing your grandmother’s pension and running away from home to blackmail us? We won’t let you get away with this!” In an instant, the sympathetic whispers of the bystanders turned into looks of utter disgust. The store owner, who had been gently comforting me, stepped back with a sneer. I had sobbed, trying to defend myself, but no one believed a teenager over her respectable, well-dressed parents. In their minds, no parents would publicly humiliate their child like that unless she truly deserved it. My father’s repeated roars of “Are you still lying?” only cemented my guilt. From that day on, the entire neighborhood knew me as a pathological liar and a thief. Whatever my parents did to me after that was dismissed as necessary discipline for a troubled child. Actually, I was never stupid. In fact, my grades were excellent. But excellence wasn’t enough for them. They didn’t want a good student; they wanted a literary genius whose name would be etched into history. My parents lived by a single, fanatical dogma: “Suffering is the cradle of literature.” Every time I failed to produce the kind of writing they demanded, they assumed it was because I hadn’t suffered enough. And so, the next punishment would be even more severe. I had tried to beg my grandparents for help once. But they only offered empty, half-hearted advice to my parents, which only made my punishments worse. Last Christmas, because my grandmother had dared to say a word in my defense, my parents threw me out of the car on the interstate on our way home. The roaring traffic rushed past me, missing me by inches. The absolute terror of death gripped my throat. I fell to my knees on the gravel, weeping and begging them to take me back, even if it meant getting beaten. But my father only sneered, stepping on the gas without a backward glance. “You’re a smart girl, Lana. Who’s going to hit a pedestrian in broad daylight?” “Just use this time to reflect on your comfortable life. Maybe the inspiration will finally strike.” I ran down that interstate, chasing the fading red taillights of their car through the freezing night. By the time I collapsed on the side of the road, my skin was bruised purple by the wind, and my feet were a bloody mess. The blood had dried and fused my socks to my raw flesh, making them impossible to peel off without tearing skin. I never caught up to them. A truck driver found me unconscious and called an ambulance. But my body was too resilient. After three days in the intensive care unit, the doctor announced that I was out of danger. As I lay there, listening to the doctor’s relieved voice through a haze of pain, a single, dark thought consumed my mind: I should have died out there. Now, standing in the snow, I waited until the neighborhood streetlights finally flickered off. Only then was I allowed back inside. The next morning, I woke up with a raging fever. Seeing my flushed face and glassy eyes, my parents didn’t look worried. Instead, their eyes lit up with absolute ecstasy. “Franz Kafka wrote his finest works while burning with fever! This is the perfect state for you to write your masterpiece today.” “You’re going to bring home that first-place trophy, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 2 I dragged my heavy, feverish body to school. The moment I dropped my bag onto my desk, the boy sitting in front of me turned around with a mocking grin. “Well, well, if it isn’t our resident literary genius! What masterpiece are we blessing the world with today, Lana?” Without waiting for an answer, he snatched my backpack, ripped open the zipper, and pulled out my journal. He began reading my private thoughts aloud in a theatrical voice, tearing the pages out one by one, crumpling them into balls, and tossing them to the rest of the class. As the classroom erupted into laughter, I lunged forward to grab my journal. But he gave me a rough, heavy shove. Weakened by the fever, I lost my balance and crashed hard against the floor, my head spinning. The bully startled, taking a step back with an annoyed frown. “Whoa, playing the victim now? I barely touched you!” Another boy threw an arm around his shoulder, laughing dismissively. “So what if she fell? Let her cry.” “Even if she bleeds, her parents would probably thank us for helping them educate her anyway.” I slowly pushed myself up from the cold floor and silently began gathering the torn pages of my journal. I didn’t say a word. They were right. My parents would never stand up for me. In fact, they were the ones who had orchestrated this hell. On the very first day of high school, my parents had stood before my entire class and made a public announcement. “Lana is our daughter. If you want to help her build character, don’t befriend her. Push her, challenge her, even rough her up a bit if you must.” “She is a future literary great, and she needs to experience the full spectrum of human suffering to write profound literature. We expect all of you to help us guide her.” At first, some classmates thought it was a sick joke and tried to be nice to me. But my parents immediately marched into the school and screamed at those students in front of the principal. After that, everyone avoided me like the plague. It wasn’t until a school delinquent framed me for stealing that my parents rewarded him with a pair of limited-edition Jordans. From that day on, I became the school’s punching bag. Inside my home and out, every waking second of my life was defined by pain. The classroom door opened, and our English teacher walked in. She cast a brief, cold glance in my direction. “Lana, clean up your trash quickly. Don’t disrupt the exam for the rest of the class.” When the test papers were handed out, before I could even write my name, the teacher tapped on my desk. “Take your test and write it out in the hallway. Your parents specifically requested it.” Amid the snickers and whispers of my classmates, I numbly gathered my pen and paper and walked out. Could great literature truly be born from misery? I sat on the cold floor of the hallway, holding my pen, but my mind was completely blank. My thoughts were like scattered snow in a blizzard, refusing to form a single coherent sentence. I forced my aching brain to think, to create, but the feverish throbbing in my skull offered nothing but pure, unadulterated pain. I had no idea what nonsense I scribbled down on that paper. But when the final bell rang, I knew with absolute certainty that I was ruined. As I walked home with the report card in my hand, I wished with every fiber of my being that I had frozen to death the night before. I dragged my feet, wishing the walk would last forever. But like a well-trained dog, I didn’t even have the courage to run away. The moment I reached the porch, the front door swung open. My mother stood there, a warm, gentle smile on her face. She handed me a steaming mug of medicine. “Drink this quickly, sweetie. If your fever gets any worse, it’ll break my heart.” I drank the bitter liquid in one gulp, a wave of nausea rising in my throat. “Now, let me see what my brilliant daughter wrote today. I can’t wait to frame your essay and hang it by my bed.” She snatched the crumpled report card from my tight grip. As her eyes scanned the failing grade, the smile instantly vanished from her face. 3 My mother’s face turned a sickening shade of gray. She stared at me, her eyes burning with fury. “Lana! You stubborn, ungrateful little brat! We have sacrificed everything to nurture your talent, and you bring home this absolute garbage? Is this how you repay our blood and sweat?” Her voice rose to a shrill, piercing shriek. Hearing the commotion, my father rushed out of the kitchen, tearing the report card from her hands. A single glance was all it took to send him into a violent rage. “We are both esteemed scholars of literature! How did we end up with a daughter as brain-dead as a pig? Do you have any idea how our colleagues laugh at us behind our backs?” He turned to my mother, his face twisted in disgust. “I told you your petty punishments wouldn’t work! Running in the snow is child’s play. You’re too soft on her!” “Only a physical deficit can force her to understand the true weight of existence!” I froze, terror locking my joints. I could feel the raw, violent malice radiating from him. My father scanned the room, and his eyes landed on a heavy steel wrench resting near the toolbox by the door. He picked it up, a twisted, maniacal grin spreading across his face as he stepped toward me. “John Milton wrote his greatest epics in absolute blindness. Byron walked with a clubfoot. It was their physical suffering that gave their words wings. Only when you are broken, Lana, will you understand what true literature is.” “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Even if you can never walk again, your mother and I will take care of you for the rest of your life.” I took a frantic step back, my legs trembling so violently I could barely stand. I had resigned myself to their twisted games, accepting the cold and the hunger, but I refused to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair just to satisfy their sick literary fantasies. I spun around and bolted out the door. My parents’ enraged curses echoed behind me as they gave chase. I ran blindly through the streets, my heart hammering against my ribs. Where could I go? The police? Who would ever believe that two respected academics were trying to shatter their own daughter’s legs with a wrench because of a bad essay? Then, a desperate thought struck me. My grandparents! They were currently staying at my Uncle Luke’s house. Surely they wouldn’t stand by and let my parents cripple me. Gasping for air, I pounded on Uncle Luke’s front door with all the strength I had left. “Help me! Grandma, Grandpa, please open the door!” My grandmother opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise. I threw myself into her arms, sobbing hysterically. “They’re going to break my legs!” “They said… they said my essay wasn’t good because I haven’t suffered enough. They have a wrench. They want to cripple me so I can feel the pain of a tragic writer!” “What?!” My grandfather slammed his hand on the dining table, his face flushed with anger. “This is madness! Don’t worry, Lana. I will put a stop to this right now.” My parents arrived moments later, breathless and furious. But before they could lay a hand on me, my grandparents pulled them into the guest room, slamming the door shut. A tense, suffocating silence filled the house. When the door finally opened, my grandparents emerged with calm, reassuring smiles. My parents followed, their expressions remarkably subdued. “Lana, sweetheart,” my grandfather said gently. “I’ve given your parents a thorough scolding. They were just speaking out of anger. They would never actually hurt you.” “You shouldn’t have run off like that. We’re a family, we can talk things out.” Even my father managed a stiff, awkward apology. “I lost my temper, Lana. I shouldn’t have frightened you like that.” I didn’t know if I could believe them. But standing in that hallway, surrounded by my family, I realized I had no other choice. Looking at my parents’ forced smiles, I forced myself to nod, offering a meek, submissive grin. I quietly followed them back to our car. The moment we stepped back into our house, my mother turned the lock on the front door. Before I could even turn around, my father pinned me to the floor. He raised the heavy steel wrench high above his head, his face contorted in a demonic rage. “You little bitch,” he roared, “let’s see you run now!” 4 The world collapsed into a nightmare of absolute terror. I thrashed beneath his weight, weeping and screaming. “Dad! Mom! I’ll write! I’ll write every single day! Please don’t do this!” But my screams fell on deaf ears. The heavy metal wrench came down with a sickening, whistling sound, striking my leg. A white-hot agony exploded through my body, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. One strike. Two strikes. Eventually, the sharp, blinding pain faded into a dull, throbbing numbness. The room spun, and darkness swallowed me whole. When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was my mother carrying a bowl of hot chicken broth. She sat on the edge of my bed, her eyes brimming with tears as she stroked my cheek. “Does it still hurt, sweetheart? You just rest up. We only did this because we love you. Your father and I would never do anything to harm you.” I stared at the ceiling, my eyes completely hollow. I drank the soup she offered, unable to summon the strength to respond to her words. Perhaps they were worried that further pain would ruin my focus, because during my recovery, they didn’t touch me. They brought me pain medication, fed me nutritious meals, and even presented me with the very first object that belonged solely to me. A brand-new, shiny wheelchair. The day my fractures healed enough for me to sit up, they eagerly placed a pristine notebook and a fountain pen on my lap. “Now is your time to shine, Lana. Show us the masterpiece you’ve forged from this trial. Make us proud!” They quietly closed the bedroom door, leaving me alone in the silent room. I unscrewed the cap of the pen and pressed the nib to the paper. But as I stared at the white page, a cold dread washed over me. I couldn’t remember what the letters looked like. In my mind, words had ceased to exist. They were nothing but chaotic, ink-black stains, swimming in a sea of static. I had forgotten how to read and write. As the realization settled in, I didn’t feel fear. Instead, a wave of venomous, triumphant satisfaction washed over me. Look at you, I thought, staring at the blank page. The great literary prodigy you sacrificed everything for is now nothing but an illiterate idiot. I began to scribble wildly on the page, drawing jagged, meaningless lines. When my parents pushed the door open, their faces filled with desperate hope, they were met with a page of absolute madness. My mother gasped, dropping to her knees in horror. My father’s breath hitched, and with a roar of frustration, he flipped my desk over, scattering my papers everywhere. “What is this? How could you do this to us? Is the suffering still not enough? How can you be so stubborn?” He lunged forward to strike me, but he stopped mid-swing. He stared at my face, trembling with a sudden, creeping terror. My eyes were completely vacant. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t cry. I felt absolutely nothing. What could they do to me now? Kill me? Realizing that something inside me had fundamentally snapped, my parents exchanged a frightened glance and quietly backed out of the room, slamming the door behind them. In the weeks that followed, they tried screaming at me, shaking me, even depriving me of food, but I remained entirely unresponsive. I moved through the house like a wooden puppet, immune to hunger, immune to pain. I expected them to finally discard me, or perhaps concoct a tragic accident to rid themselves of their broken experiment so they could start over. But other than the increasingly dark, resentful stares they gave me, nothing changed. Until one evening, my mother prepared a feast of all my favorite childhood dishes. She sat across from me, her eyes red and swollen, looking at me with deep contrition. “We are so sorry, Lana. Your father and I were blinded by our obsession. We were wrong.” “We’ve realized that having you happy and healthy is more important than any book. We will never force you to write again.” Ah, I thought silently, the executioner’s final meal. Without hesitation, I picked up my fork and began to eat. If the food was poisoned, at least the nightmare would finally end. But the food wasn’t poisoned. From that day on, my parents truly seemed to have reformed. They treated me with a warmth and tenderness I had never experienced in my entire life. They became the loving, doting parents I had always dreamed of. Whatever I wanted, whatever I liked, they immediately bought for me. The phrase “suffering is the cradle of literature” was never spoken again. When they discovered that my classmates were still mocking my wheelchair at school, they stormed into the principal’s office and caused an absolute uproar, forcing every single bully to apologize to me on their knees. I had never been so happy. It felt like a beautiful, fragile dream. I sometimes wondered if the steel wrench had actually hit my skull instead of my leg, and this perfect life was just the final, desperate hallucination of my dying brain. Slowly, the icy armor around my heart began to melt. As my legs gradually healed and I regained the ability to walk, my mind began to clear. On the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I stared at a greeting card on the table and felt a jolt of electricity run through my brain. I could read again. An overwhelming wave of joy washed over me. I couldn’t wait to share the news with my parents. I rushed home from school early, pushing the front door open with a bright smile. But the house was silent. Sitting on our living room sofa were my grandparents, their eyes red and hollow. In my grandmother’s trembling hands was a framed, black-and-white photograph of my parents. Her voice was raw and broken. “Lana… your parents went out to buy your birthday cake. There was an accident on the highway. They… they didn’t make it.”

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1 During my live stream as a relationship coach, a girl joined the audio call to ask a question. “My boyfriend has an emotional detachment disorder. What should I do?” I paused for a second before replying. “You could try buying an emotion-sharing bracelet to track his mood changes.” The girl let out a heavy sigh. “His cousin already bought him one of those. But honestly, it feels like a total scam. Every time I get close to him, no matter what we’re doing, the bracelet always shows his heart rate spiking. He’s always ‘excited.’ Don’t believe me? Look.” She turned on her camera and pulled the boy’s wrist into the frame. The camera caught the side of his face, and the live chat instantly went wild. The viewers cheered, gushing about how the girl had found her true soulmate and scored an absolute catch. I stared frozen at the screen. The elegant features, the clean jawline… he was indeed incredibly handsome. But he looked exactly like Eric, my childhood sweetheart and my boyfriend of three years. I slowly looked down at my own wrist, staring at my bracelet. The screen of my bracelet had remained completely blank even when he confessed his love to me, as if his heart were made of stone. But right now, the device on my wrist was vibrating violently, showing that his heart rate on the other end was spiking frantically. He was indeed “excited.” My heart plummeted to the very bottom of my chest. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, trying to stop my body from trembling. When I finally looked back at the screen, the live stream had flooded with even more viewers. The chat was a blur of excited comments. “He’s gorgeous! I’m so jealous!” “Oh my god, how did you land a guy like that? Please share your secrets!” The girl’s cheeks flushed, and she offered a shy, pampered smile. “Actually, he was really easy to win over. I fell in love with him at first sight at a local coffee shop, and then…” She spoke with the effortless confidence of a princess who had been adored her entire life. She went on and on, describing every detail of their relationship. And with every word she spoke, the details of her romance began to overlap with my own life. On Valentine’s Day, I had asked for a simple bouquet of flowers. Eric told me he couldn’t afford them with his part-time wage, but then he turned around and bought her a massive bouquet of nine hundred and ninety-nine roses. I hated cilantro, and he always complained that I was too picky. Yet he would patiently spend ten minutes picking every single leaf out of her bowl, memorizing every little preference she had. When my period cramps kept me awake at night, he told me to suck it up and go to sleep. But when she was on her cycle, he prepared pain relievers and held a heating pad against her stomach all night long. I used to think he just didn’t understand love, that his condition made him numb to emotions. I believed that one day, my warmth would finally cure him. But it turned out the problem wasn’t his diagnosis. It was just that I wasn’t her. The chat began to flood with red heart emojis, with viewers chanting for them to kiss. On the screen, Eric gently cupped the girl’s face, looking into her eyes with a tenderness I had never seen in all our years together. My bracelet was vibrating so hard it hurt my skin. I couldn’t bear to watch another second. I muted the live stream and dialed Eric’s number. A few seconds later, the handsome face vanished from the camera feed. Eric’s deep, familiar voice came through my speaker. “Minka, is something wrong? I’m currently busy at my part-time job.” A wave of bitter disappointment washed over me. I asked, desperate for a lie that made sense. “Where are you working? Didn’t you tell me today was your day off?” There was a tense silence on the other end, followed by the girl’s muffled voice in the background. “Eric, who is that?” Eric’s voice instantly turned frantic. “Minka, the manager is calling my name. I have to go.” The line went dead. I looked back at the live stream. Eric had returned to the camera, gently stroking the girl’s hair. “It’s nothing, sweetie. Just a spam caller.” A spam caller. I sat frozen, the tears finally spilling over my eyelashes and splashing onto my hands. After shutting down the live stream, I curled into a tight ball in the corner of my room. I opened the girl’s profile page on social media. Unlike me, an orphan who had grown up in a sterile group home, her feed was filled with beautiful, sunlit snippets of a perfect life: designer outfits, travel vlogs, and sweet couple videos. Her latest video had been posted yesterday. It was a vlog of her and Eric at Disneyland. The cold, emotionless Eric who never smiled in my presence was laughing like a happy child after she stole a kiss on his cheek. I scrolled down. Almost every single video featured Eric. He spent his days accompanying her to cat cafes and movie theaters, all while telling me he was too busy working extra shifts to take me out on a proper date. The very first video at the bottom of her feed was their official relationship announcement. The date of the post was the day of our high school graduation, which also happened to be our three-year anniversary. On that exact day, Eric had held my hand and promised we would go to the same university. He told me we would save up for tuition together and build a life that would last forever. I just hadn’t realized that his version of forever was so incredibly short. I couldn’t stop the tears. With a trembling finger, I reported her account for harassment, shut off my phone, and buried my face in my knees. Just then, the receptionist at my workplace tapped on my door, telling me someone was waiting for me in the lobby. I wiped my face and walked out, only to run straight into the girl from the live stream. I recognized her instantly. It was Luna. She offered a bright, polished smile and dragged me down to the coffee shop on the ground floor. “Hi there! I’m Luna, Eric’s girlfriend. You were the relationship coach on the stream, right?” “Actually, there were so many details I didn’t get to share on the call. Eric fell in love with me at first sight, too…” I took a sip of my black coffee. It was incredibly bitter. She kept talking, her words like tiny, poison-tipped needles driving straight into my chest. I set my cup down and stood up, desperate to escape her suffocating presence. But Luna grabbed my wrist, her smile fading into something sharp and cold. “I know exactly who you are to him, Minka. I joined your stream today on purpose.” “He doesn’t love you anymore. In his heart, you aren’t even his girlfriend. He’s just too soft-hearted to hurt you, so I decided to do it for him.” I slowly sat back down, staring directly into her eyes. “And what exactly is your role here? The homewrecker?” Luna flinched, her cheeks flushing as she tried to defend herself. “I am not a homewrecker! I’m the one Eric actually loves, not you!” She thrust her hands forward, showing off a gleaming gold ring and a matching bracelet. “Eric bought these for me. I never demanded anything from him, and I didn’t care that he was poor. But he insisted on working three different jobs just to treat me like a princess.” “You were never a girlfriend to him, Minka. You were just a chore. He only stayed with you out of pity. He felt sorry for you because of what your biological father tried to do to you when you were thirteen…” The dark, suffocating memories of my thirteenth year rushed back, threatening to tear my mind apart. My eyes went wide, and my voice trembled with a dangerous, quiet rage. “Eric told you about that?” Luna nodded with a smug, superior look. “Eric didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just dirty, and you expect him to carry your baggage forever.” I let out a hysterical, breathless laugh. I had never imagined that the boy who had dragged me out of that living nightmare, the boy who had held me while I screamed and promised to protect me for the rest of my life, would turn my deepest trauma into a pathetic joke to share with another girl. Luna stood up, looking down at me with utter contempt. “I’ve said what I came to say. If you have any dignity left, stay away from him.” She picked up her bag, which was adorned with a handmade cartoon charm Eric had crafted for her, and walked out, leaving me alone in the quiet cafe. I sat there in a daze for hours, watching the rain start to fall outside. By the time I walked back to the orphanage, a cold drizzle was soaking through my clothes, the wind stinging my face. My phone kept buzzing with messages from Eric, telling me he had finished his shift and asking why I wasn’t home yet. I ignored them all. A moment later, his face appeared on my screen as a video call. I answered it. “Where are you?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine panic. “Why are you walking in the rain?” My bracelet lit up, showing that his emotional state was set to “anxious.” For a moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. For years, I had prayed for the day he would finally feel something for me. But now, his concern only made him look like a stranger. “Find some shelter. I’m coming to get you.” He threw on a jacket and rushed out of his room. I hung up and crouched by the side of the road. On the location-sharing app, his icon was moving toward me at a frantic pace. Within minutes, he appeared through the curtain of rain, holding a large umbrella. He rushed over and held the umbrella over my head, soaking his own shoulders. “Minka, why didn’t you call me to pick you up? You’re going to catch a cold. Your health has always been fragile.” I looked up into his dark eyes. They were as gentle as they had always been during the eighteen years we had spent surviving together. But I realized I had never truly known him. We were both abandoned children. From the moment I could remember, my world had consisted entirely of the orphanage and the school, and neither place had felt like home. “You’re an unwanted child,” the other kids would whisper. I used to hide in the dark corners of the playground and cry, until a young Eric found me and promised that he would be my family. From that day on, we became inseparable. We fought off the bullies together, cried together, and shared every meager scrap of happiness we could find. When I was thirteen, my biological father, a raging alcoholic, had suddenly dragged me back to his apartment under the guise of wanting to be a real parent. But that very night, he pinned me to the bed. It was Eric who had rallied the neighbors and broken down the door to save me. It was Eric who had held me through my suicide attempts, whispering that he was there, that he would always be there. He helped me survive those damp, dark years, guiding me toward our eighteenth year, until I finally had the courage to walk with my head held high, to wear dresses, and to believe that none of it was my fault. So how did we end up here? My head spun violently. My strength vanished, and I collapsed backward onto the wet pavement. When I opened my eyes again, a warm towel was resting on my forehead. Eric was hovering over me, his face pale with worry. “Minka, you’re awake. Drink this medicine. You have a terrible fever.” My body felt incredibly heavy. I let him help me sit up and took the cup from his hands. “Minka, don’t go to your part-time job tomorrow,” he said softly. “Just focus on recovering. I’ve looked at several universities. Tomorrow, we should submit our applications together. I want us to go to the same school so we can stay together forever.” My ears rang with a deafening static. The contrast between his words and his actions was too much to bear. My hand trembled, and the porcelain cup slipped from my fingers, shattering against the floor. “Eric, why?” He froze, looking up at me in confusion. “You didn’t go to work today, did you?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Weren’t you on a live stream with a girl?” Eric reached out to grab my hand, his voice laced with panic. “What girl? Minka, the fever is making you hallucinate. Just lie down.” I shoved his hand away and held up my phone, showing him the screenshot of the live stream. Eric stared at the screen for a full minute. His eyes shifted from shock to panic, before finally settling into an eerie, calm resignation. He sat down on the edge of the bed, sighing. “So you know. But it’s not what you think, Minka.” I let out a bitter, breathless laugh. “Stop lying to me. Luna came to find me today.” He went quiet for a moment before speaking. “Minka, I’m just so tired. Neither of us has a healthy soul. We’re too heavy for each other. Luna is like a little sun. Being with her is so easy, so light. But I swear, we’re just friends. I haven’t crossed any lines.” He spoke with such calm, casual sincerity. But as he spoke Luna’s name, the corners of his mouth tilted upward in a subconscious smile, and the bracelet on my wrist vibrated with his excitement. I pointed to the device, my voice shaking with rage. “Then what is this? I thought you couldn’t feel love, Eric?” Eric suddenly stood up, ripping the bracelet off his wrist and hurling it against the wall. “Fine! Maybe I can feel things! But at least she doesn’t act like a paranoid lunatic all day, suffocating everyone around her! I’m juggling school, working part-time, and constantly walking on eggshells to protect your fragile ego! I am exhausted!” I stared at him, my throat dry. I wanted to ask him if he had forgotten all the sacrifices I had made for him, but the words wouldn’t come. My head began to spin again. Seeing my pale face, Eric’s expression softened slightly, and he sat back down beside me. “Minka, please. Don’t make a scene. This is the last time. I’ll cut ties with Luna, okay? Just take your medicine.” He reached for another cup, but his phone suddenly rang. Luna’s terrified, sobbing voice echoed through the room. “Eric, help me! I’m so scared… I came to the orphanage to find you, but a gang of local thugs has cornered me…” The background of the call was filled with the sounds of whistling and lewd laughter. Eric’s face drained of color. He dropped the medicine, pushed past me, and bolted out of the room. My chest felt as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. He had just promised to cut ties with her, yet he abandoned me without a second thought. I lay in the dark, the tears quietly slipping down my cheeks until my eyes were swollen and dry. Later that night, I heard the frantic voice of the orphanage director from the hallway. “Eric got into a fight and was taken to the police station! I have to go over there right now!” I dragged my aching body out of bed and made my way to the station. The moment I arrived, I ran straight into Eric as he was walking out of the lobby. His face darkened with fury the moment he saw me. “Minka! Did you hire those thugs to attack Luna? Do you have any idea how close she came to being assaulted?” The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet. I leaned against the cold wall for support. “It wasn’t me. We’re in a police station, Eric. You can ask them to investigate.” “Minka, do you want to destroy my life?” Luna emerged from behind Eric, her eyes red and tearful as she clung to his arm. “Those thugs admitted that you paid them to do it. Just because you’re dirty doesn’t mean you have to drag everyone else down into the mud!” With a sudden screech, she stepped forward and slapped me across the face. The force of the blow stung my cheek. I raised my hand to strike her back, but Eric grabbed my wrist and shoved me hard. I lost my footing and crashed onto the floor. He gently wiped the tears from Luna’s eyes before turning to glare at me. “Apologize to Luna, Minka.” I stared up at him, my teeth clenched. “I didn’t do it.” Eric’s chest heaved with frustration. “Fine. You’ve made your choice. Don’t regret this.” I didn’t understand what he meant until I unlocked my phone an hour later. The school group chat was flooded with a video. It was a recording of the night my biological father had tried to assault me when I was thirteen. A barrage of cruel, mocking messages began to fill my screen, and my phone started ringing incessantly with calls from unknown numbers. The shame and despair crushed the air from my lungs. I crawled to Eric’s feet, clutching his jeans. “Why? How could you do this to me?” Eric looked down at me, his face devoid of any emotion as he wrapped his arm around Luna’s shoulders. “If you won’t apologize, you have to compensate her somehow.” He walked away, leaving me alone in the sterile hallway of the police station. My vision went dark, and I collapsed onto the floor. When I finally woke up, a week had passed. The director told me I had suffered a severe nervous breakdown from the fever and the trauma. While I was unconscious, she had submitted my university applications for me. I nodded numbly and opened my phone. There was a single thread of messages from Eric. Minka, I’ve moved out of the orphanage. What you did to Luna is behind us now. Consider us even. But Luna is still having nightmares. If you come and apologize to her, I’ll still agree to go to Ames University with you. I didn’t reply. I deleted his contact and cleared the chat. I spent the rest of the summer working extra shifts and saving every penny I could. On the day I boarded the train to my new university, I saw Eric in the crowded station. He glanced at me, but with the mask over my face, he didn’t recognize me. He was too busy trying to make a video call. I declined his call, blocked his number, and sent one final message. Goodbye, Eric. My old bracelet, which I had kept in my pocket, began to vibrate, showing that his emotional state was “anxious.” I tossed the device into a nearby trash can, turned around, and boarded the train heading in the exact opposite direction of his future.

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1 The parrot my boyfriend gave me was unnerving. Every day, it mimicked my exact voice to whisper bleak phrases: “I’m so tired. My head hurts. I don’t want to live.” Simultaneously, I developed severe insomnia. My hair fell out in clumps, and my weight plummeted from 110 to a skeletal 82 pounds. My doctor was baffled, comparing my body to a bucket with a hole in the bottom, leaking its life force into nothingness. When I begged to give the bird away, my boyfriend insisted I was imagining things. Instead of helping, he bought an even larger cage. It wasn’t until I jumped from our rooftop that I saw the truth. In my final seconds of freefall, I looked through the window and saw him embracing another woman, weeping with joy. “Margret, my love, you’ve suffered so long trapped in that bird’s body. Thank God I found a girl with such a vibrant life force this time.” Only then did I realize he had been using my life to nourish his comatose first love. But when I opened my eyes, I was back on the day he brought the parrot home. I smiled sweetly as I accepted the cage. Then, the moment his back was turned, I drove straight to a private vet. “Dr. Ross, this parrot is causing noise complaints. Remove its vocal cords immediately.” … It was our second anniversary. I sat on the living room sofa, watching my boyfriend, Jacob, walk through the front door holding a beautifully wrapped cage. He offered me his signature warm, gentle smile. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I brought you a present.” He opened the cage door, and a beautiful blue parrot fluttered onto my hand. “Her name is Margret. She belonged to an old friend of mine who had to move abroad, and he asked me to look after her. I figured you get lonely when I’m at work, so she can keep you company.” I stared at the parrot. The bird tilted its head, its dark, bead-like eyes scanning me with a calculating intensity. It looked like a customer inspecting a piece of meat, deciding if it was up to standard. “Thank you, Jacob. I love her,” I said, reaching out a finger to gently stroke her feathers. The moment the words left my mouth, the parrot opened its beak. My own voice came out of it, perfect and flawless. “I’m so tired.” The pitch, the cadence, the exact weary tone, it was all mine. It sounded as if the words had been ripped directly from my own throat. I calmly withdrew my hand and set the cage on the coffee table. Because I was reborn. In my past life, the parrot had behaved exactly the same way. From the very first moment we met, it had used my voice to utter those depressing words. I had dismissed it as a bird’s natural mimicry, and because I didn’t want Jacob to think I was dramatic or ungrateful, I had kept my mouth shut. I had taken meticulous care of the bird. I fed her on time, cleaned her cage daily, bought the most expensive organic birdseed, and even installed a tiny swing for her entertainment. None of it had mattered. She never stopped tormenting me. Whenever Jacob played with her, she would coo affectionately and rub her head against his fingers. When his friends visited, she would cheerfully chirp “Hello.” Even when the delivery courier rang our doorbell, she would offer a couple of happy, welcoming squawks. But the moment she was alone with me, she opened her beak to say: “I’m so tired.” “My head hurts.” “I don’t want to live anymore.” Over and over, my own voice echoed through the empty apartment. Whenever I suggested finding her a new home, Jacob would knit his brows in annoyance. “How can you be jealous of a bird, Mona? She’s just mimicking what she hears. Why do you have to make everything a struggle?” Then, he would turn to the parrot with a voice full of tenderness. “Don’t worry, Margret. I won’t let anyone take you away.” I had endured that torture for three long months. During the day, I suffered from auditory hallucinations, constantly hearing a voice whispering “I don’t want to live” in my ear. At night, insomnia gripped me, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw those dark, avian eyes staring back at me. My hair fell out in handfuls, and my weight dropped like a stone. When I went to the clinic, the doctor found no physical illness, but my vital signs were rapidly deteriorating. He had frowned, muttering that it seemed as if something were actively siphoning away my life force. In my previous life, I didn’t believe in the supernatural, assuming it was all in my head. That foolish skepticism cost me my life. Now, having returned from the dead, I looked down at the cage. The parrot was staring at me with a look of smug, triumphant satisfaction. I smiled back at her. “Sweetheart, is something wrong?” Jacob asked, noticing my silence. “Nothing at all,” I said, looking up at him. “I was just thinking that Margret is absolutely adorable.” Jacob let out a sigh of relief, reaching over to ruffle my hair. “I knew you’d love her.” He had no idea that in this life, I was going to make him and his comatose darling pay for every single drop of blood they took from me. For the next few days, I played the part of the perfect, submissive girlfriend. I fed the bird on time, changed her liners, and even spoke to her in soft, gentle tones. The parrot continued to repeat those dark phrases in my voice every single day. “I’m so tired.” “My head hurts.” “I don’t want to live anymore.” But this time, the words had no power over me. Because I knew exactly what she was. On Wednesday evening, Jacob returned from work. I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when a loud crash echoed from the living room. I walked out to find our favorite ceramic vase shattered on the floor, water spilling across the table. The parrot was perched on the edge of her cage, tilting her head to look at me. Her eyes were filled with pure, deliberate provocation. Jacob set his briefcase down, frowning as he looked at the mess, then at me. “What happened?” “Margret knocked the vase over,” I said quietly. “She’s a tiny bird, Mona. How could she possibly have the strength to tip over a heavy vase?” Jacob squatted down to comfort the bird. “Did you do something to frighten her?” I didn’t argue. I simply fetched the mop and cleaned up the water. Ten minutes later, another loud crash sounded. My phone had been swiped from the sofa and hurled onto the tile floor. The screen was spiderwebbed with deep cracks. I picked up the broken phone and looked at the parrot. She opened her beak, using my voice to mutter, “I don’t want to live anymore.” Then, she let out a sharp, mocking laugh. It wasn’t a bird’s chirp; it was the distinct, malicious laugh of a grown woman. I gripped the phone tightly, my face entirely calm. Jacob walked out of the bathroom, spotting the shattered screen. “What now?” “Margret threw my phone onto the floor.” He frowned, walking over to the cage. The moment he approached, the parrot shed all her hostility, cooing softly and rubbing her beak against his knuckles. “She’s just an animal, Mona. She didn’t do it on purpose. Stop being so paranoid.” “But Jacob…” “Enough!” he snapped, his voice rising in anger. “Can you stop being so incredibly petty? She’s a bird! You’re constantly picking fights with an animal. It’s embarrassing.” He sat on the sofa, cradling the bird in his hands and gently blowing on her feathers. “Don’t worry, Margret. No one is going to hurt you.” I stood in the center of the room, watching them. My heart was as cold and still as a frozen lake. In my past life, I had sacrificed my sanity and my life for this man’s affection. In this life, I would ensure that every single person who had a hand in my torment would pay in full. I returned to the kitchen and continued cooking. The sizzle of the pan drowned out Jacob’s soft, affectionate murmurs to the bird. I didn’t want to wait another day, but I knew I had to be patient. I needed the perfect opportunity, a moment when they would lower their guard completely. That opportunity arrived sooner than expected. On Friday night, Jacob announced that he had to go out of town for a three-day business trip starting Monday. “Sweetheart, while I’m away, please take extra care of Margret.” I nodded obediently. “Of course. Don’t worry.” He smiled, adding, “Oh, and I asked my mother to come stay with you for a few days. That way, you won’t get lonely.” My heart sank. In my past life, it had been the exact same. Every time Jacob left town, his mother, Victoria, would move in. On the surface, she was there to keep me company. In reality, she was there to monitor me, ensuring I didn’t do anything to harm the precious bird. Because Margret could see through the parrot’s eyes, she could easily report any threat back to Jacob or Victoria. But I had already anticipated this. On Monday morning, Jacob left for his trip. At ten o’clock sharp, Victoria arrived at our apartment. “Mona, dear, I’m here,” she said, offering a tight, polite smile as she immediately marched over to the cage. “How is our sweet Margret doing?” “She’s doing wonderful, Mrs. Eleanor.” She tapped on the bars, and the parrot immediately cooed and nuzzled her finger. “Good girl,” Victoria murmured with satisfaction. She turned to look at me, her eyes sharp and calculating despite her warm smile. “Jacob cares deeply about this bird. It was left to him by a very important… friend. You must take proper care of her.” “I understand.” I poured her a cup of tea and sat across from her, silently counting the hours. Today was Monday. Jacob would be back on Wednesday night. I had exactly three days. And Victoria would be watching my every move. In my past life, these three days had been the absolute peak of my mental collapse. Locked in the apartment with a hostile spirit and a suspicious guardian, I had been unable to escape. But in this life, these three days were my only window of opportunity. Once Jacob returned, I wouldn’t get another chance, and my physical body couldn’t afford to wait. Even if my mind was strong, the spiritual drain of the ritual was a physical reality; as long as the parrot could speak, she would continue to siphon my life force. I had to act now. By Monday afternoon, Victoria was knitting on the sofa while the parrot rested quietly in her cage. I sat at the dining table, pretending to read a book. Suddenly, the parrot opened her beak. “I don’t want to live anymore.” My own voice echoed through the quiet apartment, sharp and jarring. Victoria glanced up from her knitting, casting a cold look at me before returning to her work. She didn’t say a word. I turned another page of my book. “I don’t want to live anymore.” Again, the voice rang out. Victoria set her knitting needles down, offering a small, mocking smile. “Margret is so clever, dear. She mimics you perfectly.” “She certainly does,” I replied with a calm smile. “It’s almost uncanny.” That night, Victoria insisted on taking the bird cage into her bedroom. Before she closed the door, she gave me a final warning. “Make sure her food and water are filled on time tomorrow. Don’t forget.” “I won’t, Mrs. Eleanor.” The bedroom door clicked shut. I leaned against the wall, staring at the empty living room. The ghost of Margret was probably laughing in that room, convinced she was completely safe under Victoria’s watchful eye. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I had saved weeks ago. “Hello, Dr. Ross? Yes, this is Mona. I need to schedule that vocal cord removal surgery for the parrot tomorrow.” On Tuesday morning, Victoria woke up early. She opened a newly arrived package containing premium import birdseed. “This is the best brand on the market,” she said, pouring the seed into the tray. “Full of nutrients. Our Margret is going to love it.” The parrot ate eagerly, nuzzling her hand. I sat at the table, checking my watch. It was 10:15 AM. I had exactly three hours and forty-five minutes. The morning dragged on with agonizing slowness. I maintained my usual routine; reading, cleaning, and refilling Victoria’s tea. The parrot, perhaps sensing some unspoken tension, became increasingly aggressive. She snatched one of my silver earrings from the vanity, holding it in her beak and refusing to let go. When Victoria saw this, she only laughed. “Oh, look! Margret loves shiny things. Just let her play with it, dear.” “Of course,” I said smoothly. A few minutes later, the bird flew over to my purse, unzipped the compartment, and pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, shredding them to pieces. The green paper scattered across the floor. Victoria barely looked up. “You really shouldn’t leave your purse out, Mona. She’s just a curious little thing.” I knelt to gather the shredded paper, remaining silent. The parrot perched on top of her cage, looking down at me with her head tilted. Then, she opened her beak. “I don’t want to live anymore.” First time. “I don’t want to live anymore.” Second time. “I don’t want to live anymore.” Third time. Victoria finally frowned, but her glare was directed entirely at me. “Mona, do you constantly mutter those depressing words around the house? No wonder the bird is repeating them.” “I don’t—” “Young people need to have a more positive attitude,” she interrupted, her voice turning sharp and accusatory. “Jacob works so hard to provide for you. The least you can do is not burden him with your constant negativity. Telling everyone you don’t want to live… what is he supposed to think of you?” I pressed my lips together, looking appropriately chastised. “You’re right, Mrs. Eleanor. I’ll do better.” Victoria nodded with satisfaction and returned to her knitting. On top of the cage, the parrot fluttered her wings, letting out that sharp, mocking laugh. Margret’s laugh. She thought she had won. With Victoria protecting her and Jacob backing her, she believed I was completely powerless. She was dead wrong. I checked the clock. It was 1:45 PM. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Dr. Ross. Miss Mona, the surgical instruments are prepared. My assistant and I are ready. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my face remained a mask of perfect calm. I stood up and walked over to the cage. Victoria’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Where are you taking Margret? Jacob specifically forbade you from taking her out of the apartment!” I took a slow, deep breath, letting my hands relax. “I’m not going outside, Mrs. Eleanor. Margret looks a bit unwell. I think she threw up some of that new seed.” Victoria’s face immediately filled with concern. “What? Let me see.” “She’s fine, I just need to take her to the guest bathroom to clean her beak.” “Oh. Go on then.” I opened the cage door and slid my hand inside. The parrot instinctively tried to retreat, but my grip was swift and precise. I clamped my fingers firmly around the base of her wings, pulling her out of the cage. She began to thrash violently, opening her beak to shriek. “I don’t—” I quickly muffled her beak with my other hand, marching swiftly into the guest bedroom and locking the door behind me. Dr. Ross and his assistant were already waiting by the window, having slipped in quietly through the first-floor patio. The desk had been converted into a sterile surgical station, complete with a small operating light, anesthetics, and delicate scalpels. Dr. Ross stood up, looking at the blue bird in my hands. “This is the one? She looks quite healthy. Are you sure you want to go through with this? It’s a costly procedure for an in-home visit.” “Yes,” I said without a shred of hesitation. “She has a behavioral issue where she screams profanities and threats constantly. It’s becoming a safety hazard.” “Ah, I see. Very well, let’s get started.” I placed the thrashing parrot onto the table. Her eyes stretched wide with panic, her beak clicking open and shut as she desperately tried to scream. “No! No!” My own voice, filled with terror, squeaked out from her throat. But the assistant held her down, and Dr. Ross quickly administered the anesthetic. Within seconds, the parrot’s frantic movements began to slow, her eyes lidding with sleep. “She’s a feisty one,” Dr. Ross murmured, preparing his scalpel. “But don’t worry. This is a simple, ten-minute procedure.” I leaned down, bringing my face close to her fading gaze. She stared back at me, her eyes filled with a desperate, silent terror. I offered her a cold, vicious smile. “Margret, in this life, no one is going to save you.” The scalpel gleamed in the light. The parrot’s eyes closed completely.

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We had been together for three years. I noticed early on that all of his social media handles were set to April. I thought he simply loved the gentle, romantic arrival of spring, so I never pried. Until our wedding day, when a gorgeous gift arrived from his ex. The name signed on the card in elegant cursive was Avril. In that single, devastating second, the truth hit me. He did not love the month of April. He loved Avril. My heart plummeted into a cold, dark abyss. 1 At my wedding to Owen, a girl in a white dress had clearly had too many drinks. Owen’s face darkened as he grabbed her arm. “Stop making a scene.” She ignored him, her glassy eyes locking onto me. “Hey, I heard you’re pregnant. Have you picked out a name yet?” I instinctively touched my belly, offering a gentle smile. “We’re going to call her April.” “April.” Her laughter grew louder, bordering on hysterical, until tears slipped down her cheeks. “How can you name her April? He already threw April away.” My smile froze. The air in the room turned to ice. It was Luke, Owen’s best friend, who finally broke the suffocating silence. “Nora, my college buddy here is completely wasted. I’ll get her back to her hotel.” After they left, I couldn’t help but look at Owen, my voice carrying a tentative edge. “Owen, who was she?” Owen looked back at me, his expression perfectly calm, without a single hint of guilt. “Just an old classmate.” I wanted to press further, but he quickly cut me off, changing the subject. “Sweetheart, our biggest client is completely hammered. I need to go check on him.” “Okay,” I whispered, the rest of my questions dying in my throat. I watched him hurry away, a cold, inexplicable dread tightening in my chest. 2 My best friend, Becca, walked into the bridal suite holding an elegant gift box. She tossed it onto the table in front of me, her voice dripping with disgust. “Nora, your rival left this behind.” “My… rival?” My heart skipped a beat, and the image of the girl in the white dress flashed in my mind, draining the remaining color from my face. “The girl who was sobbing her eyes out earlier,” Becca said, rolling her eyes. “Crying over someone else’s groom like that. Shameless.” My anxiety spiraled. Becca patted my shoulder gently to reassure me. “Don’t stress too much. Owen is famous for worshiping the ground you walk on. He’d never do anything to hurt you.” She was right. Owen pampered me to no end. Everyone in our circle said I was the luckiest woman alive, that I had married for true love. I shouldn’t doubt him. Taking a deep breath, I tried to shake off the unease. I chatted with Becca while mindlessly tracing the ribbon on the gift box. Then, my eyes caught the silver script on the card. I leaned in to look closer. Her name was Avril. Avril. April. The realization struck me like a physical blow. My mind went blank, my posture collapsed, and I slumped against the vanity. My entire world turned pitch black. “Nora, why are you crying? You’re scaring me!” “Where is Owen? Help me find Owen. I need to see him. I need to see him right now.” “Okay, okay, I’ll call him. You’re pregnant, Nora, please don’t cry like this.” 3 My hands shook so violently that I could barely hand my phone to Becca. I needed to know where he was. My voice trembled beyond recognition. “FaceTime him.” Becca nodded and dialed, but Owen instantly declined the call. I clutched the lace of my veil, tilting my head back as tears escaped my eyes. “Call him again.” After several declined video calls, Owen finally dialed back with a voice call. His voice sounded muffled and tense. “Babe, what’s wrong?” “Where are you?” The dam broke, and my emotions spilled over. “I’m…” He hesitated for a fraction of a second before deflecting. “I’ll be back soon.” “Are you at her hotel? You went to find her, didn’t you?” The words caught in my throat. I slid down against the wall, clutching my knees. “Owen, please just tell me. Who is Avril?” The line went dead silent. I held my chest and sobbed, gasping for air until my throat burned and no more tears would come. I felt incredibly pathetic. On my wedding day, my husband’s first love had shown up, and he had abandoned his bride to run to her hotel room. What was even worse was that we had been together for three years. Every single one of his online accounts was named April. Even when I got pregnant and asked him what we should name the baby, he had answered without a second thought. “April.” I had wondered if the month held some special, romantic meaning for him, but I respected his privacy and never forced him to explain. Only today did I learn that his beloved ex was named Avril. How could he comfortably use my child to memorialize his lost love? What did I represent in Owen’s heart? What did our three years together even mean? If he hadn’t cleared her out of his heart, why did he choose to be with me? What did I do wrong? 4 Half an hour later, Owen burst into the room, drenched in sweat. He asked Becca to leave so we could talk alone. “What is there to talk about?” I raised my swollen, bloodshot eyes to meet his. He knelt in front of me, his voice devoid of any real emotion. “Avril is my ex.” “How long were you together?” “Seven years.” “How long have you been apart?” “Four years.” “Do you still love her?” Owen didn’t answer. His silence was his confession. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, turning into fresh tears. “Why did you both do this to me? She couldn’t let you go, so she ruined my wedding. You couldn’t let her go, so you abandoned me to find her. Owen, what did I ever do to deserve being collateral damage in your love story?” I yanked at my veil, trying to tear it off my head. “Stop hurting yourself, okay?” Owen pressed his lips into a hard line, catching my hands. “Nothing happened between us. I only went to make sure she was safe.” I stared at him, stunned by how casually he could justify his betrayal. “So every time she cries, you’re going to abandon me and run to her side?” I screamed. Owen fell silent again. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. “We are already married. Just pretend this never happened.” My vision blurred, and a sharp, stabbing pain flared in my chest, quickly replaced by a wave of furious indignation. Did he honestly believe this wedding was some sort of charitable gift to me? I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it. I stumbled back against the wall, pale, cold sweat breaking out. The baby in my womb, as if sensing my agony, gave a tiny, desperate flutter. But the pain that ripped through me was unbearable. I clutched my stomach, my heart drowning in grief. This is your very first kick, my baby. How could it happen at a time like this? 5 Owen frowned, reaching out to help me up. I shrieked, pushing his hands away. “Don’t touch me! You’re filthy!” “Don’t do this, please,” Owen said, his eyes lingering on my stomach as he sighed. “I don’t want us to split up. Really.” His words only made me feel sick. He was absolutely repulsive. If I had never met him, I could have had a clean, honest love. I could have been genuinely happy. He had ruined everything. I grabbed my phone and threw it hard against his chest. “The wedding is over. We are getting a divorce.” Owen froze. A few seconds later, his face hardened, and his voice took on a mocking edge. “You grew up with a single mother, Nora. Do you really think your mom is going to support you divorcing while pregnant?” I never imagined Owen would use my family background as a weapon to hurt me. My heart felt as if it were being carved into a thousand pieces, chewed up and discarded. I buried my face in my hands and wept until my throat was hoarse. I didn’t even notice when he left. 6 After that day, Owen and I entered a freezing cold war. I packed my things and moved back to my mother’s apartment. As Owen had pointed out, I was raised by a single mother. Before my father passed away, my mother had lived through a lonely, emotionally vacant marriage, which made her entirely incapable of empathizing with my pain. When Owen came to the apartment to pick me up, she couldn’t wait to push me out the door. “Owen is giving you an olive branch, Nora. Just take it and go home,” my mother urged, hovering outside my bedroom door. “Stop hiding in there. Come out.” “Mom, please,” I begged through the wood. “Just tell him to leave.” “You are pregnant! What are you throwing a tantrum for? You just have to swallow your pride and live with it.” “I can’t. I won’t just swallow this.” “Marriage is all about turning a blind eye.” She pushed the door open, her expression softening slightly when she saw my swollen eyes. “Besides, it’s not like Owen actually slept with her.” She didn’t understand. Emotional infidelity was far more vicious than physical betrayal. “We’ve been together for three years,” I whispered, the weight of the realization crushing my chest. “He sleeps next to me while dreaming of another woman. What am I to him?” “You just overthink everything. Let me make one thing clear: no matter how much you fight, don’t you dare think about divorce. I won’t have you embarrassing me.” For the first time in my life, I defied her. “I am divorcing him.” My mother looked at me with deep disappointment. “At the end of the day, it’s your own fault for not being enough. If you were perfect, Owen wouldn’t be pining after his ex.” “Mom!” I screamed, covering my ears. “Please stop. I beg you, just stop talking!” A suffocating wave of injustice flooded my chest. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Why was everyone pointing their fingers at me? 7 In the end, I was forced to return to the house with Owen. Once we were inside our bedroom, he shoved his phone into my hand. “Look through it yourself. We haven’t had any contact since the breakup.” I didn’t take the phone. I only let out a cold laugh. “Does an empty chat history mean she isn’t in your heart?” Owen didn’t answer. He gripped his phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white. After a long silence, his face darkened as he opened his messaging app and searched for Avril’s name. The most recent interaction was in a group chat with their old college friends. Owen had posted: I’m getting married. His classmates, knowing their history, immediately asked: Why didn’t Avril mention anything? Owen replied: It’s not her. The group chat had fallen dead silent. A few minutes later, Avril tagged him: Congratulations! I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world. He hadn’t declined. He had simply replied: Okay. On our wedding day, Avril had indeed shown up, sitting in the audience in a white gown that looked exactly like a wedding dress. During our vows, Owen’s voice had cracked with emotion. At the time, Becca had nudged me in envy. Nora, you really found a good one. Owen actually cried during his vows. He’s so deeply in love with you. Thinking back on it now, I wanted to laugh. Owen’s acting was flawless. Everyone assumed he was crying because he was thinking of our three years of beautiful memories. But he was actually staring past me, devastated by the sight of Avril weeping in the crowd. “Are you satisfied now? I told you, Avril and I are completely innocent,” Owen’s voice pulled me back to reality. I closed my eyes, about to tell him to get out, when his phone rang. It was Luke. Luke’s voice sounded panicked through the speaker. “Owen, Avril was just rushed to the hospital.” Owen stiffened, his eyes darting to me with a complex mix of guilt and urgency. “I need to go out for a bit.” We weren’t even divorced yet. How could he brazenly run to another woman right in front of me? I grabbed his arm, my grip frantic and desperate. “Owen, I am forbidding you from going.” Owen pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, his voice laced with annoyance. “Can’t you be sensible like you used to be? Why are you being so unreasonable?” I let go of his arm, walked over, and flung the bedroom door open. “Get out.”

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