Author: Momo Chan

My boyfriend was a corporate executive’s secretary. Our greatest daily pleasure was dissecting the dramatic love-hate saga between the CEO and his “canary”—his latest trophy girlfriend. Gradually, my boyfriend’s way of referring to the “canary” changed. From “canary” to “Ms. Jane,” then simply “Lily.” The spiced sunflower seeds in my hand suddenly lost their flavor. The next day, I swiftly ordered a fluorescent green baseball cap and personally delivered it to the “Crown Prince.” “Bro, I specially picked this out for you. I’m really not implying anything.” 1. Reid was almost home. I wondered what juicy gossip I’d hear today. Just thinking about it made me happy. Reid handed me his briefcase, looking utterly drained. “Minnie,” he collapsed onto the sofa, “Mr. Thorne is getting engaged.” Whoa! The notorious playboy of the city, Aaron Thorne, who went through internet celebrities like water, was finally settling down? “To whom?!” My eyes lit up. “The ‘canary’? Or that old suitable match, Ms. Brooks?” He frowned, his tone sharp as if he’d just swallowed a firecracker. “How many times have I told you, she’s not a ‘canary.’ She has her own career, a name, a surname. She’s Lily Stevens—Lily!” I froze. Not because he yelled at me. But because—when did he change the way he addressed her? When we gossiped, we always used code names. For instance, Aaron Thorne was “Crown Prince,” and his girlfriend would be “canary,” “nightingale,” or “little fox.” This “Lily, Lily” of his—it sounded a bit intimate, didn’t it? Were they close? His words made me reflect. Gossip is inherently immoral, especially using derogatory nicknames. It was indeed inappropriate. I nodded vigorously. “You’re right. I deeply regret it and apologize to Ms. Lily Stevens.” I picked up a handful of sunflower seeds. “However, ‘Lily’ won’t do. Too easy to expose!” “It should be ‘Seven’!” He looked at me, confused. “Is there any connection?” “Lily Stevens has two names, like that boy band, like seven words in a phrase, so ‘Seven.’ Got it?” Reid rolled his eyes and said I was crazy. I chuckled. Weren’t we partners in crime precisely because we were both so chatty and loved to spin tales? “Quick, tell me, tell me,” I urged, gently shaking his arm. He abruptly pulled his hand away. “What’s there to tell? All you ever do is gossip. Why don’t you choke on it?” The air fell silent for two seconds. He never got angry with me, especially not about gossiping. Because we both agreed that gossiping was sacred. United against outsiders, never internal squabbles. He probably realized his tone was off, awkwardly adding, “I’m tired,” before heading into the bedroom. I didn’t follow. Reid was acting strangely, but I didn’t dwell on it. My inner gossip fiend was roaring. I quickly called my backup gossip partner, Reid’s subordinate and my classmate, Chloe. “Honey! Guess what? Mr. Thorne is getting engaged to Ms. Brooks!” It wasn’t Lily? “But Mr. Thorne showed his affection with 999 drones and declared his love with 9,999 Fenja roses! How could it not be her?” Mr. Thorne, also known as the “Heartbreaker of the City,” never had a girlfriend for more than three months. Yet, he had dated Lily for a full two years. Everyone thought Mr. Thorne had found true love. To my surprise, he was still going down the old path of an arranged marriage. Chloe lowered her voice, using the highest-level opening for gossip. “You absolutely, positively can’t tell anyone, I’m only telling you—” I immediately covered the phone, my heart racing. “—I heard Mr. Thorne found out Lily was cheating on him.” 2. “How is that possible!!” Chloe’s eardrums must have burst from my shout. “Right?! I didn’t believe it either!” Lily must have some serious nerve to cheat on the Crown Prince. “How did he find out she was cheating? It couldn’t just be a misunderstanding, could it?” Chloe sighed. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask your Reid? He’s the executive assistant, he’d know everything.” At that, I remembered Reid’s unusual behavior today. After hanging up, I put on my dinosaur pajamas, intending to cheer Reid up. He was showering. His phone, placed on the bedside table, chimed with notifications. I hadn’t intended to look. The trouble was, I had also set up facial recognition. And the feature was too sensitive. The screen lit up. Only one person was pinned at the top—not me. The name was “My Sweet Lily” with a heart emoji. “Lily, please don’t cry. It’s all my fault.” “I’ll keep an eye on Mr. Thorne for you. I’ll put in a good word for you.” “Lily, please don’t leave me… I truly love you.” A reply came instantly. “What about Minnie, though? Do you like her more or me?” Reid answered. “How can she compare to you? She’s just a broke freelancer who spends all her time digging into other people’s privacy for fun.” The other side sent a cute emoji. “You’re the best, Reid. Kisses.” Lily. Jane Lily. My mind went blank for a few seconds. Lily’s secret lover was my boyfriend? I instinctively reached for my phone, wanting to share this breaking news with Chloe. Then it hit me—I was the subject of the gossip! Before I could even process this twist, the bathroom door opened. Reid saw the still-glowing screen in my hand, and his face instantly drained of color. “You went through my phone?” I imagined myself throwing the phone, slapping him, exposing his secrets, breaking up on the spot—all in one swift motion. But in reality, I just meekly flipped the screen face down on the bed, forcing out a smile uglier than a cry. “I couldn’t find my phone… borrowed yours to make a call.” His expression softened slightly. He grunted, then lay down to scroll through short videos. I stared at the back of his head. The back of the head that, just days ago, had stayed up late with me, dissecting the Crown Prince’s love life, cursing Alex as inhuman while munching on sunflower seeds. The back of the head of the man I had dated for two years, believing I had finally found my soulmate in gossip. Turns out, he had long since moved to another gossip circle. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I had never initiated a call to before. It rang twice, then someone answered. “Bro,” I said, “I found a really nice hat. I’ll personally bring it to you, okay?” There was silence on the other end for two seconds. Then a lazy, playful voice replied, “What color hat?” I looked at the fluorescent green dinosaur pajamas on my bed and answered with genuine emotion: “Green. Very green. So green it glows.” 3. Reid and I met during a particularly juicy gossip event. That day, I was walking back to my dorm with a few bags of spiced sunflower seeds. Suddenly, a commotion of people appeared ahead. My radar instantly went off. That wasn’t just ordinary gawking—that was the centripetal force of a crowd, the restless gossip particles in the air, that was— That was juicy gossip! I pushed through the crowd with the speed of someone rushing for food during military training. Claiming the best vantage point in the front row. “What’s going on? I don’t get it,” someone next to me scratched their head. I glanced at the scene: a red-haired guy, face flushed, being dragged by the arm by a middle-aged woman, with a meek-looking man in glasses standing nearby, head bowed. Got it. An old, ripe scandal. I explained while munching on sunflower seeds. “The two men are roommates. This lady is the red-haired guy’s mother.” A guy beside me very naturally picked up the thread. “The mother and the glasses guy are having an affair. Their rendezvous point is the son’s bedroom.” My classmate went from wide-eyed to utterly stunned. Reid and I locked eyes. In each other’s gaze, we saw the appreciation for a fellow connoisseur. I extended my hand. “Hi, Minnie Qin, Pediatrics.” “Hi, Reid Harrison, Computer Science.” With that handshake, the medical world lost a future pediatric expert, and the internet lost a soon-to-be bald programmer. And the world of gossip, from then on, saw the rise of a formidable duo. We treated gossiping as a mandatory course. He’d write web scrapers, and I’d do the analysis. With absolute rational logical thinking. We’d dig into gossip to the very end. When a male celebrity was exposed for cheating, and the entire internet was still consuming secondhand gossip, we had already produced a complete timeline, relationship chart, and itinerary comparison. The post went up for three hours, and read count surpassed five million. The comment section was filled with: “Are you living under their bed?” “Suggest checking the IP. Reasonable suspicion it’s the person themselves.” “Such analytical skills, a shame they’re not with national security.” The account gained 300,000 followers overnight. And the account continued to update, now boasting over a million followers. Besides gossiping, we clicked on other things too. We watched shows together, complained together, cursed at clients together. Our tacit understanding was so strong, it was as if we were lovers in a past life. I thought this was how my life would be. Munching on sunflower seeds, dissecting gossip, and dating along the way. Only now did I realize. He wasn’t without a “canary” of his own. He was just raising someone else’s “canary.” 4. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I found myself hesitating when I thought about “breaking up.” My brain raced, compiling a detailed “Relationship Incident Review Report.” Was I too busy with work lately, no time to munch on sunflower seeds with him? Did I hurt his feelings when I used his precious limited-edition keyboard cover as a mat for my instant noodles last time? Did my constant requests for him to pick up takeout make his love grow cold, like those chilled braised chickens—chilling little by little? I sat on the sofa, clutching the tail of my dinosaur pajamas, seriously reflecting on myself. Then I slapped myself. Minnie Qin, are you insane? He cheated. He emotionally cheated. He pinned another woman, with a heart emoji in her contact name. What are you reflecting on here? Reflecting on whether you didn’t roll out the red carpet for this relationship? In the dead of night, my tired mind emptied. Some overlooked details, however, began to unfold one by one. He said, “Today I drove the canary home; found out she has a puppy, very cute.” He said, “Today I drove Ms. Jane home; she talked a lot about jewelry design, very interesting.” He said, “Today I drove Lily home; Mr. Thorne said hurtful things again, she cried, and I felt bad too.” What was I doing then? I was eating sunflower seeds. I kept nodding and munching, “Oh, oh, and then? What did Mr. Thorne do then?” Thinking about it now, where was the problem? The problem was Mr. Thorne. You damn well keep making your secretary drive your girlfriend home every day. Is this dating? This is group team-building. I looked at the freshly arrived package in my hand—two fluorescent green baseball caps, every stitch glowing with mocking green light. I had originally planned to give one to Mr. Thorne and keep one for myself. Now I’ve changed my mind. I’ll give both to him. 5. Aaron Thorne is my stepbrother. For certain reasons, not many people know this. We usually pretend not to know each other. But things are different now. My boyfriend cheated with his girlfriend. This mess, who else would I go to but him? He chose the restaurant. Three hundred eighty dollars per person, a bottle of sparkling water priced at $999. I held the bubbling liquid in my hand and whispered, “The evil capitalist.” As soon as the words left my lips, a wave of Dior Sauvage hit me. I looked up. Aaron sat opposite me, clad in a custom black overcoat, his hair meticulously gelled into place. He glanced at me, a standard, irritating smirk playing on his lips. “Long time no see.” He paused. “You look as disheveled as ever.” I looked down at myself—a pilling hoodie, faded jeans, a ten-dollar canvas bag. He was right. But I wouldn’t admit it. “How heartbreaking,” he added. There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in his tone. Aaron had always been like a peacock since childhood. Constantly displaying his plumage. The difference was, others displayed theirs to attract a mate, he displayed his to provoke a beating. I couldn’t be bothered with pleasantries. “My boyfriend seems to have cheated on me.” He raised an eyebrow, and a spark of schadenfreude instantly ignited in his eyes. “Well, congratulations then.” “The other woman is Lily Stevens.” His smirk dropped faster than the stock market. I pulled something out and slowly slid it across the table. A fluorescent green baseball cap. The threads were still visible, boldly, shamelessly green. “Try it on,” I said. “I think it suits you.” Aaron slammed the hat on the floor with a “smack”. “Are you insane?” I crossed my arms. “If you hadn’t kept sending Reid to drive Lily home every day, would he have cheated?” “Don’t you, a CEO, have a driver? Do you have to use your secretary to chauffeur your girlfriend? Can’t you afford a designated driver or a taxi?” “Anyway, it’s all your fault.” I paused, adopting a negotiating stance: “What do you plan to do about it?” Aaron stared at me, as if looking at a case file that had escaped from a mental institution. He opened his mouth, his eyes half-rolled— “Mr. Thorne, don’t listen to her nonsense!” A woman’s voice cut in from the side. “Reid and I really have nothing going on!” I turned my head. Lily stood about ten feet away, her eyes slightly red, looking utterly pitiful. Reid stood beside her. He was carrying her bag. Hermès. Limited edition. My anniversary gift to him was a Logitech keyboard. He was carrying a Hermès for someone else. I suddenly felt that green hat— Was given to the wrong person. 6. Tears clung to Lily’s eyelashes, rolling down one by one. The tears fell with practiced precision, just enough to teeter on the verge of spilling, making her appear both wronged and strong. She looked at me, her voice as soft as bloomed silver ear mushrooms. “Minnie, have you misunderstood something about me? Can we please clear things up today?” “Reid and I are truly just friends. Please don’t ruin my relationship with Mr. Thorne, okay?” After speaking, she began to sob again. Her shoulders trembled. Like a pear blossom in the spring breeze. Next to the pear blossom stood Reid. Holding her Hermès bag, his face filled with concern. Before I could even speak. The table next to us erupted. “Oh my god, isn’t that Mr. Thorne’s girl? Who in the city doesn’t know Lily is the Crown Prince’s darling?” “Who’s this woman? She looks like that and dares to try and steal him?” “Exactly, exactly! Are mistresses so shameless these days? Publicly confronting the rightful partner?” “Look at her, she must be ten years older than Lily, right? How could Mr. Thorne possibly be interested in her?” I froze. Ten years older? Me? I pulled out my phone, opened the front camera, and scrutinized my reflection. This was a face worn out for the future of our nation’s children! The glorious mark of the pediatric emergency room at 3 AM! …Alright, I admit I was triggered. I glanced at Aaron out of the corner of my eye. He was stifling a laugh, enjoying the show. Then I looked at Reid. He was looking down at Lily, his brow furrowed, his eyes so soft they could melt. As if he longed to wipe away her tears himself. He didn’t even spare me a glance. 7. So this is what it feels like to be the subject of gossip. As a grandmistress in the art of gossip, I knew gossipmongers too well. These people are like weather vanes, turning wherever the wind blows. They don’t care about the truth; they only care if there’s new material today. Since you want gossip— Then I’ll serve you a hearty dish. I slowly shuffled over to Aaron. Then, I gently placed my hand on my stomach. “I’m sorry, older sister.” I lowered my head, my voice carrying three parts shyness, three parts guilt, and three parts reckless abandon— “Actually, I’m pregnant with Mr. Thorne’s child.” The surroundings fell silent. It was no different from the atmosphere of a morgue. The Australian wagyu steak I had just eaten in my stomach appropriately squirmed. I looked up, a look of surprise on my face: “Oh, the baby moved! He must have sensed his father is here, so happy!” Thump. Someone at the next table dropped their fork. Someone at the table next to that spilled their coffee. I heard someone gasp, someone else forgot to put away their phone, the camera still on. Lily’s face instantly went white. Not a pear blossom white, but a drywall white. “Impossible…” Her voice trembled. “You, weren’t you Reid’s girlfriend? How could you be pregnant with Mr. Thorne’s child?” Reid finally looked at me. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt. “Stop messing around, Minnie.” He lowered his voice, thinking I was going crazy. “I know you’re jealous. Let’s go home first, we can talk there.” I ignored him. I turned my head, gazing at Aaron with feigned affection. I even managed to squeeze out a tear from the corner of my eye. Aaron met my gaze. His expression was complicated. Like he’d swallowed a whole lemon, or accidentally eaten expired yogurt. Then, he slowly conjured an incredibly fake smile. “Yes,” he said. “It’s mine.” The entire room fell silent. 8. Mount Fuji erupted. “Holy cow, holy cow, holy cow, this isn’t the mistress, this is the main wife!!” “Wait, did I hear that right? The main wife is Reid’s girlfriend?! Mr. Thorne is really playing the field, stealing his subordinate’s partner?” “Drama of the year! I witnessed it firsthand! I’m going to submit this! I’m sending it to ‘Gossip King’! Let a million netizens feast their eyes!” My smile froze. It felt like I’d lifted a rock only to drop it on my own foot. Subtle, too subtle. Lily could no longer maintain her composure. That perpetually gentle face now resembled wet tissue paper. She stepped forward, almost kneeling. “Mr. Thorne… no… I, Reid and I truly have nothing going on…” Her voice trembled badly, and the tears on her eyelashes finally fell, smudging her face. Aaron didn’t look at her. He put his arm around my shoulder and walked through the crowd. Like an emperor on parade. Like a peacock displaying its feathers. Like he was acting in some CEO romance novel but had picked up the wrong script. Reid chased after us for two steps. “Minnie—” He called my name. I turned back. “When did you… and him…” He choked, as if afraid to continue. “Why would you do this to me?” I looked at him. Looking at the Hermès scarf still clutched in his hand. Looking at his familiar face, the one I had once munched on sunflower seeds with, laughing and cursing countless other faces. I wanted to say: Why? Because you were the dog first. But I didn’t speak. Aaron had already ushered me into the backseat. The car door closed, and the world fell silent. He got into the driver’s seat and looked at me through the rearview mirror. “It’s been twelve years since I’ve been back,” he said. His tone was unusually serious. I turned to look out the window. The road to the Thorne family’s old estate was lined with plane trees. When I was seven, my mother brought me here after she married into the family. I sat in the backseat, just like this, peering out the window. Aaron was fourteen then, standing at the door, like a peacock forced into service. Later, after my mother died, I never came back. Twelve years had passed in a blink. 9. The room was still the same. The curtains were the pale yellow my mother had chosen, and a thin layer of dust covered the bookshelf. Aaron came in with a duvet and didn’t let me help. I sat on the bay window, watching him bend over to tuck the four corners of the duvet into its cover. “How did you find out Lily was cheating?” He didn’t stop his movements. “Saw it with my own eyes.” “Well, congratulations then.” I was sincere. “It wasn’t Reid.” … I was silent for three seconds. Lily, a role model for our generation. Daring to cheat on the Crown Prince, and also two-timing— “How many others?” I asked. “Didn’t count.” He was expressionless. I couldn’t help but be curious. “Then why aren’t you sad at all? She was with you for two years, at least.” Aaron didn’t answer. He stuffed a pillow into its case and patted it hard twice. Slap, slap, slap. I felt my face sting a little. He finally looked up and met my gaze. “You, on the other hand, seem quite happy.” I lowered my eyes. In my hand, I fiddled with a strawberry, bright red and sickly sweet. I took a bite. The sweetest part of the fruit, yet as I chewed, I tasted saltiness. Four years. How could I not be sad? I just didn’t dare to stop and think. Afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stand. Past midnight. Thunder began to rumble outside the window. A deep, dull roar, like someone pushing a giant boulder across the sky. It had been a long time since I slept alone. Thunderstorm night. These three words were like a curse, instantly pulling me back to that dusk ten years ago. Roses. Blood. My mother collapsed in the flowerbed, her hand reaching towards the sky, her lips moving. I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I only remembered that patch of red—indistinguishable between petals and blood. She said, Minnie. She said, come be with Mama. Boom— Another clap of thunder. I curled into a ball, my back drenched in cold sweat. My pajamas clung to my skin, cold as if just pulled from water. Reid. That thought was like a drowning person grasping at driftwood. Every time it happened, he would hold me tight, embracing me firmly, repeating over and over. “Minnie, I’m here.” “Minnie, don’t be afraid.” He’d scour the entire internet for gossip, from celebrity scandals to a neighbor’s lost dog, telling me every single story until dawn. Until I stopped shaking. Until I could breathe again. Tonight, there was no one. And in the future, there would be no one either. My heart felt clutched by an invisible hand, squeezed tighter and tighter. I gasped, but no oxygen seemed to enter my lungs. Boom— The door crashed open with a bang.

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Five years into our marriage, my wife’s assistant, Evan, posted a screenshot on social media of a transfer of 521,314 dollars. The caption read: “Having a CEO big sister like this makes work so sweet!” I had just commented, “Work hard,” when I realized my account had been blocked by him. My wife called, launching into a furious tirade. “I just advanced an employee a bonus for his birthday, why would you message him and yell at him? My leniency isn’t a license for your unreasonable behavior!” Through the phone, I clearly heard the entire company comforting Evan and his feigned strong sigh. Before I could explain, the call was cut off and I was blocked. Immediately after, the assistant ostentatiously posted another photo of a million-dollar transfer. I knew that was Willow’s compensation to him. But this time, I didn’t care anymore. 1. When Willow stepped through the door, I had just tossed out the empty container of cheap takeout. After the removal of a malignant tumor in my stomach, the doctor said I needed to eat bland food this month, but I hadn’t listened to the advice. Simply because it was our fifth wedding anniversary, I had checked out of the hospital early to come home. I had even booked a hotel, intending to have a candlelight dinner with her. I had waited all day for her to reply to my messages. If I hadn’t seen Evan’s social media post and received that phone call just before leaving, I would probably still be sitting in the hotel like an idiot. Willow glanced at the empty dining table as she entered, her brows furrowing with displeasure. “Not cooking tonight?” I nodded calmly, my fingers scrolling on my phone screen. “You already ate out.” In the past, no matter how busy I was with work, I would always come home early to prepare dinner for her. If her brow so much as creased, I felt like the sky was falling. A humble posture inevitably fails to win equal love, a truth I unfortunately only understood now. Willow didn’t even notice my unusual behavior. She walked directly up to me and opened the packaged cake in her hand. “I specifically brought this for you. It’s almost our anniversary, right? You don’t even like sweets, so this is just a gesture.” Soon, a cake that had clearly been picked over appeared before me. Its indentations and small holes showed where several pieces of fruit had once been, now scooped out. She never knew that I disliked sweets. Yet, I cherished the small cakes for each of our anniversaries, because they symbolized our happiness. The cakes she would taste and then declare unfit to eat for the past few years had all ended up in my stomach. But this time, I merely glanced at it before my attention returned to my phone. She was surprised by my cold attitude, and her brows furrowed impatiently. “Chris, what is your problem? I went all that way to bring this back for you, and now you’re starting another fuss? Is this never going to end?” “I don’t want things others have touched. I find them dirty.” As I spoke, her phone chimed with a message notification. Willow looked down, a barely perceptible smile playing on her lips. I didn’t need to guess who the message was from. When she looked up, her expression was cold, yet her eyes held a hint of delight. “Fine, fine, I’ll go buy you a new one, okay? You don’t even like sweets, what’s there to be picky about? I’m so busy with work, and I come home to your cold face. I must owe you something!” With that, she turned to leave the house. I remembered I had been too hasty checking out of the hospital today and hadn’t picked up my medication yet. So I also stood up to change my shoes and followed her out. Meeting Willow’s subtly irritated gaze, I said in a low voice: “You go buy things, drop me off at the pharmacy along the way. I need to pick up some medicine.” At this, she bristled like a porcupine, instantly becoming wary. “You’re following me to buy a cake? Are you sick? Why don’t you just tie a leash around my neck?” I understood her annoyance. In the past, whenever she went out at night, I would always ask endless questions, uneasy. But this time, she was really overthinking it. I sighed and explained, “There’s a pharmacy just a block from the apartment. You can just drop me off there; I have no interest in stalking you.” As soon as I got in the car, I saw her hastily ordering a blueberry cake online. Perhaps she had forgotten that, initially, she was the one who loved rituals, saying every anniversary needed cake and candles. I fulfilled her requests every year, but in the end, it became a burden for her. At the pharmacy entrance, I got out directly. Behind me, her eyes showed a hint of surprise. When she spoke, her earlier rage was gone. “Wait for me here after you’re done, I’ll pick you up.” As she finished speaking, her car sped past me, splashing mud on my legs. I irritably wiped it off twice and walked into the pharmacy. After buying my medicine, I waited outside for two hours. My body gradually stiffened, but I didn’t see a trace of her. A sudden clap of thunder in the night sky startled me awake. Before I could even hail a taxi, a downpour drenched me completely. Remembering the doctor’s warnings, the incision in my abdomen throbbed faintly. I quickened my pace, running into a convenience store to buy an umbrella. But it was still too late. A cramping pain in my stomach made me involuntarily crouch on the ground, utterly pathetic. If not for a passing car spotting me and kindly taking me back to the apartment, I would probably have ended up in an ambulance. Back home, I had just dried myself and disinfected the incision. After taking my medicine, Willow slammed the door shut, making a deafening sound. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back? Do you know how many times I circled in the downpour? I looked for you for a whole hour! Is it fun to mess with me?” 2. The movement of me putting down my water glass halted. My face was utterly perplexed. She had blocked my number; now she was blaming me for not contacting her? I had waited two hours, and I had just gotten home, yet she claimed to have looked for me for an hour? I couldn’t be bothered to expose her lie. My face darkened, and I said coldly, “For me to contact you, you’d have to unblock me first.” At that, she pressed her lips together, taking a deep breath to quell her anger. She walked into the living room and placed the cake, soaked by the rain and stripped of its packaging, in front of me. “It’s too late; they didn’t have any packaging left. I had to go to quite a few shops to find this.” My gaze fell upon the matcha cake, and I felt only exhaustion from her string of clumsy lies. Forget it, I don’t even like sweets anyway. Stripped of its meaning, the cake’s cloying sweetness was nauseating. On my phone screen was Evan’s latest social media post, a photo of a blueberry cake. The caption read: “I don’t like sweets, but I like sweet you.” I felt a sarcastic laugh bubble up, but I had no strength to pull back my lips. A mouthful of words reached my tongue, only to be reduced to: “Hmm, thanks for the trouble. Throw it away.” Her features abruptly contorted, her eyes red with rage. “Are you sick?! I ran all over the place for you, and you tell me to throw it away?” “Are you playing me like a dog? Is this because I advanced an employee’s salary today? How long are you going to keep this up? I’m the boss, don’t I have that right? I haven’t even settled the score with you for privately messaging him and yelling at him, and now you’re getting all high and mighty!” I reached up and pressed my throbbing head, dulled and aching from the rain. I spoke weakly, “You’re overthinking it. I truly didn’t mean that, nor was there any need, nor did I have the time. At that moment, I was—” Mid-sentence, she interrupted furiously: “Enough! Stop talking! You’re always like this. I’ve never seen a man so jealous. Can’t you spend this time focusing on your career? Your heart is as small as a needle’s eye, it’s disgusting! Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life!” In the past, I had countless arguments with her over such trivial matters. Humble and desperate, I longed to hear her say she would only love me. But now, I no longer thought that way. We were both adults; if love needed constant questioning, did it still have a purpose? I knew she wouldn’t believe me if I said I wasn’t making a fuss, so I simply said, “If that’s what you want to believe, there’s nothing I can do.” This was the first time in five years that I chose to deal with things coldly. With that, I stood up and walked directly towards the bedroom. She ignored me, throwing the cake on the table into the trash can before sitting down to scroll on her phone. From time to time, stifled laughter escaped her. Then she went to the bathroom, seemingly busy on the phone. I rearranged a set of bedding and moved it to the second bedroom, bumping directly into Willow as she emerged from the bathroom. Her impatient gaze fell on my hands, her lips tightly pressed. After enduring for a while, she finally said angrily, “What do you mean? You want to sleep in separate beds?” “I haven’t even complained about you looking greasy in middle age, what are you fussing about with me? Do you still think you’re Chris Zhang, the campus heartthrob from your early twenties? There are tons of young, fresh faces out there!” “If you can’t sleep, don’t send me messages!” I didn’t reply to her, walking into the second bedroom on my own. The act of moving the bedding pulled at my surgical wound, twisting my face in pain. Every night in the past, when she didn’t come home, I would toss and turn, unable to sleep. I’d call her, send her messages, only for her to slam a bottle of sleeping pills in front of me the next day. Later, I got used to taking medication to sleep. But I never expected that this time, fearing drug interactions might affect wound recovery, I would fall asleep naturally and soundly. What I once thought was insurmountable now seemed not so difficult when I looked back. After searching all day, I finally contacted a reliable divorce lawyer. Meanwhile, Willow’s company account posted a celebration video. In the video, someone raised a champagne bottle. As the liquid sprayed into the air, Willow was firmly shielded behind Evan, the man’s back soaked. Evan’s jacket looked remarkably familiar; upon closer inspection, I realized it was a gift she had given me last year for our wedding anniversary. Now, the gift no longer belonged to me, and neither did she. 3. Just as I was about to turn off my phone, Willow called. “I sent you the address. I’ll pick you up in a bit; there’s a surprise.” A sarcastic smile played on my lips; she had given me enough surprises already. Before I could refuse, she hung up. I didn’t expect to be unblocked by her before the divorce. While I took some medicine and disinfected my wound, Willow’s car had already pulled up downstairs. I received her message and went out wearing casual sportswear. Willow’s smiling gaze unexpectedly fell on my unshaven face, and instantly turned cold. “Aren’t you going to clean yourself up or change clothes? Are you deliberately trying to embarrass me? Look in the mirror, what’s the difference between you and a homeless man right now?” As she spoke, Evan in the passenger seat, wearing the suit Willow had once custom-made for me, rolled down the window. A youthful, flamboyant face appeared. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Willow, I forgot to inform Chris… I couldn’t reach him.” Remembering my blocked account, I smiled nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Given our relationship, I don’t think my appearance affects you anymore.” “Besides, having such a young and handsome assistant is proof enough of your capabilities.” Willow’s scolding words were choked back in her throat. I glanced at Evan in the passenger seat. Seeing no intention of him moving, I simply got into the back. Along the way, Evan enthusiastically chatted with me, constantly talking about the birthday celebration the company employees held for him. His tone was full of regret. “Chris, if only you had been there, I really wanted you to see how much Ms. Willow dotes on her employees! I’m so envious of you!” Willow’s face was grim. She tried to speak to me several times, but I simply ignored her. At the hotel, Evan got out of the car and walked directly to Willow’s side. I glanced at them, then followed behind. The waitstaff all assumed they were a couple. Willow started to explain, then her gaze fell on my weary face behind her, and she ultimately remained silent. Her expression was comically amusing. The company employees were all crowded at the elevator entrance, waiting. When the elevator doors opened, seeing Willow and Evan standing in front, everyone’s expressions froze. A hint of awkwardness flashed across their faces. Old Mr. Wang, a company shareholder and my close college friend, quickly spoke up when he saw the situation: “Mr. Zhang, you’re finally here! If it weren’t for you brokering this project, it wouldn’t have been signed! Today, our entire company owes you a big thank you!” I knew he was trying to save face for me. So I smiled gratefully, “What ‘Mr. So-and-so’? Who knows what position I’ll be in when I come back from overseas.” At that, Willow, who had been walking ahead, suddenly stopped. She turned, her brows furrowed, her gaze full of questions. “Overseas? You’re going abroad? How come I don’t know? When did I agree to this?”

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One minute after my childhood sweetheart broke up with me, he publicly announced his relationship with a student from a low-income background on social media. He claimed that Eleanor suffered from depression, and once he helped her become as bright as I was, he would reconcile with me. Eleanor used his phone to assert her dominance: “Thanks for taking care of my boyfriend before. We need to keep our distance from now on.” I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping me. It took me only thirty seconds to get my mom to cut off her financial support. 1 My mom informed the school she would be discontinuing Eleanor’s scholarship. She immediately notified Adam’s father. The engagement between our families was off. At the same time, Eleanor’s best friend sent me a video of Adam and Eleanor getting intimate. In the video, Adam, visibly tipsy, was kissing a flushed Eleanor, his arm around her. Someone nearby, enjoying the spectacle, called out: “Adam, aren’t you worried about Alice getting upset?” Adam cupped Eleanor’s face, licking her lips with an undeniable desire. “Nah, she’s easy to appease.” “We grew up together; I know her inside and out.” “She’s also just… so inconsiderate, always coming first, costing Eleanor her scholarship. I’m just teaching her a lesson.” I let out a cold laugh. So that’s what he really thought of me. Adam continued: “Besides, I’m bored. Goody-two-shoes, so old-fashioned, wouldn’t even let me hold her hand. It’s honestly so dull.” “The thought of getting engaged to her after graduation, being tied down, makes me sick to my stomach.” Adam made a disgusted face. Eleanor quickly snuggled against his chest. “I’m not like her. You can touch me anywhere, but only you, darling.” Adam burst into laughter, tightening his arm around Eleanor’s waist. “I like a girl with some spice, like Eleanor.” “As for Alice, whoever wants her can have her. I certainly don’t!” I could barely suppress the nausea churning in my gut. Then, from the video, a lazy voice spoke up. “Well, in that case, I’m going to pursue her.” It was Jerry Voss. Our class president, who had always shared the top spot with me. 2 Adam’s face instantly darkened. Eleanor blinked her eyes, tugging his hand. Adam let out a strange, dismissive snort. “Go ahead, but she’s been in love with me for over ten years, been desperate for me countless times. I’m utterly sick of it.” “She’s a loyal woman, guarding her purity for me.” Jerry Voss chuckled noncommittally. He picked up his school jacket, revealing a clean, long hand with an expensive watch on his wrist. “I’m leaving.” His gaze swept over Adam and Eleanor, who were tightly embracing, with a hint of disdain. “Adam, remember what you just said. Don’t regret it later.” “I won’t back down.” Adam’s face was grim, the desire that Eleanor had stirred in his eyes now completely gone. “I’ve said it before, Alice loves me to death. I just have to snap my fingers, and she’ll come crawling back.” Eleanor’s eyes instantly welled up, and Adam quickly added, “But, I’m happy to let you have a go. She’s just a lapdog, and I have plenty of those.” At this, his friends roared with laughter. “Adam’s not wrong, Alice is totally a lapdog.” “Which game did she not excitedly bring a case of water to? Which party did she not rush to pay for?” “The more girls are like that, the cheaper they are.” The video ended there, showing only a faint shadow of Jerry Voss raising his foot towards Adam. 3 Lost in thought, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Eleanor’s best friend. [Feeling very sad and angry, aren’t you? I advise you to give up on Adam as soon as possible. For a lapdog like you, men will only find you cheap.] [Jerry Voss seems to like you quite a bit. You two are both bookworms, quite a good match.] I suspected Eleanor herself had sent this from her best friend’s phone. She often did things like that. She used to send me messages from Adam’s phone. Sometimes, she’d deliberately send ambiguous messages to make Adam and I argue, then feign illness so Adam would go comfort her. But now, none of that mattered to me. I’m very open to advice. A man who’s been soiled, might as well be thrown away. I also thought Jerry and I were a perfect match, both in intelligence and family background. [Why aren’t you replying, Alice? Are you mad to death? (Hand over mouth emoji)] Uh, not really. I was pretty angry at first. I mean, extremely angry. Because my family is old money, really old money. I don’t have autonomy in dating. I can only choose a future spouse from families of equal standing. But I’m not particularly stunning in appearance. Especially compared to other daughters from similar backgrounds. Honestly, the competition is brutal. Adam was one of the better-looking ones among my choices. But! Compared to Jerry Voss. There was absolutely no comparison. Jerry Voss was taller, handsomer, and smarter than him. He was a triple threat. With a better option now, what did I have to be sad about? Sadness only comes from not getting the best! 4 After showing my mom the video Eleanor’s best friend sent me, my mom was furious, wanting to confront Adam’s family, but I stopped her. I pointed at Jerry Voss in the video, my eyes sparkling. “I like him.” My mom was silent for a moment, looking at my unremarkable features behind my thick-rimmed glasses. “He’s too… captivating. While his family matches, you—” I raised my hands in surrender, asserting indignantly. “A toad that doesn’t want to eat swan is not a good toad!” “But on the other hand, he’s still young, hasn’t seen the world yet. This is your chance.” My mom patted my shoulder. “To improve the next generation’s genes, you have to work hard.” “All your mom can do is improve our family status.” I recalled my dad’s somewhat plain face. Silence… 5 I stayed up all night, memorizing everything I’d paid a high price to find out about Jerry Voss. For a straight-A student like me, being able to recite it backwards after two reads was basic. The next morning, for the first time, I didn’t wait for Adam to go to school together. Through the security camera, I saw Adam frowning, waiting outside my front door. Impatiently, he spoke into the video doorbell. “Alice, you have three minutes. If you’re not ready, don’t bother coming out.” Speechless. I ignored him. Now that the engagement between our families was off, my housekeeper and the maids didn’t have much patience for him either. “Alice has already left.” Adam’s face instantly darkened. He threw the breakfast he had brought for Eleanor onto the ground. The milk bottle smashed with a thunk, spilling milk everywhere. Why didn’t I think it was for me? Because he never brought me anything; I always brought things to him. Our maid was furious. “I just swept this floor, what’s wrong with you?!” “How dare you speak to me like that? Believe it or not, I’ll have Alice fire you!” The maid rolled her eyes. “Your engagement is off, and the collaboration between the Summer and Evans families has ended. You should leave.” “This is just Alice throwing a tantrum. I’ll smooth things over, and our engagement will never be called off.” Adam walked away with a dark expression. Adam and I were desk partners. When I arrived at school, Eleanor was sitting in my seat. My books were all placed on the teacher’s desk. She smiled at me. “Alice, I want to sit with Adam. We’re in the honeymoon phase right now.” “Didn’t godmother say to let me have my way a bit? Please, sister, grant Adam and me our private world.” “You don’t want people to call you a third wheel, do you?” It seemed she didn’t know yet that my mom had stopped funding her. I had originally intended to lose my temper and yell at her. But then I caught a glimpse of Jerry Voss behind me. The seat next to him had been empty for years. Instantly, I became a drama queen. Showtime! 6 My eyes were red-rimmed, and I stood there in a daze, not knowing what to do. Jerry Voss walked in, picked up my books from the teacher’s desk, and told me, “Alice, come here.” I followed behind him, watching as he placed my books next to him. My heart instantly fluttered. Manga plot come to life. So thrilling… I shouldn’t have watched so much anime. It’s making my brain a little scrambled… I suppressed my shyness and said, choked with emotion, “Class President, thank you.” “I didn’t eat breakfast. If you really want to thank me, bring me some breakfast when you go get yours.” “I stayed up all night doing practice tests, so I’m really sleepy now and want to catch some Z’s.” Huh??? So he’s not the shy type, but the jealous type. He must have seen that I used to go get breakfast every morning and bring some back for Adam, and now he wants that too. I nodded repeatedly. “Okay, okay!” I’ll definitely spread my favors equally. No! Given that he’s more than a little better looking than Adam. I’ll definitely favor him more. It wasn’t until I got to the breakfast spot that I realized I hadn’t asked Jerry what he wanted. I found his contact information in the class group chat and added him. I wrote in the note: [Class President, what would you like to eat?] Then, while slurping my noodles, I waited for him to accept my request. I’m a genius. This was truly an excellent and not at all awkward reason to get his contact information. Jerry Voss quickly accepted my friend request and replied. I looked at his message, a little puzzled. Why were all his choices things Adam disliked? And each one was precisely a “landmine” for Adam. Things Adam had repeatedly warned me not to buy for him, and even forbade me from eating. Though I never listened to him, always indulging myself. On my way back after buying Jerry’s breakfast, I ran into Adam’s best friend, the one who had mocked me as a lapdog in the video. He was overly enthusiastic, greeting me with a big grin. “Hey, Alice, is that for Adam?” He pulled out his phone, quickly took a picture, and sent it to Adam’s group chat. I didn’t need to imagine how they would mock me. But I had no intention of stopping him. I desperately needed these cannon fodder to act as a catalyst, igniting Jerry Voss’s protective instincts and making him take the initiative with me. I gave the cannon fodder a smile in return and walked on. At the classroom door, Adam was already there, chatting and laughing with Eleanor in his seat. He seemed to be in a very good mood. A completely different person from when he walked out of my house, as seen on the security footage. He saw me, leaned back in his chair, and smirked at me idly. “You bought it back. I’m hungry too.” Jerry Voss, who had been napping at his desk, also sat up. His seat was diagonally behind Adam’s. I bit my lip, deliberately avoiding Adam’s gaze, and walked silently with my head down. As I passed Adam, he reached out to take the breakfast from my hand. I suddenly quickened my pace, went and sat down next to Jerry Voss. I placed the breakfast on his desk, and even pulled out a warm carton of milk from my pocket. “Eat it while it’s hot. I really like these too.” “Our tastes are surprisingly similar, Class President.” Jerry Voss smiled, while Adam froze, the smile on his lips stiffening. His fair-weather friends, who had been watching the show, also looked rigid. “Alice, that’s not for Adam, is it?” I said softly but firmly. “He has a girlfriend. Why would I bring him anything? And our engagement is off; we cut ties a long time ago.” This was an elite private school. Aside from those sent abroad by their families, all the heirs and heiresses from our social circles attended this school. Some were low-key about their status, others high-profile. But the impending marriage alliance between the Summer and Evans families was widely known. As my words fell, I noticed Jerry Voss’s lips curving into a pleased smile in my peripheral vision. Adam, however, looked terrifyingly pale. He glared at me coldly. “Alice, don’t you dare regret this.” “I, Adam Evans, don’t take back dogs who betray their masters. Even if you come begging, we’re over.” I snapped back. “You’re the dog, a dog in heat chasing after everyone.”

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After I accidentally discovered my brother reading my diary. I was both furious and speechless. In retaliation, I wrote him into my diary: “I’m a bad girl. How can I have those kinds of feelings for my own brother?” “They say brotherly love is a sickness, it’s not right, I shouldn’t be like this.” “But I really can’t control myself…” From that day on, my brother looked at me like he’d seen a ghost every time he saw me. I suppressed my laughter and, with increasing fervor, wrote things in my diary to scare him. Completely oblivious to how my brother’s gaze, from avoiding me in panic, had slowly morphed into a look of tormented suppression. Until a month later. An old money couple showed up with a paternity test, and without a word, they embraced my brother, calling him their son. Me: ? 1 As far back as I can remember, my brother, Asher, has always been by my side. He was the first person I called after I learned to speak. Dad said I called him “brother” so skillfully, it was as if I was born knowing how to. At my one-month celebration, so many hands reached out to hold me, but I reached past everyone and clung tightly to his finger. And as an older brother, Asher never disappointed. When I was six, I was rushed to the hospital after secretly drinking a bottle of orange-flavored dish soap. Asher stayed by my bedside for two days and two nights, refusing to eat or drink, looking like a ghost. When I was eight, I tried to ride our neighbor, an old lady, across the street, and Dad chased me with a stick. Asher protected me like a mother hen, taking the hits from Dad without backing down. When I was ten, on my birthday, I solemnly made a wish: “I want to be with my brother forever.” Asher watched me, shielding the candle flame with his hand. I slowly looked up, unable to see his face clearly, but I heard him say, word by word: “Little sister, you don’t need to wish for that.” When I was fourteen, Asher watched a TV show where a couple stole their family register to get married, and he frowned, asking Dad: “Why did they steal the family register?” Dad smiled and explained: “Because they want to get married.” “Marriage means putting two people’s names on the same family register.” Asher was nearly six feet tall by then. With handsome features and a tall, straight build, he was the target of many girls’ secret glances at school. After hearing Dad’s explanation, he realized: “Oh, I see.” “Then my sister and I should just get married.” “We’ve been on the same family register since we were little.” Dad nearly dropped his teacup. He grabbed the feather duster nearby and swung it at Asher. Asher dodged, turning his head to earnestly ask me: “Little sister, do you think what I said is wrong?” Without thinking, I nodded directly: “Of course, what brother said is right.” Dad paused, then silently swapped the feather duster for a shovel, chasing him even more fiercely. 2 In the blink of an eye, Asher and I had been inseparable, leaning on each other, as siblings for over twenty years. Last weekend, Asher forbade me from attending a male classmate’s birthday party, and we had a huge fight. He couldn’t argue with me, and in his frustration, he actually recited a passage from my diary. That’s when I realized he had been secretly reading my diary all along. Furious, I kicked him hard and stormed upstairs. Although I also secretly read Asher’s diary every day, I never read it out loud to him! I always laughed to myself in secret. Who’s as shameless as him?! That utterly shameless jerk! The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. To get back at Asher, I specifically went out and bought a new diary with a lock. After half a month of aimlessly jotting down daily occurrences, I started writing furiously: “I’m a bad girl. How can I have those kinds of feelings for my own brother?” “They say brotherly love is a sickness, it’s not right, I shouldn’t be like this.” “But I really can’t control myself. The internet is right, our red thread is hidden…” … I switched to a red pen and drew a crooked heart where the period should be. Asher certainly didn’t disappoint me. The next day, when he brought fruit into my room, his eyes immediately landed on the diary I had deliberately left open on the desk. Perhaps he remembered the kick I gave him a few days ago for reading my diary. Perhaps his conscience finally struck, and he thought an older brother shouldn’t invade his younger sister’s privacy. In any case, he paused for five seconds. But only for five seconds. His slender fingers skillfully flipped open the thin pages. His face still wore that casually lazy expression, his lips even curled in a mischievous “what’s wrong with just one look?” But after reading just two lines, Asher’s upturned lips sharply dropped. His fingers, clutching the diary, trembled faintly, his temples throbbed, and his vision swam. Finally, he stumbled two steps and collapsed heavily into a chair, clearly scared half to death by the diary’s contents. And I, hiding by the door, watched his world-shattering reaction, covering my mouth and laughing so hard I couldn’t stand straight. Heh heh. That’ll teach him to read my diary. He deserved it. 3 Asher practically fled my room. At nearly six feet three, he used his hands and feet, running as if tumbling and crawling. He didn’t even see me hiding by the door, observing him. He simply transformed into a stubborn fish, diving headfirst into the bathroom, splashing water on his face. I waited until the sound of running water in the bathroom stopped. Only then did I walk over and ask: “Brother, what’s wrong?” The sounds inside abruptly ceased. After a long moment, Asher’s unsteady voice finally replied: “Nothing…” I said, “Oh.” “Then I’ll go back to my room.” “Wait!” The door was abruptly pulled open. Asher stood at the doorway, still dripping water from his face, staring at me with a complicated expression, wanting to speak but holding back: “Willow, are you… do you have someone you like recently?” I feigned confusion, frowning: “No, I’m busy looking for an internship lately. I don’t have time to think about romance.” Asher fell silent. He looked me over gravely, and only after confirming I truly wasn’t lying, did he breathe a sigh of relief, as if escaping a disaster, and wiped the water from his face. Right. The “brother” written in the diary might not necessarily be him; it could be some male celebrity. No problem, no problem, the sky hasn’t fallen, the home hasn’t been destroyed, sister is still sister. I subtly pursed my lips: “Brother, if you’re all right, I’ll go back to my room now.” With that, I turned around. I pulled a manga book from my backpack and casually dropped it on the floor. A loud thud echoed in the empty room. Asher instinctively looked towards the sound. On the title page, several glaring big words— “Sister Becomes Wife.” “…” Asher’s breathing abruptly stopped. Then, trembling, he pressed his finger to his philtrum. 4 Before I could react, the manga book was snatched from me by Asher. His captivating eyes widened, and his voice trembled slightly: “Willow! You, you, you, if you dare buy such trashy books again, I’ll tell Mom!” I obediently lowered my head: “Got it, brother.” Asher hummed, expressionless. Then turned. And scrambled upstairs, using both hands and feet. On the surface, I calmly watched him leave. But inside, I was practically cackling with laughter. To confirm once again that I hadn’t misjudged, I figured Asher would definitely sneak into my room tonight to read my diary again. I pulled out my phone. I found a bunch of sentences and copied them into my diary: “My brother, who raised me, suddenly stopped talking to me. Is he tired of me? Is he going to leave me?” “What should I do, how can I keep him forever?” “One hundred and eight plans to trap my brother by my side for life…” I closed the diary. I stretched. Went downstairs to heat some milk. When I returned, I immediately noticed a subtle shift in the diary’s position, and a partial footprint on the carpet. I took a contented sip of milk, then snuggled comfortably into bed. Half asleep, half awake, the deadly silent room next door, which had been quiet for most of the night, suddenly erupted in a heart-wrenching wail and a sound like a donkey’s braying cry: “Dad! Mom! I’m a beast!! Ahhh-woo-woo-moo-moo-moo…” 5 The next morning, I ran into Asher on the stairs. My mind wasn’t fully awake yet. My habitual greeting was: “Bro, morning.” Asher’s thin lips pressed together, but he didn’t respond, his face stern as he quickly walked past me. I paused, then called out to his retreating back: “Asher? Asher, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering?” “…” Asher finally stopped. But he didn’t turn around. His voice was calmly detached, like a customer service agent: “Do you need something?” His icy tone sent a shiver down my spine. I subconsciously said: “No, nothing…” Asher started walking again. He went downstairs without looking back. Dad came out of the kitchen with breakfast. Seeing Asher leaving me far behind, he couldn’t help but laugh: “What’s wrong with you two? Did you have a fight?” Before I could speak, Asher, who had just sat down, abruptly stood up. His voice was cold and firm: “Dad, I am me, and Willow is Willow. We cannot use ‘we’.” My mom was startled when she heard that. “Well, I’ll be damned. Aren’t you two usually inseparable?” Asher didn’t rush to answer. He pondered for a few seconds, then slowly looked up at me: “Mom, Willow and I are both grown up now.” “As the saying goes, boys and girls are different. Willow and I should also maintain some distance.” “Later, Willow will marry, and I will take a wife. Then we will be two separate families.” “Willow, do you think what I’m saying is right? You can’t always cling to me anymore. Brother needs his own life, and so do you, understand?” Of course, I understood. I just hadn’t expected that those two pages of my diary could have such a profound impact on Asher. A brother who had been so eager to control his sister. Was now actively trying to maintain distance. And even emphasizing his own life… I was utterly shocked. Asher wiped the corner of his mouth. He slowly stood up: “I’ve eaten enough. You two eat. I’m leaving.” He paused. He looked up at me. And said, word for word: “Don’t follow me. I won’t be taking you with me today.” Me: “…” My mom finally noticed something was off and turned to ask me, “What’s wrong with your brother?” I rubbed my temples and said, “Maybe it’s puberty.” My mom’s eyes widened: “He’s twenty-six and still in puberty?!” Me: “…Uh, some people mature late.” My mom was half-skeptical: “That’s a bit too late, isn’t it…” 6 Asher was true to his word. For the next few days, he left early and returned late, deliberately avoiding any time he might run into me. Even if we accidentally bumped into each other at home, he would immediately get up and walk past me with an expressionless face. The times I saw him were few and far between. If it weren’t for the mysterious braying sounds I kept hearing from his room in the middle of the night, I would have thought he hadn’t been coming home for days. Estimating the time, I figured it was about time to tell Asher the truth. But the crucial evidence—the diary—had vanished. I searched everywhere, turning the house upside down, frantically sweating. If those diary entries were seen by my parents, it would be disastrous; our family would be ruined! Just as I was catching my breath from exhaustion, my best friend called, inviting me to a bar. I glanced at the time and instinctively wanted to refuse; Asher definitely wouldn’t let me go out at this hour. But then I thought, Asher had been keeping his distance from me lately because of the diary, so he might not care… I pondered for two seconds, then agreed to meet my best friend and hurried downstairs to find Asher. He was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. The warm yellow light framed his profile, his eyelashes casting a small shadow on his eyelids. Just sitting there, his mood was inexplicably somber, like a melancholic god. I stopped: “Brother, my best friend invited me out tonight. I might not be back until tomorrow morning…” The words hung in the air. Asher paused in turning a page. I waited for a long time, but still no answer. I asked softly again: “Brother, can I not go?” “Why not?” After a long silence, Asher smiled. He subtly pressed his slightly trembling fingertips together: “Of course, you can. We both should have our own lives. Brother won’t control you. Go ahead…” My eyes lit up: “Really? Brother, are you telling the truth?” Asher maintained his smile. His voice was very soft. Almost hollow: “Of course, it’s true. Didn’t I say the other day? We both should have our own lives. We are both free, little sister, you are free…” I bounced upstairs: “Okay! I’ll get changed and leave! Bye, brother!” Asher slowly let the smile fade from his face. He casually tossed the book he was holding aside. His voice remained gentle: “Alright, bye…” 7 For years, Asher had always been so controlling. My wardrobe had almost no suitable clothes for going to a bar. But now, life had suddenly gotten better. Asher no longer treated me like a grandchild. I even started to hesitate whether to tell him the truth about the diary. Never mind. I’ll think about that later. I pulled out all the clothes from my closet. They were strewn all over the bed. Then I tried them on one by one in front of the mirror. White dress? Too plain. Black dress? Too gloomy. This off-the-shoulder one, the neckline was a bit low, and the back was quite open. I held the dress against myself in the mirror, pondering whether to try it on. Suddenly, the back of my neck tightened, my back felt cold, and a strong sense of unease welled up inside me. I instinctively looked up at the mirror. In the mirror, Asher stood silently in the half-open doorway. I gasped. I didn’t know how long he had been standing there. I didn’t know when he had arrived. I didn’t know why his footsteps made no sound at all. Asher just stood there. Half of his body was hidden in the hallway shadows. The other half was illuminated by the room light. Revealing an expressionless face. He was watching me. Not with that deliberately distant gaze from before. But with a damp, sticky quality, something I couldn’t quite identify. His gaze fell directly on me from the mirror, landing on the backless dress in my hand. 8 The dress in my hand almost slipped. I turned to look at him: “Brother, what are you doing standing there? You scared me…” Asher seemed to be yanked back from some deep place by my words. He suddenly snapped back to reality. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. When he opened them again, his eyes had regained their calm. He leaned against the doorframe. Shrugging helplessly: “Nothing, just passing by.” “Come on, Willow, don’t I have to pass your room to get back to mine?” His tone was light, as if the person in the mirror just now had been my imagination. I stared at him for two seconds. Then realized: “I know, brother, you don’t want me to go, do you?” Asher paused. Then he curved his lips, smiling effortlessly, with a hint of helpless indulgence. “How could that be? I haven’t changed my mind, don’t overthink it, little sister.” “Willow, brother still says the same thing. We are both free. What kind of brother would always want to control his sister for no reason?” “Controlling her until she’s eighteen is fine, but still controlling her after eighteen, isn’t that too much, too annoying? I’m not that bored…” As he spoke, his gaze seemed pulled by something, irresistibly drifting downwards. Landing on the dress in my hand. Just one look. Then he immediately shifted his gaze: “Don’t worry, brother won’t control you anymore, Willow. From now on, you can do whatever you want.” “Alright, you pick your clothes. Brother won’t disturb you for now.” “Oh, right, if you run out of money, just ask brother. You can’t go out without money.” 9 Asher’s footsteps gradually faded. But I stood rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what had happened. This was the Nth time today. Asher had said he would no longer control me. I slowly sensed something abnormal. Asher’s words were too decisive and practiced, as if he had drafted them long ago and rehearsed them a hundred times in his mind. I held my breath. A terrifying thought suddenly surfaced in my mind. Had he already considered distancing himself from me even before seeing my diary…? Was he tired of me? Did he no longer want me as a sister? Would he have found a way to abandon me, regardless of that diary? Did my prank diary just give him an excuse? … The more I thought about it, the more logical it seemed. I hugged my arms tightly, my fingertips touching my skin, only to realize my hands were cold. That year I was ten, Asher had sworn to me that we would be together forever. He was only twenty-six now. Had he forgotten everything already? Or rather, from beginning to end, was I the only one who remembered? I clenched my back teeth tightly. I raised my hand. And threw the dress in my hand hard at the mirror. 10 When I went downstairs again, Asher was still sitting there, reading. As if nothing had happened. He heard my footsteps. And looked up at me with a smile: “Willow…” I expressionlessly averted my gaze. As if I hadn’t seen him at all. I walked straight out. And slammed the door shut. Inside. Asher still sat rooted to the spot. Maintaining his raised head. He stared at the door I had slammed. His handsome face, turned pale, inch by inch. 11 I cried into my best friend’s shoulder for two whole hours. Muffled, I asked: “Bestie, can you teach me how to swear?” My best friend looked at me in surprise: “Sweetie, why do you suddenly want to learn swear words? Didn’t you say your brother doesn’t let you swear?” “Hmm, he doesn’t, but this time it’s different.” “How is this time different?” I wiped away my tears, fiercely declaring: “This time, I’m going to curse at him!” My best friend spat out a mouthful of drink: “Willow, are you crazy? You dare curse at your brother?” I: “Why wouldn’t I? If he doesn’t want me, he deserves to be cursed at. Just teach me.” My best friend put down her glass, looking at me strangely: “…Alright.” “Willow, remember, when you curse, always include family.” “No matter what swear word, always put family first. That way it’ll have more impact.” I wrote it down in my notebook: “Include family, put them first, that makes it impactful…” My best friend sighed helplessly: “I can tell your brother really pissed you off this time…” I didn’t say anything, just took a big gulp of the drink on the table, preparing to tell my best friend the whole story. But who would have thought, after one glass of wine, my head started spinning. I leaned on the bar to steady myself, but my body swayed uncontrollably backwards. In that precarious moment, someone from behind grabbed my hand. It was my best friend’s younger brother. I didn’t know when he had arrived. Last summer, he even gave me a love letter, but my brother saw it and he ran two miles out of fear. Before I could retract my smile, that hand was violently pushed away by another hand. The force was so great that my best friend’s brother stumbled two steps. The next second, my waist was encircled from behind, and I was scooped into a cold embrace. I looked up, bewildered. It was Asher. His lips were tightly pressed together. His jaw was clenched into a straight line. His chest heaved violently: “Willow, come home with me.” “If you ever come to a place like this again, I swear I’ll die.”

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I was on the roof, ready to jump, when a viral post froze me. The profile picture was heartbreakingly familiar. [My wife hurt my sister—the most important person to me. I taught her a lesson; she might’ve ended up in ICU. Any ideas to make it up?] Comments raged, but the OP replied coolly: [Her own parents approved. She deserved it for bullying her adopted sister.] [I faked a kidnapping while she was pregnant, made her think she was assaulted, then forged paternity tests to ‘prove’ the baby wasn’t mine—just to make her stop.] Another like appeared: [That’s my daughter. My son-in-law did this to fix her jealousy. Blame her.] The same profile pic—Rosalie’s favorite kitten. So it was real. My pain was a gift from those I loved, for the daughter they chose. Fine. I’d give them their happy ending. I leaned into the wind from the skyscraper. “System,” I whispered, “this time, I’m coming home.” … My parents were still venting in the comments. [Just bringing her home forced my sweet Rosalie into a deep depression. We thought that after the ‘assault,’ after the whole town whispered about her carrying a bastard, she’d finally quiet down and stop competing with our angel. But no, she turned around and set her sights on the company, clawing her way up to the General Manager position, just so people would call Rosalie a useless, pretty face!] Sebastian, my husband, immediately replied beneath their comment. [Good thing I was the client. I made her life a living hell, found every possible reason to reject her work. Then I took the contract she finally landed and gave it to Rosie, promoting her to General Manager instead. And for what? She threw a fit, coughed up some blood, and landed herself back in the ICU, trying to frame Rosie for it. My poor Rosie had nightmares for a week.] I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. That contract… I had fought tooth and nail for it, drank myself sick until I was coughing up blood to close that deal. It was the single ray of light I had managed to grasp for myself after crawling out of the abyss of shame, of being the woman who carried a “bastard.” And with a few tears from Rosalie, the man I loved most had snuffed it out with his own hands. One user asked him, [If you hate your wife so much, why marry her? And why are you here asking for advice on how to ‘compensate’ her? You’re a scumbag. Just divorce her. If I were your wife and found all this out, I’d lose my mind!] A minute later, a new reply from Sebastian appeared. [Are you kidding? She’s obsessively in love with me. What’s she going to do if she finds out the truth? A little lesson like this is nothing a few sweet words can’t fix. But Rosie is different. We grew up together; she depends on me. She’s already suffered enough because I couldn’t marry her. It’s only natural that I treat her better.] My parents chimed in to back him up. [If our son-in-law hadn’t been in a coma after his car crash, we never would have brought her home. We gave her the golden opportunity to marry him, a desperate marriage to bring him luck. We were so good to her, and she showed no gratitude. She targeted our Rosie at every turn. Our Rosie is the one who’s truly been wronged.] Every word was a defense of their precious angel. In their fury, my parents even forgot to hide the names. It didn’t take long for sharp-eyed netizens to connect the dots. “A marriage to bring him luck? The only high-profile heir who was in a coma after a crash in the last five years was the Blackwood heir.” “Oh my god! Then ‘Rosie’ must be Rosalie Ashwood! They were childhood sweethearts, which means she’s the fake heiress!” “Is no one else shocked that the Blackwood heir is even married in the first place??” That last comment felt like a hand closing around my throat. He didn’t love me. So my very existence as his wife was a secret. I wanted to laugh, but tears streamed down my face like broken pearls, impossible to stop. Just as their identities were exposed, the screen flickered. The post vanished. In its place was a formal cease-and-desist letter from a law firm. “This post is not to be associated with any real individuals. Blackwood Enterprises’ legal team will pursue legal action against any and all comments that slander Ms. Rosalie Ashwood’s reputation.” Ms. Rosalie Ashwood. No prizes for guessing who that protection was for. In the ten minutes I’d been reading, a crowd had gathered on the street below. Ignoring the shouts of the firefighters, Sebastian scrambled onto the rooftop. He was still catching his breath, his face a mask of terror as he crept toward me. His voice trembled. “Zoey, don’t do this. Please. It’s all my fault, everything is my fault. I can’t live without you.” His frantic, self-blaming tone was a world away from the man who had written that post. For a dizzying moment, I couldn’t tell which one was the real him. When I first arrived in this world, my mission was to win his heart. My life revolved around him. Sebastian was from a lesser branch of the Blackwood family. I nursed him back to health after his coma, and with my knowledge of the “script,” I guided him smoothly as he took control of the entire Blackwood empire. In those early years, when our love felt real, he would hold me and promise, “Zoey, my life has no meaning without you. We’ll never be parted by life, only by death.” And I believed him. When I was “assaulted” by the kidnappers, I locked myself in the bathroom and scrubbed my skin raw until the tub was stained pink with my blood. When I learned I was carrying a “bastard,” the revulsion was so strong I grabbed a pair of scissors, ready to carve the flesh from my own body. When he took my contract and my position, he told me I wasn’t competent enough, that I should just stay home and recover. I obeyed. I waited for him through a thousand cold, empty nights. It was during that dark time that the System appeared. [Host, your heart is breaking. I’m not asking you to complete the mission anymore. Let me send you home…] The System said that even though the mission was a failure, it could still grant my wish: a pair of loving parents and a partner who would never betray me. Back then, I couldn’t see the filth hidden beneath the concern of Sebastian and my parents. I just told the System, “But isn’t that the life I’m living right now?” Now, that post had ripped away the lies and the pretense. I couldn’t deceive myself any longer. As I came back to the present, the System’s voice echoed in my mind again. [Host, Sebastian is here. I know you’re going to soften. It’s windy up here. If you’re not going to jump, you should come down.] Ten times I’d been in the ICU. Nine of those times, I had begged the System to let me live. All I could chant were their names: Sebastian, Mom, Dad. I had made them my entire world. And what did they make me? “No, System,” I murmured, my voice catching in a sob. “This time, I really am going home.” Sebastian heard me and scoffed, a flicker of contempt flashing in his eyes. Ten trips to the ICU, and when had she ever actually died? But he had to maintain his loving-husband persona. His eyes reddened as he took another step closer. “Zoey, if you jump, I’m jumping with you. I’ll die with you…” I tuned him out. I closed my eyes, spread my arms, and, to the sound of horrified screams from below, I stepped off the edge. Sebastian, I don’t want you anymore. Mom, Dad, I don’t want you either. You can have your perfect, happy family with Rosalie. I’m done. … When I woke, the sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils. For a second, I thought I was home. But before the joy could even register, a familiar voice sent a jolt of ice through me. I hadn’t died. “Zoey, you’re finally awake. Do you know, if you’d jumped just a few inches to the side, you would have missed the firefighters’ air cushion? If you had woken up any later, I was about to call a board meeting and announce my intention to follow you in death.” Sebastian’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice a choked, trembling whisper. He gripped my hand tightly, like I was a priceless treasure he had almost lost forever. But as he leaned down to kiss my forehead, I saw it. A faint, purplish mark on his neck—a hickey. And clinging to his suit was the distinct, cloying scent of magnolia. Rosalie’s perfume. These were details I had never let myself notice before. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I gagged. Sebastian’s face tightened with alarm. He yelled for every doctor on the floor. He stood by, his gaze locked on the physicians as they examined me, looking as if he would willingly take all my pain onto himself. The doctor felt my weak pulse and looked at me with pity. “Mrs. Blackwood is severely weakened, and her body is suffering from extreme emotional distress. She needs gentle care and absolutely cannot be agitated again.” He hesitated, then looked at Sebastian. “The day of the incident, I was called to the Blackwood residence. I don’t know what happened, but your wife was so distraught she was hyperventilating into respiratory alkalosis, her whole body convulsing. If I’d been ten minutes later, she would have been gone… Mr. Blackwood, I really think you need to pay more attention to your wife’s mental health…” My mind flashed back to that day. To Buddy, my dog, his lifeless eyes staring up at me, his blood seeping into the grout lines of the tile floor. My vacant eyes trembled. He was the one friend I’d had the longest since coming to this world. And Rosalie had killed him with a bowl of poisoned milk, then had him cooked into a stew. Sebastian felt me shaking and a flicker of pain crossed his face. He pulled me into his arms. His gaze turned dark as he looked at his assistant. “Find out what happened that day. I want the person responsible to pay with their life.” The words had barely left his mouth when the hospital room door was thrown open. Rosalie stood there, dressed in a white designer dress, her perfectly made-up face stained with two delicate teardrops. A perfect, innocent little flower. But as her eyes met mine, a flash of pure venom crossed her face. She suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me, her pale hands clutching a thick leather riding crop. “Sebastian, it’s all my fault. If I had known my sister would get so upset, I would have let Buddy bite me to death before I ever hurt him. It’s all my fault. Sister, please, hit me.” Sebastian froze, his eyes filled with a pained confusion. My parents, who had followed her in, stood rigid, their hands clenched so tight their knuckles were white. They were barely holding on to their loving-parent facade. Sebastian reached for her. “What are you talking about?” But Rosalie stubbornly stayed on her knees, refusing to move. She lifted her tear-streaked face to him. “Sebastian, if my sister won’t do it, you have to. If she can’t get this anger out, her depression will only get worse. It’s just a few lashes, right? Hit me hard. Even if my skin breaks, as long as it makes my sister feel better, I’m willing.” She grabbed the riding crop and forced it into Sebastian’s hand. Her performance was flawless, a portrait of wronged, patient suffering. It made me look like the bully, using my illness to torment her. Even the doctor standing nearby was looking at her with pity and at me with disapproval. She always did this, twisting words until I was the villain. Before, I would have tried to defend myself. But there was no point now. While Sebastian was hesitating, I snatched the riding crop. Before I could throw it away, he grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “That’s enough, Zoey! Stay out of this. I’ll handle Rosalie’s side of things and get you an explanation.” His hold was so strong it left angry red marks on my thin wrist. I met his eyes and saw something I’d never seen directed at me before: the cold, sharp wariness one reserves for an enemy. And I laughed. My heart, which I thought was already dead, was squeezed so hard it produced a final, bitter surge of rage. How could he be so certain I was the one at fault? Just because she was Rosalie?

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1 I was born with a built-in lie detector. Anyone who lies to me pays a price. My parents claimed they didn’t favor sons over daughters, that both were equally important. The result? They became infertile, unable to have any more children. My grandmother, distraught, adopted a boy. To ensure he grew up strong, she tricked me, telling me she would prick my head with needles to make me smarter. Instead, the needles all ended up in her beloved grandson’s head. He became simple-minded. Years later, my boyfriend proposed to me. He swore he would love me forever, vowing to be struck down by lightning if he didn’t. And he was. Struck dead by lightning. My ability was discovered by a socialite. She wanted me to test her boyfriend’s fidelity. The offer? Three million dollars. Soon, I became a hot commodity in the elite circles. Everyone wanted my services. I stared at the long string of numbers in my bank account. For the first time, I desperately wished there were more lies in this world. … After high school graduation, I had just received my acceptance letter when my boyfriend knelt before me and proposed. The crowd around us chanted, “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!” I looked at the cheap plastic ring in his hand, my voice even. “Do you truly love me?” He nodded eagerly. “Yes, I love you!” He held up three fingers. “I swear I’ll love you forever, or may I be struck down by lightning.” I actually believed him, a sweet smile gracing my lips. But then, the next second, the familiar buzz of the lie detector rang in my ears. My smile faltered. Immediately, the sky darkened. Thunder cracked, and lightning flashed. My boyfriend looked up, bewildered. Someone in the crowd remarked, “Looks like rain.” Then, I watched as a bolt of lightning struck him. He remained in his kneeling position, utterly charred, his eyes wide and vacant. The plastic ring in his hand, scorched black, rolled to the ground. Just like his cheap affection, shattered to pieces. “Ahhh! Someone’s dead!” Disappointment flickered in my eyes. I turned and walked away, ignoring the screams behind me. I stayed in my rental apartment for two days. Just as I was about to cook some instant noodles, there was a knock at the door. Opening it, I was surprised to find Penelope Ashworth, a well-known socialite from my school. Penelope gestured to her two bodyguards, who pushed past me and entered. I was forced onto the sofa, staring at her. “Your boyfriend died, didn’t he?” My expression shifted slightly. How rude. To just bluntly ask if someone’s dead. Penelope lifted her chin. The bodyguards opened two cases, revealing stacks of cash. “Luna Hayes, I know about your ability—that you can tell if someone is lying.” “Help me test my boyfriend, and all this money is yours.” I was very tempted, but a little hesitant. I warned her, “People might die, you know.” Penelope’s voice rose. “Do you think I care? I’m perfect; how could he possibly not love me?” The lie detector buzzed again. I sighed inwardly. Penelope clearly cared a lot. The next second, the lightbulb above her head fell. A bodyguard quickly stepped in front of her, shielding her. Penelope shrieked, scrambling to her feet, looking at me helplessly. “See? You lied. You care very much about your boyfriend.” I was born with this innate lie detector. Whenever someone lies to me, I hear a warning sound. And then, that person pays a price, big or small. Penelope’s eyes lit up even more. “Then help me! Do you want me to call him over? Here’s his contact information.” 2 I started by adding Charles Knight’s contact. But he didn’t accept. He rejected my request. Penelope seemed pleased. “See? He respects boundaries.” I gazed at the stacks of cash in the cases, a hungry glint in my eyes. I cleared my throat. “How about you bring him over tomorrow? I can test him in person, just a few questions.” Penelope was thrilled. “Alright!” I saw them out, carefully locked the apartment door, and then pounced on the money. I counted bill after bill. I’d probably never seen so much money in my life; my fingers cramped from counting. Three million dollars in total. I counted it three times. Penelope was truly rich. I wouldn’t have to work my way through four years of college now! But before I could even celebrate, my parents called. “Darling, do you have any money? We want to give a gift to the matchmaker to help your brother find a wife.” My voice was flat. “No money.” “That works out. I found you a good family for marriage. Girls don’t need to read so many books; it’s useless.” “You need to think about your brother. He’s simple-minded. What will happen if he doesn’t have a wife?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I hung up immediately. Then came a barrage of calls and messages, all cursing me, calling me ungrateful and heartless. When I was little, I had just figured out my innate lie detector. I excitedly went to test if my parents loved me. “Mom and Dad, if you have a baby brother, will you still want me?” My mother gently stroked my face. “How could we not want you? You’re our sweet little girl. Boys and girls are all the same.” That night, they became infertile. When they received the hospital reports, they wept hysterically. “Our son! We won’t have a son!” It was at that moment I realized they didn’t love me. They were all liars. No wonder they named me ‘Bring-a-Boy.’ I saw them crying, so ugly, and couldn’t help but laugh. My father heard me and grabbed a bamboo stick to hit me. I shouted, “You’re infertile! Not even a man! How can you be my father?!” My shouting let the whole village know. My parents were utterly humiliated and tried to commit suicide by drinking pesticide that day. My grandmother, desperate, adopted a boy, which immediately soothed their spirits. My parents revolved around him, insisting I call him ‘Little Brother.’ Later, my grandmother heard about a folk remedy to ward off misfortune. It was supposed to help her precious grandson thrive. She held up three silver needles and came to me. “Darling, if these three needles are put into your head, you’ll become very smart.” My expression was cold. The buzzing of the lie detector was so loud it almost deafened me. “Alright, I want to be smart.” I wanted to test if someone lying to me could actually harm me. Worst case, I could always run away. But before the needles even touched my head, my brother started crying. My grandmother rushed to comfort him, but he cried all night. My parents, worried sick, took him to the hospital. The doctors found three silver needles in his head. From then on, he became simple-minded. The whole family wept inconsolably. The experiment was a success. People lying to me couldn’t harm me. I gathered the money, tucked it under my bed, and planned to deposit it in the bank tomorrow. Penelope moved quickly. The next day, she sent me an address. It wasn’t just Charles Knight who showed up. Penelope’s best friend, Serena Davies, was also there. Penelope explained, “This is my best friend. She’s very curious about you.” I knew. She was probably worried Penelope was being swindled. No one would truly believe I had special abilities. 3 I cleared my throat. “Shall we begin?” Charles sat up straight, his right hand clasped with Penelope’s. “Do you want to marry Penelope?” Charles nodded. “Of course. I only want to marry Penelope.” No buzz. Penelope looked at me, excited. I shook my index finger at her. No lie! “Do you love her?” Charles stated firmly, “Yes, I do. We’ve been together since childhood. We’re destined to be together.” Again, no buzz. Penelope’s smile stretched almost to her ears. Charles truly loved her. She suddenly stood up. “Alright! The test is over. Luna Hayes, thank you so much.” I didn’t expect the money to be this easy. Serena, standing nearby, scoffed. “Oh, Penelope, this woman is a fraud. She’s just after your money. Don’t let her trick you out of everything.” “No way. I’ve had someone watching Luna. Her boyfriend lied that day, and he was struck by lightning right on the spot.” So, Penelope had been there that day. Serena shrugged, annoyed. “Fine, I’m going to get a manicure. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known it would be so boring.” I suddenly spoke. “You’re lying. You won’t be getting a manicure today.” Serena reacted sharply. “What are you talking about?!” The next second, the coffee cup in front of her exploded, sending ceramic shards flying. Charles instinctively let go of Penelope’s hand and moved to shield Serena. The atmosphere grew tense. That was a purely subconscious reaction from Charles. I immediately realized. Here’s my real job! “May I ask why you shielded Serena?” Charles’s voice was flustered, and he instinctively glanced at Penelope. “Because she’s Penelope’s friend. How could I just stand by and watch her get hurt?” The lie detector buzzed. Wrong reason. I felt a surge of excitement. “Then what is your relationship with Serena?” Charles stammered. “She’s… my girlfriend’s best friend, you know.” No buzz this time. “I’m asking about your relationship with Serena, not involving Miss Ashworth.” Charles mumbled. “We’re… barely friends.” The lie detector buzzed again. “You’re lying.” Charles looked panicked. “What are you talking about?!” He sharply turned to Penelope, and seeing the suspicion in her eyes, he grew even more flustered. “Penelope, she’s just a charlatan. Don’t believe her. Serena and I really are just barely friends.” Serena quickly chimed in. “Yes, she’s definitely lying.” Penelope stared at him, demanding, “What were you doing last Saturday night? Why did you smell like another woman’s perfume?” So Penelope’s suspicions weren’t unfounded. I repeated my question. Sweat beaded on Charles’s forehead. He said stiffly, “I was studying, Penelope knows that.” Another lie. I looked at Serena, a smile playing on my lips. “And you? What were you doing?” Serena nervously clutched her sleeves. She clearly didn’t believe I could truly detect lies. She bravely said, “I was getting a manicure. I get a new one every Saturday. I always have.” Serena did have a habit of getting a new manicure every Saturday, but that night, she had done more than just her nails. I looked at Penelope. “They’re both lying.” “Impossible! I have a classmate who can vouch for me!” Charles exclaimed. Soon, his classmate arrived. I asked him seriously, “Did you personally see Charles studying that night, and not doing anything else?” His classmate nodded firmly. “Yes, Charles was studying.” I sighed. “Miss Ashworth, I suggest you investigate thoroughly. They’re both lying.” Serena shouted, “Are you done?! How could I possibly be involved with Charles?! You’re a fraud!” My voice was calm. “Then do you dare to swear that you and Charles are completely innocent?” 4 Serena didn’t dare. Although she didn’t know how I could tell she was lying, a chill still ran down her spine. I looked at Charles again. “You make a vow.” “Of course I can swear, but this ends here. I don’t have time to keep messing with a fraud like you.” “Penelope, I’m so disappointed in you. I love you so much, and I’ve played along with your games, and you still doubt me.” Penelope, recalling my previous boyfriend’s fate, grew anxious. “Maybe… maybe we should just drop it. I’ll investigate the rest myself.” The atmosphere grew tense. Even if we stopped here, I wouldn’t be returning the money. But I detest those who betray sincere hearts. I stared directly at Serena and smiled. “Miss Davies, I don’t recall ever saying you were involved with Charles. Why are you so quick to jump to conclusions?” Penelope’s face changed slightly, and she snapped her gaze to Charles and Serena. Charles looked irritated. He ran his hand through his hair. “Penelope, are you seriously still doing this? You just suspect me of cheating, don’t you?” “Fine, I admit it. I cheated. Are you satisfied now?” “Penelope, your constant suspicion will only erode my love for you.” The lie detector remained silent through every one of his statements. That was the problem. It meant everything he said was true. Guilt immediately welled up in Penelope. Was she really too suspicious? Charles then turned to Serena. “You make a vow. If nothing happens, I’ll buy you a car. We’ll just play along with Penelope for a bit longer.” Serena’s tension instantly melted away. She held up three fingers. “I swear, if I’m involved with Charles, if I stole my best friend’s boyfriend, may I be hit by a car the moment I step outside!” Charles smirked. “Is that enough?” I nodded. “That’s enough.” Charles took Penelope’s hand. “Penelope, believe me, I really didn’t cheat.” “You’re the only one I love.” “Let’s just drop this. I really can’t handle this kind of joke.” Penelope’s expression softened, and she nodded hesitantly. “Goodbye, you two. You can go. I still want to finish the tea and pastries on the table.” I lowered my head, earnestly eating my cake. One slice of cake cost over a thousand dollars. I’d never tasted anything like it in my life. Serena rolled her eyes. “Such a commoner.” Penelope frowned. “Serena, don’t be rude.” Serena snorted. Just as I was finishing my cake, I heard the screech of tires outside. I picked up my coffee cup, walked to the window, and looked down. Serena was lying in the street, having been thrown by the impact. She was unconscious, brain matter spilling from her head. The car didn’t stop. It continued, plowing directly into Charles and his classmate. Screams erupted. Charles was pinned against a tree, clutching his leg frantically. “Ah! My leg is broken!” Because they all lied. The consequences caught up to everyone, to varying degrees. Penelope, horrified and shaken, looked up, and our eyes met. I raised my cup to her in a silent toast. Your money was well spent.

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1 The plane landed in Dubai at 8:30 PM, the sky behind me alight with gunfire. I texted my husband, Justin Vane: [I’m here. I’ve come to bring you home.] He didn’t reply. I called his assistant, Blake Miller. Blake stammered, “You actually went to the UAE?” An explosion rumbled nearby. My eyes stung. “Which district is he in?” A pause. “He never left the country.” Wind cut through my collar. Blake’s voice fell. “The business trip was a lie.” A picture came through—dated today. Justin, smiling, arm around a woman blowing out candles. Cathy Evans. The woman he swore three years ago he’d never see again. He’d also forgotten—today was my birthday. Another text: “Autumn, Justin never stopped seeing her. I didn’t dare tell you.” I looked at my phone. That message—I’ve come to bring you home—was never sent. If that was how it was, I’d stop waiting for him to come home. … “Madam, please use the evacuation route and do not linger here.” The airport announcement sounded again. I took a step, then my legs buckled, and I fell. I don’t know how many places I drifted through. Finally, the moment I boarded the plane back home. I couldn’t help but cry aloud. Back home, looking disheveled and exhausted, I headed to a law firm. In the elevator, I heard someone behind me playfully complaining on the phone. “Who stole that lace thong from my pocket? I came here commando, it’s all your fault.” “Alright, I’ll wait. Let’s see how you punish me later.” I turned around, incredulous. It was Cathy. She was still on the phone. “Do you have enough condoms in your drawer?” The elevator doors closed, reflecting two faces in the mirror. One was delicate, with exquisite makeup, and a playful sparkle in her eyes. The other was smudged and gray, with sunken eyes, chapped lips, and frizzy hair tied loosely. No wonder she didn’t recognize me. After the smoke and fires of war, I barely recognized myself either. A low chuckle came from the other end of the phone. “Depends on who it’s for. For you? Never enough.” She pouted playfully. “If your wife heard that, she’d be filing for divorce again.” “Let her. So what if we divorce again?” The elevator was ice cold, but I felt as if someone had seized my throat. My entire body trembled, but not a single word would come out. “You, you’re trying to make me jealous, aren’t you?” She lowered her voice, the end of her sentence rising in a flirtatious tone. “Be careful, I might just scream later and let everyone at your firm know that Attorney Vane is cheating again, and with me.” He laughed again. “If you dare to scream, I’ll break the news to her right away.” The elevator doors opened. Justin, impeccably dressed in a suit, stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Cathy’s waist, lowering his head to kiss her. He was as impatient as a fish starved for water, finally finding a spring. Cathy laughed, trying to shy away, but he pulled her back, deepening the kiss. She punched his chest playfully, mumbling, “There are other people here…” Only then did Justin lift his head. My hands and feet fumbled as I spun around, my eyes instantly moist. “Let her look. I’m kissing the woman I love most. What’s there to hide?” Cathy nestled into his embrace, giggling, her whole body shaking. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. “If I didn’t have urgent business back at the firm to retrieve some documents, I wouldn’t want to be apart from you for a second.” He sighed. “I’m just afraid that if I show up at the firm now, my wife will find out tomorrow.” Cathy playfully purred, “Alright, I’ll let you have your way tonight. Consider it my comfort to you.” The elevator quickly descended to the second basement level. I followed mechanically. Then, I watched them get into the luxury car whose license plate was my birthday. Soon, the car began to subtly rock. I stood rooted to the spot, a chill creeping up my spine, freezing me to the bone. No one knew. Justin and I’s first time had also been in a car. He was so nervous his palms were sweating, constantly asking if it hurt. When I said no, he would smile and say, “You’re so wonderful, Cathy.” “Cathy, don’t worry, I will never let you down.” Afterward, he wrapped me in his coat and turned the heater up full blast. I leaned on his shoulder and teased, saying that when we were rich, we’d buy the most luxurious car. He said, “Okay, and I’ll put it in your name.” Later, his career flourished, we naturally married, and lived three happy years. Until I found him in bed with his secretary, Cathy Evans. I was willing to leave with nothing just to divorce him. The day we got our divorce papers, he jumped from a third-story window. He didn’t die, but he broke a leg. Lying in the hospital bed, he confessed his wrongdoings and begged me for another chance. My heart softened. I cared for him for six months until he fully recovered. After we remarried, he was even better to me than before. He swore he would never do anything to betray me again. But now. This heart, bruised by him, had just begun to heal, only for him to brutally tear it open once more. Bleeding profusely. 2 I don’t know how I got home. Looking at the woman before him, with her messy hair, several band-aids on her face, and a gaping hole in her clothes, the security guard couldn’t believe I was Justin Vane’s wife. He hesitated, then called Justin. Hearing Justin’s voice, I instinctively snatched the phone and threw it to the ground. I turned to leave, but I was penniless. When I heard Justin might be in trouble, I spent all my savings on a ridiculously expensive return ticket. One and a half million dollars. No hesitation. My thought was simple: I wanted him back, safe and sound. Tears streamed down my cheeks. My phone rang. My mother was calling. “I just found out you went abroad to find Justin. You scared me to death! Are you both alright?” My nose stung, but I tried to sound calm. “Mom, I’m fine.” “Thank heavens! And you, you’re not even three months pregnant, going to such a dangerous place. You worried me sick. Thank goodness you’re okay.” I hung up the phone and gently touched my lower abdomen. Justin still didn’t know that after his “business trip,” I found out I was pregnant. My reckless journey abroad was, in truth, a desperate suicide mission. No matter what, my family of three would be together. A throbbing pain spread through my chest. Looking up again, a pair of arms enveloped me. The familiar scent of tobacco. It was Justin. “Where have you been? Why do you look like this?” Our eyes met. Justin’s were filled with genuine concern. It was as if the man in the elevator, who had looked at me with such indifference, wasn’t him at all. I forced a smile. “I stumbled, then I fell again trying to get up.” Just like this marriage. I believed him once, and I was deceived again. “The plane ticket back must have been expensive, right?” Justin froze for a moment, then tenderly scooped me into his arms, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. “It’s worth it. My wife was waiting for me to come home.” He spoke with such sincerity, his eyes welling up with tears. Justin knelt, and without a word, began applying antiseptic to my wounds. Seeing the cuts and bruises on my body, his handsome brows furrowed in concern. “Darling, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left you alone at home.” He was about to say more when his phone suddenly rang. After answering it, Justin apologized to me. “I have to go out for a bit. I’ll be home later.” I said nothing, just watched him put on his jacket. How many times had I sat by the door, silently waiting for him to come home? How many times had I reheated the dinner, over and over again? My eyes reddened. The tension that had held my nerves taut for days suddenly snapped. I abruptly stood up and pushed him away. “Go. And don’t come back.” Justin bent his head, intending to kiss me, but I turned away. He sighed. “Don’t be angry. I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He left in a hurry. The exhaustion of recent days pulled me into bed, only for a nightmare to jolt me awake. I dreamt of bombs falling around me. Waking, I saw the huge wedding photo on the wall. I remembered the first time I found out about Justin’s infidelity. He and Cathy had pressed four wet handprints onto our wedding portrait. I went insane and smashed everything in the house. Justin had knelt and begged me, saying that a second wedding would be the rebirth of our love, a monument to our mended relationship. Those vows still echoed in my ears. To this day, I still couldn’t understand. Why would he choose to hurt me again? Scrolling on my phone, I typed Cathy Evans’s name. After Justin fired her, her reputation in the legal world was ruined. No one dared to hire her. But surprisingly, she had become a popular social media influencer, with one of her casual videos getting tens of thousands of likes. She never showed her face, only videos of her holding a man’s hand. I clicked on each one. The man’s fingers were long and slender, tracing, kneading, intertwining with hers. Every video was like a knife. One hand rested on her waist. The little finger had a faint scar. An icy coldness spread through me. That scar. He got it when he was eighteen. A punk had cornered me, demanding I be his girlfriend. Justin had rushed over, shielding me. A beer bottle had grazed his head, splattering blood on my school uniform. He had quickly covered his head with his hand, gasping in pain, but still comforting me. “It’s okay. Even if I’m disfigured, you still have to keep me.” I found the contact number in her profile bio. I dialed it. Justin’s clear, cool voice came through the receiver: “Who is this?” 3 A cold dread settled in my heart. Justin had an exceptional memory, but he didn’t even recognize my phone number. “It’s me.” I paused. “I’m looking for Cathy.” “She’s in the shower.” He didn’t seem to recognize my voice either, his tone as flat as if he were dismissing a telemarketer. The sound of running water came through the receiver. Cathy’s voice floated over: “Honey, can you grab me a towel—?” The phone was carelessly put down. Footsteps receded, then returned. “Here.” “You dry me, won’t you…?” she cooed. “I need to get back early tonight.” “Are you… unable?” He laughed, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You really don’t know if I am?” Cathy giggled, then gasped as if she’d fallen onto the bed. I almost hung up the phone. But my finger trembled, unable to press the screen. Half an hour later, she updated her video. A large hand massaged her lower leg, his thumb tracing circles up her ankle. The Patek Philippe watch on his wrist gleamed. The comments section exploded: [Sister, please make a tutorial! How do you get such a high-quality man to serve you?] She replied: [True love comes naturally. If a man truly loves you, he’ll give you everything.] I clutched my phone tightly. That Patek Philippe watch shimmered on the screen. In the early days of his startup, money was tight. He had admired that watch for three years but couldn’t bring himself to buy it. I secretly sold the house my mother had given me, flew abroad, and bought it for him. The day I found out about his cheating, I smashed it. Justin specifically flew to Switzerland to find a craftsman to repair it, then knelt and presented it to me, saying that broken pieces could still be made whole. But the tiny crack on the watch face, it could never be completely removed. The comments section was awash with envy. Some complimented, others questioned: [Why won’t she show her face? Is she a mistress?] Soon Cathy posted a voice message. I clicked on it. Justin’s voice came through the receiver, deep, clear, every word distinct: [She’s not a mistress. She’s the woman I love most.] I clenched my lips. I turned off the video. I dialed his number. “Let’s get a divorce.” Justin paused for two seconds. “What’s wrong? I’ll be right back.” “No need. The previous agreement template will do.” His voice deepened. Through the receiver, I heard the creak of a spring being heavily pressed down and then bouncing back up. “I’m genuinely busy with something important. I’ll be back right away.” A woman’s languid moans were faintly audible in the background. I laughed, tears welling up. “You keep busy.” He seemed to be restraining something, lowering his voice. “No matter how angry you are, don’t mention divorce again. That was our agreement.” On his end, he seemed to have intensified whatever he was doing, and Cathy’s moans ceased. I hung up, my trembling hand pulling out that old written promise. The edges of the paper were curled. On it, he had written: a lifetime, growing old together, never again. He said a signature wasn’t sincere enough. He bit his finger and pressed a bloodied handprint onto the paper. He had bitten so hard that year, blood beaded up, and I watched, feeling the pain myself. He had smiled and said, “The pain will make me remember.” I found the divorce agreement and emailed it to him. His call came immediately. Justin’s voice was laced with anger. “Cathy Hayes! Half the assets are yours. Just stop this, okay?” Tears suddenly streamed down my face. I bit my lip and spoke: “The money, I want it.” “The divorce papers, I want those too.”

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New Year’s Eve. A video call, unexpected, from my past self, eight years ago, in a parallel timeline. Her eyes on the screen sparkled. “Harry just confessed his feelings for me today! He said he’d plant a whole yard full of my favorite flowers, spend every New Year’s Eve with me, and spoil me rotten forever!” She chattered on, painting vivid pictures of a future brimming with joy. I listened, quietly, a small smile playing on my lips. Then, she paused, her gaze shifting to the empty room behind me. “Hey? Where’s Harry? We must be so happy eight years from now, right?” I said nothing. Instead, I slowly turned the camera, aiming it at the other end of the living room. There, Harry was pinning a stranger against the floor-to-ceiling window, kissing her with an intensity that bordered on desperation. 1 The woman was pressed against him, body arched, her hand leaving a steamy, damp print on the fogged glass. Harry let out a low growl, his hand straying, giving her backside an impertinent squeeze. She shifted, uncomfortable, then looked up. Her eyes, through the glass, found mine. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but then she melted into Harry, her body swaying against him as if boneless. “Harry, darling, is someone else home?” He seemed unfazed, even using her upward tilt to deepen their kiss. His eyes, open, met mine—cold, almost playful. “Ignore her. She won’t mind, will she?” Mind? That word had long grown stale on my tongue. From screaming fits to numb acceptance, eventually, the desire to even speak had withered away. But on the screen, my eight-year-younger self had gone utterly pale, her hand trembling as she disconnected the call. The performance by the window, however, escalated. I lowered my head, sending a New Year’s greeting to my brother, who had vanished years ago, just to distract myself. The woman laughed, a giddy sound, her hands bolder now, roaming over Harry’s body. “Where did you find a wife so…understanding?” Then, they tangled, clothes scattering—a jacket, a tie, stockings—a trail leading up the stairs. Such scenes had become a regular, sordid film in this cold, sterile villa. I couldn’t even summon the energy to lift an eyelid. As the awkward New Year’s Eve comedy special on TV threatened to lull me to sleep on the sofa, a maid roused me. She spoke, her voice laced with discomfort. “Mr. Miller wants you to go out and buy…lubricant.” New Year’s Eve. The streets were deserted, only a handful of adult stores open. I walked for over half an hour against the biting wind. When I returned, I faintly heard two maids gossiping about me. “Poor Luna. These past eight years, she’s lived worse than a servant.” “Well, she shouldn’t have resorted to such underhanded tactics to marry Mr. Miller. It’s a miracle he even gave her a title.” Memories clawed their way back. Harry had been on a trip to Silver Creek, a mountain village, when we met. We fell in love. Pure, fierce, like the winds of the peaks. I left everything behind, following him to his city. But his mother vehemently opposed it, dismissing me as a “mountain girl.” Harry, though, had held my hand tightly back then, saying, “Don’t worry. I’ll make my mom agree.” Then, my brother, who had never gambled in his life, suddenly racked up a colossal debt. Desperate, he listened to someone’s dark suggestion. If he could just get me into Harry’s bed, force the issue, the Miller family, to save face, would surely marry me, and his debts would be cleared. My brother drugged both me and Harry. After a night of chaotic confusion, Harry’s gaze, once filled with tenderness, turned icy and hateful. He married me, then threw a check at me. “Remember, this money, you owe me.” Our marriage, a dream meant to be born of mutual affection, had twisted into a nightmare. He believed it was a conspiracy, orchestrated by my brother and me. I had tried to suggest divorce more than once. Each time, he would sneer, “You want a divorce? Fine. Return that fifty million, interest included. Otherwise, I’ll find your brother and make sure he rots in a cell.” My brother had vanished without a trace. This debt, it was shackled to me. Harry flung open the bedroom door. The red marks all over his torso were a jarring sight. “What took you so long?” He snatched the box from my hand, its plastic edge scraping my cheek, a sharp sting. “She’s too tight, couldn’t wait.” My peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the naked figure on the large bed inside the room. My stomach churned. I turned to escape. But his voice, playful, followed me. “Or maybe you want to join us?” I finally broke, clutching the toilet bowl, emptying my guts until I was dizzy. I called my past self again, video on. I asked, “Do you think he still loves me?” She cried, but disbelief still clung to her words. “How could he become like this? He clearly said he’d only love me!” I knew that without having lived through these years of despair, words alone couldn’t convey the depth of it. Perhaps she would, like my past self, make excuses for him, believing it was just a temporary misunderstanding. I didn’t blame her. Instead, I invited her to keep watching. 2 New Year’s Day. When I woke, the woman from last night was gone. But she’d left a pair of panties on the sofa. Harry followed my gaze, then suddenly wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close. “What, jealous?” He leaned in to kiss me, and I instinctively recoiled. The flicker of tenderness that had briefly softened his eyes instantly morphed into mockery. “Always that same lifeless look.” “You only screamed like a real woman the night you drugged me and crawled into my bed.” His words pierced my heart, a wave of shame washing over me. But he simply pushed me away, coldly. “Alright, it’s New Year’s Day. We have to go back to the old mansion to pay respects to my mom.” Harry’s mother was the person I dreaded facing most. All these years, her eyes had always looked at me as if I were something dirty. But this time, she didn’t even glance my way. She sat on the sofa, deep in conversation with the very woman who had been in Harry’s arms last night. Turns out, she was Layla Thorne, the woman Harry was originally meant to marry. Mrs. Miller patted Layla’s hand, her eyes full of approval. “Such a good girl. If it weren’t for that awful girl, you would have been our daughter-in-law by now.” Harry walked over, a playful smirk on his face. “Mom, I’m already married. Why bring that up? If you like her so much, just have her come visit more often.” “And what role would I play? Call you brother?” Layla’s laugh was sweet and innocent. But the word “brother” had tormented me all night, whispered brokenly during their indulgent acts. Now, they smiled at each other, looking like a true family. And I, awkward and out of place, stood on the periphery, a glaring outsider. At dinner, simply because Layla mentioned, “I’d like some beef,” Mrs. Miller had the kitchen prepare a whole table of beef dishes. Our village tradition forbade eating beef; we couldn’t even touch it. Seeing me hesitate to pick up my chopsticks, Mrs. Miller finally turned her gaze to me, her eyes filled with annoyance. “What are you waiting for? Eat! Don’t be so dramatic!” “In our family, you should do as the Romans do, understand?” I looked at Harry helplessly, my last shred of hope resting on him. At least he used to understand me. Then, he picked up something that looked like a mushroom and placed it on my plate. “Mom, don’t scare her.” The tenderness in his voice offered a fleeting glimpse of the man he once was. “This isn’t beef, Luna. Try it, it’s delicious.” I ate it without suspicion. But the moment my teeth sank into it, Layla’s laughter shattered the silence. She pointed at me, her tone innocent yet cruel. “Look! She’s eating beef!” “I knew it! There’s no such thing as beliefs or taboos, it’s all just excuses, pretending to be prim and proper!” Harry had tricked me. I stumbled to the bathroom, thrusting my fingers down my throat. I wanted to vomit out that piece of meat, along with all the degradation and betrayal I had swallowed over the years. Physiological tears blurred my vision. I called my eight-year-younger self again. This time, she was silent for a very long time. Then, she began to reminisce about the clear stream in our village. He had looked at me, his eyes bright like stars. “Luna, I did my research beforehand. You folks from Silver Creek don’t eat beef, right?” “When we’re together, I’ll be with you, and I’ll never touch it either.” But now? My past self on the video call looked even more despairing than I did. “This…this isn’t what I wanted…” She sobbed hysterically, repeating, “It hurts too much.” Does it hurt? I had grown so accustomed to it, I couldn’t shed another tear. 3 Harry disappeared for several days again. One day, as I stared blankly at my phone, I unexpectedly received a message from my brother, asking to meet. This news was like a beam of light in the darkness, making me believe he was coming to pull me out of this quagmire. But in reality, my brother grabbed my hand, trembling. “Luna, I’m so sorry… I think I’ve been set up…” “They’re demanding thirty million now, or they’ll kill me…” Hope shattered instantly, replaced by an even deeper sense of helplessness. The previous fifty million had already nailed me to the pillar of shame, forcing me to sell myself for money, tormenting me day and night. How could I possibly ask Harry for more now? Just as I felt lost and overwhelmed, the two lines on the pregnancy test stick seemed to mock me with an absurd joke. I finally waited for Harry to come home. “Thirty million for a child, is it a good deal?” My voice was so calm, it sounded alien even to myself. His pupils constricted. The next second, he grabbed my neck, shoving me violently against the wall. Suffocation instantly seized me. His eyes burned with raging fury and thinly veiled hatred. “I never realized how calculating you were! You’d even put your own unborn child up for sale!” “Do you have any heart at all? Besides money, was there ever anything real between us?” Real? My entire heart had long since been ground to dust by him, in the countless nights of humiliation over these past eight years. A gust of wind, and nothing was left. I ignored his malice, merely persisting, “Is it a deal?” He was finally utterly enraged by my attitude. He threw me onto the bed, tearing at my clothes heedlessly. “Harry! I’m pregnant! Not now!” As I struggled desperately, he pulled out a card and threw it at my face. “Fine! I’ll buy this kid’s life!” He leaned over, his breath hot against my ear, his words cutting deep. “And if it’s gone, that’s on me too.” That night was a hellish nightmare. When I dragged my seemingly broken body to the hospital for a check-up, the baby, incredibly, was still there. I touched my still-flat belly, feeling a sense of connection for the first time. A few days later, when Harry returned home, I calmly told him, “I had it checked, the baby’s fine. I’m going to have him, to make good on your thirty million.” His movements stalled. He stared at my slightly bulging abdomen, lost in thought. Then, he violently smashed the ashtray beside him onto the floor. The shattering sound was deafening. “You’re ruthless!” He didn’t even glance at my feet, which were cut by the fragments, then turned and slammed the door as he left. That night, I called my eight-year-younger self again, video on. “I don’t want my future to be like this…” She shook her head, her voice broken. “I don’t want my baby to be born into a home full of nothing but humiliation… I don’t want to…” Listening to her repeated whispers, I suddenly felt that perhaps everything could still change. A few days after the thirty million was transferred, my brother called me to meet again. This time, he cried, repeatedly hitting himself. “Little sister, I’m not human! I owe another ten million… I swear, this is the last time!” I stared at him blankly, unable to think of any other reason to beg Harry. I could only wait until he returned home again, then knelt before him. “Give me another ten million, and I’ll do anything you ask!” Harry kicked me away, then suddenly laughed. “What part of you is worth ten million now?” 4 Watching his retreating back as he slammed the door, I knew he had likely reached the limits of his patience with me. But my brother sent me another video—him being beaten by several men, pinned to the ground. I had no choice but to call Harry again and again, pleading, “Please, I’ll even die if you want!” Then, I listened to him and Layla all night, and received no response. At dawn, when I found my brother again, he was lying on the ground, covered in blood. With his last ounce of strength, he grabbed me. “Little sister… I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let you be with him back then…” I froze, hearing him say, “Yesterday, I just found out it was the Millers who tricked me into gambling… They set me up…” “Every single time… it was them… even forcing the marriage, that was the Millers’ idea…” Every word, I understood. But put together, they were so brutally cruel. The Millers? Then what was all that I had endured for these eight years? Was I foolish, or did I deserve it? I didn’t even have time to process this crushing truth. The doctor informed me that my brother was in multi-organ failure, his life hanging by a thread. Deeper than despair was yet another despair. Just as I was crying, begging the doctor to save my brother, Harry, with Layla, whose back had surprisingly gotten twisted in bed last night, appeared at the hospital. “Harry!” The accumulated hatred exploded. I rushed towards him like a madwoman, grabbing his collar, hysterical. “It was you! It was your family who set up my brother! Wasn’t it?!” Harry froze for a moment, then frowned. “What on earth are you babbling about! I wouldn’t stoop to such underhanded tactics!” I pointed at my brother, who was on the brink of death on the hospital bed, my fingertips trembling. “Harry, stop pretending! What else are you capable of?!” “You’ve toyed with my brother and me, turning us upside down! Are you satisfied now?!” Harry’s face darkened, his eyes turning completely cold. “Luna, remember this: you brought this upon yourself!” He gestured to the doctor beside him. “Get every doctor in this hospital to treat Ms. Thorne’s back.” “As for some half-dead individuals, there’s no need to waste medical resources.” One by one, the doctors, ignoring my screams and pleas, removed all the tubes and instruments from my brother’s body. Soon, my brother’s body gave one last twitch, then fell silent. I collapsed to the ground, crying, watching Harry walk away, arm around Layla. “Harry, if I could do it all over again, I would never make the same mistakes.” A sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen, and warm liquid gushed out. Before I lost consciousness, I made one last call to my eight-year-younger self. “Leave him.” I spoke with a dying desperation. “We can live again.” She bit her lip, hard, then finally nodded. “Okay.” Harry, perhaps due to a lingering flicker of conscience, or maybe remembering Luna had lost her brother and then her child, came home uncharacteristically early. Pushing open the door, a strange emptiness washed over him. He hadn’t quite registered what was missing. Just then, the maid brought him a cup of coffee. He took a sip, then spat it out, his brows furrowed. “The taste is off. Have Luna brew another one.” The maid looked bewildered. “Luna? Sir, who is Luna?” Harry’s heart inexplicably tightened. He said impatiently, “My wife, Luna!” The maid looked even more confused. “Mr. Miller, when did you get married? We haven’t heard you have a wife.”

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After watching my award-winning husband’s movie—the one with the B-list starlet—I accepted an invitation to a divorce reality show. My best friend, Kate, clapped me on the shoulder, her usual boisterous self. “Another publicity stunt for Kevin’s new film? You really go all out!” Everyone assumed this was just another one of our ten-year-long, picture-perfect celebrity couple’s quirky ways, eagerly rooting for us to reconcile. Kevin, a man of few words and even fewer romantic gestures, painstakingly and clumsily prepared surprises for me. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to win me over, at the end of each episode, I chose to “proceed with divorce.” Even the audience grew impatient, claiming I didn’t deserve him. Then, in the final episode, seeing my unwavering determination, his eyes reddened. He dropped to his knees before me. “Mia, I’ve never done anything to betray you. Why can’t you give me another chance?” I smiled. “Alright, I’ll give you three more chances.” “Three questions. If you answer even one correctly, I’ll stop talking about divorce.” Everyone sighed in relief, including Kevin himself. After all, when it came to understanding me, Kevin was second to none. No one dared claim the top spot. But after I asked the first question, everyone was dumbfounded. 1 “In the third year of our marriage, my taste suddenly changed.” “That year, what was my favorite fruit?” Hearing the question, the tense audience also let out a collective sigh of relief. Kevin, too, looked relieved, even flashing me a confident smile. “Mia, that’s too easy. How about something more challenging?” I shook my head, writing my answer for the host. “Just this one.” Kevin’s pen flew across the card, finishing his answer in less than two seconds. When the answer card was flipped to reveal “apples,” everyone relaxed. The observation guest in the studio, Elara Vance, a strong contender for this year’s Best Actress award, chuckled. “It seems Ms. Evans is just having a tantrum with Kevin. Even if she picks divorce every episode, she’s still thinking of him deep down.” “You two really are something, treating us and the audience like part of your little game, aren’t you?” I ignored her ambiguous barb, simply watching the supremely confident Kevin. “Are you sure that’s your answer?” Kevin hooked his lips into a smile, leaning back slightly, all prior tension gone. “Mia, sometimes we barely had enough for food, yet you’d rather skip groceries to buy apples. What else could it be if not that you loved them?” “We even argued about it back then.” “Besides, anything about you, it’s hard for me to forget.” When his expressive, charming eyes gazed at me intently, the entire studio erupted in deafening screams. I, however, stared at those eyes I once adored, saying nothing, simply turning my gaze slowly to the host. The host, who had been engrossed in the celebrity drama, gave an embarrassed smile, quickly pulling out her cue card, ready to announce Kevin’s “victory.” But after seeing the answer on the card, her face froze, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “Mr. Gatsby, you…” “You’re wrong.” 2 In an instant, the entire studio fell so silent that every breath was audible. The smile on Kevin’s lips stiffened, but he had faced countless grand stages and quickly regained his composure. “Mia, you’re not doing this on purpose, are you?” “I remember photos of you buying apples even went viral back then. Fans even nicknamed you ‘Apple Goddess.’” “Besides, you were cutting apples every day at home, the whole house smelled of apples. How could I possibly be wrong?” In the audience, Kevin’s biggest fan interjected, “That’s right! You even said in an interview that you were really interested in fruit tree cultivation and wanted to try growing apple trees yourself. What else could that be but love?” “Ms. Evans, you’ve already made things very difficult for Kevin in previous episodes. Can you please stop pushing it?” I ignored their aggressive questioning, instead asking calmly, “Kevin, do you remember what happened that year?” Kevin sneered. “Of course, I remember.” “At the time, I had offended some people and was practically blacklisted by the film industry. If it weren’t for you, Mia, standing by me and encouraging me, I might not have had the chance to make my comeback.” “So I can’t understand why, after we’ve been through such difficult times together, you now want to go our separate ways?” His eyes were deep, revealing an unspoken sadness that Kevin’s biggest fan in the audience frantically captured with her camera. But I calmly stated, “Yes, because of some incident, you offended a major director and couldn’t get a role for half a year.” “Until a small-budget period art film found you, asking you to play a mute apple farmer who falls in love with a city girl, only to be abandoned by her.” “That film is hard to find now, but that role truly helped you make a comeback.” “It was precisely because of that niche art film’s decent reception that you were able to return to the big screen, making the movie that made you famous to this day. Do you remember all of this?” The more I spoke, my voice grew softer, the carefully hidden sadness slowly revealing itself. But Kevin remained confused. “What does this have to do with your question?” I looked up at this man who claimed to know everything about me but had forgotten so much, and gave a bitter laugh. “Did you forget that when that film first approached you, you initially didn’t want it?” “You didn’t want to stoop to playing a country bumpkin, and even wanted to flat-out reject the script.” “It was I who insisted, buying apples and saplings every day, researching how to grow trees in the yard, studying the differences between various types of apples, and writing piles of notes.” “Those notes ultimately became the nourishment for your character. It was I who suffered in the wind and sun, but in the end, it was you who achieved fame and success!” Years of deep resentment made me almost want to roar, but my reason still suppressed the pain. Yet Kevin ignored my grief and indignation, stating with abnormal calmness, “So, what was your favorite fruit?” I looked up at him, at his familiar habit of lightly dismissing my pain, and calmly said, “Green mandarins.” Hearing this answer, Kevin suddenly laughed. Even Elara, observing from the side, couldn’t help but say, “Ms. Evans, it’s well-known that you don’t like sour things.” “Even if you feel you contributed a lot to Kevin back then and now want it back, there’s no need to contradict yourself and lie, is there?” All eyes in the room fixed on me, but I felt no pressure whatsoever. I merely stated calmly, “Yes, what reason could have made me change my taste back then?” I looked at Kevin, only to notice a subtle hint of guilt in his eyes. I smiled, no longer looking at him, but suddenly turned to Elara, who had been attacking me. “Because back then, I was pregnant.” 3 Under the shocked gazes of everyone, Kevin shifted uncomfortably. He clearly hadn’t expected me to reveal this. His voice was frantic and bewildered. “Mia, you never told me…” “Second question.” I coldly interrupted his inquiry. “What is my favorite movie?” This question was a bit more challenging. After all, in public interviews, my answer to this question was always different. But they all had one thing in common: Kevin’s “next movie.” After his successful comeback, he didn’t initially make much of a splash. It was I who, at the cost of my own public appeal, repeatedly promoted him in interviews, using every possible adjective to praise his films, reigniting public curiosity about him. Later, a fan’s camera accidentally caught him visiting me on set. Despite his distinguished background and glamorous public image, he didn’t hesitate to eat my leftovers after I handed him my bowl. After the video went viral, Kevin quickly became a well-known “good man” in the entertainment industry. Suddenly, various roles of devoted husbands came his way, including critically acclaimed works by famous directors. But he politely declined them all, with one single reason: “Mia gets jealous.” So, in the public’s mind, I became a lovesick and overly jealous wife, while he, full of talent, was forced to miss out on many great opportunities because of his love for me. Remembering everything from the past, I gave a self-mocking smile, quietly watching Kevin, wondering what his answer would be. “Roman Holiday.” Kevin was utterly confident. “Mia, I am absolutely right about this one. I read your diary.” “You wrote that you and I were like the protagonists of Roman Holiday, just in reverse.” “You also said it was your favorite movie and your least favorite ending.” “I’ve always wanted to tell you that we would never be separated like the characters in that movie. I’ve always shown you through my actions that status and wealth are illusions; our love can always overcome everything.” “But why, why won’t you just give me a chance?” He suddenly covered his face with his hands. The man who was never willing to show weakness in public now looked incredibly fragile, down to every strand of his hair. But I calmly watched him, then slowly said, “You’re right, that was indeed my favorite movie.” Kevin suddenly lifted his head, his previously mournful eyes instantly filled with joy. “But that was only in the past.” “Now, my favorite is The Chrysalis.” Upon hearing those two words, the surprise in Kevin’s eyes was instantly replaced by guilt. And in that moment, everyone’s gaze shot directly to Elara Vance, seated in the guest section. After all, it was well-known that The Chrysalis depicted my love story with Kevin. But the leading roles were played by Kevin and Elara. 4 “Ms. Evans, what do you mean?” Elara instantly rose from her seat, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Kevin and I are just professional colleagues. There’s no need to drag me into your marital issues, is there?” “Besides, you were the one who pulled out due to health reasons, and the production team had no choice but to bring me in as a last-minute replacement.” “I’ve already faced enough controversy because of that film. If you’re still so bothered, I think you’d best keep Mr. Gatsby at home and nowhere else, otherwise, if he so much as steps out and encounters a woman, you’ll probably die of anxiety!” The audience buzzed with murmurs, and even the live stream comments overwhelmingly supported Elara. “Seriously, is Mia Evans sick? She’s even being petty towards an actress who’s just professionally collaborating with her husband?” “Poor Actor Gatsby, to fall for such an incredibly jealous woman. It’s love, otherwise he would have divorced her already.” “Why can’t good men and good women ever get together? I actually liked Kevin and Elara’s dynamic when I watched The Chrysalis, too bad Actor Gatsby got married young, sigh.” “Just get divorced already, it’s exhausting to watch. What kind of man can handle a diva like Mia Evans?” The audience was abuzz, and Elara on stage was seething. If the staff hadn’t restrained her, she would have stormed off the set. Kevin, meanwhile, looked utterly drained by my antics, yet still tried hard to maintain a gentle demeanor. “Mia, let’s not involve others in our private matters, okay?” “I don’t want to divorce you, but I’m truly exhausted. I’ve shown you my phone, and I even meticulously list every expense for you to scrutinize.” “If I’ve done all this and you still refuse to believe my innocence, I have nothing left to say.” I couldn’t be bothered to respond. “Second question, you answered incorrectly.” “So, the final question.” “Host, I request a break!” Elara angrily interrupted me, but I didn’t comply with her wish. Instead, I kept my gaze fixed on Kevin’s eyes. “What is the most memorable anniversary gift I’ve ever received?” After getting the director’s approval, the host smiled and came to pull me away, trying to lighten the mood. “Ms. Evans, filming is paused. The next question will be addressed in the second half.” “I’m sure you’re tired too. Why don’t you take this opportunity to rest properly…” “It was the fireworks display I arranged for you last year,” Kevin quickly interjected. “Yes, and no,” I promptly replied. Kevin, enraged, scoffed. “Stop tormenting me. So tell me, what’s wrong with it?” A desolate smile curved my lips, and the tears in my eyes, no longer controllable, spilled over. “Kevin, do you really not know?” I suddenly stripped off my evening gown. The moment everyone saw the full extent of my skin, a collective gasp swept through the room. 5 Seeing that everyone had a clear view, I immediately put my clothes back on, said no more, and prepared to leave for my break. I knew my objective had been achieved. Once this episode aired, no matter what, Kevin would not refuse my divorce request. But as I was about to leave, Kevin grabbed my arm. He wept, holding me tightly from behind, his voice trembling like a child who had lost a beloved toy. “No, Mia, you never told me about this.” “I always thought you were just angry with me then, that’s why you ignored me for months. I didn’t know you would…” A few years ago, hearing his humble and remorseful confession, I would have been so moved that I would have forgiven him on the spot. But now, I simply freed myself from his embrace, stating calmly, “Enough, Kevin.” “Your acting is truly excellent, but I’m not your leading lady. You don’t need to put on a show for me here.” “I’ll see you at the Registry Office in a week. If you refuse to divorce, I will explain the answers to the remaining two questions to the audience, one by one.” “You wouldn’t want your career to be ruined, would you?” Feeling the hand pulling me from behind loosen, I left the studio without looking back and entered the lounge. But no sooner had I sat down than the door was pushed open. I thought it was Kevin, relentlessly pursuing, trying to continue his pleas and gestures of goodwill. But when I turned, what I saw was Elara Vance’s face, a face that had, countless times, filled me with such loathing that I wished to destroy us both. Seeing my continued composure, she sneered, her sharp red nails seeming to dig into her flesh. I expected her to continue with threats or veiled insults. But the first words out of her mouth after entering were, surprisingly, tinged with suppressed anger. “Name your price.”

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“Ding. Target capture failed. Host will remain in this world until natural death.” Tristan pulled me close, face etched with sorrow. “Hazel, don’t let this destroy you. We can have another baby.” This was a fiction. Back in reality, my mother lay in a hospital bed, terminally ill, buried under crushing medical debt. Just as I lost hope, the System pulled me here. The deal was clear: win the heart of the tragic second lead, save him from the female lead’s torment, and keep him alive. Success meant a fortune and a ticket home—my mother could live. Failure meant being trapped here forever. This was my fourth attempt to save Tristan. Each of the three times before, he fell desperately in love with Valerie, the woman who tortured him and ruined his family. This time, fate repeated itself. He fell for her again. Rushing to her side, he left our child alone—and our son died. Hearing his empty comfort, I stared blankly at his chest. “There will never be another baby.” “Ding. Extreme emotional spike detected. Please—wait, stop! You’ve killed him three times already!” Before the mechanical voice finished, the hunting knife in my hand drove deep into his heart. If I could never go home, my mother would die. Then he would die too. 1 A few feet away stood the tiny hospital bed. Our beautiful boy lay there, eyes closed, looking as if he were simply taking a nap. I wanted to walk toward him, but my feet were nailed to the floor. It felt as though weights were shackled to my ankles. My face was drained of all color, my breath hitched in my throat, and my trembling hand reached out into the empty air. “Hazel, I am so sorry. Valerie twisted her ankle out of nowhere. She was crying, saying she needed to get to the ER right away. Finn was having so much fun in the sandbox. I had no choice. I thought it would be fine to just let him play for a few minutes.” “But… I don’t know how it happened. When I got back, the police were there. They said he chased a ball into the middle of the street and a car…” “He didn’t even make it to the hospital.” The words spilled from Tristan’s mouth. I opened my own, trying to scream, trying to wail, but the silence in my throat was absolute. “Finn… my little Finn…” I had been reborn four times. I did not love Tristan. In fact, the very sight of him made my stomach churn with hatred. But I was forced to play this twisted game of romance. Finn was a miracle we had through IVF. From the moment he took his first breath, I was his entire world. He was my only anchor, my sole emotional refuge in this bleak, artificial reality. And then, on a random Tuesday, Tristan said he wanted to take his son to the park for some bonding time. Now, my son was a corpse. I had foolishly believed a child could tether his wandering soul. What a naive, pathetic delusion. A million needles pierced my heart simultaneously, shredding the organ into bloody ribbons. This was my fourth attempt at saving Tristan, and the longest I had ever survived in a timeline. Yet, he still could not escape his pathetic obsession with the female lead. In my past lives, I had snatched him from the jaws of Valerie’s cruelty more times than I could count. When she and her goons cornered him to shatter his hands, I leaped out of the shadows and called the cops, preserving his future. When she pushed him onto the subway tracks, I tore my own muscles apart dragging him back onto the platform. When she orchestrated a hostile takeover that ruined his family and threw him behind bars, I worked myself to the bone, calling in every favor under the sun to get him out. But Tristan was a glutton for punishment. In every single lifetime, he crawled back to his abuser, kissing the hand that struck him, and discarding me like garbage in the process. Fortunately, whenever the System declared my mission a failure, I made sure to take Tristan down with me. If I couldn’t go back to my mother, he didn’t deserve to breathe. The haze in my eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve. I fixed my gaze on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. I had already butchered him three times. A fourth wouldn’t hurt. 2 I trailed my fingers gently over his suit jacket, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath. Gripping his shoulder, I lowered my voice into a chilling whisper. “You left our baby alone on a park bench just because Valerie called.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Hazel, you cannot blame Valerie for this. It was my decision to go to her. She is completely innocent in this tragedy. How was I supposed to know a toddler would run into traffic?” His tone was soft, but the underlying thread of impatience was unmistakable. “If anyone is to blame, it is you. You coddled him too much. You should have taught him not to run off.” Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and stinging. He was blaming me. He was blaming a two-year-old boy for acting like a toddler. I tilted my head up, my eyes glacial. “Excuse me?” He looked away, unable to meet my stare. “Look, I know what this is about. You are just paranoid that I am going to leave you for Valerie.” “Rest assured, Valerie and I are never going to happen. I only went to her because she was injured and needed help.” “If we were meant to be together, it would have happened years ago. Stop being so irrationally jealous. Let us just arrange the funeral for Finn, take some time to heal, and try for another baby. We just need to move on.” Move on. As if my son were a spilled cup of coffee. The truth was, I could not care less who he loved. In my eyes, he could love Valerie, he could love a lamppost, he could be madly in love with a stray dog for all I cared. All I ever wanted was to complete the damn mission, get my payout, and save my dying mother. Hearing his delusional rant, I let out a heavy breath. The words “Mission Failed” were currently flashing in neon red across my vision. I was so incredibly exhausted. I had to start the cycle all over again. “It is okay,” I murmured. “It will all be over soon. Just endure it for a second.” I spoke softly, just loud enough for the words to brush against his ear. “What?” he asked, confused. I did not bother explaining. In a fraction of a second, my hand slipped into my purse and withdrew the hunting knife. It was a blade I had purchased on the very first day of this fourth timeline. I always kept it close. The moment the System announced my failure was the moment Tristan met his maker. I refused to rot in this dimension until I was old and gray. My mother was waiting for me. If the mission was busted, then Tristan had to bleed so the clock could reset. “Ding! Host, please calm down! Your heart rate is off the charts. Stop! You have stabbed him three times already! Don’t do it! Please…” The System’s robotic pleas fell on deaf ears. I drove the steel blade straight through Tristan’s ribcage. A guttural shriek tore from his throat. Crimson blood erupted from the wound, a warm mist spraying across my cheeks and eyelashes. Tristan stared down in sheer disbelief at the handle protruding from his chest. He stumbled backward, his lips parting as dark blood bubbled up from his throat. “Hazel… you…” He tried to turn and run, but I stepped right into his shadow, refusing to let him escape. I grabbed the handle and twisted, shoving the blade deeper into his flesh. A twisted smile curled on my lips. “You pathetic excuse for a man. You deserve every ounce of this. I regret ever saving you. I should have let Valerie grind your bones to dust. Go to hell, Tristan. Your parents are waiting for you down there. I am sure they would love to ask their dear son why he fell in love with their murderer.” In this lifetime, Valerie had caused the horrific multi-car pileup that left Tristan’s parents dead. Yet, Tristan had marched into the police station, signed a forgiveness waiver, and pulled every string he had to keep her out of prison. Tristan’s eyes bulged with pure terror. “No… please… don’t kill me. I…” Before he could finish begging, I put all my body weight into the knife, burying it to the hilt. I ripped it out. I plunged it back in. The pristine hospital floor was transformed into a macabre painting of spilled wine. Finally, his knees buckled. He collapsed into the growing puddle of his own blood, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the fluorescent lights. I dropped the knife, gasping for air, and slumped against the wall, utterly drained. “Why do you keep doing this?” the System sighed. “Killing him does not solve the mission. Now we have to trigger the reset.” I scoffed, wiping a smear of blood from my cheek. “If I don’t kill him, I am stuck living out the next sixty years in this hellhole without a dime to save my mom. I would rather watch him bleed.” 3 The air around me shimmered and twisted, accompanied by the System’s digitized sigh. Welcome to the fifth rebirth. Since Tristan was so thoroughly addicted to his own suffering, I decided I was done playing the savior. When I opened my eyes, the damp, familiar scent of mold hit me. I turned my head. At the mouth of a graffiti-covered alley, Valerie and a group of her grunge-clad sorority sisters were backing Tristan into a corner. Valerie had bombed her SATs and failed to get into a decent college. Tristan, on the other hand, had passed with flying colors and enrolled in an Ivy League university. Unable to stand his success, Valerie followed him to campus, bringing her reign of terror to his dorm steps. The spawn point for this rebirth was identical to the last timeline. With a blank expression, I watched Valerie kick Tristan in the stomach. He crumpled against the brick wall. She sneered, flicking her cigarette ash onto his designer shirt. “I told you, Tristan. You don’t get to walk away from me. You owe me your life.” “We grew up on the same street. Why did my family go bankrupt while the Blackwoods are still living in luxury? It makes me sick.” “My parents are gone. Our legacy is gone. I have nothing left. You owe me for the rest of your miserable existence.” They were childhood neighbors, growing up side by side. But after the Vanderbilt family lost their fortune, Valerie’s mind warped. She convinced herself that Tristan needed to suffer exactly as she had. Tristan remained silent, though he glared up at her with a look of stubborn defiance. I used to look at that rebellious glint in his eyes and think it was his bruised ego. Now, knowing what I know, I realized he was just sick in the head. He thrived on the humiliation. He enjoyed the pain she inflicted. The memory of the third timeline burned brightly in my mind. Tristan had insisted on driving Valerie to the airport during a storm. I was in the passenger seat when a truck T-boned us. I lay trapped in the crushed metal, my legs pinned, blood pouring into my eyes, screaming his name. He completely ignored me, frantically tearing at the backseat door to get to Valerie. His words still echoed in my nightmares. “Hazel, hold on! I have to get Valerie out first! She is bleeding, she might be in shock!” I had watched him carry her out of the wreckage to the safety of the sidewalk, leaving me behind as the engine sparked. Valerie stood there, watching the flames engulf my side of the car, a manic grin on her face. She mouthed the words, “Serves you right.” She hated me for constantly intervening. She wanted to break him, and I kept fixing him. My focus snapped back to the damp alleyway. Valerie gave a subtle nod to one of her lackeys, who promptly handed her a heavy aluminum baseball bat. Crack! Crack! Crack! The sickening sound of metal hitting bone echoed off the brick walls. Tristan was forced to his hands and knees, violently coughing up blood. He lifted his bruised face. “Are you done yet?” Valerie let out a cruel, melodic laugh. “Not even close. You walk around with too much swagger. I think it is time we took one of your arms out of commission.” “Everyone says my soul is crippled. Let us make your body match, shall we?” “Then we will truly be equals.” A flicker of genuine panic crossed Tristan’s eyes, but it vanished in a heartbeat. He truly did not believe she would go through with it. He refused to accept the depth of her malice. I had asked him once, in a past life, “Why do you still love her after she almost sent you to the morgue?” He had rolled his eyes, utterly annoyed. “You don’t understand our bond. Valerie would never actually cross the line. She would never kill me. Honestly, if you had not meddled, things would have worked themselves out.” “Stop acting like you are some holy savior. I never asked for your help. You forced your way into my business, so don’t expect me to bow down in gratitude.”

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