Author: Momo Chan

I suspected my husband might be having an affair. I hired a private investigator to look into it. A week later, the investigator sent me numerous photos. In the pictures, my husband was intimately close with his female secretary. There was even a real-time photo of them in a hotel bed, with the secretary’s long hair entwined around his arm and her red-painted nails clutching my husband’s neck. I picked up my phone and dialed my husband’s number. As the gathering drew to a close, guests gradually departed, leaving me standing alone in the empty living room. Outside, snow was falling heavily and the wind was bitterly cold, while my body felt unusually weak from prolonged fatigue and emotional distress. I picked up my phone and called Jack. “Hey, Jack, the party’s over. Could you come pick me up? The snow’s too heavy for me to drive,” I tried to keep my voice calm. On the other end of the line, Jack’s voice sounded a bit flustered, “Emily, I… I’m a bit tied up right now. I might not be able to make it.” “What’s going on? Didn’t you say you were checking on the progress at the project site today?” I asked deliberately, already knowing the answer but still clinging to a shred of hope. “Ah… yes, there’s an unexpected situation at the site that needs my immediate attention,” he stammered in response. “Alright then, be careful,” I hung up, a self-mocking smile tugging at my lips. The private investigator’s photos were right in front of me. How could he still be at the project site? This was just another lie he had fabricated. I set myself a one-hour time limit. If Jack could make it to pick me up within this time, I’d give him one more chance; if not, I’d end this marriage for good. I sat on the couch, staring blankly at the heavy snow outside the window. One hour passed, then two hours, and even after three hours, Jack still hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t even called to check on me. My heart turned completely cold.

I picked up my phone and dialed that familiar number. After ringing for a long time, Jack’s sleepy voice finally came through. “Hello?” His voice carried a hint of impatience. “Jack, where are you right now?” I tried to keep my tone calm, but the anger inside me was about to consume me. “I’m… I’m still busy. What’s wrong?” His answer was clearly a lie. “Is that so? I’ve been waiting for you for three hours. What exactly are you so busy with?” I asked point-blank, my voice suppressing anger. There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then he said irritably, “The company has some issues right now. Can’t you understand and just go home by yourself…” I didn’t bother listening to his baseless accusations and hung up. I stood up, grabbed my coat and car keys, deciding to drive home myself. After getting home, when I reopened my phone, a thought flashed through my mind. I registered a new account and quietly infiltrated Sophia and Jack’s social media circles. My fingertips slid across the screen, revealing post after post. Sophia’s timeline was full of sweet moments between her and Jack. Photo after photo showed them smiling so brightly, as if flaunting their happiness to me. The photos of exquisite gifts, with captions brimming with love, made me sick to my stomach. “Darling, this gift is so thoughtful. Thank you for always being there for me,” Sophia posted a picture of a designer handbag. I clicked into the comments section, and sure enough, Jack’s comment was right there: “As long as you like it, I’m willing to buy you the whole world.” Seeing this sentence, I was stunned, my hand involuntarily gripping the phone tightly. This was also a sweet nothing he had once said to me, but now he easily said it to another woman. A wave of indescribable nausea and hurt washed over me. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my emotions. I took screenshots of their posts and saved them on my phone as evidence of his betrayal of our marriage.

I managed to rest for a night, but woke up the next day feeling headachy and weak. I wanted to rest a bit more, but was awakened by Jack’s rough knocking on the door. “Emily, are you up? Get up and make me something to eat, and while you’re at it, make some hot soup for Sophia. I’ll take it to her later.” His voice came through the door crack, carrying an unquestionable command. I struggled to sit up, fuming, my voice hoarse from the cold: “Jack, can’t you see I’m sick? Why should I cook for you and her?” He clearly hadn’t expected me to refuse. He pushed open the door and stood in front of me with a displeased look: “What’s wrong with you today? Can’t you even do this small thing? Don’t forget, today is our wedding anniversary!” I laughed coldly. This so-called “anniversary” was probably just another excuse for him to show off his harmonious family life. “Anniversary? You must have gotten the date wrong, or maybe you just don’t care about this day at all. And you want me to serve you and your mistress? Jack, you’ve gone too far!” His face darkened as he angrily walked over: “What nonsense are you talking about? Sophia is just a colleague. She worked late today, so I’m just giving her a ride home. Don’t make a fuss!” “Making a fuss?” I pointed at myself, feeling a wave of sadness, “I’m making a fuss? Look at the ‘surprise’ you gave me!” Saying this, I grabbed the small box he had thrown on the bedside table and smashed it in front of him. He was stunned for a moment, then bent down to pick up the box. When he opened it, his expression became complex. Inside the box lay the pendant I had once loved dearly. “This is… the pendant you’ve always wanted. I bought it especially for you,” he tried to explain, but his voice lacked conviction. “Yes, I’ve always wanted it, but what you bought is the cheap imitation that Sophia wears!” I pointed at the identical pendant around Sophia’s neck in the social media photos. “You think I don’t know? You gave her the real one and gave me a fake! Jack, you’re so calculating!” His face turned ashen as he tried to defend himself. “Enough, Jack,” I cut off his words before he could speak. “You’ve lied to me many times.” I looked straight at him. He was stunned.

Jack hesitated for a moment, then suddenly came over to feel my forehead, trying to change the subject: “Emily, let’s not talk about this now. You’re not well, I’ll take you to the hospital.” I shook my head, trying to resist this sudden “care,” “I don’t need you to worry about me!” But he obviously didn’t heed my refusal, pulling me out of bed with one swift motion. “Listen to me, we’re going now,” his tone was uncompromising, as if I were a puppet in his hands, only able to move according to his will. Sitting in the car, I leaned back in my seat, my gaze inadvertently falling on the leather cushion in the back seat. That cushion used to be my favorite, but now it had an eye-catching cross drawn on it by Sophia. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm: “This cushion…” Jack glanced at me through the rearview mirror, a flash of embarrassment crossing his face, “Oh, that? Sophia accidentally drew on it. She said she’d get you a new one.” I sneered, “Accidentally? More like intentionally.” I didn’t say anything more. I was already tired of this marriage. At the hospital, the process of registration, consultation, and examination… I went through all these procedures in a half-awake state. Just as I was about to leave, Jack’s phone rang. It was his so-called “company call.” I clearly saw the name on the screen – Sophia. He answered the call, deliberately walking to the side and lowering his voice, but even so, I could vaguely hear the words “miss you.” A few minutes later, he hung up and came over to me, saying, “Emily, there’s an urgent matter at the company. I have to go now. You take a cab home, okay? Be careful.” I nodded, neither trying to keep him nor questioning him. Because I knew all of this was just his excuse. He was only going to meet Sophia. Back home, I lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Until the next morning, when a sudden burst of phone ringing broke the silence of the room. It was Jack, inviting me to attend a gathering, saying it was to celebrate the success of a project. I knew this was just another way for him to show off his “successful man” image in front of me. “I don’t want to go,” I refused him directly. “Emily, you must come,” his tone suddenly became firm. “Ryan and Chris will be there. You’re my wife, it’s your responsibility to attend such occasions.” I was silent for a moment, recalling that unpleasant gathering experience. Back then, I was like an outsider, watching them chat and laugh, feeling out of place myself. But this time, it didn’t matter anymore. I was going to get a divorce anyway, so I decided not to back down. The gathering was at a high-end restaurant. As soon as I entered, I saw Jack and Sophia standing together, their smiles so glaring. Seeing me, Sophia immediately came over enthusiastically, but her eyes flashed with provocation. “Oh, sister Emily is here too,” she deliberately raised her voice, as if wanting everyone to know of my presence. “Long time no see, you and Jack are still so in love.” I looked at her coldly, ignoring her provocation. The gathering began, but I was isolated. Sophia and her friends deliberately excluded me, and no one prepared a seat for me. “What’s wrong, no one arranged a seat for you?” A sarcastic female voice rang out. It was one of Sophia’s friends, deliberately raising her voice so that everyone around could hear. I snorted, “Yeah, I don’t know who planned this gathering. They can’t even handle the most basic tasks.” Sophia’s friend’s face stiffened, about to say something more. Ryan, a usually friendly acquaintance, walked over with a hint of apology on his face. “Emily, I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you didn’t have a seat. Come, sit with me.” I looked at him, about to follow Ryan to his seat, when Sophia stopped me. “Ryan, what’s wrong with you? There are empty seats over there, why squeeze in here?” Sophia deliberately raised her voice, drawing the attention of those around. Ryan looked troubled. He glanced at Sophia, then at me, and finally chose to remain silent. I was fed up inside, thinking I might as well go all out.

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## To save his precious first love, the so-called “light of his life,” my boyfriend didn’t hesitate to shove me straight into a horde of zombies. When I opened my eyes again, I had already become one of them. And I swore, I would kill him. Ironically, fate had other plans—he became the Zombie King. But that didn’t matter. I still planned to kill him. If I couldn’t beat him head-on, I’d use every trick in the book. “Ahhh! Help me! Someone, please!” A piercing scream echoed from downstairs. I hesitated for a moment, but my boyfriend, Chris, took off like a sprinter, rushing toward the sound. A few of his teammates exchanged glances and smirked knowingly. “Looks like the Captain’s in a hurry. I bet it’s Anna Lane—the goddess he’s been pining after forever. His first love. Still hasn’t gotten over her, has he?” Someone coughed awkwardly, trying to shut them up. “Hey, his girlfriend is right here. Watch what you’re saying.” Another one chuckled. “Relax, it’s just a joke. You’re not mad, are you?” Mad? I wanted to shoot him right between the eyes. But this was Chris’s squad, his people. I had no power here, no influence. Picking a fight with them would only make things worse. So I swallowed my anger and kept quiet. It wasn’t like they cared what I thought anyway. Still, when Chris didn’t come back after a while, everyone started to look uneasy. “We should go check on them,” someone suggested. I didn’t want to go. But if I refused, they’d brand me as selfish, a liability, someone who didn’t care about the team. And I couldn’t let them drag my name through the mud. Reluctantly, I followed them downstairs. What we saw made my stomach drop. Anna Lane stood in the middle of the zombie horde, surrounded by a faint protective shield. She was screaming her lungs out as the zombies pressed closer and closer. The light of her shield was dimming rapidly—she wouldn’t last much longer. Among the horde were high-tier zombies. Trying to rescue her would be a suicide mission. Even the ones who had been shouting about saving their “goddess” moments ago went quiet. Chris was hurling fireballs at the zombies, but they barely made a dent in the crowd. His attacks did nothing to stop the tide. And then, he crouched down, his face buried in his hands. Was he… crying? I had never seen him like this before. When I was in danger, he always stayed calm, calculating the risks before swooping in at the last second to “gracefully” save the day. If I ever voiced even the slightest dissatisfaction, he’d look at me like I was being unreasonable. “It’s for the good of the team,” he’d say, his tone clipped. “I can’t prioritize you over everyone else. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” Or worse: “It’s the apocalypse. Death is normal. Consider this practice for the day you’re really surrounded by zombies. At least then you won’t embarrass yourself by breaking down.” Sometimes, he didn’t even bother pretending. “Why can’t you be more like Anna? She’s soft, sweet—everything a girl should be. You’re too independent. It’s exhausting. You make me feel like I’ve got nothing to offer you.” But the man who claimed to put the team above all else had risked our lives countless times for Anna. Funny how his priorities shifted when it came to her. Disgusting. “What do we do, Boss?” one of the teammates asked hesitantly. Chris’s eyes were bloodshot as he looked around, desperate. Then, his gaze locked onto me. In that split second, I knew something was wrong. Before I could react, he shoved me forward—straight into the horde. The zombies, who had been fixated on Anna, turned their attention to me. Their hollow, black eyes gleamed with hunger. Panicking, I tried to retreat, but elemental blasts from behind forced me back. I looked toward the team, hoping for help, but their faces were cold, indifferent. Some even aimed their attacks at my weak spots, ensuring I couldn’t fight back. These people, my so-called teammates, had turned into executioners. In the end, I was devoured by the horde. And Chris? He used the time I bought with my life to save Anna. If I could do it all over again, I’d make sure to kill that bastard with my own hands.

When I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. Zombies shuffled around me, occasionally stepping on my mangled body. But none of them attacked me. Confused, I sat up, only to see that half my flesh had been chewed off. My stomach had a gaping hole, and when I reached inside, I could feel my intestines. Oh. I was dead. Or rather, undead.

The next few days were a blur. I was starving. The urge to bite, to devour, consumed me. I managed to find a few rats, but every time I tried to eat, dozens of other zombies swarmed in, fighting over scraps. I couldn’t even get a bite of fur. Frustrated and weak, I sat in a daze. Then, I heard voices. Human voices. In this zombie-infested world, hearing people was as rare as winning the lottery. Where there were humans, there was a fight. And where there was a fight, there were high-level ability users. As a low-level zombie, I had no strength to charge into a battle. Doing so would be suicide. But risk and opportunity are two sides of the same coin. If I wanted revenge, I had to grow stronger. And to do that, I needed crystal cores. These ability users probably had plenty of them.

I crept closer to the voices, careful to stay just outside their detection range. My experience as a scout helped me gauge the right distance—close enough to watch, far enough to avoid being noticed. The other zombies? They charged in blindly, throwing themselves at the ability users and dying instantly. But when they died, crystal cores burst from their skulls. My mouth watered at the sight. While the ability users were distracted, I snuck around, scavenging the cores from the fallen zombies. The unpurified energy was chaotic and weak, but it was better than nothing. After swallowing a few, I felt a faint surge of power coursing through me. Curious, I turned to a nearby zombie that was crawling forward. “Sit,” I commanded in my mind. The zombie paused, then clumsily crouched down, obeying the order. A grin spread across my decayed face. This was just the beginning.

I always had a special ability—a rare support skill: control. But it only worked on my own kind. I couldn’t control zombies whose minds operated on a different wavelength. In the human world, my ability was seen as useless, almost laughable. But among humans, it was feared. People worried I’d use it against them. Because of that fear, every time I went on a mission, the crystal cores that were rightfully mine were taken away under one excuse or another. I died without even having the power to control a single person. But now? The tables had turned. A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth as I observed the ongoing battle. Both sides were locked in a stalemate. The humans were strong and experienced in killing zombies. Even when multiple high-tier zombies attacked at once, they could hold their ground. But humans had limits. Their stamina would run out, while zombies had no such weakness. Patiently, I waited, watching countless zombies sacrifice themselves. Finally, the humans began to show signs of exhaustion. The high-tier zombies noticed this shift, too. They began preparing to strike. Everyone wanted what the humans carried—their purified crystal cores. These weren’t ordinary cores. They were refined from hundreds, if not thousands, of raw cores, packed with immense energy. Eating just one could elevate a low-tier zombie to a mid-tier one. I needed those. But so did the high-tier zombies around me, all of whom were stronger and deadlier than I was.

After sneaking off and swallowing countless crystal cores, I let out a satisfied belch. My body, once mangled and skeletal, had begun to regenerate. Thin layers of flesh covered my bones like a fragile membrane, almost like plastic wrap. In just one day, I had made this much progress. I should have been content. But I wasn’t. Greed had always been my driving force. Even when I was human, I knew that fortune favored the bold. It was why I left the safety of the quarantine zones to join a mercenary squad. Sure, I died miserably in the end, but it was still better than living a life of poverty and humiliation. Then, a scream snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned toward the sound. The humans were being overwhelmed by the zombie horde, still putting up a desperate fight. That’s when the high-tier zombies, who had been biding their time, finally joined the fray. After a brutal battle, the zombies’ sheer numbers won out. The humans were defeated. But zombies don’t share. As soon as the external fight ended, the high-tier zombies turned on each other, vying for the spoils. I don’t know who started it. All I heard was a piercing howl, and suddenly the horde split into factions. To avoid suspicion, I blended into one of the groups. Three-way chaos broke out. The high-tier zombies stood atop the rubble like alpha wolves, commanding their respective factions to attack. The low-tier zombies below clashed violently, while the high-tier ones above fought with vicious precision, each aiming for their opponent’s head to rip out the crystal cores inside.

Three high-tier zombies dominated the battlefield: one with teleportation abilities, one with tentacle-like appendages, and one with regeneration. The fight was absolute chaos—low-tier zombies tearing each other apart below, while the high-tier ones battled relentlessly above. The first to fall was the regenerating zombie. Its recovery speed was impressive, but its opponents were faster. The tentacle zombie wrapped around it, rendering it helpless. When it was finally thrown from the heights, it hit the ground with a sickening splat, reduced to a puddle of gore. The low-tier zombies it commanded scattered instantly. Obedience to high-tier zombies is instinctual, but that loyalty doesn’t extend to one that’s barely clinging to life. Up above, the tentacle zombie and teleportation zombie continued their heated battle, completely ignoring everything below. They were locked in a fight to the death. I seized the opportunity and moved toward the humans’ backpacks, hoping to loot their crystal cores. But another zombie moved faster than me. The puddle of gore that had once been the regenerating zombie had begun to twitch. By the time I noticed, it was already slithering toward the backpacks, its movements almost imperceptible. It was playing a clever game, pretending to be defeated. By faking its downfall, it had removed itself from everyone’s radar, allowing it to quietly approach the prize. But as the saying goes, “The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.” It didn’t expect someone else—me—to be watching. If zombies had a hierarchy of strength, and only the strong deserved to claim the spoils, why should I back down? As the regenerating zombie began to reform into a humanoid shape, I took control of the low-tier zombies nearby. “Roar,” I commanded them silently. The low-tier zombies howled on cue, drawing the attention of the two high-tier zombies above. Startled, the regenerating zombie froze.

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# In the university dorm chat group, someone complained: “The hallways are always full of trash. It’s summer, and the smell is unbearable! Why doesn’t anyone take care of it?” Someone else joked back: “Pretend to be a delivery guy and knock on the door of whichever dorm keeps piling up trash. When they open the door, stab them in the chest. If one stab doesn’t do it, make it two. Once they’re dead, pack the body in a suitcase and take it out—no one will ever notice!” Not long after, I received a message from my roommate: “Mia? I just got into bed, but there’s someone at the door saying they have a delivery. I didn’t order anything—did you?” 0Delivery? What delivery? I was about to reply and tell her I hadn’t ordered anything when a new message popped up in the dorm chat group. “I pretended to be a delivery guy and knocked, but the person inside said they didn’t order anything and told me to leave it at the door.” My fingers froze above the keyboard. A chilling sweat broke out on my palms. I quickly typed a trembling response to my roommate: “I didn’t order anything! Don’t open the door—no matter what!” The dorm chat group was exclusively for residents of Building 3. When we joined, the dorm manager had instructed everyone to include their room numbers as part of their usernames. At our university, dorm numbers are formatted with the first two digits indicating the floor, and the last two digits indicating the room. For example, my room number is 2201, meaning I live on the 22nd floor in the room farthest to the left. The person who had just sent the message was listed as 2200 in the group. To avoid revealing their exact location, some people only included their floor number in their username. The person joking about the “delivery prank” was listed as 2222—but our floor only has 20 rooms. That meant they were also on the 22nd floor but hadn’t included their full room number. This wasn’t the first time people had used fake usernames. Whenever someone wanted to post anonymously, they’d temporarily change their username. My roommate sent another message: “Mia, the delivery guy said the room number is correct. Are you sure you didn’t order anything?” My breathing quickened. What if she went to open the door after sending that message? I typed as fast as I could: “Don’t open the door! Whatever you do, don’t open the door! There’s a killer outside!” My roommate wasn’t in the group anymore. She’d left it a while back because she was tired of people arguing over petty issues. To make sure she understood, I quickly screenshotted the messages from the chat group and sent them to her. 0

“This is from our dorm chat group.” “That ‘delivery guy’ prank was 2222’s idea, and 2200 is the one carrying it out!” “Their goal is to kill you! Don’t open the door!” I sent her three messages in a row, hoping she’d realize how serious the situation was. She replied quickly: “Mia, this has to be some kind of joke. I mean, who would actually do something like this? We’re in college!” Her response made my heart sink. But I couldn’t give up. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke or not. I didn’t order anything, and you’re alone in the dorm. Just be careful, okay?” I had barely put my phone down when another message popped up in the group: 2222: “Did she open the door yet?” 2200: “Not yet, but I can hear movement inside. [knife emoji with blood]” 2222: “Don’t rush it. Wait for her to come out. By the way, there are two people in that dorm. Are you planning to kill them both, or just one?” 2200: “Just one. Killing two would be too much work. Besides, I’ve noticed only one person’s been coming back to that room at night recently. She always wears those stupid Crocs.” When I saw that message, my heart stopped. I’d just moved out of the dorm a few days ago, leaving my roommate alone. And she had a habit of wearing Crocs in the summer. The description matched our room perfectly. This wasn’t a joke. It couldn’t be. I immediately opened my roommate’s chat. Just then, my phone buzzed with a new message from her: “Mia, relax! Look.” She sent me two photos. 0

The pictures my roommate sent were blurry, likely taken by holding her phone’s camera close to the peephole. The first photo showed the delivery person bending down to pick up a takeout box. The second photo captured the delivery person walking away, their back to the camera. Roommate: “Mia, I was just about to go grab the takeout, but guess what happened when I got out of bed?” I quickly typed back: “What happened?” Roommate: “The delivery guy said he made a mistake. Apparently, he got the room number wrong when filling out the order, so it wasn’t for us after all.” Despite her reply, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in my chest. The messages from the dorm group chat were just too strange. Who jokes about such specific and unrelated details? After thinking for a few seconds, I forwarded the suspicious messages from the dorm group to her. This time, her response wasn’t as quick, and I started to feel anxious. Just as I was about to call her through the app, she finally replied. Roommate: “These people in the group are insane. They’re always stirring up nonsense. Don’t you remember why I left the group in the first place?” Of course, I remembered. How could I forget? She hadn’t just left because of the constant bickering over trivial issues. There was one incident where a student posted a chilling message in the group: 22:** “@2204, I’m standing outside your dorm. Keep talking that loudly, and you’ll never speak again. Dead people are the quietest!”** The message sent everyone on the 22nd floor into a panic, keeping them up all night. The dorm manager tried to reassure us by coming to investigate, but they found no one outside the dorm—it was just a prank. That incident had been the last straw for my roommate. She left the group to avoid the stress altogether. Roommate: “Every time, it’s the same thing in this group. Some small issue gets blown way out of proportion. It’s exhausting!” Her message calmed me down a bit. I realized my panic had caused unnecessary stress for her. To ease the tension, I sent her an apology: “Emma, I’m sorry for overreacting. I just got really worried and forgot about the other stuff.” After sending the message, I decided to focus on my work and stop checking my phone. But just as I was about to close the app, a new message from the dorm group caught my eye. 0

2211: “Hey, sorry about that! I accidentally put 2201 as the room number when I ordered takeout. I hope it didn’t cause any trouble!” 2222: “So it really was a mistake?” 2211: “[awkward emoji] Yeah, my bad! But honestly, your conversations are super creepy. Maybe don’t joke about stuff like that.” 2222: “Got it, got it.” 2200: “Wow, scared already? That was just one method, you know.” Seeing the conversation, I finally let out a deep breath. It seemed like I’d been overthinking. But as I was about to close the app, something about 2211’s message struck me. She said she’d ordered porridge. I immediately reopened my chat with my roommate and pulled up the first photo she’d sent of the delivery. Zooming in on the takeout packaging, I noticed something odd. The container in the photo was a plastic box. But at our school, porridge is always served in paper cups. Which meant the delivery person in the photo wasn’t from 2211’s order. Someone else had gone to our dorm. And then I remembered 2200’s last message: “That was just one method.” It was 2200. She really had gone to our dorm! This wasn’t like the earlier pranks where nothing happened. This time, it was real—a planned attack. My heart started pounding as I frantically opened my roommate’s chat and called her. The call connected but was immediately declined. Panicking, I sent her a message: “Emma, what are you doing?!” The chat showed that she was typing a reply, but no message came through. I sent another message: “Did you open the door?!” 0

This time, she replied quickly: “No!” A second message came right after: “Mia, I’m scared to talk. There’s someone in the hallway.” She attached a photo. The image was mostly dark, but at the bottom, there was a narrow strip of light. I stared at the picture and realized the light was coming from the gap beneath the door. It meant she hadn’t turned on the dorm lights, and the sound-activated lights in the hallway had been triggered. Wait. I zoomed in on the photo, focusing on the strip of light. In the middle of the light, there were two shadowy shapes. Legs. Someone was standing directly outside her door. It was the “delivery person.” They hadn’t left. Just as I was about to send her another message, she sent me a video. The video was dark, but the audio was clear—loud, frantic knocking on the door. Roommate: “Mia, the peephole’s been covered. I can’t see who’s out there! Someone’s knocking nonstop [scared emoji].” Me: “Emma, don’t panic. I’ve already called the police. Stay inside and don’t make a sound!” Roommate: “Where’s the dorm manager?! Why haven’t they shown up yet? [sweating emoji]” I checked the time. It was 10 p.m.—shift change for the dorm managers. During this time, the managers for different shifts often chatted for a few minutes while switching duties. That “few minutes” wasn’t fixed, and given how urgent the situation was, I didn’t have time to wait. I quickly found the duty schedule and called the current dorm manager’s number. But the call wouldn’t go through—it just kept ringing.

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# I deliberately smashed the glass doors of a shopping mall and turned myself in to the police. My wife, furious, stormed in after me, yelling, “Why would you turn yourself in? This is something we could’ve fixed with money!” I shrugged, raising my hands as the officers cuffed me and led me into custody. Why? Because in my last life, her so-called soulmate—her childhood friend—came crawling back to her after his business failed. He staged a car accident, killed someone, and pinned the blame on me. All for the sake of stealing my multi-million-dollar fortune. What followed was a nightmare. The victim’s family and the media hounded me relentlessly, convinced I was the one behind the crime. Every piece of evidence—every surveillance video—showed my face. Even my wife insisted I’d done it, claiming I acted out of revenge and an unhinged desire to lash out at the world. In the end, I was stabbed to death by the victim’s family in front of a crowd. And then, I woke up. I was back on the day her soulmate staged the accident.

“Zach Sullivan, why are you doing this? It’s just money—we can pay for the damages! Why are you turning yourself in? Are you insane?” My wife, Hannah, was rushing toward me, her face flushed with anger. I simply raised my hands as the officer cuffed me. “Hannah, when you make a mistake, you own up to it. I caused damage and scared a lot of people. I need to reflect on my actions.” Hannah immediately pulled out a wad of cash, thrusting it toward the officer. “We have money—take it! Just don’t arrest my husband!” The officer frowned, clearly unimpressed. “Ma’am, mistakes have consequences. He’s coming with us.” “Take him away.” Hannah trembled with rage, but no matter how much she begged or argued, I stuck to my decision—I was going to take responsibility. Because of my “good attitude,” I was only sentenced to seven days in custody for reflection. Seven days where I couldn’t leave the detention center. Seven days of freedom from her. And for the first time in a long time, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. In my last life, my wife had a “true love” named Liam Reed—her childhood sweetheart, the one she never quite let go of. The moment Liam showed up in town, it was like her heart was pulled in his direction. She was never home, always disappearing to meet him. One night, after another fight, I finally snapped. “If you go see Liam one more time, we’re done. I’ll file for divorce.” She didn’t even hesitate. She slammed the door and didn’t come home that night. The next day, Liam caused a catastrophe. Driving recklessly, he hit and killed a woman—an eight-months-pregnant woman. It was a horrific accident. I begged him to turn himself in, to take responsibility and compensate the victim’s family. But Liam just smirked. “Who said I did it? It wasn’t me—it was you.” At first, I thought it was some kind of sick joke. But when I checked the car’s dashcam footage and nearby surveillance cameras, all of them showed my face. I was framed. No one believed me—not even my wife. She told everyone that I’d become unhinged because of our failing marriage and decided to take my anger out on the world. The media ran wild with the story, painting me as a monster. I tried desperately to defend myself, but when the victim’s family finally found me, their grief turned into rage. One of them stabbed me on the spot. As I lay bleeding to death, I couldn’t understand why this was happening. Why had Liam gone to such lengths to destroy me? This time, I wasn’t going to let history repeat itself. I’d already taken the first step—putting myself in custody, far away from Liam’s schemes.

Seven days later, I walked out of the detention center. Breathing in the cool morning air under the soft glow of the rising sun, I felt a rare sense of relief. This time, I had spent the entire seven days locked up, completely avoiding any of the disasters from my past life—or so I thought. I had barely taken a few steps when someone grabbed my arm, their eyes bloodshot, and began shouting at the top of their lungs. “It’s him! This bastard killed my pregnant daughter!” A crowd of reporters, who had clearly been waiting outside, rushed forward. Microphones and cameras were shoved in my face as questions flew from every direction. “Zach Sullivan, are you here to confess to the hit-and-run?” “Why did you kill an innocent pregnant woman?” Photographers snapped pictures relentlessly, the flashing lights blinding me. Passersby on the street heard the commotion and started gathering. Once they recognized me, they began whispering, their voices sharp and accusing. “Isn’t he the guy from the news? The one who ran over that pregnant lady and fled?” “Yeah, that’s him! What a monster—he killed two lives in one blow!” “People like him don’t deserve to live!” I stood there, eyebrows furrowed, my mind racing. What the hell was going on? I had been in detention for the past seven days—how could this possibly involve me? “You’ve got it all wrong!” I shouted. “There’s no way I’d run over a pregnant woman!” But the victim’s father, still gripping my arm, grew even more furious. His face twisted with rage, and if I hadn’t been stronger, his fists might have already landed on me. One of the reporters shoved their phone in my face, showing me a video. My heart sank. My pupils dilated as the footage played. It was dashcam footage. In it, I was behind the wheel, grinning maniacally. The car sped up, heading straight for a pregnant woman on the sidewalk. I watched as the car hit her, sending her flying. In the video, my face was clear as day. My voice rang out, exaggerated and mocking, filled with cruel amusement: “Oops, sorry! Guess today’s just not your lucky day!” Then, the video showed my wife, Hannah, rushing over and yanking me out of the driver’s seat. “Zach Sullivan! What the hell are you doing? How could you do something so reckless?” The footage continued. In it, I shoved Hannah roughly to the ground, got back in the car, and drove off. The video ended there. My face darkened as I processed what I had just seen. This was exactly what had happened in my past life. But I had been in the detention center for seven days. How could this have happened again? “You still think you can explain this away?” The victim’s father was trembling with rage, veins bulging on his forehead. My arm began to ache under his grip. The crowd around us was growing more hostile by the second, their anger palpable. “It’s him! There’s no doubt about it!” “What kind of monster runs over a pregnant woman and then drives off laughing?” “I heard he didn’t just hit her—he reversed and ran over her several more times!” “Yeah, they said she might’ve survived the first hit, but after that, there was no chance. This guy deserves to rot in hell!” Sweat dripped down my forehead as I tried to explain. “I’ve been in detention for the past seven days! How could I have done this?” The victim’s father lunged at me, his head slamming into mine. “The man in the video is clearly you! If it wasn’t you, who else could it be?” I stumbled back, my forehead throbbing in pain. “It’s Liam Reed!” I shouted desperately. “He’s my wife’s so-called soulmate. He’s the one who did it, not me—he’s framing me!” Before I could say more, a familiar voice cut through the chaos. “Zach Sullivan, enough already! Do you really think hiding in the detention center would solve anything?” Hannah was standing in front of me, her expression livid. I glared at her, disbelief coursing through me. Before I could respond, a sharp pain shot through my back. I stumbled forward—someone had kicked me hard in the waist. I turned around to see him: Liam Reed. “Zach, how much longer are you going to keep lying?” Liam sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

“It wasn’t me! Why would I confess to something I didn’t do?” I gritted my teeth, suppressing the pain, and shouted with all my strength. Hannah, my wife, slapped me hard across the face. “Zach Sullivan, what have you become?” she snapped. “If you’ve done something wrong, own up to it! What are you, a child? Stop trying to dodge responsibility!” I swallowed my rising anger and tried to explain again. “I told you—it wasn’t me! The fact that you’re so desperate to frame me shows you’re hiding something!” Liam Reed, standing smugly nearby, delivered another vicious kick to my side. “Zach, the evidence is overwhelming, and you’re still denying it?” he sneered. “People like you don’t deserve fair trials. You should just be executed on the spot!” His words struck a nerve with the reporters, who immediately turned their cameras toward him. Liam’s righteous performance was exactly what they wanted to hear—someone condemning me, a supposed monster who ran over a pregnant woman, killing her and her unborn child. The crowd erupted. “Execute him right here!” “Why waste time with a trial? He deserves to rot in hell for what he’s done!” “Do you know how many lives he destroyed? Two lives gone in an instant!” As the mob grew angrier, a man with bloodshot eyes suddenly pushed his way through the crowd. In his hand was a knife. The sight of the blade sent shivers through the crowd. People stepped back cautiously, unsure of what he might do. The man’s voice cracked with rage as he pointed the knife at me. “Zach Sullivan, you bastard! Give me back my wife! Give me back my child!” This was the husband of the pregnant woman who had been killed. The man who had been eagerly awaiting the birth of his child, only to lose everything in one horrific moment. Now, he had only one thought in his mind: an eye for an eye. He raised the knife high, ready to plunge it into my chest. I was pinned to the ground, powerless to move. Cold sweat dripped down my face as my mind raced. Was this how it would end—again? I had been given a second chance at life, but was I doomed to meet the same fate? I clenched my fists, struggling with everything I had, but it was no use. Just as I was about to give up, a baton swung through the air, knocking the knife out of the man’s hand. A young police officer stepped in, shouting, “What the hell are you all doing? Everyone, step back!” Hannah and Liam immediately took a step back, clearly startled. But the victim’s family wasn’t ready to let go. They tackled me to the ground again, their grief and fury reaching a boiling point. “Officer, save me!” I shouted desperately. Hannah sighed dramatically and muttered, “Zach, even the police are here now. Just confess already.” From behind her, Liam chimed in, his voice filled with false indignation. “That’s right! The police wouldn’t be here if you weren’t guilty. Stop lying!” The officer frowned and turned to me. “What’s going on here, Zach? You just got out of detention. How are you already involved in something like this?” The victim’s husband screamed, his voice raw with grief. “It’s him! He killed my wife and child! Two lives, gone in an instant! Please, officer, we need justice!” The crowd roared in agreement, their anger building again. “He’s a monster! He deserves the death penalty!” “Yeah! He drove over her again and again—how could anyone do that?” The officer’s expression darkened. “Hold on,” he said firmly. “Yesterday? Zach has been in custody for the past seven days. There’s no way he could’ve done this.” The crowd fell silent for a moment, stunned by the revelation. “What? That’s impossible!” the victim’s husband stammered. Liam’s face twitched slightly, and he quickly ducked into the crowd, raising his voice in a shrill tone to redirect their anger. “Officer, are you seriously trying to cover for a murderer?” he shouted. Hannah immediately caught on, her voice sharp and cutting. “That’s right! I’m his wife, and I can testify that Zach is guilty! Are you seriously going to let him get away with this?” The crowd surged forward again, emboldened by her words. Cameras and microphones turned toward the officer, capturing his every move. The officer hesitated, frowning as he took a small step back. Hannah’s voice grew louder, more piercing. “Officer, don’t tell me you’ve been bribed by Zach Sullivan! He’s rich—he thinks he can do whatever he wants!” The crowd’s anger reached a fever pitch. The victim’s family pinned me to the ground, their hands trembling with rage. It felt like they would tear me apart at any moment. The officer’s face hardened. “That’s enough! We don’t take bribes. If you don’t believe me, you can come to the station and check the records yourself!” Hearing this, the crowd began to waver. For a moment, the chaos seemed to subside. But then, Hannah and Liam exchanged a glance. Hannah suddenly shouted, “We have more evidence!” My heart sank. With a triumphant gleam in her eyes, she stepped forward, glaring at me. “Zach, you thought you could bribe the police and get away with it? Think again! Look who we brought here!” She stepped aside, and an elderly man slowly walked out from behind her. He approached me, his expression stern and filled with righteous fury. Pointing a trembling finger at me, he declared loudly, “It’s him! He’s the one who killed that poor woman and her child!” I froze, my mind reeling. “Dad?” I whispered in disbelief.

I stared at my dad in disbelief, my entire body trembling as my breathing became shallow and rapid. How could this be happening? Why was my dad pointing his finger at me? Did he really see something? But I’d spent the past seven days in detention. I hadn’t done anything! No, it couldn’t be—it was impossible! What the hell was going on? The crowd erupted again. “That’s Zach Sullivan’s dad?” “Even his own father is stepping forward to accuse him! He’s definitely guilty! What else is there to say?” The bystanders became even more agitated, their voices growing louder and more hostile. “Zach, stop pretending! You selfish, heartless bastard, how much longer are you going to keep up this act?” Hannah shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. I yelled back at the top of my lungs, “I didn’t do it! Why should I confess to a crime I didn’t commit?” A thought suddenly struck me. “That’s right—I’ve been in the detention center for the past seven days! I want the surveillance footage! It’ll prove my innocence!” I turned to the officer behind me, who looked just as confused as I felt. He knew I’d been in custody for the last week. But now, with the crowd so certain of my guilt, with the video evidence and my father’s testimony, doubt clouded his expression. As the crowd grew more unruly, the officer quickly pulled out his phone and made a call. “I’ve sent someone to retrieve the footage. Everyone, calm down!” The officer’s reassurances did little to quell the mob, but after a few tense minutes, another officer arrived with the surveillance tapes from the detention center. If the previous video had been fabricated, the detention center’s cameras couldn’t be faked. I glanced at Hannah and Liam. I had intentionally stayed in detention for this very reason—I’d been waiting for this moment. Let’s see how they explain themselves now. Hannah’s expression faltered, a flicker of unease crossing her face. Liam, who had been loudly shouting moments ago, suddenly furrowed his brow. The officer inserted the footage and began fast-forwarding through it. Sure enough, the video clearly showed me inside the detention center, behaving just as I should. “Now what do you have to say, Hannah?” I demanded, my voice rising with anger. Hannah hesitated, unable to respond. But Liam suddenly shouted, “Wait! Something’s not right!” He pointed at a section of the footage. “Look! That person leaving the detention center… doesn’t that look like Zach?” The grainy footage showed a figure in a yellow coat walking out of the detention center. Though the image was blurry, the coat was identical to the one I’d been wearing when I was detained. I froze. Hannah’s lips curled into a triumphant smile. “Zach, are you seriously going to deny that’s you? You must’ve bribed someone to let you out! You left to commit the crime and then snuck back in—didn’t you?” Her words sent the crowd into another frenzy, and they turned their attention to the officers. “What’s going on here? You said you weren’t covering for him, so who’s that in the footage?” The officer, visibly flustered, glanced at me. He remembered my yellow coat—it was hard to forget. I’d chosen it specifically because it stood out. I stared at the screen, my scalp tingling as a cold chill ran down my spine. “That’s not me,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ve been here the entire time! It’s impossible for me to have left, even for a second!” Hannah, sensing the shift in momentum, doubled down. “Zach, you’re a disgusting excuse for a human being. You killed a pregnant woman and her child, and now you’re trying to worm your way out of it?” Liam, emboldened by the crowd, screeched, “Yeah! You’re a piece of trash who thinks money can solve everything. You deserve to burn for this!” The victim’s family, already overwhelmed with grief and anger, had reached their breaking point. One of them quietly picked up the knife that had fallen to the ground earlier. His eyes burned with hatred as he stared at me. If the officers so much as blinked, I knew he’d plunge that knife straight into my chest. “Damn it, it really is him! What’s the point of all this talking? He’s guilty!” “He must’ve bribed one of the guards to let him out for a few hours. He committed the crime and then snuck back in like nothing happened!” The victim’s husband, knife in hand, pushed past the officers protecting me. “Give me back my wife and child, you bastard!” he roared, lunging toward me. Another family member followed close behind, their fury blinding them to reason. I was frozen in place, panic surging through me. There was no way to escape. But then, just as I thought it was all over, a voice rang out behind me. “Stop right there! I can prove Zach Sullivan is innocent!” Hearing those words, I finally exhaled, relief washing over me. The person I’d been waiting for had arrived.

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The Beginning of a Nightmare ## The news of Christopher Gray, CEO of Gray Group, proposing to Evelyn Reed on a global live broadcast had taken the world by storm. As I walked home, I couldn’t avoid the massive billboard across the street showing the two of them locked in an embrace, their kiss frozen in time for everyone to admire. People were envious of Evelyn’s seemingly perfect life. But I knew the truth—if Evelyn ever fell in love with Christopher Gray, it would mark the beginning of her nightmare. Because no matter how much she dreamed, she could never become Mrs. Gray. Her moment in the spotlight would end with this grand proposal, no matter how dazzling it seemed. I had just stepped out of the grocery store with a bag of everyday essentials and a few ingredients for dinner. Cooking had become my way of passing time, a small distraction from the monotony of life. As I lifted my head, the giant screen on the skyscraper across the street caught my eye. Christopher Gray and a young woman were shown in a close embrace, their chemistry practically leaping off the screen. Even through a screen, their gazes lingered on each other, electric and intimate. He was tall, sharp-featured, and impossibly handsome. She was delicate and breathtakingly beautiful. They looked like the perfect couple, a match seemingly made in heaven. I recognized her immediately—Evelyn Reed. By now, everyone knew her name. She seemed to be one of those rare people blessed by the universe itself: stunning good looks, a petite, graceful figure, and eyes that could captivate anyone. It was said that from the moment Christopher Gray first saw her, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Love at first sight, they called it. And from that moment on, he poured his heart and soul into pursuing her. He orchestrated grand romantic gestures—naming his latest jewelry line after her, dedicating new luxury apartment buildings to her, even naming an amusement park after her. Everywhere Evelyn went, there were traces of Christopher Gray’s devotion. Standing on the sidewalk, I overheard two girls sipping bubble tea as they stared at the screen. “I’m so jealous of Evelyn,” one sighed. “Imagine having someone love you that much.” “Forget love,” the other replied. “Do you know how rich Christopher Gray is? That’s the real dream.” “She must’ve saved the entire galaxy in her past life to deserve this,” the first one added wistfully. I lowered my gaze and smiled faintly. If Evelyn didn’t love Christopher, maybe she could enjoy the life he was offering her. But most women would fall for a man like him, especially one who created a world of romance just for them. And Evelyn? An orphan who’d grown up with nothing? She didn’t stand a chance. My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen: “Hannah, I know who you are.” Two days ago, Evelyn Reed had added me on WhatsApp after getting my contact information through Christopher. I hesitated at first but ended up accepting her friend request. Now she’d sent me another message: “I’m getting engaged to Christopher soon. If you know what’s good for you, stay away from him.” I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my groceries and made my way to the apartment complex across the street. When I reached my building, I noticed a sleek Porsche parked outside, gleaming under the streetlights. It was Christopher’s car. Dealing with Christopher Gray had always been a headache. He loved surrounding himself with beautiful women, which was his business. But for some reason, he never seemed willing to leave me alone.

I took the elevator up to my floor, and the moment I opened the door, Christopher greeted me. He took the grocery bag from my hands and grabbed a pair of slippers from the rack. “You’re back?” he asked casually. “What’s for dinner tonight?” He spoke like we were an old married couple, his tone natural and familiar, as if he belonged here. I sighed, took the slippers from him, and sat down on the bench to change shoes. Meanwhile, he carried the groceries into the kitchen like he owned the place. “How about braised pork?” he asked, glancing at me as he tied the bunny-print apron hanging by the wall around his waist. The sight was almost comically domestic. I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching as the exhaust fan hummed in the background, drowning out the quiet tension in the room. Christopher moved around the kitchen with ease, as if he’d done this a hundred times before. “Braised pork sounds fine,” I said finally. “But what are you doing here? Don’t you have work?” “Nothing urgent at the office,” he replied with a smile. “Oh, by the way, the pink diamond necklace you wanted has been set. I brought it over for you.” “Christopher,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “We need to talk.” “Sure,” he said easily, tilting his head and flashing me a boyish grin. He had a face that seemed to have been crafted with care—handsome, charismatic, and utterly disarming. “Evelyn Reed,” I began, meeting his gaze. “You proposed to her on a global live broadcast. You arranged a citywide light show for her birthday. You even filled the sky with fireworks for her.” “And earlier this year, when she was in a car accident and needed a blood transfusion, you made a big public scene about it.” “Christopher, with your resources, you could’ve handled all of those things quietly. But you didn’t. You wanted the whole world to know how much you love her.” Christopher chuckled lightly as he sliced the meat. “Exactly,” he said. “When you’re trying to win someone over, you have to go all out. A little showmanship never hurts.” “Girls love this kind of thing.” The meat went into the pot, and the blue flame flickered beneath it. I sighed. “So, are you planning to marry her?” I asked. Christopher turned to look at me, his smile as charming as ever. “Hannah,” he said smoothly, “how could I possibly marry her?” “She’s just a bit of fun. Life’s too long not to enjoy a little romance along the way.” “I’m young. Why not indulge in a few fleeting adventures while I can?” I had expected this answer. But I tried to reason with him anyway. “Christopher, you could marry her. I’ll talk to my family, convince them to support the idea. We can finalize our divorce. Yes, splitting the assets would be tricky, but—” Before I could finish, Christopher waved me off, laughing. “Hannah, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for some young boy,” he teased. “Who is it? Some hotshot actor? A college kid?” “Let me meet him first. I’ll judge if he’s worthy of you.” The words I wanted to say caught in my throat.

Christopher glanced at me, his smile calm and unshaken. “If there’s no one else,” he said lightly, “then let’s drop this subject altogether.” “Everyone needs a legally recognized partner in life. If I have to choose, I want it to be you—now and forever.” I sighed deeply. There was no reasoning with him. “You’re toying with Evelyn’s feelings,” I said bluntly, unable to hide my frustration. “When have I ever toyed with anyone’s feelings?” Christopher’s tone remained even. “She came from nothing, and I gave her wealth, security, and everything she could ever dream of.” “I even created the kind of romance she wanted.” “In this relationship, I’ve given my time, my energy, and my sincerity.” “Every time, I’ve been serious.” “As for the rest, if she’s smart, she’ll understand.” I understood. But that didn’t mean everyone else would. My childhood was spent abroad, watching my father surrounded by countless lovers—both men and women. It became normal for me to see relationships tangled and messy. I hated it. I longed for the kind of love I read about in books: two people, committed to each other for life, growing old hand in hand. But I knew that wasn’t realistic. My older brother had once jokingly said something crude: “If a rich man isn’t cheating, it’s because he’s either ugly or broke.” In elite families like ours, the idea of staying loyal to one person forever was laughable. I met Christopher Gray when I was seventeen. By eighteen, my family had arranged for us to marry, signing a contract that tied our fates together. I didn’t object. After all, if I had to marry for the sake of family alliances, wasn’t it a blessing that my match happened to be someone as devastatingly handsome as Christopher? Later, I returned to this city to attend college and started living a quiet, almost reclusive life. I avoided parties, social events, and all the performative aspects of being a public figure. I hated being in the spotlight, hated the empty conversations of charity galas and the superficial smiles that came with them. Instead, I spent my time watching TV shows, reading novels, and working on my art. Christopher would visit me occasionally. We’d cook together, share meals, and talk about mundane things. Sometimes, he’d stay overnight, but he always slept in the guest room while I stayed in the master bedroom. It was a peaceful, uneventful existence. But tonight’s dinner didn’t go the way it usually did. Just as we set the food on the table, a loud knock echoed through the apartment. I thought it might be the building manager, but when I opened the door, Evelyn stood there, her face pale and stormy. The woman who had become the envy of everyone—rumored to have it all, both love and money—looked anything but glamorous now. The moment she saw me, she raised her hand to slap me. I caught her wrist mid-air. I’d trained in self-defense and taekwondo; dealing with someone like her was hardly a challenge. “Are you here to see Christopher?” I asked calmly. Her eyes immediately filled with tears, and her voice trembled as she pointed at me, shouting: “Hannah, do you have no shame? Stealing someone else’s boyfriend?” Her anger was so intense she could barely form a coherent sentence. I reached into the shoe cabinet, pulling out a pair of spare slippers. “If you’re here, you might as well join us for dinner,” I said with a small smile. “Christopher’s braised pork is pretty good.” Before she could respond, Christopher grabbed the slippers from my hand and tossed them back into the cabinet. Instantly, his expression hardened, his charming demeanor vanishing. “What are you doing here?” he demanded coldly, his voice sharp and unyielding. “Go home,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Don’t make me say it again.” Evelyn’s beautiful eyes brimmed with tears, glistening so heartbreakingly that even I felt a pang of discomfort just looking at her. So, I turned to Christopher and said, “You should take Miss Reed home and explain everything to her.” Then, worried Evelyn might get the wrong idea, I added with a light smile, “Miss Reed, I’m not Mr. Gray’s lover.” Because I wasn’t. I was merely his wife in name only. Christopher would never love me. He couldn’t. All his grand displays of affection were for Evelyn—or perhaps shared among others. Maybe that’s why I never let myself fall for him. Because when I looked at Christopher and Evelyn, I could stay detached, calm, and unaffected. Like watching a TV drama. No matter how gripping the plot was, I was just an outsider. Christopher’s expression darkened slightly. I guessed he hadn’t expected Evelyn, the naïve girl he’d pampered for over a year, to storm in like this, catching him off guard. If anything, I should’ve felt awkward, embarrassed, maybe even ashamed. After all, I was the one caught in the middle of this mess. But Evelyn wasn’t ready to leave. For the past year and a half, Christopher had chased her relentlessly, making her believe she was his one and only. To Evelyn, she wasn’t just his priority—she was irreplaceable, the center of his world. And now, discovering that the man who worshipped her might care about someone else? It shattered everything. “Chris,” Evelyn choked out, pointing at me in anger. “Tell me, who is she to you?” “Do you think I don’t know?” “She’s just your little pet, isn’t she? A goldfinch you keep in a cage.” Her voice cracked as she continued, “You said you loved me. You said I was the only one for you.” The situation was getting awkward, so I stepped back, giving them space to argue. Christopher grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the hallway, his face cold. I quietly shut the door. I didn’t pay for VIP access to this drama, so I had no interest in hearing or seeing what came next. I assumed Christopher would leave with Evelyn. After all, everyone said he loved her desperately, passionately, with the kind of devotion that could move mountains. But about thirty minutes later, Christopher returned. He walked in to find me sitting cross-legged on the couch, eating dinner and laughing at some sitcom on TV. His expression darkened as he scolded, “Hannah, can’t you be a little more careful?” I blinked at him, confused. “Careful about what?” He ignored me, grabbed a bottle of red wine, and poured himself a glass. I shook my head. That particular bottle of wine was one my brother had brought me from a French vineyard. I’d kept it on the shelf because the bottle looked nice and added a touch of elegance to the apartment. Now Christopher was drinking it like it was tap water. “Someone knocked on your door, and you didn’t even check who it was first,” he said, his tone accusatory. “What if it had been someone dangerous?” “Hannah, listen to me,” he continued. “You shouldn’t stay here anymore. This building’s security is a joke. I’ve already prepared a place for you at Pear Ridge Estate. You can move there in a few days.” I shook my head. Pear Ridge Estate was a luxury villa complex, a playground for the wealthy. The grounds were meticulously maintained, but everything felt artificial—too polished, too calculated. The place lacked warmth, like wearing a mask all the time. Here, in this modest apartment complex, you could hear neighbors arguing, kids laughing, dogs barking. It was messy and alive, full of humanity. Even if I didn’t fully belong here, I felt more human being surrounded by it. “Even if I’d asked who was at the door, and Evelyn said her name, do you think I wouldn’t have opened it?” I asked with a smile. Christopher didn’t reply. Instead, he casually added a piece of braised pork to mine. “You’re too thin,” he said, his tone softening. “Eat more.” For a moment, the scene felt familiar, comfortable. Like we’d been married forever, with no need for formalities or polite distance. He didn’t seem like the CEO of a massive corporation, and I—well, I was still just me. His phone buzzed, pulling him out of the moment. He glanced down at the screen, and from where I was sitting, I caught a glimpse of his reaction. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his expression shifted into something… different. Curiosity got the better of me, and I leaned over to peek at his phone. A photo filled the screen. A young woman dressed in a maid costume, complete with bunny ears, black stockings, and impossibly long legs.

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Title: My Girlfriend Planned a Beach Proposal, but I Found Her Kissing Her “First Love” Instead # After my girlfriend’s 99th dramatic breakup, she surprised me by apologizing and inviting me to the beach to “clear the air.” When I arrived, I saw a beautifully decorated proposal setup and immediately assumed it was her usual game of playing hard to get. For three years, this had been her style: make me sad and frustrated, only to turn it into a “surprise” that was supposed to make me happy again. So, I put on my best suit, ready to accept her proposal, only to find her kissing her “first love” in front of an applauding crowd. That’s when it hit me—one-sided love is meaningless. But as I boarded the train to leave, she called me, crying and begging for a chance to explain. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” On the beach, my girlfriend, Summer, and her “first love,” Chase, were locked in a passionate kiss, urged on by the cheering crowd around them. And I was just… standing there, watching. My chest felt like it was being ripped apart, and my vision blurred with tears. I looked down at the suit I had picked so carefully, at the bouquet of 999 roses I’d bought just for her. Suddenly, I felt like the biggest fool in the world. Today was the 99th time Summer had threatened to break up with me. But for the first time, she’d actually apologized and asked me to join her for a day at the beach. As soon as I arrived and saw the elaborate proposal decorations, I thought I understood what was happening. This was just another one of her tricks—a game of push and pull. For three years, she’d loved to toy with my emotions, making me feel hurt and neglected before delivering some grand surprise to “make it up to me.” Like on my birthday. She had pretended to forget it entirely and spent the whole day out with Chase, leaving me waiting at home. After I’d sat there alone for hours, watching the dinner I’d prepared grow cold, she finally came back with a cake. She smeared frosting on my face, giggling as she said, “Surprised? Happy birthday, Ryan!” Or on our anniversary. She stood me up at the restaurant, leaving me sitting alone at a table while strangers whispered about the guy who’d been ghosted. When the restaurant finally closed, she waltzed in with perfect hair and makeup. “Even if the restaurant’s closed, I still showed up. Isn’t that romantic?” Every time, my emotions were dragged through highs and lows, like a rollercoaster I couldn’t get off. I’d told her how much I hated these kinds of “surprises,” begged her to stop playing these games. But she never took it seriously. So this time, I thought it was just more of the same. Breaking up was just the “low,” and this proposal would be the “high.” I let go of my earlier frustration and sadness, convincing myself that this was finally the moment I’d been waiting for. After all, I’d always wanted to marry her. For years, Summer had insisted on delaying marriage, claiming she wanted to focus on her career. But now, I thought she was finally ready to commit. Excited, I went all out. I rented a tailored suit from a boutique and bought the biggest, most beautiful bouquet of roses I could find. I rushed back to the beach, ready to say yes to her proposal. But instead… I saw her kissing Chase, their faces glowing with happiness as the crowd cheered them on. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. My chest felt like it was being torn apart. How could she do this? We’d been together for so long, and she’d never even kissed me. Summer had always told me she was a conservative person. She wanted to save her first kiss for our wedding day. So for three years, I respected her boundaries. The most we ever did was hold hands—and even that depended on her mood. But now… Now she was kissing Chase in front of everyone, without hesitation, without shame. I felt cold all over, like every part of me had been rejected. She wasn’t conservative. She wasn’t shy. She just didn’t want me. Suddenly, everything made sense. The constant delays, her refusal to marry me—it was never about her career. She was waiting for Chase. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, the salty breeze drying my tears until my eyes stung. The whole time, Summer didn’t even notice me. At that moment, I realized how pointless it all was. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back is the most meaningless thing in the world. I let out a quiet sigh, tossed the flowers into the trash, and turned to leave. Afterward, I returned the suit, changed back into my own clothes, and went home. Once there, I began packing my things, determined to end things with Summer for good. While sorting through my belongings, I stumbled upon a dusty pink diamond necklace tucked away in the corner of a drawer. It was the first gift I ever bought for her, something I had saved up my entire first paycheck to afford. It was also supposed to be our “promise” gift. I had never once seen her wear it. When I asked, she claimed she had accidentally lost it. But here it was, sitting untouched, still in its original packaging, collecting dust in a forgotten corner. I had offered it to her with so much love, and she had dismissed it without a second thought. For years, she had treated me with indifference, breaking up with me more times than I could count. And yet, I had fooled myself into believing there was love between us. The truth was, Summer had never let go of Chase. Her games of “push and pull” were nothing more than excuses to openly get closer to him. They grew up together, childhood friends who naturally became a couple in college. But they broke up because of clashing personalities, and Chase had left her behind to study abroad. Even after the breakup, their connection lingered, messy and unresolved. I had only entered the picture after their split, helping her move on from the heartbreak. There was a time when we were happy together. Before Chase came back, no matter how angry Summer got, she never actually broke up with me. She even remembered small details about me—like my allergy to spicy food. But once Chase returned, everything changed. Suddenly, she was picking fights and breaking up with me on a whim. Her heart was no longer with me. She even forgot about my allergy, putting chili peppers in our meals multiple times, which sent me to the hospital for stomach pumps and IV drips. Back then, I lied to myself. I told myself she was just too busy to remember these things, that she still loved me even if she was bad at showing it. But now? Now I could finally see the truth. I had been in love with an illusion, convincing myself there was something real between us when there never was. I’d had enough. Enough disappointment, enough heartbreak. It was time to let go and start over. Just as I finished packing my bags and was about to leave, Summer walked through the door. She looked surprised to see me. Then her expression shifted into a frown, full of annoyance. “Why didn’t you come to the beach today?” she asked, her tone sharp. After a pause, she lowered her gaze and added, almost dismissively, “Not that it matters. It’s all over now.” I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. She had no idea I’d been there. No idea I’d seen her and Chase locked in that passionate kiss. Of course, she wouldn’t have noticed me. She had been so caught up in the moment, so lost in her happiness with him. I was exhausted—years of trying, years of hoping for something that would never come. Love that isn’t returned isn’t love worth keeping. With that thought, I took a deep breath, looked her in the eyes, and said, slowly and clearly: “We’re done.”

“What? Can you stop being so unreasonable?” Summer’s eyes widened as she stared at me, utterly stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected someone who had always loved her unconditionally to suddenly suggest a breakup. But my tone was calm. “I’m not being unreasonable. I’m serious.” “You kissed Chase. What’s the point of continuing this relationship?” Summer froze at my words, her expression faltering for just a moment before a flicker of guilt crossed her face. “You… you saw that? When did you—” Before she could finish, I cut her off with a bitter laugh. “Right when you and Chase were so caught up in your kiss. You two really make a perfect match.” Summer paused, then shot me a cold glare, her tone sharpening with anger. “And whose fault is that? If you hadn’t been late, Chase wouldn’t have had to kiss me to diffuse the situation!” “We agreed to meet at ten, but you didn’t show up until eleven. Do you know how humiliated I felt, standing there while everyone was ridiculing me?” “And if you had arrived, why didn’t you come find me? Were you just standing there watching, hoping to see me embarrassed?” I was speechless for a moment. She was the one who had done something wrong, yet somehow she managed to twist it around and make it my fault. Besides, I clearly remember sending her a message when I went to rent the suit and buy the flowers. Seems like she hadn’t even bothered to check. Chase calls her once, and she’ll drop everything—even a meeting—to answer. But when I sent her over a dozen messages, she ignored them all without a second thought. This was the difference between love and indifference, and I was finally starting to understand it. “Summer, I sent you a mess—” Before I could finish, the sound of a knock on the door interrupted me. It was Chase. The next second, he entered the apartment after punching in the code, as if it were his own home. Judging by how natural and practiced he looked, it was clear this wasn’t his first time here. This was my home. Mine and Summer’s. Yet she had given him the door code behind my back. I turned to look at her, but she avoided my gaze, shifting uncomfortably. Chase walked over to her, casually standing by her side, and said with a grin, “Summer, you left in such a rush earlier that I just realized I still had the engagement ring on me!” “Good thing I noticed and came over to return it right away!” As he spoke, he shot me a smug, taunting look, deliberately holding up the ring for me to see, his intention to provoke clear as day. It was only then that I noticed the matching couples’ rings on their hands. I lowered my gaze, my heart growing colder by the second. Wasn’t he just “helping” her out of an awkward situation? Then why were they wearing matching rings? Neither Summer nor I spoke, and the room was thick with tension. Chase took advantage of the silence, pretending to lighten the mood while slyly fanning the flames. “Are you two fighting? Ryan, don’t misunderstand. I only wore the engagement ring because I had no choice.” “Back at the beach, I only kissed her because you didn’t show up on time. We thought you weren’t coming.” “The moment was perfect, the crowd was cheering, and I didn’t want Summer to feel awkward. That’s all.” “But really, nothing happened between us. We’re completely innocent. Don’t let me come between you two!” Chase then turned to me with a fake smile. “I’ll take the ring off and return it to you right away.” He started fiddling with the ring, but it was obvious he wasn’t trying very hard. In fact, he made a big show of pretending it was stuck, rubbing his finger until it turned red. Then he looked at Summer with mock helplessness. “Summer, it’s stuck! What should I do?” Playing along, he forced a pitiful expression, as if he had tried his best. Summer, of course, fell for it. She grabbed his hand, her voice soft and full of concern. “If it’s stuck, don’t force it. It’s just a ring—don’t hurt yourself over it.” Chase continued his act, still “struggling” to remove the ring as he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “But this is the engagement ring you bought for Ryan…” Summer, clearly irritated, glanced at me with annoyance, as if still upset about our argument. “Then I’ll just buy him another one. It’s not a big deal. He’s not that petty.” Hearing her dismiss me so easily, Chase’s smugness grew, and he shot me a triumphant look. I, however, felt nothing but cold detachment. This was how it always was. Whenever it came down to choosing between me and Chase, she always chose Chase. This wasn’t about a ring. It was about everything that had been broken between us. Rings can be replaced. But a broken relationship? That can’t be fixed. I smiled faintly, walked over, and placed their hands together. “There’s no need to take it off. You two are perfect for each other. I wish you both the best.”

With that, I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door. Chase, clearly delighted, decided to play the “good guy” and pretended to stop me. “Ryan, I know you’re still upset about what happened at the beach, but it really wasn’t what you think. I was only trying to help Summer out of an awkward situation.” “Sure, we shared some great memories in the past—bungee jumping, watching the northern lights—but that’s ancient history. Summer and I are just good friends now. Don’t let it get to you…” He was pretending to console me, but every word was dripping with smugness. Before he could finish, I interrupted with a cold smile. “Oh, I get it. It’s lip friendship, right? Friendship sealed with a kiss.” My sarcasm made Chase’s face twitch, and Summer immediately snapped. “That’s enough, Ryan! Chase already explained everything to you. What more do you want?” “And seriously, it was just a kiss! I’ve already agreed to marry you—my whole life will be yours after we’re married! Do you really need to make a big deal out of one kiss?” I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she sounded, defending Chase like that. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t about the kiss. It was about the way she always treated Chase so differently—how she always put him first. When I didn’t respond, Chase’s eyes began to glisten as he played his usual victim card. “I’m sorry, Summer. It’s my fault you and Ryan are having this fight.” “I should probably just leave so I don’t upset him anymore…” As he said this, he slowly made his way toward the door, deliberately brushing past me. I frowned, wondering what he was up to now. The next second, he stumbled and fell to the ground with a dramatic cry of pain, clutching his leg. He looked up at me with teary, accusing eyes, as if I’d somehow tripped him. Summer immediately pushed me aside and rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him protectively. “Ryan! How could you? Tripping Chase over something so petty? I’m so disappointed in you!” Chase, of course, was quick to add fuel to the fire. “Don’t blame Ryan, Summer. It’s my fault—I wasn’t standing properly…” Her shove had sent me sprawling to the ground, scraping my arm in the process. Blood was trickling down, but Summer didn’t even glance my way. I got up slowly, looking at her with cold detachment. “Summer, I’m the one who’s disappointed.” For three years, she had always chosen Chase over me. She had always made excuses for him, always found a way to justify his presence in our lives while treating me as an afterthought. Three years of disappointment and resentment had built up inside me. I was tired. Exhausted. Without another word, I turned and headed for the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of panic in Summer’s eyes, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by icy indifference. “Ryan, don’t think pulling this stunt will get my attention. Playing hard to get doesn’t work on me!” “If you leave now, don’t bother coming back!” I stopped for a moment, and for a brief second, she looked confident, like she thought her words had worked. Her lips curled into a faint, triumphant smile. “If you’ve come to your senses, then hurry up and—” But before she could finish, her smile froze. I wasn’t stopping for her. I was just grabbing my suitcase. I walked right past her and left without looking back. Seeing my resolve, Summer finally realized I wasn’t bluffing. “Ryan! If you dare walk out that door, I’ll cut off your mom’s medication!” Her words stopped me in my tracks. She was threatening me with my mother’s life? My mother had been gravely ill for years, relying on expensive medication to stay alive. Summer, being the successful career woman she was, had always paid for it. I had stepped back from my career to take care of her, managing our home and daily expenses instead. And now, she was using that against me? I turned back, my voice cold and final. “Do whatever you want. I’ll take care of my mom myself.” Without waiting for her response, I walked out the door. Once outside, I called my boss and requested a transfer to the company’s branch in Calridge City. My boss was thrilled. “Ryan, I’m so glad you’ve finally made this decision! Do you know how disappointed I was when you turned down the transfer last time?” “You’re one of the most talented people I know. I’ve always believed in you.” I had given up so much for Summer—promotions, career growth, even opportunities to relocate. My boss had offered me countless chances, but I’d turned them all down, thinking I was doing the right thing for my relationship. But now that we were done, it was time to focus on myself again. I asked my boss to help look after my mom while I was away, and he agreed without hesitation. After hanging up, I booked the next train out of this miserable city. As my cab pulled up to the station, my phone started buzzing non-stop. Summer had finally realized I wasn’t joking. She bombarded me with calls and messages: “Ryan! I heard you’re leaving. Is it true?” “Where are you? I’ll come find you right now!” “Why won’t you answer me? Please, just hear me out!” “It’s all a misunderstanding. Let me explain—things aren’t what you think!” I was irritated and blocked her number without hesitation. Then I powered off my phone. Now she regretted it? Too late. Whatever excuses she had, they didn’t matter anymore. Her lack of boundaries with Chase was undeniable, and I had no interest in hearing her try to justify it. Looking back, I couldn’t believe how pathetic I’d been all these years. I’d spent so much energy walking on eggshells, constantly trying to please her. Every time she abandoned me, I’d make excuses for her. Every time she wore matching outfits with Chase instead of me, I told myself it was just a coincidence. Every time she broke up with me, I’d wonder if I’d done something wrong. I knew deep down that she didn’t love me as much as I loved her. But I hadn’t wanted to admit it. The incident at the beach had been the wake-up call I needed. It was time to let go of this toxic relationship and move on. By the time I reached the train station, my train had just arrived. It felt like fate, everything falling into place. I passed through security, checked my ticket, and boarded the train. Just as I found my seat and was about to relax, someone appeared out of nowhere. It was Summer. Her eyes were red and swollen as she ran onto the platform, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Ryan! You promised you’d never leave me, no matter what! So why are you leaving me now?”

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Title: I Drank Until I Had Stomach Bleeding, My Wife Called Me Weak, So I Quit My Job—and Her Company Collapsed ## While I bent over backward at a business dinner, chugging glass after glass of alcohol to secure a deal, my wife, Lila Vaughn, was busy cozying up to Ethan Blake, feeding him freshly baked desserts and laughing at his jokes. When I struggled to keep up with the client’s unreasonable demands, she watched coldly from the sidelines, her arm linked with Ethan’s, introducing him to influential people in the room. To keep the deal afloat, I forced down bottle after bottle, until I collapsed from stomach bleeding. But instead of showing concern, she clung to Ethan and sneered in front of everyone, “What a pathetic excuse for a man—can’t even handle a few drinks.” What she didn’t know was that the papers I’d handed her earlier, which she signed without even glancing at, weren’t business contracts. They were divorce papers. After the business dinner wrapped up, I stumbled out of the venue, clutching my stomach in pain. Lila hadn’t come out yet, so I called for a rideshare. “What the hell are you doing? Just leaving without waiting for me and Ethan?” I turned around to see Lila storming toward me, her arm still wrapped around Ethan’s. “Are you just going to stand there? Go get the car from the parking lot and pick us up!” she ordered, her tone sharp and commanding. I started to explain, “I’ve been drinking. You should wait—” Before I could finish, Ethan cut me off, smirking. “Hey now, Sam, you’re not upset with me, are you?” Lila shot me a glare. “You’re such a child. Grow up.” Too exhausted to argue, I stayed quiet as the driver I’d called pulled up in my car. Lila and Ethan didn’t hesitate to climb into the backseat, leaving me to sit in the front passenger seat. As the car started moving, my foot brushed against something under the seat. I reached down and froze. It was a used condom wrapper. Ethan noticed my reaction and chuckled suggestively. “Oops, forgot to clean up after the action earlier. My bad.” The driver muttered under his breath, “Kids these days, huh?” Lila didn’t seem the least bit bothered. “Sam, clean it up, will you?” she said offhandedly. I didn’t respond. My face was pale from the stomach pain, and I didn’t have the strength to deal with her. She seemed to forget—or maybe didn’t care—that just moments ago, she’d signed the papers ending our five-year marriage. When I didn’t move, Lila’s expression shifted. She looked at me, almost confused, as though surprised I hadn’t jumped to obey her as I always had. For five years, no matter how unreasonable her demands, I’d never said no. She stared at me for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh. “Really? You’re throwing a tantrum over something so small? Be a man, Sam.” She leaned back and opened the storage compartment in the backseat. It was neatly packed with medicine—supplies I’d prepared for her over the years because her busy work schedule often left her neglecting her health. She grabbed a box of pills and tossed it toward me. “Here, take this. It’s Ethan’s medication, but I guess it’ll do for you. Stop acting like you’re dying.” I realized she hadn’t ignored my discomfort earlier—she’d seen it. She just thought I was exaggerating to get her attention. I shook my head and refused the pills. She clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Suit yourself. Stop the car!” The driver pulled over. Lila leaned into Ethan with a satisfied smirk, her eyes glancing sideways at me. “Ethan didn’t get enough to eat earlier. You can find your own way home.” “Oh, Lila, you’re the best,” Ethan said, grinning as he shot me a smug look. Lila patted his head affectionately and added, “At least you’re fun to be around, unlike some people.” I didn’t waste my breath arguing. In the past, I would’ve insisted on staying with her, worried that no one else would take care of her the way I did. But this time, I simply nodded. “Alright. Take care.” Then I stepped out of the car and shut the door behind me. Lila sat upright, startled, as if she hadn’t expected my reaction. She opened her mouth to say something, but the door closed before she could speak. I stood by the curb and booked a nearby hotel on my phone. If they wanted to be together, there was no point in me going home tonight.

The next morning, I went to HR and submitted my resignation. “You’re resigning? Did you clear it with your manager?” the HR rep asked. I nodded. When Lila had hired me into her company, she’d casually given me a position with no clear responsibilities. For years, I’d essentially been her personal assistant, handling everything from major deals to minor errands. Technically, I wasn’t even part of a formal department. After completing the paperwork, I returned to my office—only to find Lila sitting in my chair. Her tone was sharp. “Is this how you approach work? Showing up late?” I glanced at the clock. I was three minutes late. “Sorry,” I said simply. “Don’t let it happen again. Just because you’re in a special position doesn’t mean you get special treatment,” she snapped. I chuckled bitterly. Special position? In five years of marriage, no one at the company even knew we were married. Lila had insisted on keeping our relationship a secret, claiming it would protect me from being mocked as a “kept man.” “Understood, Ms. Vaughn. Do you have any instructions for me?” I asked, keeping my tone professional. Her face darkened. “You’re so boring.” I stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. She studied me with a mix of frustration and confusion. “Are you even a man?” I frowned, unsure of what she meant. Her voice grew more agitated. “I spent all night with another man, and you don’t even care? Don’t you have anything to say?” Her tone was petulant, almost as if she wanted me to argue with her. For a moment, I felt a flicker of hope. I wanted to ask her what she meant—if there was something more behind her words. But before I could speak, Ethan’s voice came from the doorway. “Lila, you were too rough last night. These marks on my neck are going to be a problem for today’s photoshoot,” he said with a playful whine. He walked in with the casual familiarity of someone who belonged there, his tone dripping with intimacy. Whatever I had been hoping for vanished. I forced a smile and laughed at myself. How pathetic. Even now, I’m still looking for something that isn’t there. For Lila, I had never been anything more than an inconvenience—someone who took away the life she thought she deserved. Six years ago, my parents died in a car accident, leaving me and my ailing grandfather alone. Desperate to see me settled before his passing, my grandfather pressured Lila’s family into arranging our marriage, using an old debt they owed him as leverage. Lila agreed, but not without conditions. She handed me a contract: “Five years. This marriage ends after five years.” I’d thought that five years would be enough time to win her heart. But one night, after she came home drunk, she broke down in my arms, sobbing. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be married to him by now,” she cried. That was the moment I finally understood. She hated me—not because of who I was, but because I was the reason she couldn’t be with the man she truly loved. I should’ve let go then. Now, it was time to move on. She had found her happiness. It was time for me to find mine.

“You bit too hard.” Ethan Blake’s voice snapped me back to reality. He stood just inches away, his tone anything but friendly as he adjusted the open collar of his shirt, revealing faint bruises and red marks scattered across his skin. The deep purples and blues made it clear that whoever left those marks hadn’t held back. I forced myself to look away, ignoring the bitter sting in my chest. Lila Vaughn glanced at me briefly, then strode over to Ethan. Her fingers lightly brushed the marks on his skin. “Does it hurt?” she asked softly. Ethan chuckled. “Maybe be gentler next time?” She shot him a teasing look, and I quietly turned to leave. “Stop,” Lila called out, halting me in my tracks. “Cover up those marks for him.” “Sure,” I said, reaching for my phone to call in a makeup artist. But Ethan raised a hand to stop me. “No, that won’t work. I don’t trust anyone else. If word gets out, it could damage my reputation.” Lila smirked, pointing to me. “Then you do it. And don’t leave a trace.” … “Alright.” I got to work, carefully concealing the marks. By the time I finished, the photoshoot was about to begin. Since I wasn’t needed to supervise the shoot, I pulled out my phone and texted my longtime friend, Jack Harper. I let him know I was finally quitting and asked him to help me make some connections. Once I got his reply, I set my phone down and looked up just in time to notice a piece of overhead equipment swaying dangerously above Ethan’s head. “Watch out!” I shouted as I dashed forward, shoving him out of the way just as the rig came crashing down. A chorus of gasps erupted around me. Warm blood trickled down my arm, blurring my vision. The chaos around me felt distant and muted. A sharp, searing pain in my arm jolted me back to reality. I glanced down to see my right hand limp at my side, blood gushing from an open wound. I tried to move it, but nothing happened. I turned to check on Ethan. He was sitting on the ground, frozen in shock, his face pale with fear. But aside from a few minor scrapes, he seemed fine. The scene was quickly brought under control, and Lila arrived moments later. The first thing she did was call for her private doctor, her voice frantic. “Quickly, Ethan can’t afford to be hurt!” Her eyes were glued to him as she rushed past me without so much as a glance, completely focused on him. Ethan started complaining about how shaken he was, and Lila seemed genuinely terrified for him. “Are you hurt anywhere? That equipment could’ve killed you!” The air around us grew heavy with silence. A few people cast sympathetic looks in my direction but said nothing. The private doctor finally noticed me and gasped sharply. “This is bad. Why didn’t you say something earlier? You’re bleeding heavily!” Lila finally turned her head, her gaze following the doctor’s to the wound on my arm. Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, her voice wavered. “Are you mute or something? Why didn’t you say you were hurt?” Her fingers trembled slightly as she subconsciously clenched her fists. She stepped closer, staring at the blood-soaked wound like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Then, as if snapping out of a daze, she grabbed my hand, ignoring the blood smeared across it. “Sam Carter, where’s your ring?” I glanced down at my left hand. The ring finger was bare, save for the faint indentation of where a wedding band used to sit. I couldn’t understand her anger. It was just a ring—a ring she had never cared for, never worn herself. Why did it matter so much to her now? Gently, I pulled my hand away. “Can you help me get this wound treated?” I asked the doctor. “Sam Carter!” Lila’s voice rose sharply as she frowned at me, her tone filled with frustration. I sighed quietly, ready to explain that I’d lost the ring a few days ago while washing my hands and it had slipped down the drain. Before I could speak, though, Ethan’s voice cut in. “Lila, I don’t feel so good…” She immediately pushed past me, rushing to his side with a look of concern. “What’s wrong? I’ll take you to the hospital.” The doctor quickly bandaged my wound, and I got into the car with them. The entire ride, Lila fussed over Ethan, cradling him protectively. He rested his head against her neck, smirking at me with a look of triumph. Then, as if it were an afterthought, he let out a dramatic sigh. “Ouch, it really hurts.” His tone was loaded with implication. “Honestly, Sam, you’re usually so careful. How could something like this happen on your watch?” Lila’s lips pressed into a thin line as her eyes flicked to the scrape on Ethan’s hand. The moment she saw it, her expression darkened. “Sam Carter, are you being petty?!” she snapped, her voice filled with fury. “If something had happened to Ethan today, I’d make sure you paid for it tenfold!” She glared at me, her tone colder than ever. “Apologize to Ethan. Right now. Or don’t bother coming back tomorrow.”

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# At the company’s annual gala, Luke Thatcher’s young assistant suddenly got down on one knee and proposed to him. A slideshow lit up the big screen, showing photos of the two of them skiing, watching the sunrise, and bungee jumping together. The crowd erupted in cheers: “Say yes! Say yes!” The camera panned to Luke, his brows furrowed, face clouded with a dark expression. I sat beside him, blending in with the crowd as I joined in their chant: “Say yes, honey.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Luke’s already tense expression darkened even further. But with the camera trained on him, he had no choice but to rise from his seat. As he leaned toward me, his voice was low and venomous: “Emma, don’t even think about divorce.” Then, straightening his suit, he ascended the stage. Luke’s assistant, Maddie, lit up the moment she saw him approach. This proposal wasn’t spontaneous—it was carefully planned. I’d known about it for a while. For a moment, I thought this girl might actually matter to Luke, that she might hold some weight in his heart. But yet again, he proved me wrong. Luke reached for the ring box in Maddie’s trembling hands, his expression unreadable. He glanced over his shoulder at the slideshow on the screen—images of them together, warm and idyllic. With a subtle gesture, the screen went black. Maddie’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at him, hope shining in her expression. “Luke, will you marry me?” Luke let out a soft chuckle, but his words were cutting, devoid of warmth. “Maddie, you shouldn’t have done this.” “I’ve told you before, there’s no future for us.” Maddie’s gaze snapped toward me, panic flashing in her eyes. Luke shifted slightly, blocking her view. Tears streamed down Maddie’s face as she began to sob uncontrollably. Luke gently pulled her into an embrace, whispering something in her ear that made her stop crying and break into a soft, nervous laugh. She playfully hit him on the chest, and he led her off the stage. The gala continued, but the proposal-turned-drama had already become the night’s hot topic. I could hear whispers behind me: “Why didn’t Luke accept? They seemed perfect together.” “I thought she was going to secure her place tonight. Still, gotta hand it to her—takes guts to propose in front of everyone.” “Maybe he’s already married? I heard from some of the old staff that he used to wear a wedding ring.” The speculation grew louder until someone tapped the back of my chair. “Emma, you’ve been with the company for years. You must know Luke better than anyone, right?” I forced a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “I don’t know him at all.” 2 Once, I thought I did. But that was before I stumbled upon the photos Luke kept hidden in his study—pictures of his late sister. That’s when I realized the truth: I wasn’t special to him. I was just a convenient stand-in, a face that reminded him of someone he’d lost. We had fought bitterly that night. Overcome with anger and heartbreak, I’d grabbed a knife and threatened to scar my own face. Luke’s response was chillingly calm. “If you’re not afraid of the pain, go ahead. I can always pay to have it fixed.” He knew me too well. He knew I feared pain more than anything. Even now, the memory of that knife slicing into my thigh years ago—of the kidnappers taking their time, carving inch by inch—still haunted me. It was a pain I could never forget, one that lingered even now. Ignoring the curious glances from the younger women behind me, I grabbed my bag and quietly slipped out of the hall. As I turned a corner, faint sounds of heavy breathing reached my ears. Embarrassed, I hesitated, debating whether to take another route. That’s when I heard his voice—the voice I knew so well. “Who told you to pull a stunt like that tonight?” Luke’s tone was ice-cold, almost cruel. Maddie’s shaky reply came next, her voice trembling with fear. “I just… I just wanted an answer. Mrs. Thatcher said she’d step aside for me.” Luke let out a sharp, mocking laugh. Gripping Maddie’s chin, he tilted her face up, studying her with a detached gaze. “I’ve warned you before—there’s no outcome here where you win.” “You shouldn’t have been so greedy.” Maddie shrank under his scrutiny, her voice barely a whisper. “I thought… I thought Mrs. Thatcher was the one refusing to divorce you. I just wanted to try convincing her…” “I didn’t expect her to agree so easily.” Luke’s laugh was sharp and biting. “Do you know why she’s Mrs. Thatcher?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain. “It’s because she knows how to be generous.” Maddie blinked, confused, clearly not understanding. Luke had no patience for her anymore. Turning on his heel, he started to walk away—only to stop abruptly when his eyes locked with mine. I hadn’t had time to hide. He closed the distance between us in a few quick strides, stopping just in front of me. “Emma,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Enjoyed the show tonight?” “Leaving already? Couldn’t wait to make your exit?” I nodded blankly and replied, “Mr. Thatcher.” At work, Luke Thatcher and I always addressed each other this way, strictly professional. So, despite being married for years, no one ever associated the two of us as a couple. Maddie, standing nearby, glanced at me with her usual pitiful expression. She tugged at Luke’s sleeve and said softly, “If you won’t say yes to my proposal, can you at least wear the ring?” “I spent so long picking it out.” Luke took the ring box from her hand, opened it, and inspected the contents. “It’s beautiful,” he said flatly. Then, turning his head slightly, he asked, “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Miller?” I cursed silently under my breath, wanting nothing more than to leave. Luke took the ring from the box and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed it into a nearby trash can. The ring clattered as it landed. His move was identical to what I’d done years ago. Maddie’s already pale face turned ghostly white. Her lips trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes as she began to shake. “The ring will be reimbursed,” Luke said coldly. “And starting tomorrow, you don’t need to come to work anymore.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Maddie standing there, frozen in shock. 4 As I turned to leave, Maddie suddenly grabbed my arm. The pitiful, teary-eyed act was gone. Now, her face was filled with anger and resentment. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” she hissed. “You knew he’d never divorce you, but you still let me humiliate myself by proposing.” “Now he’s fired me. That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” I pried her hand off my arm and said calmly, “I would’ve been thrilled if your proposal had worked. At least then, I’d finally be free.” By the time I stepped outside, rain had started to fall. I hadn’t brought an umbrella. The cold wind carried the rain against my bare legs, sending chills through me even though I had a coat on. I pulled out my phone to call for a ride but stopped when a message popped up. [At the corner.] I looked toward the nearby intersection and, sure enough, Luke’s car was parked there. Pulling my coat tighter, I began walking toward the car. In the early days of our marriage, Luke’s car would always be waiting for me at the corner. Back then, I would walk this short distance with a heart full of joy. Now, the same walk felt like marching toward my own doom. As soon as I opened the car door, a hand shot out and yanked me inside. Caught off guard, I stumbled straight into Luke’s chest. Before I could even steady myself, that same hand wrapped around my neck—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make me feel trapped. Luke’s voice was low, cold, and sharp. “Mrs. Thatcher, don’t try pulling stunts like Maddie did.” “With that face of yours, no one can threaten your position.” I let out a bitter laugh, my voice full of disdain. “You think I care about this position?” Once upon a time, maybe I did. After all, who wouldn’t want to marry the person they loved? But now, being Mrs. Thatcher felt nothing short of humiliating. My words seemed to ignite something in Luke. He shoved me against the car window, leaning in so close that his breath brushed against my ear. “You don’t care? So you’d just give it to someone else?” “Don’t even think about it. Stop trying to push other women my way.” He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small box. Opening it, he revealed a ring—a perfect replica of the one I’d thrown away years ago. Without hesitation, Luke grabbed my hand and tried to slide the ring onto my finger. I yanked my hand back, kicking and punching in protest. But the difference in strength was undeniable. In the end, the ring went on. “If you take it off, I’ll just put it back on. Unless you plan to cut off your hand, don’t bother.” Hearing that, I stopped struggling. I leaned back against the farthest corner of the seat, as far away from Luke as I could get, and stared out the window at the passing city lights. “Your parents called,” Luke said after a moment of silence. His voice was calm, almost casual. “They’re spending the New Year in the mountains with your sister. I’ll go with them. You don’t need to come.” I didn’t react. “Okay,” I replied flatly. Spending the holiday alone sounded fine to me. At least it would be better than sitting with a family drowning in sadness. 5 Years ago, my sister and I were kidnapped. The kidnappers filmed a video of them cutting into my thigh with a knife, using it to threaten our family. My sister fought back to protect me, but she was stabbed in the stomach. We were deep in the mountains, far from any medical help. She didn’t survive. By the time the police found us, I was too scared to react, frozen in shock. All I remember is seeing them carry her body away, covered by a white sheet. For a long time, I had nightmares every night. And when I woke up, I’d always ask myself: If I hadn’t cried or screamed when the kidnappers cut me—if I had stayed quiet and obedient—would she still be alive? But no one could give me an answer. All I heard were whispers, harsh words from those around me: “It’s her fault. Her sister died because of her.” I stayed in the hospital for months before I could finally regain some sense of myself. My parents only visited me a handful of times. They said looking at my face reminded them of my sister and made their grief worse. The day I was discharged, it wasn’t my parents who came to pick me up. It was Luke Thatcher. I didn’t know who he was or where he had come from, but he treated me with kindness. After being rejected by my parents, I couldn’t resist his warmth. I clung to him like a drowning person grabbing onto a lifeline, desperate to escape the water. But I didn’t realize I was stepping into an even deeper abyss. 6 When my parents called, Luke was packing his suitcase. I answered the phone and was met with a brief silence before my father’s voice came through. “Emma, we’re heading to the mountains this year to spend New Year’s with your sister. Is there anything you’d like us to tell her?” It felt like someone had wrapped their hands around my throat. It took me a long time to find my voice again. “No. I’ve already said what I needed to say at her grave.” “Alright.” The call ended, and I stared at the darkened screen, lost in thought. My parents always went back to the mountain where the kidnapping happened whenever they missed her. They said that when someone dies, their soul lingers where they took their last breath. I’d gone with them once. But as soon as we reached the base of the mountain, my body started shaking uncontrollably. I didn’t even make it halfway up before I passed out. Before leaving, Luke gave me one last instruction: “Hire a new assistant. Make sure it’s a man this time.” “And stop trying to pull those little schemes of yours.” I listened to the sound of his car engine fading into the distance. Then I went upstairs, changed my clothes, and left the house. By the time I reached the cemetery, it was already getting dark. But I still knew my way to her gravestone, as if I’d walked this path a thousand times before. “Sis, they’ve all gone to the mountain to be with you. I came here instead.” “If it had been you who survived that day, would everything have turned out better?” “I’m sorry I used to tell you how amazing Luke was to me. It probably made you angry, didn’t it? You must’ve thought I stole the happiness that should’ve been yours.” I spoke softly, the words tumbling out without thought, carried by the cold night air. Snow began to fall—this year’s first snow. I stood up and caught a snowflake in my palm, watching it melt against my skin. After saying my goodbyes, I turned and began walking toward the exit. Maybe I was too lost in my thoughts, but I didn’t notice the figure standing in my path until I was almost upon it. The shadow made my heart race. I wasn’t afraid while standing by my sister’s grave, but now, for some reason, fear crept in. My throat felt dry as I stammered, “W-Who’s there? Are you… human or… something else?” The figure turned around, their pale face illuminated by the faint moonlight. I stumbled back in panic, letting out a sharp scream. “A ghost!” But instead of vanishing, the “ghost” stepped closer, stopping right in front of me. “So, this cemetery only allows one living person at a time, huh?” he said, his breath visible in the cold air. I glanced around at the rows of dark gravestones, suddenly hyper-aware of how isolated we were. But the sight of his breath calmed me slightly. Warm air. He had to be human, right? Reassured, my courage returned, and I decided to walk with him the rest of the way out. Neither of us spoke, as if by some unspoken agreement. When we reached the gate, we went our separate ways. By the time I got home, it was already 10 p.m. I pulled out my phone and saw several missed calls from Luke. I’d put my phone on silent before heading to the cemetery, so I hadn’t heard them. As I debated whether to call him back, my phone lit up with another incoming call—from him. This time, I answered. “Why didn’t you pick up earlier?” His voice was sharp. “I went to the cemetery to visit my sister.” There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, he spoke, his tone colder than before. “Why didn’t you wait for me? We could’ve gone together.” “She wouldn’t have wanted to see us there together,” I replied flatly. “And I didn’t want to go with you either.” 7 Luke Thatcher fell silent again. In the end, he simply said, “Get some rest,” and hung up. By now, I’d become an expert at keeping our conversations short. I spent the New Year alone at home. The house was cold and quiet. Outside, lanterns lit up the streets, and everyone wore bright smiles, immersed in the festive atmosphere. As I walked through the lively crowds, I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider—a shadow moving through the light. Eventually, I found a quiet little park and sat down on an empty bench, trying to figure out what to do next. Luke didn’t want me hiring a female assistant. A male assistant wouldn’t make him any more inclined to divorce me either. Over the years, I had tried everything—staging chance encounters, hiring women who resembled my sister, even replacing his secretaries with women. But none of it worked. This time, I thought Maddie might be different. She’d managed to stick around him for six months. I thought I’d finally found a crack in his armor, a sliver of hope. But that, too, had failed. I let out a deep, defeated sigh. How much longer could I endure this never-ending cycle of torment? 8 I hadn’t even started looking for a new assistant when bad news came first. Luke ended up in the hospital. By the time I arrived, my parents were already sitting outside the hospital room. I froze mid-step, instinctively turning toward the nurses’ station. I asked them for a face mask and put it on before heading back. I knew my parents didn’t want to see me. I rarely visited them unless absolutely necessary, and they never asked me to. Standing outside the emergency room, I saw that Luke’s operation wasn’t over yet. When my parents noticed me, their initial expressions were filled with emotion, but the moment they saw the mask on my face, their excitement faded into indifference. “Luke fell while trying to pick your sister’s favorite flowers,” my mom said. “When he gets through this, stay by his side more often. At least you can be some sort of comfort to him.” I stood there in stunned silence, watching her lips move. But after that first sentence, I couldn’t hear another word she said. The doors to the emergency room finally opened. “The patient is out of danger. Are his family members here?” Before I could react, my mom pushed me forward. I found myself standing at the foot of Luke’s bed, staring at his pale, unconscious face. And in that moment, a dark, horrifying thought flashed through my mind: Why didn’t he die?

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## When my father suddenly passed away, he left behind a house, a car, and some cash. To everyone’s surprise, my usually petty and sharp-tongued stepmother only asked for the car and cash, leaving the most valuable asset—the house—to me, my grandfather, and my younger sister. The three of us were completely baffled. It wasn’t until the inheritance paperwork was finalized that I accidentally overheard her inner thoughts. “Don’t think you’ve scored with that big house. The apocalypse is coming, and the freezing cold will kill you all soon enough!” 0“I don’t need the house. It’s too big for just me and Xuxu.” “I’ll take the car and the cash. After this, we go our separate ways.” Her words caught everyone off guard. My grandfather, my sister, and I all froze in place. My father had only been diagnosed with terminal cancer a month earlier. The disease came so quickly that none of us had time to process it before he passed away. During his final days, we called my stepmother countless times, begging her to come back and visit him one last time. But she refused, saying her son, Andy, was preparing for an important middle school entrance exam. She wouldn’t even spare a day to say goodbye to my dad. She didn’t show up for the funeral either. Instead, she took her son on what she called an “educational summer camp”—which was really just a fancy vacation. But now, with everything settled, here she was, suddenly reappearing to claim her share of the inheritance. We braced ourselves for a fight. After all, knowing her personality, even something as small as us having an extra glass of milk would set her off for days. Why was she suddenly acting so… reasonable? Grandpa’s face reflected his confusion. His eyes darted between my stepmother and the documents on the table. She looked radiant, dressed in expensive clothes and wearing jewelry that sparkled under the light. She didn’t look like someone grieving, not even a little. Still, Grandpa spoke again, cautiously. “Ruby, are you sure about this? My son may be gone, but I won’t let you be treated unfairly.” “Whatever’s yours will be yours. We won’t take a penny that doesn’t belong to us.” Ruby waved him off impatiently. “Stop rambling. I just want the car and the cash. I even brought the lawyer with me.” She pulled out a pre-prepared inheritance agreement, signed her name in bold strokes, and shoved it across the table. Grandpa and I exchanged wary glances. We carefully read through the document, checking every word for hidden clauses. To our surprise, it was exactly as she said—she only wanted the car and the cash. The only additional condition was that, after the division, she would have no further ties with our family. No ties? Fine by us. She never treated Grandpa, my sister, or me well while my dad was alive. Now that he was gone, cutting ties sounded like a relief. I signed the document on behalf of the family, pressing my fingerprint onto the paper. Ruby’s face lit up with joy as she grabbed the agreement. “Great! I’ll get the car transferred this afternoon. From now on, we’re done—no more connections, not even a little!” She strutted out of the house, practically skipping. And true to her word, she transferred the car into her name that very afternoon. Though the three of us—Grandpa, my sister, and I—were still puzzled by her behavior, we went ahead and transferred the house into my name. But as fate would have it, we ran into Ruby again as we were leaving the notary office. She was driving my dad’s old, beat-up Jetta, looking smug as ever. “Big house, huh? Sure, it’s nice—if you live long enough to enjoy it.” “Good luck!” she shouted, laughing as she drove off. The car’s exhaust sputtered as it sped away, but amid the fading engine noise, I suddenly heard her voice again, sharp and venomous: “Don’t think you’ve won just because you got the house. I’ve been through this before—I know what’s coming! In a few days, the apocalypse will hit, and the freezing cold will kill you all!” 0

For a brief moment, my mind went completely blank. Instinctively, I asked Grandpa and my sister if they had heard what my stepmother just said. They both shook their heads. “She just said, ‘Good luck,’ didn’t she?” “Come on, big sis,” my sister chimed in. “Ruby might be a bit harsh, but don’t take it to heart.” “We’ve got this big house now! Worst case, we can rent it out, move back to the countryside, and live off the rent. It’ll cover our expenses just fine.” She was trying to comfort me, but I shook my head. No. I was absolutely certain I had heard her voice—word for word. I opened Ruby’s social media account and saw her latest post. She had already checked in at the train station. The picture showed her holding two train tickets to Furnace Ridge. The caption was short but chilling: “Who knew you couldn’t fly to Furnace Ridge? Oh well, doesn’t matter. The deep freeze is coming soon—can’t wait to see all you smug city folk freeze to death!” My stomach dropped. Furnace Ridge was one of the hottest places in the country. This year’s summer heatwave had been insane, with surface temperatures there reaching over 140°F. Going to Furnace Ridge in this heat was practically a death wish. But knowing Ruby the way I did, she was far too selfish and self-preserving to risk her life like that—unless… Unless what I’d overheard from her earlier was true. Ruby had really been reincarnated, and in just a few days, the world would be plunged into an apocalyptic deep freeze. I told Grandpa and my sister about my theory, but they both thought I’d been reading too much sci-fi. “There’s no such thing as doomsday,” Grandpa said. “That’s just something people make up for movies and books.” “And how could there be freezing weather when it’s this hot outside?” “Exactly!” my sister chimed in. “Honestly, if it did get cold, it’d probably feel kind of nice after all this heat.” I stayed quiet. She was too young to grasp how terrifying extreme cold could be. A sudden drop in temperature could freeze everything in minutes. A polar vortex could bring temperatures as low as -100°F, turning people, animals, and even buildings into ice sculptures. I couldn’t take any chances. I immediately went online to look for any signs of unusual weather patterns. The results made my blood run cold. • “Reports of Extreme Weather Unsettle Residents: Sudden Temperature Swings Leave Experts Puzzled.” • “City Sees Wild Temperature Shifts—Four Seasons in a Single Day?” • “Man Found Dead on the Streets Overnight—Hypothermia or Something More Sinister?” Each headline made my heart race faster. The more I read, the more convinced I became: Ruby was telling the truth. I couldn’t gamble with my family’s lives. Meanwhile, Ruby’s location updated again—she was now near Furnace Ridge. Her new social media post read: “What’s the point of having a fancy house if it can’t keep you alive? A safe shelter is the only luxury that matters!” My sister was furious. “She’s insane! She’s the one who chose what she wanted from the inheritance. Who’s she throwing shade at now?” But her anger only strengthened my resolve. What I’d overheard from Ruby couldn’t be dismissed as a coincidence. “Better safe than sorry,” I said firmly. “Grandpa, Emily, we need to prepare.” They exchanged uncertain glances but eventually nodded. Ruby’s cryptic, spiteful posts were enough to convince them. “You’re right,” Grandpa said. “It’s better to be ready than regret it later.” 0

We knew one thing for certain: a deep freeze was coming. But how long it would last and when it would arrive—no one could say. “Should we move to Furnace Ridge too?” Emily suggested. I shook my head. Even if Ruby claimed to be reborn, I wasn’t going to blindly trust her judgment. Furnace Ridge might be scorching during the day, but it was still a desert—the temperature would plummet at night. It might not survive an extreme freeze either. Besides, Ruby took all the cash from the inheritance. We didn’t have the money to relocate. “Then let’s sell the house,” Emily said. “A place this big has to be worth a lot, right?” I sighed. “We don’t have time. Selling a house isn’t something you can do overnight.” “And even if we could sell it, what if the freeze hits before we find somewhere else to go?” Grandpa suddenly chimed in, his expression thoughtful. “There’s still the old house back in Cedar Hollow. It’s not much, but it’s got a yard and a fireplace. Back when I worked in the city to put your dad through school, your grandma refused to leave that house. She always said it was the most comfortable place to live.” My eyes lit up. Of course! The old house was partially underground, making it naturally insulated. With a few upgrades, it could be the perfect refuge from the cold. Grandpa brought out his savings, and Emily and I pooled together our college funds and any leftover birthday money. Altogether, we scraped together about $30,000. Armed with that money, we headed straight to the nearest stores. First, we bought construction materials to reinforce the house. Then we got heating supplies—firewood, thermal blankets, and portable heaters. Whatever money was left went toward food, medicine, and emergency supplies. It took us three days to gather everything. We loaded it all into rented trucks and started the trip back to Cedar Hollow. Before we left, Emily hesitated at the door of the big house, reluctant to leave. “Are you sure we shouldn’t rent it out?” she asked. “No,” I replied firmly. The house wasn’t in a great location, so we wouldn’t get much rent for it anyway. Plus, renting it out would only draw Ruby’s attention. I didn’t know why she harbored so much hostility toward us, but I wasn’t about to risk provoking her further. Over the next few days, Ruby kept posting updates from Furnace Ridge. Each one was more smug and self-assured than the last. I couldn’t fathom where she got the confidence to think Furnace Ridge would protect her from the coming freeze. But if the apocalypse really was on the horizon, no amount of gloating would save her. Even if she became the self-proclaimed “Queen of Furnace Ridge,” survival wasn’t guaranteed for anyone. 0

We returned to the countryside with several truckloads of supplies. There weren’t many families left in the village—just a handful of elderly folks scattered about, aside from my grandma. That was actually a good thing. With so few people around, we didn’t have to worry about drawing too much attention or causing trouble. Grandpa explained my theory to Grandma. I thought she’d dismiss it outright, but to my surprise, her reaction was even more intense than ours. “I’ve been having dreams,” she said, her voice trembling. “In them, the world is frozen solid. There’s no food to be found. Chickens, ducks, sheep—all frozen stiff in the fields. People, too—dead everywhere, frozen like statues.” “I wanted to call you kids about it, but I was afraid you’d think I’m just some old woman losing her mind. But now… it seems like the heavens really don’t want to let us live,” she said, wiping tears from her face. I reached out to comfort her. “It won’t be like that, Grandma. Look, we brought so many supplies back with us. As long as we all work together, we’ll get through this.” I had assumed our old house wasn’t very big, but to my surprise, it turned out that our family had once been quite well-off. The property was made up of a series of interconnected underground homes—earth shelters—with over a dozen rooms in total. No wonder Grandpa had insisted on buying construction materials first. Without them, we wouldn’t have been able to make full use of all the space. Under the guise of “renovating the old family home,” Grandpa hired some workers to help us. Thick, tempered glass was installed to seal off every entrance and window, insulating the entire structure. Inside, we added several layers of thermal insulation to keep the cold out. Meanwhile, my sister, Grandma, and I carried in the supplies and organized everything by category. As we filled the rooms, three of the underground shelters were packed floor to ceiling with food, firewood, and emergency items. Seeing all that gave us a deep sense of comfort and reassurance. Grandma had an idea as well. “Since the extra rooms are just sitting empty, why don’t we bring in the chickens, ducks, cows, and sheep from the backyard? And don’t forget the straw and feed, too. If we run out of food, these animals will at least give us another option.” My sister and I got to work. All the land animals were brought into the underground shelters. As for the fish Grandma had been raising… well, they wouldn’t survive the extreme cold anyway, so we gave them to the remaining families in the village. In return, they sent us fresh eggs as thanks. With everything ready, Grandpa sent the workers away. All that was left to do was wait for the freezing weather to arrive. That night, the four of us—completely exhausted—lay in the courtyard, looking up at the hazy sky through the tempered glass roof. None of us could put into words the mix of feelings in our hearts. While we had been working tirelessly, Ruby, my stepmother, had been living in luxury. With the $200,000 in cash she took from the inheritance, she had rented a massive home in the desert. She hired locals to cater to her every need, from cooking to cleaning. She even had someone feeding her meals. It was like she was living the life of royalty. Her social media was full of boastful videos, accompanied by snide, passive-aggressive captions. We were too busy with our preparations to pay her any attention, which seemed to infuriate her. Eventually, she couldn’t hold back and called Grandpa directly to vent her frustration. “You old fool! What are you so proud of? Just because your son got into some fancy college? He still ended up working himself to death for me!” “And even after he’s gone, I’m the one holding all the cash!” “You never respected me when I was in your house. You even tried to meddle in my son’s education! How’s that big house treating you now?!” “By tomorrow, you’ll all be crying and begging me to come save you! But let me tell you, even if you all get on your knees, I won’t lift a finger to help!” 0

Her words were cruel, but I didn’t let her finish. I hung up the phone. People like her weren’t worth engaging with. What mattered more was that night, just as Ruby had predicted, the temperature plummeted. In June, snow began to fall. By morning, the entire world outside had been transformed into a frozen wasteland. We quickly retreated into the underground shelters, sealing the doors and windows tightly. Thankfully, we had chosen tempered glass when upgrading the house. The snow piled up on top of it, but instead of causing damage, it acted as an extra layer of insulation, helping to keep the cold out. Inside, with the fire burning steadily, we were warm and safe. Grandma, however, couldn’t sit still. She went out to the barn, killed a chicken, and brought it back inside with a bowl of its blood. “Unbelievable,” she said, holding up the bowl. “I was only outside for a minute, and this chicken’s blood froze solid before I even got back. I’d guess it’s at least -10°F or -20°F out there.” “More like worse than that!” my sister said, clutching her tablet. She pointed to a news report on the screen. “The news says it’s already -76°F outside.” “Once it gets below -76°F, regular thermometers can’t even measure the temperature anymore. Do you think it’s actually -80°F or even colder out there, sis?” I didn’t know. Looking at the snowdrifts outside—piled higher than a person—it was hard to believe anything could survive out there. Even with the warmth of the fire, the thought of what lay beyond our walls sent chills down my spine. There’s a myth that Medusa could turn people to stone with a single glance. This weather, I thought, could do the same—except it would turn people into ice sculptures instead. “Look at this,” Grandpa said suddenly, handing me his phone. It was a message from Ruby in the family group chat. Apparently, boasting on social media wasn’t enough for her anymore. She had started showing off in the family chat too. The photos she sent showed her lounging in the desert, wearing summer clothes and even lying barefoot in the sand. The caption read: “Is it really that cold? I think the temperature is perfect.” This didn’t make sense. Even if Furnace Ridge was warmer than most places, it shouldn’t be warm enough for sand baths during a deep freeze. For a moment, I wondered if the snow had somehow avoided Furnace Ridge entirely. Then I remembered Ruby’s earlier warnings and felt a strange sense of unease. I immediately opened a search engine and typed “Furnace Ridge.” Within seconds, my screen was flooded with news articles. The most prominent headline read: “The World Becomes a Frozen Wasteland, But Furnace Ridge Remains Untouched!”

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# I did everything I could to take care of him after his accident, hoping he’d regain his memory. When I found out I was pregnant, I thought it might bring him back to me. I showed up at the private lounge with the ultrasound report in hand, ready to tell him. But before I could step inside, I overheard his laughter. “Ethan, you really nailed it with this fake amnesia thing,” one of his friends said, cracking up. “Not only did you shake off Anna, but you’re back with your dream girl.” “Right?” Ethan replied, chuckling. “I had no idea Anna could be so clueless. After the accident, she’s been running herself ragged looking after me. She has no idea I’ve been faking it the whole time.” The group let out a roar of laughter. “Man, I thought she’d get the hint and leave, but nope. Still clinging to me like she always has. She’s been like that since we were kids—impossible to shake off.” … The next day, at a business gala, I met his so-called “dream girl,” Natalie. Ethan introduced me to her as “just a friend’s little sister.” Natalie gave me a condescending smile and quipped, “Ethan, your friend’s sister looks so much like me back in college.” That’s when it hit me. All my clothes, my makeup, even my hobbies—I had unconsciously molded myself into a copy of Natalie. The realization was like a knife to the chest. I stepped out of the gala and called my brother. Afterward, I went straight to the hospital and scheduled the procedure. “Nick,” I said over the phone, my voice trembling, “I’ll come home. I’ll get married.”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line. Then came Nick’s worried voice. “Anna, what did Ethan do to you?” The ache in my chest grew unbearable. I fought back tears and forced a laugh. “What could he do? He doesn’t have the guts. Besides, there’s nothing between us anymore.” I paused, taking a shaky breath. “I came here to get better, and now that I’m healthy, it’s time to come home.” “And… I miss you, Mom, and Dad,” I added softly. Nick let out a light laugh, trying to sound casual. “Took you long enough. You’ve been away for years, and now you’re suddenly homesick?” I didn’t respond. My breathing grew uneven. Nick quickly changed his tone, coaxing, “Alright, alright. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad you’re coming back. We’ve all missed you like crazy.” “Besides,” he added with a teasing lilt, “the White boy’s still willing to marry into our family. Once you’re married, you’ll be back home with us. How perfect is that?” His warm, familiar voice was enough to break me. I hung up quickly, tears streaming down my face. … I was a sickly child, in and out of hospitals all the time. Born with asthma, I was sent to live in Springhill, a city with a mild climate, to recover. Our family had been close with the Hayes family for years, so my parents left me in their care. Ethan was seven years older than me, mischievous and carefree. He had a reputation for being a flirt, and my brother constantly warned me to steer clear of him. “Keep your distance,” Nick would say. “Don’t let him get any ideas.” But as time passed, the boundaries blurred. Ethan’s warmth and charm pulled me in, and I fell hard. When I recovered, I insisted on staying in Springhill to study and work, just to be near him. Ethan said he didn’t want to go public with our relationship yet. He worried my family wouldn’t approve of the age gap and promised he’d explain everything to them when the time was right. That “right time” stretched into six years. And now, after everything, I didn’t even know who to turn to.

When I got off the cold operating table, my body felt hollow—just like my heart. The anesthesia dulled the physical pain, but the ache inside was unbearable. Tears slipped down my face as I shakily ripped the ultrasound report into pieces and tossed it into the trash. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked like a stranger. Straight black hair, a white dress, soft, understated makeup. It wasn’t me. It was her. I used to love staring into Ethan’s eyes, seeing the love and tenderness in them. Now I knew that love had never been for me. He had always been looking at Natalie, even when he looked at me. I swiped on some lipstick to hide my pale lips and walked out of the bathroom. In the hospital hallway, I ran into Ethan and Natalie. They were holding hands, dressed in matching outfits, smiling like they were the happiest couple in the world. Ethan held a piece of paper in his hand. Even from a distance, I recognized it: a pregnancy report. Natalie was pregnant? The thought hit me like a thunderbolt, leaving me frozen in place. “Anna, what are you doing here?” Natalie asked brightly, pulling Ethan toward me. When Ethan saw me, a flash of panic crossed his face. He quickly folded the report in his hand. “Anna, are you feeling unwell again?” he asked, his voice overly casual. Bitterness rose in my throat as I struggled to find the words. Finally, I shook my head. “No, I just ran out of my medicine and came to get more.” “Don’t tell me you’re still taking those vitamins,” Ethan said, smirking. “You know they don’t actually work, right?” I stayed silent. After Ethan’s “amnesia,” I developed severe anxiety. Insomnia plagued me, and I relied on sleeping pills to get through the nights. But I lied to Mrs. Hayes, telling her they were just vitamins—I didn’t want her to worry. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the wave of emotions threatening to engulf me. “Guess what, Anna?” Natalie said, beaming. “Ethan and I are having a baby!” She placed a hand on her stomach and laughed. “At the gala earlier, I swore I felt the baby kicking. Ethan was so worried he dragged me here to get checked out.” She playfully nudged Ethan, who smiled sheepishly. “You know how it is. The first three months are the most critical, and our baby’s only two months along. Better safe than sorry.” Two months. My baby was two months old, too. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. He had been with me one night, only to crawl into Natalie’s bed the next. How could he so shamelessly have both of us at the same time?

Looking at his guiltless face, at the way his eyes softened with genuine affection for Natalie, I finally understood why everyone said his fake amnesia was so convincing. Because it didn’t require any acting. No lies, no pretense. This was the real Ethan Hayes. When you stripped away the false tenderness he’d shown me, all that remained was the burning devotion he felt for Natalie. Disgust churned in my stomach, and I fled the scene in a daze. The pain was unbearable. Tears spilled uncontrollably the moment I turned away. I went straight to the office and handed in my resignation. I’d always been friendly and well-liked at work, so when my colleagues heard I was leaving, they were reluctant to see me go. They insisted I host a farewell dinner. At the table, I drowned my sorrows in alcohol, drinking until I could barely stand. When I stumbled out of the restaurant, my first instinct was to call Ethan to pick me up, just like I used to. But all I got was a cold, automated voice telling me the number was no longer in service. It sobered me instantly, sending sharp pangs through my chest. How could I have forgotten? I was no longer the person Ethan would drop everything for. I flagged down a cab and returned to the Hayes family home. As soon as I arrived, I saw movers carrying boxes into the house. Curious, I peeked inside. There she was—Natalie, sitting comfortably on the couch, leaning affectionately against Mrs. Hayes while they chatted like old friends. Ethan was sitting beside them, peeling grapes and feeding them to Natalie like some lovesick fool. It was such a picturesque scene. Until I walked in. The moment they noticed me, the warmth in the air dissipated. Mrs. Hayes awkwardly pushed Natalie away and hurried over to me. “Anna, this is Natalie. You must remember her—she’ll be staying here for a few days,” she said, her voice strained. I smiled faintly but didn’t respond. “You’ve been drinking?” Ethan asked, frowning as he stood. His tone was sharp, almost accusatory. I gave a nonchalant hum of acknowledgment. His expression darkened immediately. “How could you drink with your stomach condition? Have you forgotten about your perforated ulcer?” Of course, I hadn’t forgotten. That ulcer had been the result of me drinking excessively to help Ethan close a big business deal. I’d ended up in the hospital, bleeding internally, and Ethan had spent the entire night crying outside the emergency room. I still remembered the way he’d cradled my hands afterward, his eyes full of guilt as he whispered, “Anna, I’ll never let you touch alcohol again.” The memory stung, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. “I forgot,” I lied flatly. Ethan’s shoulders slumped as a flicker of panic crossed his face. He glanced nervously at Natalie before turning back to me. “Natalie’s pregnant,” he said, his tone suddenly stern. “She can’t stand the smell of alcohol. From now on, don’t drink anymore.” I didn’t respond. I simply turned and walked up the stairs. Mrs. Hayes followed me to my room, clearly worried. She sat beside me on the bed, holding my hand tightly, her eyes red-rimmed as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t. I broke the silence for her. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She wiped at her tears and cupped my face gently. “I never thought Ethan would lose his memory and forget everything you two had,” she murmured. “But I heard that sometimes amnesia happens because the love was too deep. Maybe Natalie reminds him of you. Maybe he’s with her because, deep down, he thinks she’s you…” Her voice faltered, but she quickly added, “But no matter what, Natalie is pregnant now. The Hayes family has to take responsibility.” A mother always knows her child. Mrs. Hayes wasn’t fooled by Ethan’s act. She knew he was lying about the amnesia. But she was Ethan’s mother. His happiness—and her future grandchild—mattered more to her than I ever could. Still, Mrs. Hayes had always been genuinely kind to me, even in the years I’d spent here. I couldn’t hold it against her. Swallowing the bitterness in my heart, I squeezed her hand and smiled faintly. “Mrs. Hayes, I’m going home to get married.” “Please don’t tell Ethan.”

Mrs. Hayes froze, her face flushing red as she opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she let out a long sigh. “This is all Ethan’s fault… he’s the one who wronged you.” After she left, one of the housekeepers brought in a bowl of ginger soup to help me sober up. The ginger slices were thick and clumsy, clearly cut by Ethan himself. Tears slipped into the bowl as I stared at it. I didn’t take a single sip and poured it all down the toilet. That night, the alcohol and my recent miscarriage left me doubled over in pain. My lower abdomen ached so badly that I could hardly move. With trembling hands, I rummaged through my bedside table for painkillers, but all I found were my sleeping pills—disguised with a label I had written, calling them “vitamins.” From the next room, muffled sounds of passion seeped through the walls. In the darkness, I finally let go of my composure and sobbed into my pillow, my cries echoing through the silence of the night. The next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of furious knocking. Ethan’s voice shouted from the other side of the door, laced with anger. Confused and half-asleep, I stumbled to open it. Before I could say a word, his hand came down hard across my face. The stinging pain snapped me out of my daze. “Anna! You’re nothing but a selfish, ungrateful brat!” Ethan roared, his eyes blazing with fury. “Why the hell would you send flowers to the house? Don’t you know Natalie is allergic to pollen?!” He threw a bouquet of roses at me, and the sharp thorns scratched my cheek, leaving it burning with pain. The bitterness in my chest bubbled into a swell of anger. I opened my mouth to explain, but Ethan cut me off before I could utter a single word. He shoved me, and I fell to the floor. His eyes were filled with unrestrained hostility. “Pray that nothing happens to Natalie’s baby,” he hissed, “or I swear I’ll make you pay for it.” With that, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Lying on the floor, I let out a hollow laugh as tears rolled down my face. I had asthma. I was allergic to pollen, too. Why would I ever send flowers to the house? My breathing grew shallow, and my chest heaved as I gasped for air. My vision blurred, and I struggled to get up. Unable to stand, I crawled toward the bedside table. “Medicine…” I whispered hoarsely. My hand knocked over the vase on the table, and it shattered, cutting my palm as I reached for the drawer. But it was empty. Panic gripped me as I remembered that Ethan had insisted on keeping my medication with him, saying it would be safer if he carried it in case of emergencies. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by despair. My strength ebbed away, and I collapsed onto the floor. “Anna! Anna!” Mrs. Hayes’s panicked voice broke through the haze as she rushed into the room. When she saw me gasping for air on the floor, she immediately shouted down the stairs, “Ethan! Where’s Anna’s medicine?!” Footsteps pounded closer, and I felt someone kneel beside me. Cool liquid entered my airways, and oxygen slowly flooded my lungs. As I began to breathe again, Ethan’s voice cut through the tension, dripping with disdain. “To force Natalie into a miscarriage, you were even willing to risk triggering your own asthma attack.” He scoffed bitterly. “Anna, I really underestimated how far you would go.” Mrs. Hayes, furious, smacked Ethan hard on the back. “What nonsense are you spouting?!” But Ethan ignored her, grabbing me and tossing me onto the bed like I was nothing. “Natalie just told me that if you agree to be her bridesmaid and hand us the rings at the wedding, she won’t hold this against you.” “Ethan!” Mrs. Hayes cried, horrified, as she tried to push him away. “What are you saying?!” “Fine.” My voice was calm, steady. Both of them froze, clearly not expecting me to agree. My throat was raw, but I forced the words out, one at a time. “I’ll do it.”

Ethan’s expression flickered with disbelief. After a long pause, he finally muttered, “At least you know your place.” I turned away, burying my face in the blanket, letting my tears soak into the pillow. The wedding was set for three days later. During those three days, I busied myself packing and saying goodbye to friends. Ethan, on the other hand, spent all his time accompanying Natalie as she tried on wedding dresses. One by one, my belongings were removed from the house, leaving the space I once called home emptier by the hour. Finally, I came across the photo album filled with pictures of Ethan and me. Without hesitation, I tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled, their light reflected in my eyes. Our memories burned away, turning to ash. “What the hell are you doing?!” I hadn’t even noticed Ethan come back. He lunged toward the fire, reaching into the scorching flames in a futile attempt to save the remnants of the album. But the fire spread too fast. He couldn’t save anything. I watched him coldly. “There’s no point in keeping it.” “What do you mean, no point?!” Ethan’s eyes reddened as he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. “These are our memories!” I let out a bitter laugh. “You must be mistaken. There was never anything between us.” His face fell as he suddenly remembered his supposed “amnesia.” His voice softened, losing all its fury. He reached for my hand, his tone gentle. “I shouldn’t have hit you. Don’t be mad at me, okay?” “It’s fine. Pictures can be retaken,” he added, his voice coaxing. “Even if you’re getting married, you can always stay by my side as my little sister.” He placed a bridesmaid dress on the table. “Natalie asked me to bring this to you. Make sure you look your best tomorrow.” I picked up the bag and nodded. “I will.” The next morning, wedding photos of Ethan and Natalie were displayed on every screen across the city. The dress Natalie wore? It was one I had designed years ago—for myself. I left the bridesmaid dress on the bed, untouched, and wheeled my suitcase to the airport. I didn’t leave a single word behind. As I boarded the plane, I removed my SIM card and tossed it into the trash before turning off my phone for good. As the plane took off, I let out a long breath. Six ridiculous years of my life were finally, completely over.

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