Author: Momo Chan

### My husband, Ethan Carter, was the CEO of a publicly traded company, a man who was admired and envied by many. He traveled for work every month, like clockwork. Everyone knew him as a “wife guy,” someone who spoiled me endlessly and never missed a chance to show his love. Every time he came back from a trip, he brought me thoughtful gifts. This time, he’d been in Charleston for business and returned with a single peach blossom branch. Because he couldn’t take it on the plane, he went out of his way—lugging it onto trains and even the subway—just so he could bring a piece of Charleston’s early spring back to me. As he handed it to me, Ethan spoke softly, his voice as warm as ever. “The spring comes early down there,” he said. “I couldn’t wait to bring it back for you to see.” But just before he walked through the door, my phone buzzed. It was a text from that same unknown number that had been messaging me for weeks: “Your husband and his little assistant took their romantic getaway to Charleston this month.” Attached was a photo: Ethan and his secretary, Emma, locked in a passionate kiss beneath a canopy of pink blossoms. I stared at the picture, my stomach twisting. When Ethan turned away to take a shower, I set the peach blossom branch in the most unnoticeable corner of the room. My hand brushed against my slightly rounded belly as I picked up the phone and made a call I hadn’t dared to make in three years. “Dad,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m leaving Ethan.” They say a marriage without your parents’ blessing is doomed from the start. Three years ago, I walked down the aisle against their wishes, thinking love was enough. Now, it was clear: that wedding had been a mistake. It was time to cut my losses and walk away.

“Honey, can you send a file to Jack for me? It’s on my phone,” Ethan said. “Sure,” I replied casually. Hearing my response, Ethan turned on the shower, humming as the water began to run. His phone was sitting on the table, unlocked, as it always was. Ethan never hid anything from me—he’d even joked about handing over his phone if I ever wanted to check it. I entered the passcode, my birthday, and the lock screen opened. After sending the file, my eyes fell on the name “Emma” in his message list. The chat history was clean—just work-related texts. Ethan was meticulous like that. He’d never leave anything incriminating behind. But curiosity got the better of me. I tapped on Emma’s profile and opened her social media. Her latest post stopped me cold. It was a photo of two hands intertwined beneath a canopy of pink blossoms. The caption read: “I told him I loved peach blossoms, so he brought me all the way to Charleston.” The post was clearly hidden from both her coworkers and me, but one mutual friend had commented underneath: “Is it your mysterious, handsome, rich boyfriend again?” Emma’s reply was a simple “Yes.” Two weeks ago, I’d started receiving anonymous texts from an unfamiliar number. The first one read: “Your husband, the man who swears he loves you more than anything, is cheating on you.” Since then, every day, I’d received more and more “evidence.” Photos, locations, details—everything pointed to Ethan and Emma. Apparently, Ethan’s monthly “business trips” were just elaborate vacations with her. They’d watched sunsets on beaches, kissed under the Northern Lights, and held each other in snow-covered forests. I’d even had the photos verified by a professional. They weren’t fake. Ethan. Emma. And me. We’d all been high school classmates, though I’d barely known Emma back then. When Ethan told me a few months ago that Emma had applied to be his assistant, I’d thought nothing of it. In fact, I encouraged him to hire her—after all, it was nice to help an old classmate. Who could’ve known I was hiring my own replacement? Scrolling further through Emma’s social media, I found more posts. Every month, there were photos of trips to different cities, each captioned with romantic lines: “A life well-lived is half mountains and seas, half you.” “The sun is setting, and we’re falling in love.” “Going to beautiful places with the person I love most.” Every destination matched Ethan’s business trips. Every caption matched the anonymous texts. Some of the photos showed a man’s silhouette—his face deliberately cropped out. But I didn’t need to see his face. I knew that figure. I’d recognize Ethan anywhere. There were other photos, too: jewelry, designer bags, luxury items. The gifts Ethan had brought home to me? She had them too. Three years of marriage. Three years of meticulous care, of devotion that everyone envied. The perfect husband, they said. And yet here he was, betraying me. As memories of our life together flashed through my mind—his sweet words, his warm embraces—they all turned into jagged shards, stabbing into my heart. I felt the baby move inside me, and I instinctively rested a hand on my belly. “I’m sorry,” I whispered softly. The next moment, I felt warm arms wrap tightly around me. Ethan was back, holding me close from behind, his head resting in the crook of my neck. “What are you saying to our baby, huh?” he murmured. “I missed you so much while I was away.” I didn’t respond. The thought of him whispering the same words to her just days ago made my stomach churn. “What’s wrong?” he asked, gently turning me to face him. His eyes were full of concern as he noticed my red, swollen eyes. I shook my head and waved a hand in front of my face, trying to explain it away. “It’s nothing. Pregnancy hormones. I’ve just been emotional lately.” Ethan knelt in front of me, his hand resting on my belly. “Hey, little one,” he said softly, his eyes lighting up. “Your mom is working so hard for you, so you better behave in there, okay? No causing trouble.” He pressed his ear against my belly as if listening for a response, then looked up at me with a grin. “Babe, our baby just told me they understand.” His joy, his tenderness—it was all so convincing. How could he love me like this and still hold someone else’s hand under a canopy of blossoms? I gave him a weak smile, and he stood, brushing his thumb across my lips. “You know,” he said, his voice low and husky, “the doctor said we’re past the three-month mark now, so…” He leaned in to kiss me, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I bolted for the bathroom and threw up violently, the nausea overwhelming me. Behind me, Ethan followed, his hand rubbing circles on my back, his voice full of concern. “Babe, this pregnancy is really taking it out of you. Let’s make this the last one, okay? No more after this.” He thought it was just morning sickness. He had no idea that I wouldn’t be having this baby either.

“You’re terminating the pregnancy?” The doctor froze mid-exam, looking at me in disbelief. Outside the room, Ethan stood by the window, scrolling through his phone, a soft, tender smile spreading across his face. That smile—so familiar, yet so foreign—made my chest ache and my stomach churn. “Yes,” I said firmly, breaking my gaze away and turning back to the doctor. “You’re sure? Does your husband know?” she asked cautiously. “I’ve seen him come with you to every appointment. He seems so excited about this baby, even with how busy he must be. Running a company like his can’t be easy.” Ethan Carter—self-made billionaire, founder of a multi-million-dollar tech company at just 30 years old. His face was a regular feature on business channels, and even the doctor had heard of him. He had his share of admirers, women who swooned over his looks, wealth, and the fact that he was madly in love with his wife. “This is my decision,” I said, my tone unyielding. “Please don’t tell him.” The doctor sighed, hesitant, before launching into a string of reasons why I should reconsider. I didn’t hear a word of it. A failed marriage. A child born into a loveless home. Why bring someone into the world only to suffer? Better to give them a chance with a different set of parents. It was Ethan’s day off, and he’d woken up early, thinking I was still asleep. He tiptoed into the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise. But pregnancy had made me a light sleeper, and I lay there, staring at the ceiling as the faint light of dawn crept in. I could hear him tinkering in the kitchen for nearly half an hour. When he finally came back into the bedroom, I quickly shut my eyes. “Time to get up, sleepyhead,” he whispered as he gently pinched my cheek. I opened my eyes to see him standing there, wearing an apron and grinning like he’d just conquered the world. Ethan had started taking cooking classes after I got pregnant—something about making sure I ate well. Since marrying him, I hadn’t stepped foot in the kitchen. He even left work early every day just to cook dinner for me, much to the delight of his employees, who joked that their boss was a “top-tier wife guy.” “Your husband’s cooking hasn’t gotten rusty, has it? I made all your favorites,” he said proudly, gesturing to the table. But before I could even respond, his phone buzzed on the counter. He grabbed it quickly, but not quickly enough. I saw the name flash across the screen: Emma. Ethan’s cheerful demeanor shifted in an instant. He answered the call, his voice calm but serious. “I understand. I’ll be there soon.” Hanging up, he turned to me with an apologetic expression. “Something urgent came up at work. I’m really sorry, but I have to go. Please make sure you eat breakfast, okay? Take a short walk after—it’s good for you and the baby. I probably won’t make it back for lunch, but I’ll have a meal delivered for you. Call me if you need anything. Oh, and don’t forget, we have the high school reunion tonight. I’ll come home to pick you up.” Ah, the reunion. I’d almost forgotten. Before leaving, Ethan walked over to me, smoothing the crease between my brows with his thumb. He kissed my forehead softly, whispering, “Don’t be upset, alright?” You see, his performance was flawless. Not a single crack showed as he smoothed his words over me like silk. Even as he prepared to run into another woman’s arms, he didn’t falter. The door closed behind him, and the sound of it felt like a cue for my tears to fall. I stared at the breakfast he’d made, the food now tasteless in my mouth. My stomach turned, and I scraped it all into the trash. When something no longer tastes good, you throw it away. Forcing it down only makes you sick. People are no different. That evening, Ethan came home to pick me up for the reunion. He knelt down in front of me to help me put on my socks and shoes, as he always did. From this angle, I could see the collar of his shirt—and the faint marks peeking out from underneath. Those weren’t there this morning. Ethan didn’t open the front passenger door for me like usual. Instead, he guided me to the backseat. That’s when I saw her. Emma was sitting in the passenger seat, her lips curling into a polite, almost saccharine smile as I hesitated. Ethan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Emma’s going to the reunion too. I figured it made sense for the three of us to go together.” “She gets carsick,” he added, almost too quickly. “The front seat is better for her.” Emma turned toward me, her head tilting slightly, her voice soft and sweet as honey. “You don’t mind, do you, Jane? You’re so far along now—it’s probably more comfortable for you to sit in the back anyway.” The blue diamond necklace she wore caught the light, sparkling brightly. It was identical to the one around my neck. I said nothing, just nodded and climbed into the backseat. As we drove, I listened to their laughter, their easy banter. My head began to pound, the ache growing worse with every mile. I reached up and unclasped the necklace, slipping it into my purse. I didn’t need it anymore.

“Well, well, look who’s here!” “If it isn’t the golden couple from our class reunion!” The moment Ethan walked in with my hand in his, the room erupted in cheers and playful teasing. Back in high school, Ethan’s pursuit of me had been nothing short of legendary. Everyone, even the teachers, knew about it. But since we were both straight-A students, they turned a blind eye to his over-the-top efforts. Ethan had even changed his college plans to follow me, chasing me all the way to university. By freshman year, he’d started a business from scratch, determined to be “worthy” of me. His persistence became the stuff of school lore. By the time we were about to graduate, I finally gave in. I let myself be swept away by his devotion. I still remember the night I said yes—how he cried so hard he couldn’t even speak, swearing over and over: “Jane, I’ll love you and only you for the rest of my life.” Inside the reunion, three empty seats were waiting for us. Ethan sat between me and Emma, his assistant. He frowned slightly before turning to me, his voice soft and almost apologetic. “Jane, can we switch seats?” That simple gesture earned yet another round of teasing from our old classmates. “Look at Ethan, such a gentleman! Doesn’t even want to sit next to a single woman!” “Jane, what kind of spell did you cast on him? He’s still head over heels after all these years!” “Seriously, you two make the rest of us look bad. Every time I see your posts on social media, I swear my teeth hurt from how sweet you guys are!” Ethan laughed along, pulling me closer as he smiled and said, “What can I say? I just love my wife.” Then he looked at me with the kind of gaze that made everyone else swoon—a gaze full of warmth and tenderness. Everyone believed Ethan adored me. But I knew better. His love, like the gifts he showered me with, had long since been divided into two equal shares. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Emma’s forced smile. Her lips twitched upward, but the way she looked at Ethan—her eyes filled with longing and frustration—gave her away. “Emma’s boyfriend must be treating her well too,” someone chimed in, nodding toward the massive diamond necklace around her neck. “Look at that rock—he must have some serious cash.” Emma touched the necklace, her fingers lingering on the jewel as her eyes flicked to me. “He treats me very well,” she said, her voice tight but filled with pride. “Every month, he takes me somewhere special. Buys me so many things I can barely keep up. Just last month, I mentioned wanting to retire in Florida one day, and he went ahead and bought a house there. Oh, and this necklace? It’s a limited edition—only ten in the world.” Only ten in the world. Eight million dollars each. Ethan had bought two. “Wow, sounds like your boyfriend could give Ethan a run for his money,” someone joked. “When are you bringing him to meet us?” Emma smiled sweetly, her gaze softening as it landed on Ethan. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll all meet him one day.” Ethan didn’t look at her. Instead, he picked up some food and placed it on my plate. Halfway through dinner, Ethan excused himself to take a phone call. Not long after, Emma slipped out too, saying she needed to use the restroom. I waited a moment, then followed. By the time I reached the stairwell, I heard their voices. Emma had her hands draped around Ethan’s neck, her voice laced with a mix of frustration and desperation. “You’re not going to just ghost me, are you? Ethan, it’s been two years. Don’t you dare act like I don’t mean anything to you.” Ethan’s tone was calm but firm, his expression unreadable. “As long as you don’t mess with Jane, as long as you stay quiet and keep your place, I’ll take care of you. You know that. But if she finds out…” His voice dropped, cold and threatening. “If she leaves me, I’ll lose it.” Emma’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but then her lips curled into a small smile. “Fine. Then I’ve got some good news for you: I’m pregnant.” My heart froze. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over me. Ethan’s expression flickered—shock, then calculation. He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he reached out to lift her chin. “You’re pregnant? And yet here you are, throwing yourself at me. Aren’t you worried about losing the baby?” Emma bit her lip, her cheeks flushing as she pressed herself closer to him. “I can’t help it. I see you, and I just…” She trailed off, her voice soft and breathy as she leaned into him. Ethan chuckled, his hand moving to the back of her head as he pulled her in. Under the dim stairwell light, they kissed like no one else existed. I stood frozen in place, my back pressed against the wall, my entire body trembling. My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of my daze. It was a text from my doctor. “Your appointment is scheduled for Saturday.”

Saturday morning. I handed two documents to Ethan, placing them on the table in front of him. “These are two insurance policies I got for the baby. They need both parents’ signatures.” Ethan took my hand, his signature smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The baby isn’t even born yet, and you’re already getting insurance?” “A friend recommended it. I thought it was a good idea,” I replied with a soft smile. Ethan stared at me for a moment, almost mesmerized. “Jane, you’re so beautiful when you smile. You should smile like this more often.” As he picked up the documents, ready to read them over, I panicked and stopped him. “I’ve already read through them. They’re fine. No need to double-check,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. He ruffled my hair affectionately. “Oh, come on. Let me take a quick look. What if you missed something and got scammed?” My heart raced as his hand moved toward the papers. Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. I was close enough to hear the voice on the other end—it was Emma. Ethan answered the call and walked out onto the balcony, his tone low and familiar. A few minutes later, he came back, his expression tight. “Something came up at work. I need to go deal with it,” he said, grabbing a pen and signing the documents without another glance. “Ethan!” I called out as he was about to leave. He paused in the doorway, turning back toward me. “Yeah?” “Do you remember what you said on our wedding day?” His brow furrowed slightly before his features softened. “If I ever betrayed you, you’d leave me without a second thought,” he recited, word for word. “That’s right,” I said with a small smile. Ethan crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe, his expression full of confidence. “What, are you testing me? Don’t worry—I’ve got every word burned into my heart.” I watched as he turned back to the door, his hand lingering on the doorknob for a few seconds before he hesitated. Then, he walked back to me and wrapped his arms around me tightly. “I don’t know why, but I feel uneasy today,” he murmured against my ear. “I’ve told you before—I’ll love you and only you for the rest of my life. Don’t forget that, okay? Wait for me to come home.” I nodded silently, and only then did he seem reassured enough to leave. When I heard the sound of his car engine fading into the distance, I opened the documents on the table. The bold title at the top read: Divorce Agreement. For a moment, I just stared at the words, lost in thought. Ten years. From high school sweethearts to now, our story had stretched across a decade. But this was where it ended. I packed up my belongings, called a courier to take them away, and donated everything Ethan had ever given me—including the baby items he’d bought. After learning I was pregnant, Ethan had been over the moon. He’d dragged me to baby stores every chance he got, buying everything we could possibly need from birth through toddlerhood. “You’ve bought way too much,” I’d scolded him once, laughing. He waved me off with a grin. “So what? If I can’t spoil my own kid, who else am I going to spoil?” Back then, we had both been so excited for this baby—the perfect symbol of our love. Now, all of it was gone. I left a copy of the signed divorce papers on the couch, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door. On my way to the clinic, my phone buzzed again. It was the same unknown number that had been messaging me for weeks. “Who do you think Ethan loves more—you or the other woman?” Attached was a photo. Ethan was at a doctor’s appointment with Emma. The way he looked at her—soft, caring—was identical to how he used to look at me. Maybe Ethan didn’t even realize it himself, but the scales in his heart had already tipped in her favor. I typed out a reply: “Ethan and I are divorced. The baby will be gone too. Stop sending me these messages. I wish you and him a long, happy life together.” After hitting send, I blocked the number. I’d known from the very first message that it was Emma. No one else would fight so hard to drag their love out of the shadows and into the light. On the day of the procedure, as I was being wheeled into the operating room, I received a text from my dad. He and my mom were waiting to take me home afterward. Just as I was about to enter the room, I saw them. Ethan and Emma were walking out of another doctor’s office down the hall, hand in hand. Our eyes met. Ethan froze, his hand slipping free from Emma’s as panic swept over his face. “Jane!” he shouted, pushing through the crowd toward me.

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### A security guard in our apartment complex was killed by a falling object. No one admitted to it, and there were no security cameras to catch what happened. No one had an alibi. Then, the guard’s son, holding an axe, stormed into the building. “Tell me,” he demanded, “who do you think the murderer is?” The finger-pointing began. And with it, the nightmare. It was Sunday, and I didn’t wake up until 2 p.m. That’s the life of someone caught in the grind of a relentless job—working 9 to 9, six days a week. Your only day off is mostly spent catching up on sleep, and even then, you never feel rested. Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled to the door in my slippers to grab the packages I’d been meaning to bring inside. Halfway through sorting the boxes, a deafening thud echoed through the building. Then came the screams. I froze in place, a terrible feeling settling in my chest. Something must’ve happened… something bad. Whatever drowsiness I had left was gone in an instant. I ran to the balcony and looked down. The security guard, Mr. Miller, lay motionless on the ground, his head bloody. Beside him was a shattered flowerpot. A crowd had gathered around his body, pointing and shouting, many glancing nervously upward.

Mr. Miller was dead—killed instantly by the falling flowerpot. When the paramedics arrived, they took one look at him, covered his body with a sheet, and left. The police sealed off the area. Someone in the apartment’s group chat shared a video. I clicked on it. In the video, Mr. Miller’s lifeless eyes stared blankly into the camera. The person filming sighed heavily. “It’s such a tragedy. Just like that, he’s gone. I was just talking to him earlier, you know?” “And that flowerpot… God, imagine if it had hit a kid instead.” The video was unsettling, and it didn’t take long for the building manager to delete it. But not before the accusations started flying. Someone in the group chat claimed the flowerpot had fallen from Building D, calling out its residents as potential murderers: “I suggest the guilty party turn themselves in. Otherwise, everyone in Building D is a suspect—and a murderer.” The comment lit a fire in the group chat. D602 | Clara Jones: “Find the person who did it! Don’t lump us all together—I’ve done nothing wrong and have nothing to hide.” D701 | Eric Howard: “I just bought this place, and now someone’s dead outside my building? I should be the one complaining about bad luck!” D502 | Mark Stone: “Relax. With all the cameras around, they’ll figure out who did it soon enough.” The chat devolved into chaos. I turned off my phone and looked at the officer standing outside my door. “Officer, have you caught the person responsible yet?” I asked nervously. He gave me a hard look. “As long as everyone cooperates, we’ll find the killer.” I nodded, still shaken. “I’m scared to even step outside. What if something falls on my head next?” The officer jotted something down in his notebook, then asked, “Miss Carter, can you tell me where you were between 2:00 and 2:30 p.m. today?” That was when Mr. Miller had been killed. It wasn’t hard to recall. “I woke up around 2:00, had some water, and started unpacking the packages by my door. I was still in the middle of it when I heard the noise around 2:30.” “What kind of packages?” I gestured to the corner of my room, where a mountain of boxes sat. “I’m a beauty blogger. Most of these are PR packages from brands, plus some things I ordered for myself.” The officer glanced at the pile, clearly surprised, and scribbled something down. “Did you hear anything unusual during that time?” he asked. I thought for a moment. “Actually… I think I heard the couple on the seventh floor arguing.”

After the officer left, the couple from the seventh floor exploded in the group chat. D701 | Eric Howard: “Who the hell has such a big mouth?” D701 | Jessica Howard: “My husband and I are perfectly happy together. Whoever’s spreading rumors should stop before I sue for defamation!” D701 | Eric Howard: “If I find out who’s been running their mouth, you’re dead meat!” The chat went silent. No one dared to respond. I ignored the drama and went back to unpacking the rest of my packages. By the time I was done, it was already dark. I stuffed some of the empty boxes into a large trash bag and decided to take them downstairs to the recycling bins. At the door, I bent down to put on my shoes. Out of habit, I glanced through the peephole. My heart stopped. Someone was standing on the other side of the door, staring directly into the peephole.

Who was it? Who was outside my door? I froze, my body rigid with fear. Thank God peepholes only work one way. As long as I didn’t make a sound, whoever it was wouldn’t know I was inside. I don’t know how long I stood there, holding my breath. Finally, the person moved. The sound of faint footsteps faded as they walked away. I collapsed against the wall, my legs weak. My back was soaked with sweat. I didn’t dare leave my apartment to take out the trash. Instead, I bolted into my bedroom and locked the door behind me. If I hadn’t checked the peephole, if I had just opened the door without thinking… I didn’t want to imagine what might’ve happened. The terror of that moment stayed with me, haunting me far more than Mr. Miller’s death had. That night, I dreamed of nothing but the eye staring back at me through the peephole. The next morning, after making sure no one was outside, I left the apartment complex and bought a discreet security camera. By the end of the day, I had it installed near my door, hidden from plain sight. If that person ever came back, I would catch them. And this time, they would pay.

Almost a week had passed, and the figure outside my peephole hadn’t appeared again. Today was Saturday, the last day of my soul-crushing 9-to-9 work week. Life seemed to have returned to normal—for the most part. The only noticeable change was the replacement of the security guard. Other than that, everything felt the same. After finishing my work, I went home, took a long, relaxing shower, and settled into my couch with a face mask while binge-watching a series. That’s when the sound of a power drill suddenly echoed from downstairs. It was loud, jarring, and completely out of place in the otherwise quiet night. I glanced at the clock. It was already 10 p.m. What the hell? Who starts drilling this late at night? I checked the apartment group chat. Sure enough, everyone in Building D was losing it. D502 | Mark Stone: “Who the hell is remodeling this late on a weekend?!” D602 | Clara Jones: “Drilling at this hour? Are you kidding me? Some of us are trying to sleep!” D701 | Eric Howard: “Whoever’s doing this, I swear I’ll kill you!” D502 | Mark Stone: @D701 Eric Howard “You go ahead, Eric. You’ve got my full support.” Eric didn’t reply after that. Our building was part of a high-end complex, with only two apartments per floor and plenty of space between each building. The noise was clearly coming from our building—only we could hear it. Meanwhile, the other buildings in the group chat were having a great time mocking our misery. Eventually, a girl from the fourth floor spoke up. She volunteered to find out who was doing the drilling, saying we wouldn’t get any peace unless someone stepped in. Everyone agreed, relieved they didn’t have to deal with it themselves. Ten minutes later, the drilling finally stopped. D502 | Mark Stone: @FourthFloorGirl “Thanks for handling that!” But she didn’t respond. I hesitated for a moment before typing a quick “thank you” message myself. It didn’t go through. I checked my phone and realized there was no signal. “No service?” I muttered. Weird. I tried switching to Wi-Fi. As soon as it connected, the lights in my apartment went out. Everything went pitch black.

No signal. No lights. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. A wave of unease washed over me. I walked to the window and peeked outside. The other buildings in the complex were all still lit up. Only Building D was shrouded in complete darkness. Something wasn’t right. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and lit a candle for extra light. It’s nothing. I told myself. Probably just a tripped circuit. The new security guard will notice and fix it soon. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. To distract myself, I opened my laptop. There was still enough battery left, so I decided to edit a video I’d filmed earlier this week. Making beauty content was just a side gig for me—something I did for fun on my days off. Somehow, I’d managed to grow a decent following of a few tens of thousands of followers. Brands had even started sending me products to review. I clicked on the file to start editing when a sharp, muffled scream cut through the silence. It was short—almost too short—but it sent chills down my spine. I froze, straining my ears to listen. Silence. An eerie, suffocating silence. Even the usual chirping of birds outside had disappeared. My hands started to tremble as my mind raced. I thought of Mr. Miller, the security guard who’d been killed the previous Sunday. Today was Saturday. At midnight, it would be the seventh night—the Seventh Night, the night when spirits were said to return.

It was 10:22 p.m. Not quite midnight yet. I couldn’t stay here any longer. I decided to pack a bag and leave for a hotel. Anywhere would be better than staying in this cursed building tonight. I quickly changed my clothes, grabbed my phone and laptop, and headed for the door. But just as I stepped out of my bedroom, I heard a faint rustling sound coming from the front door. Someone was outside. My mind immediately flashed to the figure I’d seen through the peephole last week. Thankfully, I’d installed a security camera after that incident. It was battery-powered, so it still worked even without electricity. The camera had night vision, too, so I could see exactly who was outside. I crept quietly to the monitor and glanced at the feed. It was my neighbor—David from the apartment across the hall. He was standing at my door, nervously glancing around. “David, what are you doing outside my apartment?” I called out. He jumped, startled, then leaned closer to the door and whispered, “Keep your voice down, Rachel… I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight. Something’s going to happen in this building.” “What do you mean?” He swallowed hard, his face pale. “Do you remember Mr. Miller? The security guard who died last week? I think… I think he’s come back for revenge.” A chill ran down my spine. Was he seriously saying this? If it had just been my imagination, I could’ve dismissed it. But hearing David voice the same fear… I tightened my grip on my phone, unsure of what to say. David continued, his voice trembling. “The whole building’s too quiet. I didn’t want to go to other floors—I was too scared. I thought maybe… maybe we could stick together.” He paused, then added hesitantly, “I brought these… do you want one?” He held up two small paper talismans, his hands shaking. Looking at his trembling legs and pale face, I felt an odd sense of calm wash over me. “How generous of you,” I said dryly. “What made you decide to share one with me?” David hesitated, then muttered, “Well… I’ve been following you for a while. I’m… a fan of your content.” A fan? Of me? I’m a beauty blogger. Why the hell would I have a male fan?

I never had much interaction with David before. At most, we’d exchange awkward nods in the elevator. Back then, he was just like he is now—timid, shrinking into himself like a mushroom that thrives in the shadows. I used to think he was pathetic, someone unworthy of a second thought. But tonight, as strange as it sounds, he didn’t seem so bad. “Rachel, I’ll leave the talisman outside your door. Don’t forget to grab it…” On the security monitor, I watched as David carefully placed the paper on the ground, glancing around nervously before retreating. I didn’t tell him I was about to leave the building entirely. “Thanks, David. You should go back inside now.” He muttered a small “okay” before shuffling off, his head ducked low. His footsteps grew fainter until I heard the sound of his door creaking open and slamming shut. I waited a few more minutes, just to be sure, before cautiously opening my door and picking up the talisman. If Mr. Miller had come back… maybe this flimsy piece of paper would actually help. I turned back toward my apartment, my mind racing. My laptop was still in the living room. If I could just grab it and shove it into my bag, I’d be out of here in no time. I pulled the door shut behind me. But just before it could fully close, something suddenly jammed it open. Thud. The sound made my blood run cold. I turned, heart pounding, and saw it: a man’s hand wedged in the doorframe. Was it… was it Mr. Miller? Panic surged through me. I threw my weight against the door, desperate to shut it, but the hand was too strong. No matter how hard I pushed, I couldn’t get the door to close. Then I remembered the talisman. Clutching it tightly, I raised it like a weapon. The door swung open, and in the dim flicker of my candlelight, I saw… David.

elief flooded through me. It wasn’t a ghost—it was just David. But something still wasn’t right. He stood in the doorway, perfectly still, his figure shrouded in shadows. He looked the same as always, yet there was something deeply unsettling about him now. My chest tightened as my heartbeat roared in my ears. Forcing a shaky smile, I tried to play it cool. “David, what are you doing? You scared me half to death. Seriously, jokes like this aren’t funny.” He smiled too. A slow, eerie smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Rachel.” “But I just can’t help myself anymore. Rachel, I’m so sorry… I like you too much.” As he spoke, he stepped inside, moving closer to me. “Don’t come any closer!” I shouted, stumbling backward. But he didn’t stop. In fact, he quickened his pace, grabbing me effortlessly before I could run. I screamed, but it made no difference. He pulled out a rope and tied me to a chair, his movements quick and practiced. “What do you want?!” I cried, my voice trembling. “Is it money? Tell me how much you want—just don’t hurt me!” David shook his head, his expression strangely calm. Even… gentle. “Money? No, Rachel. I don’t want your money.” His voice was soft, almost tender, which only made it more terrifying. “I told you—I’m your fan. How could you think I’d hurt you? I only want to be close to you. That’s all.” My skin crawled. “This is how you show you like me?!” I spat, struggling against the ropes. David tilted his head, his smile faltering. “I know you don’t like me. I know you think I’m pathetic. That’s why I never said anything before. I was happy just watching you from afar. Just seeing you was enough for me… but…” His voice cracked as he knelt in front of me, his face twisted with a strange mix of sadness and frustration. “But then you saw me, didn’t you? I couldn’t stop myself from watching you. And when you installed that camera by your door… I knew you’d caught me. I couldn’t come back after that. I tried to hold back, Rachel, I really did. But I just couldn’t anymore.” My breath hitched. The eye. The one I’d seen through the peephole. “It was you,” I whispered, horrified. David nodded, his smile returning. “Yes, it was me.” My stomach churned with nausea. He grinned wider, his face alight with an unsettling joy. “But it’s okay now. You’re mine, Rachel. Finally, you’re mine.” I’d rather die than let this creep keep me tied up like some kind of sick trophy. As he leaned closer, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for whatever horror was coming. Then, suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed from outside the door. Thump. Thump. One step light, the other dragging, like someone with a limp. The sound didn’t stop at my door. Instead, it continued down the hall—toward David’s apartment. A loud knock shattered the silence. Bang. Bang. Bang. A low, raspy voice followed. “Room 802. David, are you home?”

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## When I insisted on the divorce, he was just an ordinary guy with big dreams. Fast forward a few years, he’s now a household name—and married to my former best friend. Meanwhile, I was scraping by, juggling three waitressing jobs just to make ends meet. We crossed paths again at an upscale club. My former friend gave me a pitying look and said, “If you hadn’t been so stubborn about that divorce, you’d be the one living the high life right now. But I guess your luck’s always been just a little off, huh?” He stood there, calm and composed, holding his new wife’s hand like he owned the world. There was a quiet arrogance about him, an unspoken satisfaction in seeing me stuck in the mud while he basked in the glow of success. The crowd joined in, chiming with snide comments and treating me like I was nothing but a cautionary tale. I could see it in his eyes—Ethan Whitmore was enjoying every second of this. He wanted to see me humiliated, crushed, begging for what I’d thrown away. But here’s the thing: I felt nothing. No regret, no shame, no longing. To me, it was like watching a show from the sidelines, completely detached. If he was waiting for me to break, he was in for a disappointment. After setting down the fruit tray, I said politely, “Everything’s here. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading out now.” Ethan’s expression stiffened, and he quickly stood up to block my way. This was the first time we’d seen each other since our divorce six years ago. He still hadn’t let go of the fact that I walked out on him, standing there with that unmistakable look—demanding an explanation. And honestly, I knew why it was hard for anyone to understand why I left. Back then, we were the golden couple, the kind of pair our families and friends couldn’t stop gushing over. We married surrounded by blessings and good wishes. Life wasn’t luxurious, but Ethan was known for being reliable and family-oriented. Everyone adored him. Even my parents used to say, “Fiona, what more could you possibly want? You’re married to a guy like Ethan. Do you know how lucky you are?” So when I asked for a divorce, I was branded as ungrateful. My mom slapped me. My dad threatened to cut ties with me. But I didn’t look back. I left Ethan without a shred of hesitation. Now, standing in front of me, he was the picture of success—sharp suit, confident demeanor, the kind of man people admired. I smiled faintly. “Even if you’ve become a billionaire now, I still don’t regret leaving you.” Ignoring the stunned looks around me, I added, “In six years, you’ve never once stopped to think about where you went wrong.” I almost envied how shamelessly content he seemed with himself. What no one knew was just how much I’d suffered in that marriage. When we first got married, Ethan secretly sold our house while I was away on a business trip. I came home to find my belongings packed into a few garbage bags sitting in the hallway. That’s how I discovered we no longer had a home. Exhausted and confused, I called him, hoping for an explanation. All I got was an impatient response: “My second cousin’s wife needed money for surgery. We’re family—I had to help! What’s the big deal about selling the house?” I wasn’t against helping people. But shouldn’t we do so within our means? We’d just gotten married, barely making ends meet. Some days, we couldn’t even take care of ourselves. What hurt the most was that the house was something we’d saved for together. He didn’t even bother to tell me before selling it. Dragging my bags under the scorching sun, I didn’t even know where I was going to sleep that night. When I broke down crying, his reaction was anger, not empathy. “All you ever do is cry! The house is sold—it’s done. What more do you want from me? I promise I’ll buy you a mansion someday, okay?” He hung up on me and took time off from work. I thought it was to help us find a new place to live. But no. He spent weeks at the hospital, taking care of his second cousin’s wife—a woman who wasn’t even remotely close to him. Everyone around us praised him for being a saint. “Fiona, your husband is such a good man. You’re so lucky!” Even when a neighbor’s cat went missing, Ethan wouldn’t hesitate to spend his nights searching for it after long shifts at work. He’d come home with dark circles under his eyes, ignoring my concern for his health. Only when the cat was safe did he drag his exhausted body back home. 2 Before we got married, I thought these things were small and endearing—a sign of his big heart. But after living with him, I couldn’t ignore the way his kindness to strangers contrasted with his indifference toward me. Three months after he sold our house, we were living in a cramped rental apartment. And then, life threw another wrench into the gears—I found out I was pregnant. The doctor warned me that I had a high-risk pregnancy and needed to stay on bed rest for three months. I took a leave of absence from work to focus on the baby. Ethan thought I was being overly dramatic. Listening to his second cousin’s advice, he decided I was just lazy and didn’t want to work. So what did he do? He invited a group of elderly relatives to our tiny apartment and expected me to cook and clean for them. The place turned into a zoo—constant noise, piles of dishes, and trash everywhere. My head throbbed every day, and the chaos pushed me to my limit. When I finally lost it and told everyone to leave, Ethan exploded. “They’re my family! If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t even be here today. They raised me when no one else would!” “And now that you’ve married me, it’s your responsibility to take care of them too. That’s just how it is.” His words hit me like a slap in the face. He looked around the messy apartment with disdain, then pointed a finger at me. “I’m going to bring them back. You’d better clean this place up before I return. And mop the floors while you’re at it.” He slammed the door so hard that it bounced back open. The neighbor passing by clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You’re just pregnant, not disabled. If you can’t even do basic chores, no wonder Ethan’s so upset.” Ethan had always been a social butterfly—everyone loved him. Anytime we had a disagreement, it was inevitably spun as my fault. Back then, I was so stressed and anxious that I dropped to 80 pounds, looking more like a skeleton than a person. I didn’t care about the whispers and judgment from others; I swallowed my pride and tried to reason with him again and again. “The doctor said I need to rest for the baby’s sake. And let’s not forget, we’re barely scraping by. We can’t afford to keep supporting all these relatives of yours.” I couldn’t understand why he insisted on bringing his extended family to live with us in the city. The apartment was tiny, we were sleeping on the floor, and his relatives had perfectly comfortable homes in the countryside, with their own farms and land. I tried to stay calm and reason with him: “Ethan, I wouldn’t complain if you sent them half your paycheck every month, but having them stay here is destroying our lives. Don’t you see that?” But Ethan wouldn’t listen. He called me selfish and heartless, and we didn’t speak for days. It wasn’t until I lost more weight, the baby stopped growing, and the doctor advised terminating the pregnancy that he finally, begrudgingly, sent his relatives back home. But it was too late. For the sake of my own health, I decided to follow the doctor’s recommendation and let the baby go. Ethan was furious. “I already sent my family away! Just eat a little more, sleep a little better, and everything will be fine! I don’t believe for a second that the baby won’t survive if you take care of yourself.” I was stunned, staring at him like I was seeing him for the first time. The doctor had said the baby wasn’t healthy and that my life was at risk if we didn’t end the pregnancy. How could he not care about me at all? In that moment, it felt like the blood in my veins froze. There was no point in trying to explain anything to a man like him. So, I went alone to have the procedure. When I got home, pale and weak, he slapped me across the face. I stood there, stunned, as his voice roared in my ears: “Fiona, you’re a monster! You killed my child!” The whole neighborhood heard about it. Neighbors came by to console Ethan, patting him on the back and singing praises about his kindness. No one said it outright, but their looks said it all—they hated me. A few self-righteous “helpers” even made snide remarks: “Poor Ethan. He was so excited about becoming a father. Goes to show, you really need to marry a good woman. Even the nicest guy won’t have a good life with someone like that.” 3 Ethan could have explained my side of the story. He could have told them why I made that painful decision. But he didn’t. He basked in their sympathy, wallowing in his role as the victim. I looked at him, exhausted beyond words, and asked, “Are you done pretending?” No one grieved for that child more than I did. No one hurt more than I did. And yet, I wasn’t the one at fault. “Ethan, why do someone like you even bother getting married? All you do is ruin the lives of the people closest to you.” “It’s miserable being around you. Go ahead and keep loving the rest of the world—I won’t stop you. I want a divorce.” I packed my things and left. Before I walked out, I slapped him back. He pressed a hand to his reddened cheek but didn’t say a word to stop me. He didn’t have to. There were plenty of people ready to take his side. First, there were my parents. They tried every trick in the book to make me stay: “What did Ethan do wrong, really? This whole thing is your fault. You went behind his back and got rid of the baby. Of course, he’s upset!” “And look at Ethan—what kind of son-in-law goes out of his way to take me shopping on the weekends? Last week, when I coughed a little, he bought me medicine and made me soup. He’s practically our own son!” “You’re not allowed to keep fighting with him! Go home and apologize right now!” When I refused, my dad issued an ultimatum: “If you don’t move back in with your husband today and make things right, don’t bother calling me your father anymore.” Then, there was my best friend, Sarah Cooper. She was still gushing over the time Ethan drove cross-country to take her back to her hometown last year. Naturally, she joined the chorus of criticism: “Fiona, you’re in the wrong here. Honestly, ever since you got married, you’ve become so petty and spoiled. It’s not a good look on you.” Even my best friend had benefited from Ethan’s generosity. I was the only one who hadn’t. Since the day we got married, I hadn’t gotten a single ounce of kindness from him. He’d donate half his paycheck to animal shelters. Or drop everything to volunteer at the community center because someone sent a message in the neighborhood group chat. When a hurricane hit, the windows in our apartment started cracking. I was terrified, shaking and crying, but Ethan only answered his phone to say he was going to check on a female neighbor. I begged him to stay. He rolled his eyes. “What’s there to be scared of? Stop acting like a child.” And with that, he walked out into the storm. Even when he slipped and broke several bones in the wind, he still dragged himself to her place, ignoring his injuries. Or there was the time he promised to take me to a prenatal appointment but ditched me at the last second to grab lunch with his friends. Things like that happened so often, I lost count. I started to feel like I was worth less than trash to him. Even Sarah, my so-called best friend, couldn’t see the truth. “Fiona,” she said, shaking her head. “This time, I’m not on your side. No matter how upset you were, you shouldn’t have gotten rid of the baby.” I pulled out the doctor’s report and handed it to her. “The doctor said the baby wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t my decision—it was a medical necessity. Got it? Stop acting like I did it out of spite.” They all fell silent, choking on their words. But what I didn’t expect was what came next. While Ethan and I were taking time apart, Sarah took advantage of the situation. She told Ethan she had breast cancer and begged him to take wedding photos with her as her “final wish.” “I just want one set of wedding photos before I die,” she said, batting her eyes at me. “Fiona, you won’t mind lending me your husband for this, right?”

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### After seven years of marriage, I stumbled upon two letters my husband had written to his first love. One was a love letter. The other was a will. “In our next life, I’ll make you my wife.” “My inheritance will go to you. Even after I’m gone, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” It turns out, I’ve been the fool all along. I didn’t want to stand in the way of their true love, so I booked a plane ticket that very night. The next morning, I ironed his shirt for the last time and saw him off to work. At the door, he hesitated, waiting for the goodbye kiss I didn’t give him. “Anna, don’t be mad. The lipstick on my collar last night—it’s not what you think.” “It was just a friend. I was just giving her a ride home. Don’t overthink it.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I simply said, “Oh, I don’t mind.” Because I’d already lined up a date with someone else. I was ready to move on. But that’s when he started to panic. As I watched Oliver step out the door, he lingered in the entryway, hesitating, as though he were waiting for something. I kept my tone neutral, indifferent. “You’ve got your briefcase, your watch… what else are you waiting for?” His jaw tightened, and his brows furrowed in restrained irritation. He said nothing, but I knew. Seven years of marriage, plus the three years I spent chasing him before that—ten years of knowing this man inside and out. I could read him like an open book. He wanted a goodbye kiss. Because I hadn’t leaned in like I usually did, hadn’t whispered “I love you” with a peck on the cheek, he could sense something was off. “Anna, are you still mad? Be reasonable,” he said, his voice calm but laced with subtle condescension. “The lipstick stain was a misunderstanding.” “That woman wasn’t feeling well. I gave her a ride home, and the mark must’ve gotten there somehow. It’s not what you think.” “I explained this to you all night. You’ve got all the facts—can’t you be logical about it?” Oliver was a lawyer, and his words were always sharp, polished, airtight. Even the prenuptial agreement he wrote for us had been meticulously fair—no bias, no loopholes. Last night, I had screamed and cried over his suit jacket, the one I had ironed so carefully that morning. My fingers still bore the small burns from pressing out every wrinkle. But by the time he brought it back, it smelled of someone else’s perfume and bore a faint, familiar lipstick stain. The color and scent were unmistakable: his first love’s signature shade. When we first started dating, Oliver used to buy me that same brand of lipstick and perfume. I thought it was sweet, a sign of his thoughtfulness. Even though I didn’t like the scent, I wore it for him. It wasn’t until later that I realized the gifts weren’t for me at all—they were hand-me-downs, tokens meant for someone else. At the door, he tried again. “Do you believe me now? Can we move past this?” I glanced at my empty hand, my ring finger bare. I had taken off my wedding band last night. There was still an angry red mark where it had pressed into my skin for years. Would he notice? Would he care? If he said something—anything—to try to hold onto me, maybe I’d soften. Maybe I’d forgive him one more time. But Oliver didn’t even glance at my hand. He was already slipping on his shoes, ready to leave for work. “Oh, and I’d like fish for dinner tonight,” he added casually, as though I were his personal assistant. I watched his perfectly tailored suit disappear into the elevator. My heart sank a little deeper.

The letters were hidden in plain sight, wedged between the pages of a romance novel on the bookshelf. Oliver had always banned me from entering his home office, and for seven years, I’d respected that boundary. But the day before, he’d forgotten an important document and, in a hurry, had given me the door code: “716523.” I froze for a moment. The first three digits were his birthday. The last three weren’t mine. Before I could say anything, he snapped over the phone, “I’m about to go into court. Hurry up!” Flustered, I grabbed the folder, accidentally knocking a book to the floor. Oliver didn’t read romance novels. Curious, I picked it up. The pink cover bore an inscription: “To Luna, my one and only treasure.” The handwriting was unmistakably his. I flipped through the pages, and two letters fell out—one a love letter, the other a will. The love letter was nineteen pages long, filled with heartfelt words that gradually shrank in size toward the end. On the last page, he wrote: “There’s so much more I want to say, but this paper is too short, and my feelings are endless.” The will was precise, written with the same legal expertise Oliver used in his work. It outlined how most of his assets would go to Luna—his first love. He’d even taken out a life insurance policy, naming her as the sole beneficiary. “Luna, even if I leave this world first, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” That night, when Oliver reached out to unhook my bra strap, I pushed his hand away. “Anna?” he said, confused, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. “What’s wrong? I want you.” Normally, I would’ve blushed and let him have his way. But not that night. “You said you didn’t want kids,” I replied flatly, my voice devoid of emotion. From the very beginning of our marriage, Oliver had been adamant about not having children. He told my family it was because of my health, but the truth was, it was never about me. For years, I’d endured lectures from my parents, swallowed bitter herbal supplements, and taken countless fertility treatments—all while knowing he didn’t share my burden. Once, when I told him the treatments were harming my body, I caught a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Just hold on a little longer,” he’d said, wrapping me in his arms. “Once my career stabilizes, we’ll try for a baby. I promise.” I believed him. And I kept believing him, even as the years passed and his promises remained empty. That night, when I rejected him, his expression turned cold. He rolled over, muttering, “Fine. Play hard to get. Don’t expect me to try again this month.” I lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. It was a king-sized bed, but it felt as cold and empty as a stranger’s. The next morning, I booked a one-way ticket back to my hometown. I sent my mom a text: “Mom, I’m filing for divorce. Start looking for someone I can date.” Her reply came instantly: “Finally! I knew you’d leave that ungrateful jerk someday!” “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll find you someone good. My network’s huge.”

Before I even met Oliver, I knew he had a first love. They were once engaged, but she walked away after his parents disapproved. Angry and hurt, she refused his proposal. But the wedding venue had already been booked, the officiant scheduled. Oliver, ever the prideful man, wasn’t about to let himself look like a fool. So, he turned to me. “Anna, would you give this a shot with me?” His voice was steady, confident. He didn’t even bother to kneel—just stood there, looking down at me, as if he already knew my answer. And of course, he did. I had been chasing him for three years. There was no way I would say no. That day, I dropped my overseas work assignment, slipped into a wedding dress, and we eloped. Everyone around me congratulated me, saying I had finally “won” Oliver, the golden boy. And for a while, I believed it. Oliver was everything I thought I wanted—handsome, successful, with a family name that opened doors. Within a few years, his law firm had expanded all across Chicago, and when we went out, people called me “Mrs. Carter” with admiration. That day, I was over the moon. I stood in the parking lot, holding a positive pregnancy test, waiting for him to arrive. His career was steady now, and a baby would be the perfect cherry on top. When his car finally pulled into the lot, I ran toward it, grinning ear to ear. “Oliver, you’re going to be a dad!” I said, knocking on the window, my face nearly pressed to the glass. But Oliver didn’t roll down the window right away. When he finally did, the faint scent of perfume hit me. A familiar scent. And then I saw her. Luna, his first love, sat in the passenger seat, her lipstick smeared and her eyes red from crying. “I’m so sorry, Anna,” Luna said softly, her voice trembling. “I kissed Oliver. I’ve just been so emotional since my breakup… I lost control.” She turned to look at me, her face full of fake remorse, but her lips curled into the faintest smirk. “Don’t be mad, okay?” she added sweetly, her tone dripping with mockery. Behind her words, her eyes glittered with triumph as she raised her hand in a subtle, taunting gesture only I could see. My hands shook as I gripped the pregnancy test. Without thinking, I threw it at her, my voice trembling with rage. “Get out of the car—now! Who raised you to be this shameless?” But before Luna could respond, Oliver’s hand shot out, striking me hard across the face. The slap rang in my ears, sharp and deafening. My earring, a gift from him, tore from my ear, leaving a searing pain and a trickle of blood. Stunned, I stumbled to the ground, clutching my face as waves of pain radiated from my stomach. “Anna,” Oliver said, his tone cold, “you’re out of line. You know Luna grew up without a father. How could you be so cruel to her?” His words cut deeper than the slap. “Oliver,” I whimpered, clutching my stomach, “I think something’s wrong. Please, take me to the hospital. I’m pregnant.” For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes flickering with something that almost looked like concern. But then Luna let out a soft, pitiful moan. “Oliver,” she whispered, holding her head dramatically, “my head… it hurts so much. But you should take Anna first—she’s pregnant, after all.” Her voice was sweet, but her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she leaned back in her seat. Oliver immediately turned his attention to her, his expression full of worry. He reached out to wipe the nonexistent tears from her face before starting the car. “Anna,” he said sharply, glancing at me through the rearview mirror, “your behavior today was unacceptable. If Luna ends up hurt, I’ll have no choice but to press charges for assault.” The man who had won every case he’d ever taken—my husband—was now threatening to sue me. For his first love. “Oliver,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face, “I’m carrying your child.” He didn’t even look at me. “Being pregnant doesn’t give you a free pass to act like this,” he said coldly. “Stop being so dramatic.” As the car sped away, leaving me crumpled on the pavement, I clutched my stomach and prayed for the tiny life inside me. I lost the baby. Oliver stayed with me for a month after the miscarriage. He fed me, stayed by my bedside, even helped me bathe. For a moment, I thought he might have changed. Friends and family urged me to forgive him. “All men make mistakes,” they said. “At least he’s trying now.” In the end, I softened. Oliver wrote me a letter of apology, promising he’d never hurt me again. “Anna,” he said, “I’m a traditional man. I only have room in my heart for one wife, and that’s you.” He swore Luna was just a friend. And like a fool, I believed him.

When I got the call about Oliver getting into a fight, I was taking out the last bag of trash. All our photos together? Gone. The matching outfits I once begged him to wear? Tossed. The handmade forever roses I carefully preserved? Now just fragile junk at the bottom of the trash can. It’s funny how things I once thought were precious now seem like nothing more than useless, flimsy clutter. The matching outfits I bought for us were always beneath him. He said they made him look “ridiculous.” But tucked away in the back of the closet was a matching pair of watches—the men’s version his, the women’s version I’d once seen his ex wearing. “Anna! Come quick! Oliver’s in the parking lot fighting someone!” “What?” I asked, my voice calm, scissors in hand, snipping away at the lucky bamboo I had nurtured for seven years—planted after I prayed for his success at the “most spiritual” temple in the city. “He’s bleeding from his forehead! His hand’s all messed up!” This was shocking. Oliver, the ever-composed attorney, never lost his temper. Even when someone cut him off in traffic, he’d quietly jot down their license plate and report them later, rather than dirty his hands. He was the epitome of calm and control. When I got into a car accident years ago, he handled everything without so much as a flinch. I’d once fallen in love with that steady, logical side of him. But now, I hated it. Because he could lose control for another woman, but he was always too rational with me. “Who’s the fight about?” I asked, my tone sharp, cutting straight to the point.

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### It’s been ten years since my childhood friend and I ended up in this world. Ten years. That’s how long it took for him to finally tell me, “If you die, you’ll go back.” And with that, he jumped from the tower without hesitation. Blood splattered across his wife’s ivory dress. The woman who had been screaming at him just moments ago fell to her knees, wailing in anguish. I stood silently, my face expressionless, watching the scene unfold. My gaze shifted to the woman huddled in the arms of her so-called “true love.” That woman was my wife—this world’s empress. I sighed. It’s time to go home. When Zach leapt from the tower in front of me, I thought I was prepared for it. But the sight of his blood pooling on the ground still burned into my eyes, sharp and unforgiving. That night, my dreams were full of his face. He smiled at me like he always did—bright, carefree—until the blood began to pour, streaking his cheeks like crimson tears. I woke up drenched in sweat, my shirt clinging uncomfortably to my skin. The maid waiting outside my tent came in to help me change, but I waved her off. “Bring me some hot water. I’ll do it myself.” I remembered when we first arrived in this world, how Zach would constantly complain about how inconvenient bathing was here. “It’s nothing like back home,” he’d grumble. “A quick shower, and you’re good to go. This whole ‘bucket and basin’ thing is barbaric.” Now, he’s the one who left clean. Zach and I grew up together. Our parents were so close they used to joke there was something more between us. Little did they know, we both had our own romantic interests. We’d spend hours swapping stories, trading advice, and laughing at each other’s missteps. One evening, after work, we decided to hit a bar. But we never made it. The car accident came out of nowhere. The next thing I knew, we woke up here, in this strange, foreign world. Bound to the same system. The system told us that if we completed the “main storyline,” we could return home. It even let us choose our own roles. Zach, of course, was immediately smitten with Sophia—the ethereal beauty in white—and insisted on making her his target. That left me with Olivia, the exiled princess, beaten down and clinging to the scraps of her former life. The journey wasn’t easy. There were times when Zach and I barely escaped with our lives. But Sophia and Olivia were close friends, and our goals aligned. Eventually, we succeeded. I helped Olivia reclaim her throne, giving up my position as General of the Western Front to remain in the palace as her advisor. Zach married Sophia, and together they opened the most successful inn in the capital, a place called Evergreen Hall. They became the wealthiest couple in the entire empire. We thought we were done. But the system had other plans. “Your mission isn’t complete,” it told us. Zach and I were stunned. We’d done everything it asked of us. Then came the twist. Sophia and Olivia’s “true loves,” their long-lost childhood friend, Nathaniel, returned to the capital. Zach and I had never even heard of this Nathaniel before. When we pressed the system for answers, it explained that Nathaniel had been a childhood companion to both women. Years ago, he’d nearly died saving Olivia, his meridians shattered beyond repair. The Nathaniel we’d never known had been sent away to the southern mountains to train in seclusion. He hadn’t been seen in the capital since. Even the system couldn’t explain why he had suddenly returned. “Maybe it’s to advance the main storyline,” it said in that cold, mechanical voice. “You should wait and see. Complete the story, and you may finally return home.” I didn’t trust it. From the moment Nathaniel appeared, I knew he was going to turn our lives upside down. But Zach didn’t see it that way. He shrugged it off, spending his days doting on Sophia, completely unconcerned about Nathaniel. I remembered the look in his eyes just before he jumped. Zach had always been terrified of pain. But in that moment, he didn’t even hesitate. I never expected him to take such a drastic step. Honestly, I don’t even know if his plan will work. The system never mentioned anything about dying being a way to return. If it doesn’t work… I can’t bear to think about it. But one thing is certain. Someone will have to pay for this.

“Luke! Luke! Tell me—what were Zach’s last words to you?” I had just finished my bath and was in the middle of getting dressed when Sophia barged into the room uninvited. Her usually delicate, doll-like face was now ghostly pale, her wide eyes brimming with a kind of desperate pain, as though she might start crying blood. She stared at me like I held the answers to everything. I adjusted my collar slowly, letting out a cold chuckle. I didn’t bother to respond. “Luke! Say something!” She dared to grab my arm. I shoved her off with ease—though, unfortunately, she didn’t fall. Nathaniel, who had followed her in, caught her before she could stumble. “Luke,” Nathaniel said, his tone calm but tinged with fake concern, “I know you’re upset about Zach’s death, but that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on Sophia. What kind of man does that make you?” I glanced at him, my expression icy. His gaze wasn’t exactly kind either. If I looked closer, I could see the challenge in his eyes, like he was daring me to retaliate. “And who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?” I sneered. “Get out.” “You—” “Luke! Have you lost your mind?!” Before Nathaniel could retort, Olivia strode into the room, her presence commanding as always. It seemed my courtyard had become the morning gathering spot for drama. Ever since Nathaniel returned, it had been nothing but chaos. “Olivia, don’t get mad,” Nathaniel said, putting on his best innocent smile, the kind that made my stomach turn. “Luke’s just grieving. Let’s not hold it against him.” I turned away, disgusted by his theatrics. “Luke, please…” I had almost forgotten Sophia was still here. She clung to my sleeve with trembling hands, her desperation clawing at me like nails on a chalkboard. “Tell me,” she begged, her voice cracking. “What did Zach say? Please, I need to know.” I sighed, her touch filling me with nothing but irritation. “Zach said,” I began, my voice cold and deliberate, “The one thing I regret most in this life is choosing you.” I didn’t wait for her response. I pulled my sleeve out of her grip and turned toward the door, ready to leave this suffocating room. Behind me, Sophia let out a broken, disbelieving whisper: “No… no, that’s not true. That’s… that’s impossible!” Her voice rose into a scream as she stumbled out, muttering to herself like she’d lost her mind. But before I could take another step, Olivia grabbed my arm. “Luke,” she said sharply, her voice filled with authority, “you still owe Nathaniel an apology.” I froze, stunned at her audacity. “An apology? To him?” I asked, disbelief dripping from every word. “Olivia, it’s fine,” Nathaniel said smoothly, his tone dripping with false humility. “Luke is a decorated general, a hero of war, and your partner in ruling this empire. I would never expect him to treat me as an equal.” His words were laced with mockery, the kind that was just subtle enough to make it infuriating. And Olivia, of course, fell for it completely. “I am the Empress,” she said coldly, her voice slicing through the air like a blade. “There is no ‘partner in ruling.’ And Nathaniel saved my life—his worth is beyond question.” Her words hit me like a slap in the face. I stared at her, her striking face as cold and beautiful as ever. Memories of the first time I met her flooded my mind. It had been a month since I was thrown into this world. Zach had already crossed paths with Sophia, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Meanwhile, the system had been hounding me to get close to Olivia. At the time, she was nothing more than a fallen princess. Her mother, the former Empress, had been unloved by the late Emperor, leaving Olivia powerless and forgotten. When I first saw her, she was in the palace gardens, being bullied by servants. Her face was smeared with dirt, but her eyes—her eyes burned with defiance, like a cornered wolf ready to strike. In that moment, I felt a spark of satisfaction. The system had chosen well. I saved her that day, pulling her under my protection. Using my grandfather’s influence, I paved her path to power. Step by step, I helped her ascend the throne. For her, I fought countless battles, spilling blood and sweat on the battlefield. Even Zach had nearly died protecting her once, taking a blade meant for her. His injuries were so severe that we thought he wouldn’t make it. Even Sophia, who usually avoided conflict, had argued with Olivia over it. At the time, I thought Sophia truly cared for Zach. How wrong I was. And now, standing here, listening to Olivia’s cold dismissal, I couldn’t help but feel the urge to destroy everything I had built for her. “You’re right, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice sharp with sarcasm. “Nathaniel’s heroics truly set him apart. Unlike Zach, who only nearly died taking a blade for you. Now, at least, he’s dead and out of the way. Convenient, isn’t it?” I yanked my arm free from Olivia’s grip and walked out without looking back. Let them stew in their self-righteousness. I was done.

I returned to the estate. The same estate where Zach and I had first arrived after being thrown into this world. This place had been our home. Now, Zach’s lifeless body had been brought back here at my command. I would bury him here, in the place that had been ours. And I certainly wouldn’t give Sophia another chance to defile his memory. As I stood by Zach’s coffin, my hand resting on the polished wood, a deep ache settled in my chest. Zach had always been like a little sun. Bright, carefree, full of life. He’d always had a thing for women who were strong and commanding, the kind who could keep him in line. And Sophia? She was his perfect type—adorably sweet on the outside, but with a sharp, dominant personality underneath. Eventually, Zach fell for her, hard. I still remember the way he’d grin and tell me that he didn’t want to go back to our old world anymore. “Stay here with me, Luke,” he’d say, laughing. “We can make this place home.” But now? Now Zach was gone, and I didn’t even know if he’d truly escaped this hellhole—or if he was just lost forever. How could I not hate the people who pushed him to this point? Zach and I were nothing alike. He was the forgiving one, always brushing things off with a laugh. But me? I was the kind of kid who’d destroy someone’s backpack just because they stepped on my shoes. And now someone had trampled all over me—and over Zach. Did they really think I’d just let that slide? Let’s see if they can handle the storm they’ve unleashed. “General, Sophia’s at the gates, demanding to be let in,” one of the guards informed me. I’d been expecting her. Of course, she wasn’t going to leave this alone. But late apologies are worth less than dirt. Sophia had already lost her chance. I walked out into the courtyard, keeping my expression cold as I faced her disheveled figure. “Sophia,” I said, my voice sharp and unyielding, “I’m not letting you disturb Zach again. Stop making a scene.” “Luke!” she screamed, her voice raw with desperation. “Zach was my husband! You can’t keep me away from him!” I tilted my head, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “If I remember correctly,” I said, my tone cutting, “you tore up your marriage contract, didn’t you?” Her face twisted, but before she could respond, my mind drifted back to Nathaniel—the man who had been a thorn in Zach’s side ever since he returned. Nathaniel had made it his mission to provoke Zach at every turn, subtly stirring up trouble behind his back. Zach, being Zach, kept his temper in check for as long as he could. But one day, after Nathaniel crossed the line, Zach finally snapped and gave him a well-deserved beating. Of course, Nathaniel ran straight to Olivia to play the victim. Sophia and Zach had fought bitterly about it afterward, and Zach, true to form, didn’t defend himself. Instead, he came to me, drank himself into oblivion, and went right back to doting on Sophia the next day. I wanted to step in, to put Nathaniel in his place, but Zach always stopped me. Then came the palace banquet. Zach had gone with Sophia, and at some point during the night, Nathaniel cornered him in the palace gardens. By the time I got there, both of them were being dragged out of the fountain, soaking wet. Nathaniel immediately dropped to his knees in front of Olivia, his voice trembling with fake humility. “Your Majesty,” he said, “this was all my fault. I shouldn’t have upset Zach. I lost my balance and fell into the fountain—it wasn’t his fault.” More of his carefully crafted lies. Zach just stood there, staring at Nathaniel with a coldness I’d never seen on his face before. Before Olivia could say anything, Sophia stormed over and demanded to know what had happened. I’ll never forget the way Zach’s voice cracked as he asked her, “That jade pendant—did you give it to him?” Sophia froze, and I felt a chill run down my spine. That pendant wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was Zach’s family heirloom, something he’d given to Sophia as a symbol of their bond. “It’s just a piece of warm jade,” Sophia said at last, her voice dismissive. “Nathaniel’s health is poor, and I thought it might help him. You gave it to me, didn’t you? So it’s mine to do with as I please.” Zach’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Do you even remember,” he said quietly, “that I’m your husband? And you gave our keepsake to another man?” The tension was suffocating. Olivia stepped in before things could escalate further, ordering them to settle their issues at home. I don’t know what happened after that. All I know is that the next day, Zach came to me looking like a man who’d lost everything. “She tore up our marriage contract,” he said, his voice empty. As expected, the moment I mentioned the marriage contract, Sophia froze. Her face twisted with pain, but I didn’t care. I was just about to call someone to show her out when she suddenly started muttering, her voice frantic and desperate. “Let me see Zach… He has the system, doesn’t he? He’s not really dead, right?” Her words made my heart skip for a moment. I almost wondered if Zach, in one of his lovesick moments, had accidentally spilled the secret about the system to her. “I know! He was mad at me because I tore up the marriage contract! He said back then that he’d make the system send him away!” “Luke, tell me—where did he go? I’ll go find him!” Hearing this, I was sure of it. Zach, that idiot, must’ve let something slip, and Sophia had pieced things together from there. But it didn’t matter. I had no intention of entertaining her any longer. “Sophia, please leave,” I said coldly. “You’re not welcome here.” And with that, I motioned for someone to escort her out. But before the guards could even step forward, Olivia strolled in with Nathaniel trailing behind her, as smug as ever. “Sophia, what are you doing here?!” Olivia exclaimed, feigning concern. “I told you not to bother Luke right now—he’s obviously not in the mood. Why can’t you just listen to me?” Nathaniel, predictably, chimed in with his usual syrupy tone, “Sophia, you should’ve stayed back. Luke’s clearly upset, and you’re only making things worse.” His voice was so grating I wanted to plug my ears. But something in Sophia snapped. Her eyes locked onto Nathaniel like a predator eyeing its prey. “It’s you! Zach’s mad at me because of you!” Nathaniel’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Sophia! How could you accuse me of that?!” he said, turning to Olivia as if for support. “It’s Luke, isn’t it? He’s been poisoning you against me again!” And, of course, he made sure to throw me a wounded look, like I’d actually done something to him. Olivia stood silently, her cold gaze fixed on me, not saying a word. I didn’t spare her a glance. I wasn’t interested in their little drama—I just didn’t want them disturbing Zach’s peace. “You’ve misunderstood me completely!” Nathaniel said, reaching into his pocket with a theatrical flourish. “Look, I even brought the jade pendant. I thought it should be buried with Zach, to honor him.” The jade pendant. Sophia stared at it, her whole body trembling as she took a hesitant step forward. But before she could get any closer, I drew my sword in one fluid motion and brought it down on Nathaniel’s hand. The blade sliced through like butter. “AHHHHHHHHH!!! MY HAND!!!” Nathaniel screamed, clutching the bloody stump where his hand used to be. “Luke, have you lost your mind?!” Olivia shouted, rushing forward to grab Nathaniel. “Someone get a doctor! NOW!” “Your Majesty,” I said coldly, stepping in front of her with my sword still drawn. “If you want him treated, I suggest you head back to the palace. Your presence here is no longer welcome.” Olivia’s face darkened, her expression like a storm cloud ready to burst. “Luke,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “you’ve gone too far this time. Do you really think I won’t act against you?” “Your Majesty!” Nathaniel’s wails interrupted her. “It hurts! My hand! Why, Luke? WHY?!” I glanced at him, his face contorted in agony, and felt nothing but disgust. “You don’t deserve to touch that pendant,” I said, my voice sharp and unyielding. “That jade belonged to Zach. It was his lifeline. And Sophia—” I turned to her, my anger boiling over. “I’m taking it back on his behalf. Now get out. All of you. Leave this place.” I signaled for the guards to escort them out. The estate gates slammed shut behind them. This estate, the General’s Estate, was a gift from the late Emperor to my family. The stone pillars at the entrance bore his inscription: Pillars of the Nation. No soldier was allowed to set foot inside without permission. Which meant Olivia had no power over me here. She had no choice but to leave, dragging Nathaniel and Sophia with her. But this was far from over. My revenge? It was only just beginning.

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When my brothers allowed their foster sister to impersonate me, they thought I’d accept it. Given another chance, I’ll ensure she faces the consequences. ### When I was eight, the family’s spiritual advisor declared that my destiny was “too fragile.” So, they sent me away to live in seclusion at Serenity Ridge, a place overflowing with spiritual energy. I was supposed to stay there until I turned eighteen. But when I finally returned to the family estate, I discovered the truth: For ten years, my so-called loving brothers had let their adopted foster sister, Jessica, take my place, pretending to be me. At the birthday banquet of my fiancé, she had the audacity to take things even further. Jessica snatched the token of our engagement—a gift from my uncle, the Emperor himself—and held it up for everyone to see. Pointing at me, she spoke loudly, her voice full of mockery: “Lord Wyatt, I’m so sorry for the embarrassment. Our foster sister here doesn’t know her place and dared to steal the engagement token the Emperor gifted to the two of us. She even tried to use it to impersonate me and deceive you. Don’t worry, when we return home, I’ll make sure my brothers teach her how to behave properly.” If this had been my previous life, I would’ve swallowed my pride and let her humiliate me, desperate to please my brothers and their favorite little “sister.” But not this time. Because this time… I had been reborn. I stepped forward, grabbed the engagement token from her hand, and threw it to the ground with all my strength. Then, I slapped her across the face so hard the room fell silent. “Jessica,” I said coldly, my voice cutting through the stunned silence, “you dare steal from me? You must think your life has been too easy for too long.”

Everyone froze, stunned by my actions. For a moment, the room was filled with silence as people exchanged uneasy glances. Jessica, however, was completely thrown off. She stumbled backward, falling to the ground in shock. For a brief moment, anger flickered in her eyes, sharp and venomous, but it quickly disappeared. She replaced it with her usual pitiful act, clutching her cheek as tears welled up in her eyes. “Savannah,” she whimpered, her voice trembling, “I know you’ve admired Lord Wyatt for a long time, but you and he… you’re worlds apart. Please, don’t lower yourself like this.” “Worlds apart?” I echoed, stepping forward. My gaze bore into her as I looked down at her pitiful figure on the floor. A cold smirk tugged at my lips. “My mother was a princess of the royal bloodline. My father is the Duke of Harrington, a man whose victories on the battlefield are the stuff of legend. My uncle is the King of this realm. I am the true heiress of the Harrington family, noble-born and of the purest lineage. And Wyatt?” I scoffed. “He’s the son of a mere baron. You’re right, Jessica—we are worlds apart.” “Savannah! How dare you twist the truth!” The voice belonged to my fourth brother, Logan, who rushed toward us, his expression filled with panic. Following close behind was my third brother, Michael, who bent down to help Jessica off the ground. “Jessica, are you all right?” Logan asked, his voice dripping with concern as he gently cupped her face. His brows furrowed in worry, his tone soft as if she were a fragile flower. Jessica shook her head weakly, tears brimming in her eyes. She looked up at him with such a pitiful expression that anyone watching would have felt sorry for her. Michael, meanwhile, turned to Lord Wyatt with a composed but sharp expression. “Lord Wyatt,” he said, his voice steady and full of authority, “Savannah was nothing but a lowly servant in the Harrington household. My father, out of mercy, adopted her as a foster daughter. But clearly, she’s forgotten her place. She’s delusional enough to think she could pass herself off as a noblewoman—worse yet, your future wife. Allow me to summon my elder brothers. We’ll deal with this matter through the family’s laws.” At his command, an attendant hurried off to fetch our eldest brother, Edward. The crowd, already murmuring before, erupted into louder whispers, their words sharp and biting. “She’s a fraud! Pretending to be the Duke’s daughter? How shameless!” “I heard the late Duchess adored her real daughter so much that she gave up her comfortable life in the palace to travel the kingdom, helping the poor and praying for her child’s future. Can you imagine how furious she’d be if she knew about this imposter?” “And the Duke himself—he’ll be furious when he hears his precious daughter was mistreated. He’ll make that girl wish she’d never been born.” “Not to mention the four Harrington brothers. They dote on their sister like she’s made of gold. There’s no way they’ll take this lying down.” “If I were her, I’d be on my knees right now, begging Jessica for forgiveness.” “She’s just some peasant girl from the countryside, trying to act like a noble. A crow pretending to be a swan. Disgusting.” I let out a soft laugh, amused by the ridiculous chatter. They weren’t wrong, though. When my parents returned and learned the truth, neither Jessica nor my so-called brothers would escape punishment. Wyatt stepped forward then, standing beside Jessica and my brothers, his expression one of smug self-righteousness. “Of course, I trust your word, Third Young Master,” he said to Michael, his tone eager to please. “Jessica is the picture of grace and kindness. There’s no way someone like her could be an imposter.” He turned to Jessica, his gaze softening as he looked her over. Once satisfied that she wasn’t seriously hurt, he turned to me, his face twisting into a sneer. “And you,” Wyatt said, his voice dripping with contempt, “just two nights ago, you came to me with the engagement token, claiming to be the real Lady Harrington. Did you truly think I’d believe you? I’ve known Jessica for years—her kindness, her nobility. And you?” He scoffed, his lip curling in disdain. “You’ve been allowed to play the role of a noble for so long that you’ve forgotten your true place. You’re nothing but a dog pretending to be human.” Perfect. Everything was going just as I had planned. Wyatt, oh Wyatt, if you didn’t insult me like this, how else would I break this ridiculous engagement?

When the old Marquis passed away, and Wyatt’s family fell into decline under his lackluster leadership, the once-proud house of the Stuarts grew desperate. That’s when they clung to the mighty Duke of Harrington, hoping to salvage their crumbling status through an alliance. In my previous life, Wyatt went to great lengths to secure a royal decree for our engagement. Day after day, he petitioned my uncle, the King. His persistence fooled my uncle into thinking he would treat me with the utmost devotion, and thus, my uncle granted his consent and gifted us a pair of matching jade pendants as a symbol of our union. At the time, I was far away, training in isolation at Serenity Ridge. When the pendants arrived, I was stunned. But my uncle had always been a good judge of character, and I’d heard whispers that Wyatt’s reputation as a handsome and capable young lord was well-earned. Imagine my shock when I returned home to find Wyatt wrapped around Jessica, my so-called foster sister, showering her with affection. For the first time in my life, I ignored my brothers’ warnings and secretly revealed my true identity to Wyatt, hoping he would set things right. But instead, he flew into a rage. Without hesitation, he ran straight to my brothers, who, terrified that Jessica’s true origins would be exposed, decided to silence me before my parents could return. They beat me to death with clubs, my cries silenced by the wilderness. My body was left unburied, torn apart by the wild dogs that came in the night. After my death, my uncle the King was furious. Wyatt, ever the actor, knelt before the throne with tears streaming down his face, swearing that he had always loved me, that he’d been tricked by villains. Such a man… a liar and a coward. Hardly the loving husband my uncle had envisioned. Jessica, foolish as ever, thought that marrying into the Marquisate would bring her endless wealth and status, blind to the fact that Wyatt’s house was already on the verge of collapse. What a joke. Now, in this life, the crowd stood firmly on Jessica’s side. She cast me a quick, triumphant glance before lowering her gaze demurely. Her voice, soft and sweet, carried just the right hint of grievance as she spoke: “Savannah, I’ve always treated you like my own sister. How could you stab me in the back like this, pretending to be me just to marry Wyatt? Don’t you care how much it hurts me?” She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her expression full of betrayal and heartbreak. Her act was so convincing that the onlookers immediately began murmuring in sympathy. “Sister?” I sneered, my voice icy. “You think you deserve to call yourself my sister?” I stepped forward, my gaze sharp as a blade. “Since the day you were taken in as a foster daughter of the Duke’s family, you’ve coveted everything that belongs to me. And every time, I let you have it. My dresses, my jewelry, my books—whatever you wanted, I gave it to you. Even when you mistreated the servants, I covered for you, afraid my brothers would throw you out if they found out the truth. “And how do you repay me, Jessica? By stealing my fiancé?” I laughed coldly, the sound cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. “How greedy can you be?” Tears began to pool in Jessica’s eyes, and she bit her lip, trembling like a fragile bird. The sight of her pitiful act made the spectators’ hearts soften even more. “Jessica, you’re too kind,” Logan said soothingly, patting her shoulder. “That’s why people like her take advantage of you.” Three pairs of angry eyes turned toward me, their combined fury almost tangible. Wyatt, emboldened by their support, stepped forward and declared, his voice loud and clear: “I, Wyatt Stuart, would never lower myself to marry someone like her! I swear, my heart belongs only to Jessica, and I will never take another woman as my wife—not even a concubine!” His words rang out, bold and resolute, drawing gasps of admiration from the crowd. “What devotion!” “Lord Wyatt is truly a man of principle. Such a beautiful love story!” “And that shameless girl dared to try and interfere? Ridiculous!” I let out a soft, mocking laugh, my gaze locked onto Wyatt’s face. “Are you certain?” I asked, my tone light and teasing. “You’re choosing her over me?” Wyatt shot me a look of utter disgust, as if my very presence offended him. “You? A lowly wretch like you dares to ask that question? Even the stable hands at the Marquisate are too good for you. How dare you dream of marrying me?” Laughter erupted around us, the crowd pointing and jeering at me. “Good,” I said quietly, my smile widening. “You’ve made your choice. No regrets, then?” “None,” Wyatt spat, his voice firm. “Perfect.” At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed in the hall. My eldest two brothers had arrived, completing the scene. The sight of them brought back memories of my previous life, of the day they stood over me, their faces cold and unfeeling as they condemned me to death. “You dare defy us and reveal Jessica’s secret? You thought you could steal her fiancé? You’ve gone too far this time!” “She’s been nothing but trouble since the day we took her in. Let’s cut out her tongue so she can’t speak anymore!” “Cutting out her tongue isn’t enough. She can still write. Better to kill her and be done with it. Feed her to the dogs and tell Father and Mother she ran away.” “Yes, once she’s gone, Jessica will truly be the only daughter of the Harrington family.” The memory sent a chill down my spine, but I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. Now, everyone was finally here. And it was time to end this charade once and for all.

“Edward! Victor!” The moment Jessica saw the two of them enter, her eyes turned red, and tears pooled as if on command. She looked utterly pitiful, the picture of injustice. Victor, my Second Brother shot me a venomous glare before gently patting Jessica on the shoulder. His voice was soft and soothing, dripping with indulgence. “Jessica, don’t be afraid. Tell Victor everything. No matter what, I’ll make sure justice is served for you.” “It’s nothing,” Jessica replied with a weak smile, her voice trembling slightly. “Savannah’s just a little jealous of me. She wanted to pretend to be the Duke’s daughter, but I understand. She’s never seen the world and let her ambitions get the better of her.” “She dares to impersonate you?” Victor’s voice turned sharp as he spat on the ground in my direction, his contempt clear. Edward, his brow furrowed and his tone as cold as ice, added, “We only have one sister, and that’s Jessica. Savannah? She’s nothing more than a lowly servant in the Duke’s household.” The moment those words left his mouth, I could see the same murderous intent in his eyes that I remembered from my previous life. Just like that day, when he and the others had beaten me to death in the wilderness. With Edward’s declaration, the crowd immediately sided with Jessica, their murmurs of disdain for me growing louder. At that moment, a girl stepped out from the crowd. I recognized her immediately—Charlotte, the daughter of a minor noble and one of Jessica’s most loyal lapdogs. She crossed her arms and glared at me with righteous indignation. “This wretch even dared to lay a hand on Jessica!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I saw it with my own eyes last night. Poor Jessica’s back is covered in bruises—purple and swollen!” “Charlotte, please…” Jessica bit her lip, her teary eyes glistening as she looked up at the crowd. Her voice was soft and full of sorrow. “Jessica, did she really hurt you?” Victor’s face darkened as he stepped closer to her, his voice trembling with anger. “I’m sure Savannah didn’t mean to hurt me,” Jessica murmured, her voice delicate and full of forgiveness. “Please don’t blame her because of me.” Her words sounded like mercy, but they confirmed her story in the eyes of the crowd. To them, she was the poor, innocent victim, and I was the vile aggressor. Jessica’s frail figure, trembling ever so slightly, combined with her pitiful expression, only deepened the crowd’s sympathy for her. My brothers stared at me like wolves ready to tear me apart. “Savannah!” they barked in unison, their eyes blazing with fury. I arched an eyebrow and turned to Charlotte first. “You’re the daughter of a minor court official, a mere fourth rank at best. What gives you the right to speak to me like this? Why don’t you fetch your father instead?” Her face turned red, but before she could retort, I turned to Jessica with a cold smile. “You claim I hit you? That you’re covered in bruises? Fine—let’s have your injuries examined.” The moment the words left my mouth, Jessica and Charlotte’s expressions changed. Charlotte’s face flushed with anger. “You filthy wretch! How dare you speak to me like that? You’re not even worthy to lick my boots. And Jessica’s injuries don’t need to be examined! If she says you hit her, who else could have done it?” “Who knows?” I shrugged. “Maybe you did it yourselves.” Charlotte’s face contorted with rage, and Jessica’s lips quivered as tears fell from her eyes like pearls on a broken string. She threw herself into Victor’s arms, sobbing pitifully. “To examine my bruises, I’d have to undress. Savannah wants to humiliate me and ruin my reputation! How could I possibly live with such shame?” Jessica’s words were like oil on fire. Wyatt, who had been sitting quietly, jumped to his feet and pointed a trembling finger at me. “Savannah, how dare you?” he roared. “Jessica is my future wife, the future lady of the Marquisate, and I will not allow anyone to humiliate her!” “Try to touch her, and you’ll answer to us!” Logansnarled, his anger boiling over. “You’re so malicious, Savannah,” Michael spat. “We should’ve sold you off ages ago!” I didn’t bother listening to their empty threats. Instead, I waved to the servants. “Bring a screen. Let’s settle this properly.” “Slap!” The sound of a sharp slap echoed through the room. A stinging sensation bloomed across my cheek, and Jessica’s lips twitched with satisfaction as she tried to hide the smug smile on her face. But her eyes couldn’t conceal her triumph. “Well done, Edward!” Logan cheered, clapping his hands with glee while the others smirked. Edward glared at me, his eyes cold with anger. “You dared to hurt Jessica? That slap was mercy. Kneel before her, apologize, and perhaps we’ll spare you.” “Slap!” Before he could finish, I struck him across the face. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at me, stunned into silence. “Savannah, you—” “Slap!” I struck him again. “You—” “Slap!” Three slaps in total. Edward’s face turned crimson, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He looked like an enraged bull, ready to charge. “Feel better now?” I asked calmly, my voice devoid of emotion. The room fell silent. The crowd was stunned. Edward, the future Duke of Harrington, had been slapped—three times—in front of everyone. “Savannah, how dare you!” Logan bellowed. “Kneel down and apologize to him immediately!” I let out a cold laugh. “Him? A Duke? That’s a joke. The lot of you have forgotten where you came from. Shall I remind you?” My voice dripped with contempt as I continued, “Father and Mother have only one child—me. The four of you? You’re nothing but orphans, adopted out of pity after your father died in a brothel, leaving you to fend for yourselves. You’re lucky to even bear the Harrington name.” Their faces turned pale, their hands trembling. “Enough talk!” Victor growled. He handed Jessica to Wyatt, then drew a dagger from his belt. “If you won’t apologize, I’ll cut off your hands. We’ll see how stubborn you are after that!” “No need for that,” Edward said coldly. He grabbed the dagger and plunged it into my chest. The crowd gasped in horror. “Die!” he hissed, his eyes red with rage. Wyatt shielded Jessica’s eyes. “Don’t look, my love—it’s too gruesome.” But instead of blood, there was only silence. Edward’s expression shifted to terror as he realized the blade hadn’t pierced my skin. “W-what…?” “Such a shame,” I said with a smirk, pulling open my cloak to reveal the golden scales beneath. “The King’s gift—an enchanted breastplate. Completely impenetrable.” The dagger clattered to the floor as Edward stumbled back in shock. At that moment, a deep, booming voice cut through the tension: “You wretched fools! How dare you lay a hand on my daughter!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “295346”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #魔幻Magic #现实主义Realistic #励志Inspiring #惊悚Thriller

### When I stormed the drug cartel’s hideout, my fiancée, Mira, was taken hostage by the mastermind behind it all. In the heat of the moment, I pulled the trigger and killed him. Five years later, Mira and I got married. It was the happiest day of my life—or so I thought. That night, when I least expected it, she drugged me. I woke up in a dimly lit basement, my body broken and battered after a week of relentless torture. Mira stood over me, her heel crushing my unrecognizable face. “Jeremy was just an accountant,” she sneered. “Taking me hostage was nothing but a desperate move. And yet, you killed him in cold blood.” Given a second chance, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d pull the trigger all over again. After seven days and nights of torture, Mira finally showed up. Her stiletto heel pressed hard against my face as I lay on the floor, barely able to breathe, each gasp a shallow rasp. “How does it feel to be on the verge of death, Alex?” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “Compared to what Jeremy went through, I’ve been far too kind to you.” I stared up at her twisted, hate-filled expression—and somehow, I laughed. I laughed at my own stupidity. All those memories of love, the kind that felt so deep it burned into my soul—they were nothing but a lie. “What’s so funny?” My laughter must have enraged her, because she crouched down and dug her nails into my jaw, forcing me to look her in the eye. “Jeremy was just an accountant,” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. “He was as innocent as a blank sheet of paper. Taking me hostage was nothing but a last resort, and yet you, Alex, you shot him down in cold blood.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot and bitter against my ear. “It’s been five years, Alex. Five long years. Jeremy’s been all alone down there, waiting. Don’t you think it’s time you join him?” Before I could react, she raised the gun and fired a single shot into my chest. The pain was indescribable, like fire ripping through my body. And just like that, I died—consumed by rage and regret. “Captain! One of the informants said Miss Mira is inside. Should we adjust the plan?” A familiar voice rang in my ears, pulling me out of the darkness. For a moment, I was disoriented. “Captain?” The voice called out again, more urgent this time. When I finally turned to look, I saw a face I hadn’t seen in years—Chris, one of my old teammates, standing right in front of me. Wasn’t I just shot? Wasn’t I dead? Panicked, I clutched at my chest, expecting to feel the wound, the blood. But instead, my chest was smooth, untouched. “What are you doing, Captain? Now’s not the time to show off your pecs!” Chris grabbed my arm, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. It didn’t take long for the reality to hit me. This wasn’t a dream. I was alive. I had been reborn—sent back to the day when I led the raid on the cartel’s hideout. In my previous life, Mira had already been taken hostage by Jeremy when we stormed the place. To save her, I shot him without hesitation. Afterward, we dismantled the operation, confiscated a massive stash of drugs, and celebrated a job well done. But I ignored the look in Mira’s eyes—the dazed, haunted expression she wore as she watched Jeremy die. At the time, I thought she was just shaken by the violence. It wasn’t until she killed me that I realized the truth. She wasn’t scared. She was grieving. She loved him. The memory of it made my chest ache, as if the bullet had hit me all over again. This time, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. I wasn’t going to waste another thought on Mira’s survival. “Stick to the original plan,” I ordered, my voice cold and unfeeling. “We go in.” This time, I wouldn’t hesitate to add another body to the count. When we stormed the hideout, there he was—Jeremy, holding a knife to Mira’s throat, just like before. I narrowed my eyes, taking in the scene. I didn’t see a victim and a captor. I saw two snakes, coiled together in their betrayal. Without a second thought, I pulled the trigger. If my calculations were correct, the bullet would tear through Jeremy’s hand and lodge itself in Mira’s shoulder. Years of training had honed my aim to perfection. But what I didn’t anticipate was this: At the very last second, Mira moved. She threw herself in front of Jeremy, risking her own life to shield him, even with the knife pressed against her throat. The bullet hit her shoulder, just as I’d aimed. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down. Mira turned her head, glaring back at me with eyes filled with pure hatred. She didn’t say a word, but her expression spoke volumes. It was a look that said, You’ll pay for this. I tilted my head and smiled faintly, unbothered by her rage. What a shame. I missed her heart.

In my previous life, after Jeremy was shot dead, someone came forward with evidence exposing him as the real mastermind behind the drug ring. As we pieced everything together, the truth emerged: Jeremy was the illegitimate son of the city’s most notorious crime family. After college, he took over the family’s criminal empire and used his expertise to design a new type of drug. These drugs were distributed through the family’s nightclubs and underground casinos, while Jeremy hid behind the unassuming guise of a mild-mannered accountant. The media ran wild with the story. Jeremy became the city’s most hated man, condemned by everyone. Everyone except Mira. Her eyes red and swollen, she muttered to anyone who’d listen, “He was just an accountant…” I hated myself for not seeing through her back then. After Mira was taken to the hospital, I didn’t visit her. Instead, I went straight to the interrogation room, where Jeremy was being held. He sat there, calm and composed, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that made him look more like a college professor than a criminal. But I knew better. I’d seen the real Jeremy years ago—when he was a high schooler torturing stray cats in an alleyway. I knew then that his soul was rotten to the core. And yet, somehow, he always managed to twist the narrative. No matter what he did, everyone else ended up believing I was the one with a vendetta against him. “Alex, don’t make this personal,” Jeremy said with a smirk. “I’m just an accountant. Taking Mira hostage was a desperate move, nothing more.” I stared at him silently, letting him put on his little performance. “So tell me,” I said calmly, “since when does an accountant carry a weapon?” The knife he’d used to hold Mira hostage wasn’t just any knife. It was a finely crafted Swiss Army blade—customized, no less. Jeremy chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “How about this—you send your officer over there to get me a glass of water, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” I could see what he was doing. He wanted the room cleared. Fine. I played along. I dismissed everyone, leaving just the two of us in the room. “Alright,” I said, standing over him. “It’s just us. Talk.” Jeremy crooked a finger, motioning for me to lean in. Reluctantly, I did. And then he whispered in my ear. “You haven’t tasted Mira yet, have you? What a shame. She’s probably hating your guts right now.” My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. I wanted nothing more than to smash his smug face into the table. Jeremy grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. “I love seeing you like this,” he added, his voice dripping with mockery. “Oh, by the way, how’s your brother doing these days?” That did it. My fist shot forward, slamming into his face with everything I had. Our family had always been in law enforcement. My parents were legends in the Organized Crime Unit, dedicating their lives to cleaning up the city. When I was a kid, they died during a raid on a crime syndicate. My older brother took up their mantle, becoming a cop and vowing to finish what they started. But during an undercover operation, his cover was blown. The gang tortured him, severing the tendons in his hands and feet. By the time we rescued him, the damage was done—both to his body and his mind. He was never the same again. I took up his badge and joined the force, swearing to continue the fight. It wasn’t until after Jeremy’s death in my previous life that I learned the truth: Jeremy was the one who had personally mutilated my brother. The hatred I felt for him now was enough to drive me to the brink of madness. Before I could land another punch, the door burst open. “Alex, what the hell are you doing?!” Mira’s voice, shrill and panicked, filled the room. She rushed to Jeremy’s side, shielding him like a fragile porcelain doll, her once flawless image as the city’s socialite now reduced to a pale, trembling wreck. “I brought a lawyer!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “I’m filing a complaint for police brutality!” Gone was the composed, elegant woman the city once adored. Now she looked like a desperate patient on the verge of collapse, clutching onto Jeremy as though her life depended on it. Jeremy, ever the opportunist, peeked out from behind her with a sly, taunting grin. I glared at them, my anger boiling over. If looks could kill, they’d both be dead. But I knew better. Jeremy didn’t deserve a quick death. He deserved to rot in prison, to be stripped of his freedom and power, to face the full weight of the law. No matter how much I wanted to end it right here, I wouldn’t let him escape justice. Not this time.

It didn’t take long for me to get called into the captain’s office over the punch I threw at Jeremy. I knew the truth—Jeremy was the one responsible for what happened to my brother. He was also the mastermind behind the entire drug operation. But without evidence, my hands were tied. I couldn’t say anything. The captain sighed deeply and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Alex, I get it. I know you want to take down criminals like him. But without proof, he’s innocent until proven guilty. You can’t let your emotions get the better of you.” Once again, Jeremy had played everyone like a fiddle with his innocent act. Even the captain and Chris thought I was overreacting, convinced I was letting my personal feelings cloud my judgment. The captain suggested I take some time off. Frustrated, I kicked a chair on my way out of the station. Mira was waiting for me outside. “Alex, I know you’ve never liked Jeremy,” she said, grabbing my hand and looking at me with an expression that might’ve been convincing—if I hadn’t known better. “But can’t you just let it go? He’s just an accountant. That’s all he is. Stop trying to make him into something he’s not.” In her mind, Jeremy would always be the harmless, defenseless little rabbit. I forced a bitter smile. It felt like the bullet that had once pierced my chest had now lodged itself straight into my skull. When my dad died, I was too young to understand what had happened. I followed my brother everywhere like a shadow until he joined the police academy, leaving me behind to live with my grandmother. Back then, I was timid and insecure, always the target of the neighborhood bullies. Then Mira showed up—a girl from out of town who stood in front of me like a shield, protecting me from everyone who wanted to hurt me. To my younger self, she was everything: my light, my hero. I relied on her. I admired her. I loved her. But looking at her now, I couldn’t help but feel like all of it had been one big joke. I stared at her anxious face, then closed my eyes and shook my head. “Mira, Jeremy is a criminal. He belongs in prison. This isn’t personal—it’s about justice.” I’d said these same words to her in my past life. And just like then, she didn’t listen. “You’ve disappointed me, Alex!” she snapped before storming off in a huff. After a few days of forced leave, I got a message from Chris. The drug dealers we’d arrested weren’t talking. Unlike in my previous life, they refused to point the finger at Jeremy. They were too scared of him to say a word. Furious, I slammed my fist against the edge of my bed. To make things worse, Mira had hired a high-powered legal team to defend Jeremy. And, just as I feared, Jeremy was released on bail. Fuming, I stormed into the captain’s office, ready to argue. But before I could even get a word out, the captain raised a hand to stop me. “Alex, it’s done. There’s not enough evidence to hold him. He’s walking free, and that’s final. Arguing won’t change anything.” The day Jeremy was released, Mira herself came to pick him up. She had gone all out, wearing a perfectly tailored dress and flawless makeup. She even invited the media to document the occasion, spinning the narrative that Jeremy had been wrongfully accused. I stood at a distance, watching the spectacle with cold detachment. Then I pulled out my phone and sent Mira a single text: [We’re done.] I saw her glance at her phone. She barely reacted, as if the message meant nothing to her. She put it away and went back to fussing over Jeremy like a concerned lover. It didn’t take long for the two of them to start appearing everywhere together. Hand in hand, side by side, they became the new “it” couple. I had to admire Jeremy’s cunning. Mira’s family had gone to great lengths to keep her from dating me, pulling every string they could to drive a wedge between us. But with Jeremy? They welcomed him with open arms. No matter how they twisted the story, I couldn’t care less about their relationship. Jeremy might’ve won this round, but I’d make sure he didn’t win the war. I swore to myself: no matter what it took, I would bring him down.

I’d just been assigned a new case—a cross-border drug trafficking operation in a neighboring city. In my previous life, I remembered Jeremy’s half-brother fleeing to that city, eventually cementing his control over the underground drug market there. Back then, after taking down Jeremy’s gambling ring, I retired from the force. I never got involved in the neighboring city’s operations. But this time? This time, I wasn’t going anywhere until I saw Jeremy and everyone connected to him behind bars. On the day I was set to leave, Jeremy showed up, flipping a lighter in his hand as he sauntered toward me. His expression was smug, his posture that of a man who believed he’d already won. “Leaving the city, Officer Reed?” he asked with a smirk, his tone dripping with mockery. The hatred I felt for him was no longer a hot, uncontrollable rage. It had cooled into something sharper, something focused—a determination to see him brought to justice. I didn’t respond. I didn’t even look at him. “Our wedding’s coming up soon,” he added, his smirk widening. “You wouldn’t want to come and congratulate Mira and me?” Still, I said nothing. “Shame,” he said, leaning in closer. “You know, I don’t even love her. She’s just a game to me. Just like you were back in high school.” His words slithered through the air like venom from a snake, making my stomach churn. Mira and I had grown up together. From elementary school to high school, we’d been inseparable—until Jeremy entered the picture. Back then, Jeremy was the golden boy. Polished, charming, smart, and good-looking. Teachers adored him, classmates admired him, and no one could get enough of his perfect image. Meanwhile, I was the stereotypical jock—good at sports, terrible at academics, and always getting into trouble. But beneath Jeremy’s flawless exterior was a monster. I’d seen it with my own eyes one day after school. I’d caught him in an alley, torturing a stray cat. He didn’t panic when I confronted him. Instead, he calmly dropped the cat’s lifeless body into my desk the next day. From that moment on, Jeremy stopped pretending around me. He showed me his true colors—his sadistic, manipulative side. He took every opportunity to provoke me, to make me lose control, only to turn around and play the victim. “Ah, that look in your eyes,” he said now, leaning in so close I could feel his breath on my ear. “It’s the same as back then. God, it’s exciting.” Then, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Mira’s been in my bed since high school. You didn’t know? What a shame.” My vision went red. My fists clenched instinctively, and I was ready to swing. “Alex Reed! Don’t you dare!” Mira’s voice rang out as she came running toward us, screaming. Before my punch could connect, Mira’s purse came down on me instead—over and over again. “Stop it, Alex! Stop!” “Don’t blame him, Mira,” Jeremy said, stepping back with mock innocence. “I told him I love you, that we’re in love. He’s just upset because he cares about you so much.” Jeremy’s ability to play the victim was nothing short of Oscar-worthy. “Alex! You’re the one who broke up with me! And I love Jeremy now! If you’ve got a problem, take it up with me, not him!” Mira turned to shield him, her face pale with rage and indignation. “Jeremy’s innocent!” she shouted, her voice trembling. That phrase. I’d heard it more times than I could count. When had she become so unrecognizable? The girl who once stood in front of me to protect me from bullies was now standing in front of Jeremy, defending him. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Then I looked her in the eyes and said coldly, “Don’t worry. A snake and a rat are a perfect match. I wish you both a long and miserable life together.” With that, I turned and boarded the bus to the neighboring city. It didn’t take long for me to uncover Jeremy’s crimes during the raid on the neighboring city’s drug operations. His half-brother, as it turned out, had kept a backup of everything—an encrypted hard drive containing damning evidence of Jeremy’s involvement in the torture and murder of law enforcement officers. The moment I got my hands on it, I didn’t stop. I raced back to the city, straight to the captain’s office. Slamming the hard drive on his desk, I filed for Jeremy’s arrest. The captain, stunned by the overwhelming evidence, wasted no time. Within minutes, I had the warrant in hand. Jeremy and Mira’s wedding day was nothing short of a spectacle. The hall was packed with guests, the decorations lavish, the champagne flowing freely. I walked in, interrupting their vows. “Jeremy Brooks,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like ice. “You’re under suspicion for the murder of a police officer.” I threw the arrest warrant onto the table in front of him, watching as Mira’s face twisted in shock. The room erupted into chaos. Mira screamed, clinging to Jeremy as I dragged him away in cuffs. Through all the noise, I kept my focus. This time, I was going to finish what I started. This time, I was going to end him.

In the interrogation room, I found myself face to face with Jeremy once again. He leaned casually against the table, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, his eyes filled with mockery. I placed the evidence in front of him. Jeremy glanced at it—and to my disbelief, he looked completely unfazed. In fact, he stared at the footage as though he were admiring some kind of masterpiece. “Hm,” he said, smirking even wider. “The execution’s a little sloppy, though, don’t you think?” He actually had the audacity to critique the crime scene footage. “Jeremy,” I said, my voice sharp, “the evidence is right here in front of you. What do you have to say for yourself?” I was curious—what excuse could he possibly come up with this time? Jeremy shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “I’ll wait for my lawyer. Until then, I have nothing to say.” I knew I wasn’t going to get anything out of him, so I didn’t bother wasting more time. But his calm, almost smug demeanor stirred something uneasy inside me. Taking the hard drive back to my office, I replayed the footage over and over again. The video clearly captured Jeremy’s face. There was no doubt it was him. And yet, something about it didn’t sit right. I paused the video at the final frame, freezing on the moment Jeremy looked directly into the camera. That’s when I saw it. He smiled—a slow, chilling grin. And at the corner of his left eye… there was a teardrop-shaped mole. Jeremy didn’t have a mole. A cold shiver ran down my spine as realization hit me. Before I could leave my office, Chris burst in, his face pale with urgency. “Captain, Mira’s here,” he said quickly. “She’s brought a lawyer… and someone else.” He hesitated, his expression uneasy. “You should probably see for yourself.” Pushing past him, I headed straight for the reception area. When I saw who was standing there, the world seemed to tilt. It was Jeremy. Or rather, someone who looked exactly like him. The only difference was the distinct teardrop-shaped mole at the corner of his eye. “Officer Reed!” Mira shouted at me, her voice sharp and commanding. “I’ve brought a lawyer and the real culprit. You need to let Jeremy go immediately!” I ignored her completely, my eyes locked on the man in front of me. He shifted nervously under my gaze, shrinking slightly as though I could see right through him. He was nothing like the cold, calculated monster from the video.

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My husband Ezra and I decided to use our vacation time to travel to Canada and visit my parents on the way back. Little did I know that on the first day in Canada, we’d have a major fight over our itinerary. I was so angry that I started arguing with him on the street. He tried to appease me by offering to take me out for a fancy dinner. When I got back to the hotel, I found he had left with all my luggage and phone, leaving just a note telling me to “reflect on my behavior”. I borrowed a phone to call him, but he didn’t answer. As I stood there in the freezing cold with the bitter wind whipping around me, I had an epiphany. This time, I won’t let you off the hook so easily. Just before Christmas this year, my husband and I made plans to take a trip to Canada first. Then we’d stop by my parents’ place in Alaska on the way back, before heading home for Christmas. Ezra and I were college classmates. I couldn’t wait to escape Alaska after 18 years, so I went to a southern city for college. We fell in love during our university years, and I married him without hesitation. Due to our busy work schedules, I hadn’t been back home in three years. I wanted to take this opportunity to visit my parents. At first, Ezra complained about how cold Canada would be in winter. “It’s crazy to go there in this weather,” he grumbled. I retorted, “In summer you say it’s too hot and the trip is too rushed. We’ve finally saved up enough vacation days, let’s just go and enjoy ourselves!” Ezra still looked displeased. Seeing his expression, I wrapped my arms around him and tried a softer approach: “Honey, consider this my treat. I’ll cover the expenses, you just relax and have fun!” Hearing this, Ezra’s furrowed brow relaxed and he nodded with feigned reluctance: “Alright then.” I excitedly started preparing for our Canada trip. Canada is cold, and neither of us had proper winter gear. Since we were going to visit my parents right after, I was in a good mood and even splurged on an expensive down Ezraet for Ezra, costing a few hundred dollars. As soon as our vacation started, we flew to Canada. Before I even had a chance to appreciate the scenery, Ezra and I got into an argument over the hotel room. Looking at the suite I had booked, Ezra’s face darkened: “What kind of room did you book with my money? A standard room would have been fine. Why waste money on all this fancy stuff?!” “You’re such a spendthrift!” he snapped. Hearing Ezra’s words, I immediately got fired up: “Ezra Wilson, what do you mean ‘your money’? I used my own money to book this suite. Why are you complaining? Isn’t the whole point of traveling to enjoy ourselves?” “By standard room, do you mean those tiny 50 square foot rooms with one bed for $80 a night? Those dirty places? I refuse to sleep there!” The mention of standard rooms made my blood boil. On our honeymoon, he had booked us into a cheap $80 motel that nearly drove me insane. We hadn’t traveled since then, and now that I was footing the bill for a nice hotel, he had the nerve to throw a tantrum and call me wasteful. I angrily tossed my luggage by the bed and flopped down to play on my phone. If he didn’t want to stay, he could leave. I’d enjoy it myself. Seeing that I’d called him out, Ezra’s face darkened for a moment. After calming down, he put on a smile and started sweet-talking me. I didn’t really want our trip ruined like this either, so after some coaxing I let it go. On our first full day exploring Canada, I went all out. It was my first time seeing so much snow, so I dragged Ezra around taking photos everywhere. During a break, Ezra took a phone call while I happily sorted through our photos. Even though my cheeks were frozen red, I didn’t care at all. Because of this, I failed to notice Ezra’s unhappy expression after he finished his call. Ezra and I had both joined the astronomy club in college. We’d made a promise to see the Northern Lights together someday. When I found out there would be an incredibly rare and massive aurora display in the coming nights, I specifically planned for us to go see it. Not only would it let us relive our youthful dreams, but it would also help us forget our recent squabbles. To my surprise, after I excitedly shared the evening’s plans while munching on some chocolate I’d just bought, Ezra’s face darkened again. He snapped impatiently: “If there really are Northern Lights, we can see them from anywhere. We don’t have to go tonight.” I was shocked. It had only been four years since we’d made that promise, and now he was so impatient about it? “Honey, this aurora is really special. Let’s go see the most spectacular display together. Wasn’t that our promise back then?” I tried appealing to our shared memories. But Ezra exploded in anger: “Eloise, are you deaf? I said we’re not going, so we’re not going. Stop bringing up that old shit about our youth!” “I’m exhausted from following you around sightseeing these past few days. If you want to see the aurora so badly, go by yourself!”

His sudden outburst startled me. Ezra’s voice was so loud it drew stares from passersby. I’m not one to back down either, so I kicked a nearby bollard hard and yelled back: “Who the hell are you shouting at? Are you just trying to pick a fight with me?!” “We’ve only been out for two days and you’ve already fought with me twice. Is this how you want our marriage to be?!” Ezra glared at me fiercely, then stormed off, leaving me standing there alone. Watching his resolute back as he walked away, I couldn’t believe he’d start a fight with me in the middle of the street and then just abandon me. As I was on the verge of tears, a pair of hands appeared before me. It was Ezra. Seeing my red-rimmed eyes, he pulled me into an embrace and softened his tone: “I’m sorry, honey. It’s my fault.” “I’ve been too tired lately and it’s made me irritable. I apologize, it’s all my fault.” Seeing Ezra come back, my anger subsided a bit, but I wasn’t ready to let him off so easily. Noticing my expression soften slightly, Ezra pressed on: “Don’t be mad anymore, babe. I managed to get a reservation at that restaurant you love – the one you were saying last night was impossible to get into.” “You must be hungry after all this sightseeing. Let’s go eat now!” Right on cue, my stomach growled. Ezra struck a princely pose, as if inviting me to dinner, which made me laugh. The table was filled with all my favorite dishes, and my lingering resentment completely melted away. As I happily dug in, Ezra’s phone kept buzzing with incoming messages. He alternated between serving me food and replying to the messages. I glanced over and saw it seemed to be from his mother. “Is everything okay with your mom?” I asked. “Oh it’s nothing, she’s just asking how our trip is going,” he said, avoiding eye contact. I was too busy wolfing down my food to pay much attention, so I just nodded in response. Ever since I married into the family, my mother-in-law had always tried to control me. But my free-spirited nature refused to be tamed. After several fruitless arguments, she gave up and said our life was our own business. I don’t know what got into her today to make her start meddling again. “Honey, my mom needs some help with an online thing. Can I use your phone to help her out real quick?” Ezra asked. “Sure, go ahead,” I said carelessly. If I didn’t help his mom, she’d probably start nagging me again. “Alright, I’ll go pay the bill now. Take your time eating,” Ezra said, giving me a meaningful look before leaving with my permission. Half an hour later, Ezra still hadn’t returned. I’d finished eating and was confused. I walked out of the private room and the waiter smiled, saying, “Ma’am, your husband has already paid and left.” “Where did he go?” I asked. “He’s already gone,” the waiter replied. Gone? I instinctively reached for my phone to call him, only to remember I’d given it to Ezra. He’d left quietly with my phone. A sense of foreboding washed over me. I rushed back to the hotel. When I got there, I discovered Ezra had checked out of our room and taken all my luggage and phone with him. The receptionist said he’d left a message for me: “Take some time to reflect on your behavior.” Seeing the sympathetic look in the receptionist’s eyes, my scalp tingled and I felt a strange sense of humiliation bubbling up. So this is Ezra’s game. After our fight, he pretended to make up just to teach me a lesson like this. With shaking hands, I borrowed the receptionist’s phone to call him. He hung up immediately. Ezra was clearly doing this on purpose! After about a dozen attempts, Ezra blocked the number. My chest tightened and I felt suffocated by the intense shame. I wandered out of the hotel in a daze, acutely aware of the strange looks from others. No money, no phone, no passport. Ezra had cut off all my options, forcing me to admit I was wrong. I walked down the street with trembling arms wrapped around myself. The bitter wind whipped mercilessly, chilling me to the bone. I replayed every argument Ezra and I had over the past two days. He must have been fed up for a while. How thoughtful of him to go to such lengths to teach me a lesson. His methods were certainly more sophisticated than his mother’s. His mother? Damn it, she must have had a hand in planning this! No wonder that old lady kept messaging Ezra. She was coaching him on how to deal with me. The freezing wind felt like knives on my skin. In the subzero temperatures, I was still wearing the clothes I’d changed into at lunch. I was on the verge of hypothermia. My steps grew smaller and smaller as I pushed forward. I could feel my blood starting to slow. Spotting a police station just ahead, I forced myself to keep going. I finally collapsed at the entrance.

When I came to, a kind female officer was tucking blankets around me. I touched my face, which had been bright red from the cold before I passed out. Feeling my body temperature, I realized I was still alive and immediately burst into tears, drawing several officers over. After I choked out my story, the officer who had been caring for me started cursing under her breath: “How can there be such terrible men in this world? It’s minus 40 degrees out there – he took all your things and left you to freeze on the streets! What a scumbag.” “I was already hesitant about marriage, but hearing this makes me never want to get married,” she added. I sipped the hot tea they gave me as my body slowly warmed up. After contacting my parents, the two of them rushed to Canada as fast as they could. When I finally saw my parents appear before me, my barely contained emotions burst forth again. My loud sobs echoed through the police station, drawing sympathetic looks from everyone present. “That good-for-nothing bastard, how dare he abandon our daughter out in the cold and run off,” my dad fumed. “It’s freezing out there – he could have killed you!” he continued. “Just wait till I get my hands on that little punk,” he growled. My dad’s mouth hadn’t stopped cursing Ezra since we got in the car to go home. Even my mom, who usually tried to smooth things over, wasn’t saying anything nice this time. “Hmph, that little shit. How dare he mess with my baby girl,” she huffed. “Eloise, you didn’t even tell us you were coming back this time. If that jerk hadn’t done this to you, were you not planning to let us know at all?” my mom snapped. She was clearly upset that I hadn’t been home in three years, and even more furious that her daughter had been mistreated. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve already told your uncle and cousins. If Ezra dares to show his face around here, we’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget,” my dad said. My dad only had one brother. For generations, our family had only had boys. My dad was the first to have a girl, so I became the precious baby of the family. When they found out I was marrying someone from the south, my uncle’s family was so disappointed. At the wedding, they even warned Ezra that if he ever mistreated me, they’d break his legs. We all thought it was just a joke at the time, but now it might actually come true. “I’m calling Ezra right now. Let’s see what he has to say for himself!” my dad said, pulling out his phone. Ezra picked up almost immediately: “Dad… what’s up?” I could hear Ezra trying to sound calm on the other end of the line. I wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and tear him apart. “Oh nothing, I just tried calling Eloise’s phone but couldn’t get through. What’s going on? Why isn’t she answering?” my dad asked casually. “Ah… Eloise’s phone died,” Ezra stammered. “I see. You two must be home from work by now, right? Put Eloise on, I need to tell her something,” my dad pressed. “Uh… Eloise’s not home right now. She went out to buy something,” Ezra fumbled. As Ezra was desperately trying to come up with excuses, my dad rolled his eyes and handed me the phone. Controlling my shaking voice, I said: “Ezra, what the hell did I go out to buy?!” Hearing my voice, Ezra immediately panicked and started rambling incoherently, trying to explain himself. “Honey, listen, I didn’t mean to… Where are you? I’ll come find you,” he pleaded. “Just come to my parents’ house. I’ll be waiting,” my dad commanded, then hung up without waiting for Ezra’s response. When Ezra nervously showed up at my parents’ house, my dad immediately smashed the teapot Ezra had given him as a gift at his feet. Ezra had given my dad that teapot when he first came to meet my family, and my dad had really liked it. The scalding tea splashed near Ezra’s feet. He was still wearing the expensive down Ezraet I’d bought him and pulling our luggage. I had so eagerly prepared all our travel clothes, and now seeing that coat I’d spent a small fortune on, I just wanted to rip it to shreds. “You goddamn son of a bitch, do you know how cold it is outside?!” my dad roared. “You piece of shit took everything and left Eloise to freeze on the streets. You heartless bastard!” My dad’s face was red with rage. Terrified, Ezra fell to his knees. “Dad, I didn’t mean to. I was just a little upset with Eloise. I only wanted to scare her a bit. I didn’t think it would alarm you,” Ezra pleaded. Hearing Ezra’s words, I laughed bitterly. Scare me? He clearly didn’t care if I lived or died. “Give me Eloise’s phone right now!” my dad bellowed, making Ezra flinch. Ezra hurriedly pulled it out of his pocket. I quickly snatched it back. “You dare treat my daughter like this right under our noses. I can’t imagine how much she must suffer living with you!” my mom cried, berating him. “How has she suffered with us? We feed her well and take care of her every need. My mom asks her to do one little thing and she refuses,” Ezra snapped back. “If you ask me, it’s our family that’s been suffering. We married a disobedient daughter-in-law who only knows how to waste money. She bought me this ridiculously expensive coat – can you believe it?” Ezra stood up, pointing at his Ezraet with disdain. He’d given up all pretense now. “Suffering? What could your family possibly be suffering from? Is it because I refused to eat expired food your mom tried to feed me? Or because I didn’t agree when you two wanted us to buy a house for your brother?” I retorted. “This whole trip was paid for with my money!” “You think I care about the pittance you make each month? Ha!” I never imagined Ezra would air all his family’s dirty laundry in front of my parents. Since he had no shame left, why should I hold back? Ezra’s face turned red with anger. He raised his hand to slap me but was stopped by someone behind him. My uncle had arrived with my two tall, muscular cousins. They restrained Ezra as my older cousin glowered: “What were you about to do to my little sister?” There was a sickening crack, followed by Ezra’s agonized howls. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead from the pain. My uncle’s family owns a gym, and both my cousins are personal trainers. With just a bit of force, they’d dislocated Ezra’s wrist. “You’re assaulting me! I’ll sue you!” Ezra threatened through gritted teeth. “Go ahead and sue. You think we’re afraid of you?” I scoffed, looking down at the man writhing in pain before me. “Ezra Wilson, I’m telling you now – we’re getting divorced!” “This marriage is over!”

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On New Year’s Eve, my husband got into a fight with someone at a hotel while staying there with my college classmate, Gia. When the police called me to sign some paperwork and pay the fine, I found him comforting Gia, who was sobbing pitifully with tears streaming down her face. As soon as he saw me, a guilty smile tugged at his lips. “Gia’s building was evacuated due to an incident,” he said quickly, “I was just keeping her company.” If this had been in the past, I would’ve broken down, yelling and demanding answers. But tonight, I calmly signed the papers, paid the fine, and brought him out of the police station. Outside, he beamed at me, his face full of relief. “You’re the best, honey. I was so worried you’d be upset with me.” I forced a faint smile. What was there to be upset about? I didn’t love him anymore. Being angry seemed like a waste of energy. “Babe, the car’s parked outside the hotel. Drive us back,” Ewan said as we left the station. I had planned to head straight home after bailing him out, but he insisted on a detour. I didn’t bother questioning him. Instead, I nodded and turned toward the hotel. “You should drive, honey. I had a bit to drink,” he added as he climbed into the backseat. Gia followed suit, slipping in beside him. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I adjusted the mirror and caught sight of a pink sticker on the dashboard. A soft chuckle escaped me, bitter and dry. Since learning Ewan had taken Gia for rides in the passenger seat more times than I could count, I hadn’t set foot in his car. Now, seeing that the front seat had been personalized to suit her tastes, it was hard not to notice how comfortable she had become in claiming her territory. Following my gaze, Ewan flushed slightly and hurried to explain, “Oh, don’t mind that, babe. Gia’s still a kid at heart. You know how they are.” “A kid?” I said flatly, shifting into reverse. Funny how he conveniently forgot Gia and I had graduated the same year. Over the past three years, Ewan treated this car like a treasure, never letting me so much as adjust the air freshener without complaint. Yet, within a year, Gia could redecorate without a word of protest. I couldn’t help but admire her tactics. She had made herself at home so quickly it was almost impressive. Back when this mess started, it was during a dinner party. Gia had been lamenting her struggles at work, and out of some misguided sense of nostalgia for our college years, I asked Ewan to offer her a role as an intern. At first, he griped about her incompetence, calling it a waste of time. But as time went on, they became closer. His complaints lessened, replaced by casual compliments. By the time I caught on to what was happening, it was far too late. Take tonight, for example. He claimed he’d be away on a business trip, yet there he was, comforting Gia while the police waited for someone to pay the fine for his drunken brawl. He had punched a passerby, who was furious and called the police. They were both taken away, which led to what happened next. When I arrived, Ewan was even half-naked, yet he was still comforting Gia, who was crying uncontrollably. If it were in the past, I would have screamed and cursed him out loud. But today, I just signed the papers and bailed him out. Pretending to be indifferent, I asked, “Really? What accident?” Ewan thought for a while and then blurted out, “Uh… Gas leak. Otherwise, she wouldn’t end up in a hotel.” His lie made me sigh. I kept driving, and when we reached an intersection, Ewan seemed to remember something. “Let’s drop Gia off first,” he said. “She’s had a rough night.” I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, watching how his shoulder pressed against hers. Who knew what else they were doing out of sight? “I’m tired,” I replied evenly. “I’d rather head home. You two can figure it out from there.” Gia’s soft, simpering voice chimed in from the backseat. “It’s okay, Ewan. I don’t want to trouble Cici any more tonight. She’s already done so much.” Her tone, full of faux innocence, was enough to make my stomach churn. But Ewan, tipsy and evidently emboldened, snapped at me. “Cici, I told you to stop! Are you deaf?”

“Stop the car! Now!” He slammed a fist against the back of my seat, jolting me. My foot instinctively pressed the brake as I turned to glare at him in disbelief. Was he insane? Didn’t he know I was driving? Before I could scold him, Ewan stormed out of the backseat and yanked open my door. He unbuckled my seatbelt and pulled me out. “Ewan, what the hell?” The icy pavement caught my heel, and I slipped, landing hard on the frozen ground. My knee throbbed as it struck the edge of the curb. Ewan glanced down at me, his earlier guilt evaporating completely, replaced by pure irritation. “Cici, stop playing games. What’s the big deal about turning the car around? You’re just being petty because you have a problem with Gia, aren’t you? If you don’t want to drive, I will!” My knee throbbed from where it had slammed against the curb, and I grimaced, biting back the sharp words on the tip of my tongue. But before I could say anything, Ewan had already turned away and climbed into the driver’s seat. The car door slammed shut with a loud thud, and he didn’t spare me another glance. Gia stepped out of the backseat and slid into the passenger seat. As she passed me, she gave me a smug look and pretended to be apologetic. “Cici, are you okay? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen…” she murmured. “Gia! Get in the car. There’s no need to talk to her,” Ewan barked, his voice cutting through the icy air. Gia froze as she pretended to help me up. Then, she nodded obediently and slipped into the passenger seat. “Ewan! You’ve been drinking. You can’t drive!” I shouted, my voice rising in desperation. The only response was the rev of the engine as the car peeled away, disappearing into the night. Standing there in the biting cold, dressed too lightly for the weather, I couldn’t muster the energy to care whether Ewan got pulled over for drunk driving or not. It took me half an hour to flag down a cab, half an hour of shivering in the freezing wind. By the time I stepped through the front door of our apartment, my body was numb, and my heart felt as frozen as my hands. I couldn’t even shed a tear. A year had passed, and my passion for Ewan had died. Ewan was already home, lounging on the couch as if nothing had happened. “You said you were out of town for a business trip. Why did the police call me to pick you up from a fight?” I demanded, my voice colder than the wind outside. For a moment, he faltered, his expression slipping into unease before settling into a defensive scowl. “I told you already, didn’t I? Gia’s building had a gas leak, and they evacuated everyone. I didn’t want to stress you out, so I just said I was out of town. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” His deflection was so clumsy, so transparently false, that I didn’t even have the energy to argue. Instead, I waved him off and retreated to the bedroom, unwilling to waste my breath on another pointless fight. The next morning, I woke up to a fever burning through my body. Every inch of me ached, and my throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. Ewan noticed my pale face and furrowed brow, and for the first time in months, he seemed genuinely concerned. “Babe, I’m sorry about last night. You know how I get when I’ve had too much to drink. Are you okay? I’ll make you some soup,” he offered, his voice unusually soft. I stayed silent, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Just as he turned to leave the room, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with Gia’s name, her caller ID photo smiling mockingly at me.

Ewan hesitated, his phone in hand, staring at the screen for a few moments before reluctantly answering. His face betrayed a flicker of hesitation as though he was torn between wanting to pacify me and the inopportune timing of Gia’s call ruining the fragile truce he’d been trying to build. I turned my head away, unwilling to be part of whatever excuse or justification he was about to make. Seeing my reaction, Ewan sighed and finally answered. “Hello?” “Hi, Ewan. Why didn’t you come to work today?” Gia’s sweet voice came through the receiver, making my stomach churn. Ewan glanced at me. It was as if he wanted to prove to me that he and Gia had nothing to hide. Instead of stepping away or lowering his voice, he replied as though he were dictating the conversation for my benefit. “Cici’s sick. I stayed home to take care of her.” There was a pause on the other end, followed by a delicate cough. “Oh no, really? It must’ve been from last night. The cold snap’s been brutal. I’m starting to feel under the weather too. Tell Cici to take care of herself, okay? And, um, Ewan, could you pick up some medicine for me on your way in?” “You’re sick too? What symptoms are you having?” After the call ended, Ewan became visibly distracted. Halfway through making soup, he gave up altogether. “Hey, I should head to the office and check on things,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “I’ll order some soup for you, and you can grab it from the door when it arrives.” “Got it,” I replied flatly, watching him hurriedly grab his coat. As he left, I felt a strange emptiness settle over me. I wasn’t heartbroken, but being weighed, found wanting, and discarded left a bitter taste in my mouth. Ewan and I met in our second year of college, dated for two years, and got married shortly after graduation. Five years later, the man standing before me now felt like a stranger. Gia had been part of my life, too. She was a friend from college, albeit not a close one. How she developed feelings for Ewan or when she began acting on them, I couldn’t say. In our student days, she’d seemed ordinary enough, bright and cheerful, like most people. It wasn’t until years into adulthood that I realized how easily some people shed their morals under pressure. Ewan’s betrayal blindsided me. He’d always been a bit careless but had never treated our relationship like a joke. Yet, in the span of a single year, he’d managed to unravel everything we had. The soup arrived quickly, but the delivery receipt bore Gia’s name and number, with only the address swapped. The delivery man muttered irritably about unreturned calls as he handed over the bag. I sighed, opened the package, and found a container of seafood soup, something I couldn’t stomach, and a few generic over-the-counter pills that didn’t match my symptoms. It wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened. Ewan hadn’t ordered these. Gia had. I ended up going to the hospital myself. By the time I’d registered, bought medication, and gotten an IV drip, night had fallen, and snowflakes were gently swirling outside. Ewan eventually tracked me down, looking disheveled and windblown. The first thing out of his mouth, however, was a sharp reprimand. “Didn’t I already order you soup and medicine? Why are you making such a fuss and coming here like you’re trying to get admitted?” I stared at him, then past him, where Gia hovered by the door. The sight of her clinging to the edges of our lives, coupled with Ewan’s obliviousness, made my fatigue and disgust overflow. “Ewan,” I said, my voice calm but resolute, “let’s get a divorce.”

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“Get me the best doctor here right now!” As I stepped out of the staff-only elevator, I was greeted by the sight of my husband, Nelson Fairclough, making a scene outside the operating room. My first thought was, “What is he doing here?” He told me he was away on a business trip today and couldn’t celebrate our seventh wedding anniversary with me. Before I could process what was happening, he yelled at the nurse again. “You’d better save my wife and baby, or I’ll make sure this hospital goes bankrupt!” I froze at his words. I thought, “If his wife is the one lying in that operating room, then who am I?” The realization hit me like a freight train. I’d been betrayed. I was still standing there in shock when a young doctor hurried toward me. “Dr. Fairclough, you’re just in time. All the senior surgeons are tied up with other cases. Please, you need to head into the OR now!” I took a deep breath, clenched my fists, and made my way toward the operating room. Nelson blocked my path, his voice dripping with hostility. “Are you the lead surgeon?” I was momentarily stunned that he didn’t recognize me. “Even with the surgical cap and mask covering most of my face, how could he not recognize his wife of seven years?” I thought. But then again, I realized that he probably never imagined I’d be here. Last month, I was temporarily assigned to this small-town hospital as part of an exchange program. I remembered telling Nelson about it, but it was obvious that he had been too engrossed in his phone and hadn’t paid attention. From behind my mask, I said calmly, “Please step aside, Sir.” I brushed past him. Nelson shouted after me, “There aren’t any men in that OR, right? My wife’s body isn’t for other men to see!” I cursed him silently, disgusted by his absurd possessiveness. But my curiosity grew. His words intrigued me more about the identity of the “wife” he was so protective of. After scrubbing in, I entered the OR. A pregnant woman lay pale and weak on the operating table. The moment I saw her face, my chest tightened. It was Olivia Hilton, the wife of Edmund Hilton, Nelson’s cousin. Edmund was a soldier and was often away on duty. Olivia would frequently call Nelson over to her house with excuses like a broken appliance or a plumbing issue. I’d been so busy with work that I never paid much attention to these things. But now, I realized they had been carrying on behind my back! The nurse handed me Olivia’s medical chart. Olivia was eight months pregnant. Her premature contractions were triggered by sexual activity during her pregnancy. I flipped through the chart, my mind racing. Edmund had been away for nearly a year. I couldn’t help but think, “Could the baby Olivia is carrying be Nelson’s?” My stomach churned. Memories of suspicious moments surfaced. Despite years of marriage, I hadn’t been able to conceive. My cycles were irregular, and last year, I’d suggested Nelson get tested. He’d flatly refused, insisting he was perfectly fine. Even his mother, Rosina Fairclough, had taken his side. I thought, “No wonder he was so sure of himself. He’s already gotten someone else pregnant.” It dawned on me that Rosina must have known all along. “Dr. Fairclough,” my assistant interrupted, “should we prepare for a C-section?” I checked the fetal heart rate and ultrasound. The baby was developed enough to survive outside the womb. “The irony,” I thought bitterly. “I’m about to perform a C-section on the woman who’s been sleeping with my husband.” But as a doctor, I had no other choice. Taking a steadying breath, I said, “Yes. Prep for anesthesia.” As we began preparations, Olivia suddenly screamed, “I want my husband here! I don’t want to do this alone!” The nurse tried to soothe her. “Ms. Hilton, that’s against protocol…” “Why not? I’ve seen husbands in the delivery room on TV!” After the anesthesia kicked in, Olivia’s contractions eased, and she began shouting energetically. The nurse explained patiently, “Those require prior approval, and our hospital doesn’t…” Olivia shouted, “I don’t care! My husband is a high-ranking executive! If you don’t let him in, you’ll regret it!” I thought, “Your real husband is a soldier, Olivia. Nelson’s just your lover, isn’t he? How shameless.” Clearly, neither Olivia nor Nelson cared about their marriage. They openly called each other husband and wife. “I won’t deliver unless my husband is here!” Olivia declared.

My assistant hesitated. “Dr. Fairclough, what should we do?” Suppressing my rage, I replied, “Call the director. I don’t have the authority to make that decision.” The director approved it quickly, saying the paperwork could be handled later. Soon, Nelson entered the room, dressed in scrubs. Olivia immediately started whining. “Honey, it hurts so much…” She was lying, of course. In her semi-anesthetized state, she wouldn’t feel pain. Nelson held her hand tenderly. “Hang in there, sweetheart. Once the baby’s born, I’ll reward you.” “I want that limited-edition designer bag…” “Anything you want. Just name it.” Watching this despicable pair, I no longer felt anger. I only felt self-loathing for being so stupid. Nelson had been so distant recently, even forgetting my birthday and our anniversary, but I’d foolishly chalked it up to work stress. “Anstey,” I told myself, “you’re a doctor. No matter who’s on the table, you must do your duty.” Resolving to stay professional, I picked up the scalpel. The first incision was smooth. Nelson leaned over to look, then promptly fainted. Ignoring him, I moved on to the second layer. “Nelson! Are you okay?” Olivia shrieked, trying to sit up. My assistant held her down. “Ms. Hilton, please remain still.” Two nurses dragged Nelson to a corner. I knew what was going on. Nelson must have fainted from the sight of blood. “How touching,” I thought sarcastically. “He really does care for Olivia.” We successfully delivered the baby. It was a frail boy, his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, his skin a sickly purple. “Is the baby out?” Olivia asked anxiously. “It’s a boy,” my assistant replied. She was overjoyed and immediately asked, “Why isn’t he crying?” The assistant didn’t answer. I calmly cleared the mucus from the baby’s airway and gave his foot a firm tap. The baby’s first cry finally pierced the room. Nelson stirred, attempting to sit up, but fainted again when he saw the bloodied newborn. The nurse measured the baby’s vitals and weight before showing him to Olivia. “He’s a little weak and needs to be placed in an incubator,” the nurse explained. “What? Incubator? You’re just trying to scam us for money!” Olivia snapped. I lost my patience. “Premature babies often require incubators. If you don’t trust our hospital, you’re welcome to transfer elsewhere.” Her defiance flared. “Fine! We’ll transfer! My husband can afford it. If it weren’t for…” She stopped short, then muttered, “Who’d come to this crappy hospital otherwise?” I knew what she meant. They came here to avoid gossip. After all, I was the best doctor at the city’s top hospital, and if they had born this kid in the city, I might have found out about their affair. I handed over the post-op procedures to my team and stepped out. Just as I was about to take a break, I heard loud yelling from the corridor. “The baby wasn’t even due yet! Why was he born? I’ll sue this hospital into the ground!” Looking up, I saw the source of the commotion. It was Nelson’s mother, Rosina.

Rosina blocked the midwife, refusing to let her take the baby to the NICU. The midwife, growing anxious, tried to reason with her. “Mrs. Fairclough, due to the risk of losing the baby, we had to perform an emergency C-section…” “What?” Rosina’s voice shot up. “A C-section? Natural birth makes smarter kids! Who gave you permission to do this? Call your director here, now!” I had never realized how ignorant Rosina could be. My emotions churned, but I wanted no part in this mess. I only wanted to leave. I made up my mind. As soon as I got home, I would divorce Nelson and sever all ties with these shameless people. I tried to avoid her and walk away. But Rosina spotted me and quickly stepped in my path. “Was it you who performed the C-section on my daughter-in-law?” I answered calmly, “The procedure was done with the patient’s and her family’s consent. If you have questions, take them up with your son.” Rosina didn’t recognize me. She started shouting again. “Hey! How dare you talk to me like that? Do you even know who I am? Who do you think you are? You are just a doctor!” Taking advantage of the distraction, the midwife hurriedly wheeled the baby into the elevator. Rosina, too focused on berating me, failed to stop her. She redirected her fury toward me. “You’re the reason my grandson was born prematurely! What kind of evil person are you? Are you trying to ruin his future?” The other people waiting outside the operating room couldn’t stand it anymore and began to speak up. “How unreasonable can you get? The doctor only acted to save your grandson!” “Exactly. Both your son and his wife signed off on the surgery. Why are you blaming the doctor?” Someone discreetly began recording the scene on his phone. Rosina, unfazed, lashed out. “Mind your own business! If it’s not the doctor’s fault, then whose is it? My grandson wasn’t due for two more months! It’s all because of this quack!” “You’re heartless,” an elderly woman interjected. “The doctor saved your grandson’s life!” The argument spiraled into chaos. In her rage, Rosina suddenly swung a fist at the elderly woman. I quickly intervened, warning Rosina. “Madam, if you keep this up, I’ll have to call security.” “You wouldn’t dare! Go ahead and try!” Rosina screamed, now completely unhinged. I shielded the older woman, urging her to step back. “Please, Madam, step aside for your safety…” Taking advantage of my momentary distraction, Rosina shoved me hard. I staggered, unable to steady myself, and fell heavily to the ground. A wave of dizziness hit me, followed by sharp pain in my lower abdomen. Concerned bystanders rushed to help me up. “Doctor, are you okay?” I couldn’t stand straight. Rosina, however, began shouting as if she were the victim. “Stop pretending! I barely touched you!” The pain was unbearable. I pressed my stomach, too weak to argue with her. Suddenly, I noticed a warm sensation trickling down my thigh. I froze, too terrified to move. Just then, Nelson appeared, pushing Olivia’s hospital bed out of the operating room. Seeing Rosina, Nelson asked in surprise, “Mom? What are you doing here?” Rosina, emboldened now that her son was present, twisted the story. “Your assistant told me Olivia was delivering the baby here! Nelson, tell me, did this quack doctor trick you into agreeing to a C-section? It was such a major decision, and you didn’t even consult me first! Hospitals like this always exaggerate risks to scam people into expensive procedures!” Several staff members lost their patience and spoke up. “Don’t you dare accuse us without evidence!” “The patient’s water broke! We had no choice but to perform the surgery!” Rosina, hands on her hips, snapped back. “And why did her water break, huh? Don’t try to fool me!” I couldn’t listen to her nonsense any longer. Summoning my remaining strength, I retorted, “Your son and his wife caused this by having sex during her pregnancy!”

Nelson froze, unable to refute me. Rosina hesitated briefly before flying into a rage. “That’s a lie! My son would never do something like that!” A nurse came over to support me. “Dr. Fairclough, don’t stoop to her level. Let’s get you out of here…” But Rosina wouldn’t let it go. She grabbed my arm, trying to stop me. “Hold it right there! Do you think you can just walk away? You owe my grandson an explanation!” Pain tore through my abdomen, and I felt cold sweat on my forehead. I realized something was very wrong. I broke free from her grip in desperation, pushing her away. Rosina stumbled back into the wall, clutching her back. She immediately began wailing dramatically. “Oh, my head! You’ve hurt me!” The nurse snapped at her. “You hit your back, not your head! Stop lying!” Rosina whined, “I don’t care! Apologize to me, or you’ll regret it!” She turned to Nelson for backup. “Your mother’s being mistreated, and you’re just standing there? Do something!” Nelson, still angry with me from the operating room, saw his chance to lash out. He marched over, pointing a finger in my face. “Apologize to my mother right now!” I gritted my teeth through the pain and whispered to the nurse, “I… I can’t… My stomach hurts. Take me away, please…” The nurse tried to lead me away, but Nelson grabbed my arm roughly. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re not leaving until you apologize!” The nurse tried to intervene, only for Nelson to shove her aside. “Nelson! You’d better see who I am!” I shouted hoarsely.

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