Author: Momo Chan

My wife bought luxury cars and a penthouse for her lover— but refused to pay the ten thousand dollars that could have saved our daughter’s life. The night our little girl died, my wife sent only one text: “You’re overreacting. He and I are just traveling.” So I placed my wedding ring inside my daughter’s urn. From that day on, I was no longer her husband. As a CEO, my wife is incredibly wealthy, yet she’s always worried I’m after her inheritance. She keeps a tight rein on our finances, allowing my daughter and me just $200 a month for spending money. However, when her first love came back to the country, she didn’t hesitate to shower him with a luxury car and a mansion, worth millions, to welcome him. Later, when my daughter had a sudden heart attack, the only thing that could save her was a $10,000 surgery. Instead, I was accused of being ambitious and was thrown out of the company by security. I watched as my daughter passed away in the operating room, while my wife boarded a plane for a joyful world tour with her first love. After I finished arranging my daughter’s funeral, my wife returned from her trip, as indifferent as ever. She said: “Hey, didn’t you and our daughter always want to go to the amusement park? I’ll take you next week.” But she didn’t know that the moment our daughter died on that operating table, I was ready to end our marriage. I was packing up my daughter’s belongings when my wife, Evelyn, who had just returned from her world tour, casually walked back into our home. “Luke, can you massage my shoulders? The trip really wore me out.” Hearing this, I, who once cherished her dearly, remained silent and continued packing. Seeing I ignored her, Evelyn frowned, then suddenly laughed as if something amusing had crossed her mind. “Are you still jealous about Damian and I traveling together?” Damian was her childhood friend. Evelyn had left our daughter, who was gravely ill, to travel the world with this friend, letting our daughter die on a cold operating table. Thinking about my daughter’s eyes slowly losing their warmth felt like a dagger through my heart. Before I could speak, Damian walked in, feigning innocence: “Oh, Luke, it’s all my fault for dragging Evelyn on the trip.” “But don’t worry, it was just a trip, nothing more.” He spoke lightly, yet they wore matching outfits and rings, looking like a genuine couple in public. Meanwhile, the wedding ring Evelyn and I shared had long been discarded by her. Seeing I still wouldn’t speak, Evelyn sighed, looking helpless. “Alright, don’t be mad. I’ll send an extra $500 this month for Anna to get something nice.” “Just remember, I’m doing this for you. No need to thank me.” But looking at the transaction on my phone, I felt nothing but mockery. She spent millions on a world tour with Damian, buying luxury brands, where a single bag costs thousands. Yet now, giving me $500 felt as if she was doing me a huge favor. Damian stood by, trying to suppress his laughter, sarcastically saying: “Luke, $500 is quite a bit. You should thank Evelyn.” “Let me tell you, kids should be raised modestly, so they won’t be materialistic when they grow up!” As absurd as it was, Evelyn believed it. To prevent our daughter from being materialistic, she strictly controlled our expenses, giving only $200 monthly. I used to argue because I wanted a better life for our daughter, but now she’s gone. Arguing means nothing. With this thought, I returned the money and said calmly: “No need, I don’t want it.” Evelyn’s smile froze, then she helplessly said: “Luke, I already apologized. What more do you want?” Before I could speak, Damian’s mocking voice came from the side, “I think he just thinks $500 is too little, right?” “Luke, not to be harsh, but with your greedy attitude, how can you be a good example for Anna?” He lectured me condescendingly. Hearing this, Evelyn also looked at me with disappointment. “Luke, we’ve been married a few years, and you’re already this greedy?” “In a few more years, are you planning to take over the shares and inheritance from Evelyn’s family?” Listening to Evelyn’s accusation, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. After all this time, this is how she sees me. But my silence, to her, seemed like guilt. The next moment, Evelyn spoke with irritation: “Looks like Damian was right, you’re not a fit father.” “I’m doing this to teach our daughter resilience.” “If you keep this up, and Anna turns out materialistic and greedy like you, can we still call this a family?” Looking at her seriousness, I found it ironic. Her so-called resilience was scolding me for asking for a little extra for groceries, accusing me of eyeing her inheritance. Even when our daughter scored high and wanted a small cake, she’d point at her, scolding: “So materialistic at a young age, you’ll grow up to be a gold-digger!” “Your dad will spoil you rotten someday!” Thinking of this, I was about to tell her about our daughter. “Evelyn, our daughter is already…” But before I could finish, Damian suddenly cried out in pain at the door. The next moment, Evelyn didn’t even bother continuing to lecture me, she rushed to Damian’s side. “Damian, what happened?” Damian feigned nonchalance, waving it off: “Evelyn, I’m fine. Maybe the long flight triggered my old back pain.” “I’m okay, don’t let me delay your time with family.” Hearing this, Evelyn shook her head. “Your health comes first. I’ll take you to the hospital now.” Just before leaving, Evelyn seemed to remember something, turned to me, and sighed seriously. “Luke, let’s both calm down first.” “When I get back, we can discuss taking our daughter out next week.” But she didn’t know our daughter was gone, and I had no intention of waiting for her anymore. 2. After gathering my thoughts, I took my resignation letter and went straight to the company to resign. On the way, colleagues pointed and whispered. “Isn’t that Luke? How can he still show his face here?” “Yeah, asking CEO Evelyn for $10,000 last month and got thrown out by security.” “With his salary, how many years would he need to earn $10,000?” “Ignore this clown, let’s go…” Hearing these, I laughed at myself. For years, Evelyn never announced our relationship, even arranged for me to be just a regular employee to avoid suspicion. I’ve worked hard, even drank myself sick to secure big deals for the company. All I wanted was to become better, to make her acknowledge me and our daughter. But my promotion applications were repeatedly rejected by her. I sought her out for an explanation. She smiled, clinging to my arm, sweetly said: “Luke, this is all to train you, so you can be a better husband and father!” “Besides, I earn enough for us. Do you think I can’t support you and our daughter, or are you trying to climb into the company’s upper ranks to seize power?” I was left speechless, thinking she had her reasons. But on the day Damian returned, she sent dozens of luxury cars to the airport, the cannon salute was deafening. That night, Damian parachuted into the company, appointed as Vice President. I realized then, love or lack thereof, the difference was obvious. Given this, there’s no need to continue this ridiculous marriage. I submitted my resignation. Stepping out of the company, I expected to feel heavy-hearted, but I only felt relief. For years, like a bird with clipped wings, I’ve been trapped in a cage, oppressed. Now, I see freedom ahead. I visited my daughter’s grave, placed her favorite toys by her small tombstone. Stayed with her until nightfall, then dragged my tired body home. To my surprise, opening the door, Evelyn was unexpectedly home waiting. “Do you know what time it is? I thought you’d learned to stay out all night.” On the couch, Evelyn frowned, arms crossed, displeased. Her expression was a signal for me to comfort her. But I found it odd that while Damian’s minor injuries would keep her by his side, she wasn’t with him at the hospital today. Not my concern, so I didn’t ask. I calmly asked: “What’s up?” My cold tone made Evelyn’s face stiffen. No matter what happened before, I always greeted her with a smile. But since she returned from her trip, I’ve been different. No arguments, no fuss, even my gaze lost warmth. This made her uneasy, quickly saying: “Are you still mad about me going with Damian? I told you, it was just to relax.” “Didn’t our daughter always say she wanted to go to the beach? Once I’m less busy, I’ll take you and her, okay?” “Is something the matter?” Evelyn’s expression shifted, caught off guard by the icy tone. In the past, no matter what happened, I always greeted her with a smile. But ever since she returned from her trip, I’ve changed. I no longer argue or make a fuss, and even my gaze towards her has grown cold. This unsettled her, prompting her to say hurriedly, “Are you still upset about me going out with Damian? I told you, it was just a break to clear my mind.” “Our daughter has always wanted to go to the beach, right? Once things settle down, I’ll take you both. How about that?” Her attempt at reconciliation felt more like a condescending gesture. To her, my daughter and I were like pets—amusing when she was in a good mood, and pushed aside when she wasn’t. Suddenly, Evelyn seemed to remember something and looked at me curiously. “Wait, where’s our daughter? I haven’t seen her since I got back.” “Did you send her to your mom?” I stared at her in disbelief. She had been back for two days and was only now asking about our daughter? It was clear she didn’t truly care about our daughter or this family. Before I could respond, Damian emerged from the bathroom wearing my bathrobe. 3. Seeing me, Damian was unfazed and acted as if he owned the place, warmly inviting me in: “Luke, come on in, make yourself comfortable.” I was momentarily speechless, looking questioningly at Evelyn on the sofa. “Why is he here?” Sensing my expression, Evelyn awkwardly explained, “Damian hasn’t been well, so I brought him here to look after him. Don’t overthink it.” I suddenly understood. No wonder Evelyn was home tonight—it was all for Damian. She seemed relieved, adding, “It’s a good thing you sent our daughter to your mom’s beforehand. Otherwise, it would’ve been inconvenient with so many people here.” I found it ironic. She hadn’t even noticed our daughter’s absence, her mind solely occupied with Damian. Damian feigned remorse, saying, “It’s all my fault for disrupting your married life, Luke. I’m just here temporarily. You aren’t upset, right?” But his eyes were filled with smugness and a challenge. Evelyn, anxious to avoid conflict, quickly interjected, “Luke, don’t worry. Damian and I agreed he’d sleep on the sofa. He won’t disturb us.” But the next moment, I saw pity in her eyes for him. How could she bear to let Damian sleep on a cold sofa? If I hadn’t come back suddenly, she would have cradled him in her arms. Thinking of this, I said, “Since his back is bad, he shouldn’t sleep on the sofa. He should sleep in the master bedroom.” Damian’s face lit up with delight at my words. “Really? Luke, you’re so generous.” Evelyn also breathed a sigh of relief. “Luke, I’m glad you see it this way. I was worried you’d be jealous of Damian and make a scene.” She thought I had matured and wouldn’t argue over such trivial matters. I was leaving anyway, so why should it matter to me where he stays? As Evelyn joyfully led Damian into the master bedroom, I quietly packed my bags, ready to stay at a hotel. But as I reached the door, Evelyn emerged from the bedroom and stopped me. “Luke, it’s late. Where are you going?” I smiled faintly. “To give you and Damian some space, of course.” Upon hearing this, Evelyn’s expression turned grim, and she gritted her teeth. “What do you mean by that, Luke?” “I already explained. It’s because of Damian’s back pain that I brought him here temporarily. You’re the one who agreed to let him stay in the master bedroom. What are you doing now?” “Don’t you have any sympathy?” Her words were endless, but I found them amusing. I used to argue with her about Damian, and she’d call me immature and unreasonable. Now that I was mature and didn’t argue, she was unhappy again. Damian pretended to sob. “I knew Luke was still mad at me. It’s all my fault. I should just suffer on the street.” His poor acting fooled Evelyn, who then shielded Damian. “Damian, you’re staying here today. I’d like to see who dares to kick you out!” Crossing her arms, she coldly said to me: “You’ve grown bold. Go ahead, leave if you dare!” She assumed I loved her too much to really leave. But from the moment our daughter died, my love for her vanished. I would never forgive her. I chuckled coldly, grabbed my suitcase, and left. Evelyn stared at my back in disbelief, unable to comprehend. It wasn’t until I got in the elevator that I heard her shout, “Go on! If you leave, don’t come back!” But she didn’t realize I truly wouldn’t return. She had lost me forever. At the hotel, I slept peacefully. The next morning, I woke up to dozens of missed calls—all from Evelyn. The last call was half an hour ago. I was surprised she hadn’t slept all night. She used to tell me to be more tolerant and not argue with Damian. When did she become so petty? When I opened the door, Evelyn sat tiredly in a chair. Seeing me, her eyes immediately welled up. “Just because I let Damian stay with us, you’re leaving and quitting your job?”

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She gave her secret crush a luxury surprise and handed me a five-dollar bouquet. That was the moment everything snapped. While she lit candles and chilled champagne for Damian Ashby, I stood in our apartment holding the cheapest flowers in the city, flowers she didn’t even bother to remove the price tag from. Eight years together. And I finally understood where I ranked. So I packed my bags and walked out of the home we built— not because I was heartbroken, but because I refused to be the leftover in her love story. This time, I’m done staying quiet. The day we won the National E-Sports Championship, my girlfriend of eight years said she wanted to personally present me with flowers on stage. Standing on the podium, I eagerly pulled out the ring I had hidden, ready to give her a grand proposal. But then, with a bright smile, she handed the bouquet to her “best friend,” Damian Ashby, right in front of everyone. Under the spotlight, they became the center of everyone’s attention. On the scene and all over Twitter, people showered them with blessings. Damian’s fans even tagged me in posts: “We told you to stop clinging to our couple. Feeling humiliated now?” I calmly posted a reply: “Respect. Best wishes to you both.” Under the dazzling spotlights, I stood on the podium alongside my teammates. Evelyn Larkson, my girlfriend, walked slowly toward me with a bouquet of roses in her hands. She had once said that when I finally won the national championship, she would reveal our relationship during the award ceremony. Tonight, she seemed to have come just for me, holding roses that symbolized love. It was the first time she had ever given me flowers, and her expression was so affectionate. Blushing, I suppressed my excitement, watching her approach with my full attention. In my mind, I planned it all out. The moment she handed me the flowers, I would drop to one knee, take out the ring, and propose to her live in front of the nation. Even though we had argued yesterday over some trivial matters. But hey, what couple doesn’t bicker sometimes? My hand nervously rubbed the ring box in my pocket. “Congratulations on your championship!” Evelyn extended the flowers toward me. Just as I was about to take them with a delighted smile, the bouquet bypassed my hands and landed firmly in the arms of my teammate, Damian Ashby. Damian, Evelyn’s “best friend,” had known her longer than I had. The smile on my face froze instantly. Looking at my girlfriend, who gazed at Damian with affection, I stood dumbfounded before laughing bitterly at myself. It was Damian. Again. I should’ve seen it coming. To Evelyn, her “best friend” was always more important than her boyfriend. Even our argument yesterday was about Damian. But I never thought she’d openly hand over a bouquet of roses—symbols of love—to him in front of everyone. Damian, with his good looks, had a much larger fanbase in the gaming circuit than the rest of us. Did Evelyn not realize what her actions meant, giving him flowers in front of all these people? I quietly slipped the ring back into my pocket as the crowd’s screams reached a fever pitch. The roar was so loud it felt like it could lift the roof off the arena. Amid the camera flashes, everything around me seemed to dim. Before the award ceremony even ended, their sweet moment was already trending on Twitter. Their chemistry as a “shipped pair” sparked countless fans to root for them. Damian’s fans flooded the video comments, tagging Evelyn and calling her “sister-in-law.” The scene was lively and full of joy. But none of that had anything to do with me. I forced a bitter smile, stepped off the stage, and returned to the locker room alone. Looking at the flood of blessings on Twitter, I suddenly felt exhausted. Maybe this was the perfect moment to end things. So I sent Evelyn a text: “Let’s break up. I won’t get in your way anymore.” The text had barely been sent when Evelyn called. I wasn’t planning to answer. I hung up and grabbed a ride back to my apartment to pack my things. The apartment was one we had shared. Since we’d broken up, there was no way I could keep living under the same roof as her. She could have the place. While I packed, Evelyn bombarded me with messages: “What do you mean, break up?” “Are you throwing a tantrum again? Man up!” “Alright, everyone’s saying we should celebrate. Come on, Damian and the others are waiting for you!” Every word revolved around Damian. She handed roses to another man and turned around to call me petty. I looked at my phone and laughed coldly. Then I turned it off, zipped up my suitcase, and left. With no time to find another place, I returned to the dorms at Apex Gaming Base, where the club had prepared rooms for the players. The base was quiet since everyone else was out celebrating. I instinctively powered on my computer and logged into the game for practice. Only in the game could I find some peace.

It was late at night when Evelyn called again. I was still practicing. I glanced at the phone on the desk, hit the mute button, and ignored it. Then came a barrage of texts: “Why aren’t you home yet?” “Where have you been?” “The flowers I picked for you are wilting. Where are you? Didn’t you say you liked flowers from me?” Do I need flowers given out of guilt? I turned off the screen, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. She was always like this—giving a slap followed by a sweet treat. I used to love her so much that I didn’t see a problem with it. I even convinced myself it meant she cared about me. But now, I’ve woken up. I see through her. It was time to leave. No one is irreplaceable. Neither her nor me. … That night, I stayed up training and then slept through the next afternoon. When I finally made it to the computer room, Evelyn was sitting in my chair, lost in thought. I wasn’t surprised she’d found me. Where else could I go besides the dorm? Hearing my footsteps, she turned and saw me. “Where were you last night? I called and messaged you! I thought something happened to you!” Clearing my throat, I replied flatly, “I slept early.” She looked stunned and frowned in confusion. “What’s with you today? You’re acting all weird.” True. The old me would’ve been thrilled to see her showing up here, eager to unload all my recent frustrations onto her. Now, there was only silence. Naturally, she found it strange. She also seemed to forget I had already broken up with her yesterday—or how she had humiliated me in public. Before I could say anything, she spoke again. “Today’s Damian’s three-year anniversary with the team. He’s hosting a dinner. Let’s go together.” I wanted to make up an excuse to decline. But as teammates, my absence might create unnecessary trouble. Besides, I needed to tell everyone we had broken up. I nodded indifferently, got dressed, and followed her to the hotel. When we arrived, I realized the event wasn’t just for Damian’s friends. It was practically a fan meetup. Before I even entered, the commotion from the Bellwood Grand Hall was deafening. I glanced toward Evelyn, but she had disappeared into the crowd. “Looking for Evelyn? I’ll take you to her,” came Scarlett Monroe’s voice, appearing out of nowhere. She led me upstairs to a private suite, where I could see the stage below. Evelyn appeared, pushing a giant cake while holding a string of pink and white balloons. It was Damian’s surprise gift. The fans screamed wildly, chanting for them to “get married now” and calling Evelyn “sister-in-law.” Scarlett raised her eyebrows at me and gestured toward the stage. “Don’t you think they look perfect together?” I swallowed hard, bitterness rising in my throat. They did. They really did.

Evelyn had never put this much effort into anything for me. Even on my birthday, when I asked for a cake, she’d only complain impatiently, saying, “We’re adults—why bother with pointless formalities?” Yet here she was, going out of her way to prepare such a grand surprise for Damian in front of everyone. Turns out, people only put in effort for the ones they truly care about. Scarlett Monroe observed my reaction, clearly satisfied by how much it stung. She smirked, a sly, knowing smile that twisted like a thorn in my heart. After the event, Evelyn and Damian returned to the private suite together. Scarlett immediately hooked her arm around Evelyn’s and teased, “Evelyn, pulling off such a big surprise for Damian—aren’t you afraid your boyfriend will get jealous?” Evelyn froze, then glanced at me. A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes. “Next time, for your birthday or our anniversary, I’ll plan something just as big for you,” she said hesitantly. I shook my head lightly. “Don’t bother.” If it’s the same thing you’ve already done for someone else, how could it even count as a surprise? I wasn’t about to accept someone else’s leftovers. Evelyn pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to say more. Before she could, Damian chimed in. “Logan, you’re not seriously upset, are you? Evelyn was just going along with the publicity plan. Don’t be so petty.” “As her boyfriend, you should be more understanding. Don’t make her guess what’s on your mind all the time. That’s exhausting for her.” Classic Damian, always stepping up to defend Evelyn. I let out a soft laugh. “With you looking out for her, why would she ever need anyone else?” The words carried a sharp edge, freezing the room in an instant. Damian sighed dramatically, offering a resigned smile. “Alright, fine. If it makes you feel better, I’ll apologize. Don’t be mad at Evelyn.” The air hung heavy with awkwardness until someone broke in to lighten the mood. “Come on, we’re all teammates—no need for these formalities. Let’s drink!” Scarlett, grinning mischievously, stepped into the center. “Today’s not the only story. Evelyn gave Damian flowers yesterday too!” She giggled and glanced at me, looking for confirmation. Evelyn seemed to think Scarlett had pinpointed the issue. She turned to me. “You’re upset over something that trivial?” Casually, she added, “I bought you flowers yesterday too, but you left early, so I couldn’t give them to you. I still have them, though.” She walked to a corner of the suite, pulling out a small, wilted bouquet of lisianthus from a box filled with beer bottles. The second she produced it, someone stifled a laugh. It was painfully clear why—the lisianthus bouquet looked embarrassingly cheap next to the extravagant roses she’d given Damian. Damian had even brought the roses along, making the comparison all the more glaring. I could feel the mocking stares around me, silently ridiculing the idea that I could ever compare to Damian. Damian raised his eyebrows smugly, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face. Feigning disapproval, he glanced at the lisianthus and said, “Evelyn, you should’ve given Logan roses. Why this?” The tone barely stopped short of outright saying she was tossing me scraps. Evelyn replied indifferently, “It was late after the dinner last night. There weren’t any roses left. This will do. Anyway, he doesn’t know flowers—he shouldn’t care.” The best for Damian, and whatever’s left for me. The difference between love and indifference couldn’t be clearer. Why did she assume I wouldn’t care? She held the flowers out to me, but I didn’t reach for them. Evelyn’s brows furrowed again. “Don’t you like flowers anymore? I picked these especially for you.” “No thanks,” I said flatly. “Give them to someone else.” “You’re being ridiculous again,” she shot back. “I’m not. I mean it. I have things to do, so I’ll leave you all to it.” I opened the suite door and walked out without looking back. I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before the whispers started behind me. “Logan’s being so dramatic.” “Damian and Evelyn’s video is blowing up online. It’s brought in tons of sponsors for the studio—why is he so hung up on this?” “Exactly.” Evelyn, finally losing her patience, tossed the flowers aside. “Forget him. Let him sulk.” Every harsh word cut into me like a blade. I paused mid-step, a wave of sadness washing over me. To her, I was utterly insignificant.

Back at the dorm, I made a cup of instant noodles and sat down at my setup to train. I played until my eyes stung, finally shutting down the computer. That’s when my phone buzzed with a notification. Damian had posted on Facebook: “You’re amazing. Making me hangover soup after I had too much to drink.” The attached photo showed Evelyn in the kitchen, wearing an apron and illuminated by warm lighting. It was a cozy, intimate scene. So, Evelyn was capable of cooking for someone. Just not for me. I laughed bitterly and commented: “Your girlfriend is so thoughtful. Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness.” Then I blocked both Damian and Evelyn. Minutes later, an unknown number called. Evelyn’s voice came through the line. “Logan, what was that comment supposed to mean?” “Do you have to make everyone miserable to feel satisfied? Apologize to Damian right now, or don’t bother trying to see me this week!” I chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. I won’t be bothering you again.” I hung up and didn’t answer when she called back. The days that followed were quiet. I immersed myself in training and started getting used to life without her. That was, until the team meeting. Evelyn appeared at the doorway, dressed in a white dress that contrasted sharply with her long black hair. She looked stunning, just like the first time we met—though even then, she’d come to the base looking for Damian. I let out a low laugh and walked past her into the meeting room without a word. She hesitated, then followed me inside. “Logan, how long do you plan to keep this up?” she asked, irritation creeping into her voice. “You’ve been avoiding me for days, and you blocked me. What do you want?” Damian and the other teammates glanced over, clearly intrigued. I met their stares briefly before answering, “Evelyn, we’ve broken up.” She stared at me in disbelief. “You’re serious? Just because fans are shipping me and Damian?” Her tone carried a note of blame. “When did you become so unreasonable, Logan?” “You know that’s just a joke. Damian and I are just friends. Can you stop misinterpreting things?” Damian’s expression shifted into something more complicated, tinged with jealousy. But I didn’t care anymore. I smiled faintly. “You’ll never understand the real problem.” “Then tell me! What’s the issue? Are you really going to let your pettiness ruin this?” Evelyn demanded, staring me down. I didn’t reply. As the team leader and others entered, I took a seat and waited for the meeting to begin. Evelyn looked like she wanted to argue further but held back, choosing to wait until after the meeting.

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The day my parents divorced, two agreements lay on the table. One meant staying in the old neighborhood with my dad, who was drowning in gambling debts. The other meant moving to the coast with my mom, who’d remarried a wealthy man. In my last life, my little sister, Chloe, cried and begged for Mom. I quietly packed my bags and followed Dad. Later, Dad quit gambling and became a millionaire, spoiling me rotten. Chloe, however, was emotionally abused and trapped at home by her stepfather. She eventually succumbed to depression and passed away. This time around, Chloe snatched the cigarette from Dad’s hand and hugged him tight, refusing to let go. “Jade, I feel for Dad. You go to Mom’s, okay? I’ll keep the good life here for you.” Dad paused, then affectionately stroked Chloe’s head, a look of relief on his face. I said nothing, picking up the train ticket for the coast. Chloe didn’t know that in my last life, Dad only quit gambling because I, riddled with a brain tumor, worked myself to death to pay off his debts, coughing up blood. My life was the price for his temporary peace. Now, reborn, with no debt collectors banging on the door, all I wanted was a good night’s sleep.

I picked up my duffel bag. “Get out, get out! Go find your mom, the one who only cares about money.” Dad waved his hand, like shooing away a fly. Chloe hid behind him, making a childish face at me. Her lips exaggeratedly formed the words: “Sis, don’t come begging me for money later.” I just smiled, saying nothing. Then I turned and walked into the rain. I pulled my neck into my shoulders, feeling a chill seep deep into my bones. Honestly, it didn’t matter where I went. I just wanted to find a quiet place to endure these last few moments. No more hearing the gamblers’ creditors banging down the door. No more smelling that sickening stench of cheap cigarettes. Mom’s black Mercedes pulled up at the end of the alley. The window rolled down, revealing her perfectly made-up face. She frowned, looking at me, drenched from head to toe, a flicker of disgust in her eyes. “What happened to you? Get in, quickly, don’t get the car dirty.” I opened the back passenger door, about to slide in. “Put that bag in the trunk.” Mom pointed at the duffel bag in my hand. “It’s filthy, probably crawling with germs.” I paused. But I still obediently closed the door and put the bag in the trunk. Back in the car, I huddled in the corner, careful not to touch the luxurious leather seats. The heater was on full blast, but I still felt cold. “Jade, once we get there, you need to be sensible.” Mom drove, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Your stepfather doesn’t like noise. Don’t leave your room unless you have to.” “Eat quietly, and don’t drag your feet when you walk.” “And never mention your dad. He’s bad news.” I looked out at the rain streaking past the window and nodded. “Got it.” The familiar spike of pain lanced through my head again. My vision blurred for a second. I reached up and pressed my forehead. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked, her tone laced with impatience. “Nothing, just car sickness.” I said. “So delicate,” Mom scoffed. “Just like your dad.” I closed my eyes, swallowing back the metallic taste of blood that welled up in my throat. Next time, no way I’m signing up for this again. The drive took five hours. By the time the car pulled into the hillside villa community, it was pitch black outside. Though ablaze with lights, the whole place felt eerily dead. “We’re here.” Mom parked the car, touched up her lipstick, and took a deep breath. She was shifting gears, transforming from the sharp-tongued woman she was with me into a sweet, devoted wife. “Get out of the car. Remember to call him Mr. Henderson.” I followed her inside, still carrying my duffel bag. A man sat on the living room sofa, a blanket over his legs, a book in his hand. He looked up when he heard us. This was my stepfather, Robert Henderson. 2 The same man who, in my last life, slowly suffocated Chloe until she broke. “You’re back?” His voice was flat, emotionless. “Robert, this is Jade.” Mom pushed me forward, a plastered smile on her face. “Jade, say hello to Mr. Henderson.” I stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Hello, Mr. Henderson.” Robert Henderson turned a page of his book, as if he hadn’t heard me. A few seconds later, he hummed a noncommittal “Hmm” from the back of his throat. His gaze swept over my wet shoes, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “The carpet was just replaced.” He lowered his head back to his book. “The first room on the left upstairs is the guest room. It’s ready.” “Thank you, Mr. Henderson,” I said. Mom breathed a sigh of relief and pulled me upstairs. “See? Mr. Henderson is really a good man,” Mom whispered. “Just don’t upset him, and you’ll be able to stay in this house.” Inside the room, it was huge and empty. “Mom,” I called out, stopping her just as she was about to leave. “What is it?” “I’d like to change rooms.” Mom’s face instantly changed. “Jade, are you being picky the moment you arrive?” “What’s wrong with this room? It’s a hundred times better than your dad’s dump, isn’t it?” “Don’t be so ungrateful!” I calmly watched her outburst. Only after she finished did I speak. “No, this room faces north, it’s too cold.” “I’d like a south-facing one, even if it’s smaller.” I was truly cold. The brain tumor messed with my body’s temperature control, leaving me perpetually freezing. Only sunlight offered me any comfort. “Cold? Just turn on the AC!” Mom thought I was being unreasonable. “The south-facing rooms are your Mr. Henderson’s study and a storage room.” “Then the storage room,” I said. Mom’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy?” “Why would you stay in a storage room when there’s a perfectly good guest room?” “Are you deliberately trying to make Mr. Henderson think I’m abusing you?” Her voice grew shrill. I covered my ears. It was too loud. My brain felt like it was going to burst. “I’m just cold,” I repeated. Just then, two light taps came from the doorway. Robert Henderson stood there, a glass of water in his hand, his expression grim. I didn’t even notice him arrive. “What’s all the shouting about?” Mom immediately plastered on a different face, her voice trembling. “Nothing, Robert. This child is being difficult, complaining about the room.” “I’m about to teach her a lesson.” Robert Henderson looked at me, and I looked back at him. His face was very pale, his lips bloodless, looking as if he were about to die. “Which room do you want?” he asked me. “The one facing south,” I pointed to the end of the hallway. “That’s where we store old furniture.” “It’s fine, as long as there’s sunlight.” Robert Henderson was silent for a moment. “Suit yourself.” “Just don’t shout in the hallway.” With that, he turned and left, showing no interest in this mother-daughter dispute. Mom poked my forehead hard. “Go ahead and make a scene!” “Staying in a storage room… what will people say about me?” I ignored her. Carrying my duffel bag, I walked to the end of the hallway. Pushing open the door, a cloud of dust greeted me. But I saw the floor-to-ceiling window. When the sun rose tomorrow, it would be warm in here. That was enough. I made my bed and placed the photo album under my pillow. My diagnosis was tucked inside the album. As long as I wasn’t dead, no one would be idle enough to snoop through my things. That night, I slept soundly. There were no debt collectors in my dreams, only endless darkness. 3 I settled into the house, like an invisible ghost. Robert Henderson liked quiet, so much so that even the housekeepers walked on tiptoes. Mom tried every trick in the book to please Robert. Cooking soups, giving massages, watching those boring financial news channels with him. She lived in this house like a high-class housekeeper. As for me, except for meal times, I rarely left my room. The storage room had been tidied up nicely. Though cluttered with old furniture, the sunlight was truly wonderful. I often pulled up a chair by the window and soaked in the sun all afternoon, like an old woman. Sometimes Robert Henderson would pass my door. Seeing me sunbathing, he’d pause, but never spoke. His gaze was strange, like he was looking at a kindred spirit. One afternoon during lunch. The dining table was silent, save for the faint clinking of forks against plates. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. In the quiet living room, it sounded like an alarming siren. Robert Henderson frowned. Mom immediately put down her fork and glared at me. “Who told you to bring your phone to the table? No manners!” “Hang up!” I took out my phone and glanced at the screen. It was Chloe. I pressed decline. Less than two seconds later, it vibrated again. I declined again. The third time it vibrated, Robert Henderson put down his fork. “Answer it,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s giving me a headache.” I took my phone to the balcony. As soon as I answered, Chloe’s voice exploded through the receiver. “Jade, are you doing this on purpose?” “Did you take the passbook?” I held the phone away from my ear. “What passbook?” “Dad says the family passbook is gone, and he’s sure you stole it!” “There’s five thousand dollars in there!” I chuckled. Those five thousand dollars were what I’d earned washing dishes last summer. “That’s my money,” I said. “Even if you earned it, it’s still family money!” Chloe said, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. “Dad can’t buy cigarettes now, and he’s throwing a fit at home!” “Transfer the money right away, or I’ll tell Mom you stole it!” From the other end of the line, I heard things crashing and Dad’s angry curses. “I should’ve strangled you when you were born!” Those sounds, even from hundreds of miles away, still made me feel suffocated. “I didn’t steal it,” I said calmly. “That was my medical fund.” “Medical fund? What kind of sickness do you have?” Chloe scoffed. “Stop playing the victim!” “Transfer the money now, or I’ll come to your school and tell everyone you don’t care if your own dad dies!” I looked out at the garden from the balcony. The flowers bloomed vividly, red as blood. “Chloe.” “You chose your path; you have to walk it, even if you’re crawling.” “Don’t bother me.” With that, I hung up and blocked her number. As I turned, I felt a warm gush from my nose. I reached up and touched it – my hand was covered in blood. I fumbled for a tissue from my pocket and pressed it to my nose. Tilting my head back, I tried to stop the bleeding. The blood flowed rapidly, trickling down my throat into my stomach, making me nauseous. I rushed into the downstairs restroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw bright red blood staining half my face. I turned on the faucet and frantically washed it away. “What are you doing?” A voice suddenly came from behind me. I froze. Through the mirror, I saw Robert Henderson standing in the doorway. He looked at my face, streaked with water and blood, his eyes deep and unreadable. I roughly wiped my face. “Just a nosebleed,” I mumbled, lowering my head. “Probably from the heat.” Robert Henderson didn’t say anything. He walked over and handed me a clean hand towel. “Wipe that off.” I took the towel and pressed it to my nose. “Thank you, Mr. Henderson.” He looked at the faint pink stains in the sink that hadn’t been rinsed away yet. “Does this happen often?” “Occasionally.” I lied. The nosebleeds had been happening more and more frequently lately. Robert Henderson stared at me for a moment. “You should see a doctor,” he said. “No need. It’s an old problem,” I replied, lowering my head, trying to slip past him. “Jade.” He stopped me. “You don’t have to live so cautiously in this house.” “Your mom is your mom; you are you.” I froze, looking up at him. His expression was still detached, but there was a hint of something in his eyes I didn’t understand. “If you’re not feeling well, say something.” “Stop trying to be tough. Nobody’s giving you a prize for enduring all this pain alone.” With that, he turned and left, leaving me alone in the restroom. The towel in my hand carried a faint scent of pine. It was his scent, mixed with a faint whisper of decay.

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I decided I’d die in three days. Because my dad wanted to sell me to a 60-year-old man for $500. When I refused, he stripped me down and chained me up right by the door. My mom begged for me, and he smashed a stool over her head, blood gushing everywhere. As long as I could remember, Dad had treated us this way. Once I made up my mind to end it all, I actually felt a sense of relief. But then, the diary in my hands suddenly rustled, and a line of text appeared: [Escape! Take Mom with you!] I rubbed my eyes in disbelief—a line of text really had just appeared! I grabbed a pen, my hand trembling as I wrote a question below it. “Who are you? Can you help me escape?” I stared intently at the diary, until the sun went down, but no more movement appeared on the page. That night, my dad went out drinking again. Only then did my mom dare to bring me a bowl of rice. “Mia, eat quickly. Your dad will be back soon.” Then, she started to hammer away at the chains on my ankles, one strike at a time. “Your dad has the key. I don’t know if this hammer will break it, but if it does, Mia, you run.” I didn’t immediately take the bowl. Instead, my nose stung with unshed tears as I looked at the new and old bruises layered on my mom’s skin. “Mom, come with me. Let’s run away.” At my words, Mom instinctively trembled. “This is my home. Where else would I go?” I squeezed her hand tightly, my voice almost breaking. “Mom! This isn’t your home! It’s hell! Today he’s selling me, tomorrow it’ll be you!” Mom just shook her head, letting out that familiar, helpless sigh. As long as I could remember, my dad, Roger, often came home reeking of alcohol. If there was no food on the table, he’d start cursing. “You worthless hag, slacking off again! I work my ass off every day, and I come home to no hot meal!” Before his words even finished, I heard the sharp sound of a slap. My mom’s frail body was pinned against the bed by my bulky, strong dad. One of her slippers lay discarded by the bed. I shakily picked up that slipper and threw it at my dad’s back. He finally let go of my mom’s throat, turned around, and swung his arm, sending me flying into the cabinet. Seeing me get hit, Mom finally seemed to realize she could fight back. She struggled to her feet, trying to pull me into a hug, but Dad kicked her, sending her sprawling back to the floor. “You worthless hag, and you gave me a dead weight of a child. Ugh! You make me look like a loser wherever I go!” Then he grabbed my mom’s hair, smashing her head against the cabinet again and again. The cabinet boomed with each impact. I tried to crawl over and protect Mom, but Dad’s flying kick sent me flying far away again. I watched the thick, bright red blood gush from Mom’s forehead, wetting her hair, which clumped and matted on her face. I don’t know how long it lasted, but Dad eventually seemed to get tired. He spat on my blood-soaked mom. “Now get your ass in there and cook me some food!” Mom clutched the cabinet door, her blood-matted hair sticking to her face, and stumbled into the kitchen. Dad gobbled down the bowl of noodles in a few bites, slammed the bowl onto the table, and crawled into bed. Mom, still with her blood-matted hair, had to wash the bowl Dad had eaten from. She even had to wipe her own blood off the cabinet door with a wet cloth. That night, snores and muffled sobs intertwined in our small home. The next morning, Dad’s drunken stench had faded. Along with it, his violence towards us disappeared too. He acted as if nothing had happened, gently stroking my mom’s freshly scabbed wounds. He hugged her and said, “Sarah, did I get too drunk last night and hurt you again? It’s all my fault, I lose control when I drink. Does this… not affect your work, right?” Just a few words like that, and Mom took it as care, as love. So all the pain and blood, they just vanished with those two sentences. And so, every time Mom was beaten, she would go to that local factory, covered in bruises, to make socks. Days dragged on like this, until I was chained to the door, waiting to be sold. Just then, the diary displayed another line of text. [I’m here to help you! This time, we must succeed!]

I stared at the newly appeared words on the diary, my fingertips burned. I hastily shoved the diary into my embrace, pressing it tight. “Mia, eat quickly, then go.” Mom’s voice was timid and husky, her hand still trembling slightly. As she fed me, the bruise on her wrist brushed my cheek, cold and painful. “Mom can’t leave. Your dad’s ruined his stomach with all his drinking; if I leave, he won’t even have a hot meal. And your brother…” I pushed the bowl away, grabbing her hand, and lowered my voice: “Mom! How long are you going to be this foolish? He doesn’t love you, and he certainly doesn’t love me!” “He sold me to buy that so-called brother of mine a gaming console! And to buy himself more booze!” The spoon in Mom’s hand clattered into the bowl, soup splashed out, and she nervously tried to wipe it, her eyes darting away. She knew, all along, that Dad had cheated on her and Leo wasn’t his son. She’d merely built a fragile illusion of safety with her endless patience, naively believing that submission could buy her a semblance of peace. I looked pleadingly into my mom’s eyes, even beginning to beg. “Mom, please, let’s go. Just for me, okay?” In that moment, for the first time, I saw a crack in her muddy, tear-filled eyes, a glimmer of hesitation. Mom looked at my tear-streaked face, then touched the fresh wounds on her own. Her eyes slowly changed. She hesitated for a long time. Finally, she said nothing, but she picked up the hammer again, hammering even more desperately at the chain on my ankle. The sparks flying from the hammer and chain were like hope igniting in my heart. But the next second, my hope shattered. My dad came back. He rushed over, cursing, and with a swift kick, sent Mom sprawling to the ground. “What the hell are you doing with that hammer? Trying to free this worthless burden? Ruin my payday?!” Mom swayed under the impact, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth, yet she instinctively shuffled half a step towards me, her voice trembling beyond recognition. “Mia is still young, Mr. Jenkins is old enough to be her grandfather. Please, spare her just this once…” “Spare? Who’ll spare me?” “I’ve fed and clothed her for years, how much money has that cost me? $500 is cheap for her! Anyone who tries to stop me today, I’ll break their legs!” Soon, many neighbors, all from our village, gathered at the doorway. They whispered and pointed, but no one stepped forward. Aunt Carol sighed, turning her face away; Uncle Frank squatted on the ground, smoking, shaking his head in silence. No one asked if I was willing, no one cared about the wounds on my mom’s body. Mom’s reddened eyes slowly dimmed. That glimmer of hesitation, extinguished as if by cold water. She hung her head, her shoulders trembling slightly, and then suddenly, she knelt. “I was wrong, I won’t stop you. Please, don’t hit me anymore.” She wiped the blood and tears from her face, her voice as meek as dust. “Mia… Mia will do as you say. She’ll go live with Mr. Jenkins.” My heart plummeted straight into an icy abyss with her words. The hope the diary brought, and Mom’s retreat at this moment, felt like two knives tearing at me. Just then, an angry voice echoed from outside the courtyard gate. “What the hell are you talking about!”

Grandma Eleanor arrived. The moment she saw me chained up, her tears instantly fell. Eleanor quickly walked to my side, reaching out to unlock the chain, but my dad, Roger, who had just come out, blocked her. “What are you doing here?” Eleanor glared at my dad, trembling with rage. “Roger! This child is your own daughter, how can you chain her up like a dog and try to sell her? Are you even human?!” Dad impatiently shook Eleanor off. “My selling my daughter, what does that have to do with you? This is my family business, mind your own!” Eleanor’s face turned red with anger. She pointed a finger at Dad’s nose, cursing him. “Mind my business? You’re hitting my own daughter! You’re selling my own granddaughter! You’re not fit to be a husband, not fit to be a father! How could Sarah have been so blind as to marry a piece of trash like you!” Dad grew impatient with the scolding. “My son needs food, I need my drinks. If I don’t sell this dead weight, where will the money come from?” Then he squinted and stretched out his hand towards Eleanor. “Or why don’t you give me your pension money for my drinks first?” Eleanor’s face flushed crimson, clutching her chest, she stumbled backward. Dad grew even more brazen: “If you’re so reluctant to part with this worthless burden, then you can go to Mr. Jenkins’ house with her, you two are about the same age anyway!” Eleanor’s face turned purple, clutching her chest, she collapsed to the ground. She stared wide-eyed at the gray sky, her lips trembled a few times, as if wanting to say something, but in the end, not a single word came out. “Eleanor!” I cried out in alarm, trying to crawl over and help her, but the chains held me tight, unable to move. Eleanor lay on the ground, her face turning ashen. She stretched out her hand, but before she could speak, her eyes slowly closed. Mom’s legs gave out, and she collapsed beside Eleanor, crying hysterically. “Mom! Mom! Don’t scare me! Wake up!” Dad also froze, mostly sobered up, but his face showed no hint of regret or panic, only intense irritation and disgust. He frowned, spitting on the ground. “Ugh! Fing bad luck! Couldn’t she at least die somewhere else? Dirtying up my yard!” At his words, Mom’s body stiffened. She slowly raised her head, looking at Dad, her eyes filled with disbelief, and a cold, desperate look I’d never seen before. Her tears still fell, but she no longer cried out loud, just stared fixedly at Dad, as if looking at a stranger. Dad looked uncomfortable under her gaze, and kicked her. “What are you standing there for? Get this old hag out of here! Dump her in the wilderness behind the mountain! Don’t let her be an eyesore!” After saying that, he turned and went into the bedroom. She stopped crying. Her gaze swept over Eleanor, then returned to the chains on me. Her eyes suddenly cleared. “Come on, let’s run away together.” I was overjoyed, hastily pulling out the diary to ask. “What’s the next step?” Just then, the diary began to rustle again. [Wait!]

I was getting impatient, snarling at the diary. “Who are you?! You said you’d help me! Now there’s no help, and you say wait! Wait for what?! If I wait any longer, Mr. Jenkins will come pick me up!” The diary was silent for a moment, then words began to appear again. [Eleanor’s death was unexpected even for me, but trying to escape now will definitely get us caught.] [Only when Mr. Jenkins comes to pick you up, escaping Roger, will you have a chance.] I instantly calmed down. I composed myself, carefully writing, letter by letter, in the diary. “Who are you, really?” The diary didn’t respond again. I could only keep it close to me, waiting for this last chance. For the next two days, time felt like an eternity. Mom was busy with Eleanor’s funeral, her face devoid of tears, replaced by a withered, dead silence. Dad, meanwhile, was worse than ever, as if selling me was something to celebrate. He drank even more heavily, pacing drunkenly in front of me, muttering obscenities. “You better behave yourself at the Jenkins’! If they send you back, I’ll break your legs!” I lowered my head, my hand tightly clutching the diary inside my sleeve. [Wait], that single word became my only anchor. Finally, the third day arrived. A beat-up motorcycle sputtered to a stop outside our house. Mr. Jenkins grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellowed, rotting teeth. His cloudy eyes fixed on me, slimy and lingering, like insects crawling on my skin, making my entire body tremble with disgust. “So, I’m taking her now, am I?” Dad instantly switched to a sycophantic grin, hastily offering a cigarette. “Take her, take her! Mr. Jenkins, from now on, this girl is yours to manage. Beat her, scold her, whatever makes you happy!” Mr. Jenkins didn’t take the cigarette. He walked straight to me, raising his hand to pinch my cheek. I sharply turned my head away, my stomach churning. “Tsk, quite a fiery spirit. Just my type!” The chains finally came off. I was roughly pulled up by Mr. Jenkins, shoved towards the motorcycle. Just as I was about to be pushed into the sidecar, I sharply turned my head. She stood at the threshold, her hair messy, the bruises on her face not yet faded. The moment our eyes met, tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back, quickly blinking at me. And discreetly, she slipped a small, polished knife into my pocket, its handle still warm from her palm. I clutched the knife, my knuckles turning white from clenching, and nodded gently. The motorcycle sputtered to life, kicking up a cloud of dust. I stared fixedly in the direction of our house, until that dilapidated door and the solitary figure in front of it completely vanished around the bend. A celebratory meal was already spread out at Mr. Jenkins’ house. The diary began to rustle again. [Get him drunk.] I gritted my teeth, stood up, and slowly walked to the table. “I’ll pour you a drink.” He froze for a moment, then burst out laughing, tilting his head back to down an entire glass of liquor. I kept pouring, and imitating the village women, I urged him, “Drink more, it’ll warm you up.” My encouragement made him drink even more heavily. Before long, his face was flushed crimson, his eyes glazed over. He slumped onto the table, grumbling, and soon began to snore. I held my breath, waiting for a long while, confirming he was truly dead drunk. Only then did I reach for the keyring on his belt, snatching it and bolting out the door. Outside, the sky had already darkened. The wind stung my face, but it felt sweet. I ran like crazy, not stopping even when one shoe came off, an involuntary smile curling on my lips. “Mom. We can finally escape. We’re going to live for ourselves!” The lights were on at home. I gasped for breath, tiptoeing as I pushed open the door. The moment I stepped into the bedroom, my whole body froze.

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After being bound to the Compulsory Truth System, my billionaire parents finally took me home. Chloe, the fake daughter, tearfully asked: “Now that you’re back, should I leave?” I snapped back: “Then get out already!” My billionaire parents fumed, “Do you believe we’ll kick you out again?” My mouth blurted out, “Oh, for real? Awesome! Bye-bye then!” Then I became a detective. Officer Blake, looking suspicious, pointed at three photos and asked: “There’s been a serial murder case in our city recently. Who among these three is the killer?” I gave an answer that nobody expected. They were stunned, but I just smiled. After being bound to the Compulsory Truth System, I’d been super careful, keeping my mouth shut whenever possible. I couldn’t help it; my mouth had a mind of its own. But Chloe, the fake daughter, just had to ask, her voice trembling with fake tears: “Since you’re back, should I really leave?” My mouth said: “Don’t just leave, *run*.” Chloe froze, then burst into louder sobs. My dad, Mr. Sterling, roared: “Get upstairs, now!” I scurried up like a shot. Back in the bedroom, which was basically a presidential suite, I locked the door and let out a long sigh of relief. This stupid system was such a pain. Dinner time. Under the crystal chandelier, the long dining table was set with exquisite cutlery. Chloe sat beside my mom, her eyes red, looking utterly pitiful. I silently pulled out the chair furthest from them and sat down, trying my best to become part of the background. ” Eat more, you’re too thin,” Mrs. Sterling said, signaling the maid to serve me. I nodded, making a quiet “Mm” sound. Chloe speared a piece of fish with her fork, her voice soft and sweet: “Try this fish, is it good?” No! My internal alarm bells blared as I stared at that piece of fish. Seriously, mouth, you can say declarative sentences, exclamatory sentences, parallel sentences, but why, *why* do you have to choose a question?! I wanted to say “thank you,” but my mouth, against my will, spilled out: “Oh, that fish was thawed yesterday at 3 PM and then left at room temperature in the kitchen for over four hours before steaming. It’s not very fresh anymore. You eat it yourself.” The air instantly froze. Chloe’s fork stopped mid-air, her face cycling through shades of red and white. Mrs. Sterling clattered her fork down, her perfectly manicured face set in a frosty glare: “**(Y/N)** Sterling! Are you deliberately trying to upset the entire family?!” I wanted to cover my mouth, but couldn’t stop myself from saying: “She’s a fake daughter, she’s been constantly trying to undermine me, can’t you see that?” I was toast. I knew I was in deep trouble. Ever since I’d come back, the Sterling family had avoided talking about Chloe’s future. Her living expenses and luxuries remained untouched; they clearly intended to keep her. Mr. Sterling shot me a furious glare: “Eat your dinner!” I finished that meal under Chloe’s barely-there sniffles and the icy stares of my parents. I ate super fast, then immediately stood up: “I’m done. Enjoy your meal.” And then I got out of there. Behind me, I heard Mrs. Sterling comforting Chloe: “Don’t mind her, sweetie. She grew up in the countryside, no manners…”

The next day, I was dumped into the city’s most exclusive private school, in the same class as Chloe. I didn’t even need to think; this was definitely Chloe’s idea. They claimed it was for me to get the best education, but in reality, she wanted me to feel inferior and timid in comparison to her. I walked into the classroom, wearing a brand new, but utterly uncomfortable, designer uniform, led by the homeroom teacher. Whispers filled the room, and eyes of all sorts—curious, scrutinizing, mostly disdainful—fell upon me. Chloe sat in the front row, flashing me a perfect, gentle smile. I silently walked to the empty seat in the back row and sat down, continuing my “shut up” policy. If I could use a gesture, I wouldn’t speak. If a nod or shake of the head sufficed, I wouldn’t utter a single word. Until math class. The teacher, Ms. Albright, probably got a special directive from the Sterling family to give me extra “attention.” “*can you tell us how to solve this problem?” It was an insanely difficult Olympiad-level math problem. Forget about me, a small-town girl who’d never touched such problems; even the class geniuses rarely got it right. I stared at the blackboard, my mind completely blank. Just as I was about to honestly say, “I don’t know,” my mouth opened like a floodgate, fluently rattling off the solution steps and the final answer. It even added a commentary: “Actually, using the Cauchy-Schwarz inequality would be more concise, or constructing an auxiliary function and taking its derivative also works.” I spoke for over ten minutes before stopping. The classroom was utterly silent. Ms. Albright pushed up her thick glasses, looked at the blackboard, then at me, her eyes filled with shock and disbelief. “Th-that’s… absolutely correct! And the logic is incredibly clear, the solution is very advanced! have you… encountered problems like this before?” I stood frozen, a stampede of thoughts in my mind: *Teacher, would you believe me if I said I was just possessed by an alien?* I really wanted to know how my mouth knew the Cauchy-Schwarz inequality! “…No.” I answered dryly, which, for once, was the truth. My classmates’ eyes instantly changed, from dismissive to astonished. Only Chloe, looking back at me, had a smile that was a little strained. The bell rang for break, and I was the first one out of the classroom, bolting into the restroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized this cursed mouth not only spoke the truth, but it also spoke *facts*, whether I personally knew them or not. Didn’t that make me a passive human search engine? And one with 100% accuracy, at that? This discovery, amidst my horror, secretly sparked a thrill. Maybe this bug-like ability wasn’t entirely a bad thing?

Chloe clearly wasn’t going to let me live in peace. After school, as soon as I walked out the gate, she and her little clique stopped me. Many students around us slowed down, ready for some drama. Chloe put on a worried expression today: “I know you just came back and want to show off. But… what you did in math class today, it really put the teacher in an awkward position. That problem was so difficult, you must have… seen the answer somewhere beforehand, right?” Her voice wasn’t too loud or too soft, just enough for everyone around to hear clearly. Immediately, suspicious and mocking glances fell on me. I sneered internally, *trying to spread rumors out of thin air?* My mouth automatically started, speaking as fast as a machine gun: “The one who’s in an awkward position is you, Chloe, isn’t it? That handwritten physics formula cheat sheet in your desk, do you need me to find it and read it out loud right now?” Chloe’s face instantly changed, and she unconsciously glanced toward the classroom. I didn’t stop, turning to her head follower, a fashionably dressed girl named Brittany. “And you, Brittany, stop stirring up trouble here. Your basketball player boyfriend was messaging and flirting with three girls at 10:30 last night. The chat history is *very* exciting. Do you need me to remind you of the specific contents? Like how he called one of them ‘sweetie pie’?” Brittany’s face turned instantly white, and she shrieked: “You’re lying!” I then pointed to another chubby boy named Dylan: “Dylan, don’t you dare smirk. That precious notebook in your drawer, signed by Chloe, she threw it in the trash because she didn’t want it, and you picked it up. Not only does she know, she also thinks you’re pretty gross.” The scene fell into a deathly silence, then erupted into an even bigger commotion. The few people I’d named were utterly pale, and the surrounding students’ gazes instantly shifted from me to them, filled with shock. Chloe was shaking with rage, pointing at me: “You… you’re making things up!” I blinked innocently: “Whether I’m making things up, you all know best yourselves, don’t you? Sorry, I have things to do, so I’m leaving.” Before they could recover from the shock of the truth, I quickly squeezed through the crowd. Though I didn’t let them get the better of me, I also clearly realized that if I kept speaking without regard for the situation, something major was bound to happen sooner or later.

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I filed a police report after getting ghosted for $50k. Turns out, the officer taking my statement was the ex I hadn’t seen in years. He stared at the chat logs, absolutely furious. “Fifty thousand? You slept with me for three days and all I got was a $9.99 pizza!” I pointed at the photo. “He’s way younger than you!” “That photo is obviously fake.” He froze, eyes locked on his phone. His face darkened to a frightening purple. “Oh, he’s definitely young…That’s my damn nephew. The kid hasn’t even graduated high school.” Officer Ben Carter, my ex-boyfriend, sat across from me, all business. “Name?” “Chloe,” I whispered. He glanced up,and his gaze lingered on me for a second. “It’s you!” But just as quickly, his face iced over again. My heart pounded with a guilty thud. Damn. He was even hotter now. That police uniform clung to his lean waist and long legs… Ugh, Chloe, stop! Haven’t you learned your lesson with pretty faces? “Reason for your report?”he asked, not looking up from his keyboard. I forced myself to speak. “My online boyfriend disappeared…” “You sent him money.” His sardonic chuckle was pure mockery. “Yeah,” I admitted, guilt washing over me. He finally looked up, glancing at me. “Five years, Chloe. Your taste and your IQ keep hitting new lows.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means,” he said, his voice cold and flat, “you just fell for a classic scam. Wasted your tuition on a fantasy. Your head’s full of romance novels, not common sense.” “He’s not!” I shot back. “We had a real connection!” “A ‘connection’?” Ben’s sneer was razor-sharp. “Let me guess. Daily ‘good mornings,’ a pet name, and a sudden emergency he needed cash for?” I stared, speechless for a moment. “How did you know?” “Hmph. He’s smooth. Probably their top performer.”He dismissed my shock with a cold sneer. “Ben, that’s enough!” I slammed my hand on the table. “I’m the victim here! Could you at least pretend to be professional?” He leaned forward, his gaze pinning me in place. “My professionalism is telling you to learn some damn scam prevention, okay?” I was so angry I couldn’t speak. Then, with the detached air of someone watching a soap opera, he prompted, “So. How did you and this scammer meet?”

My online boyfriend and I met in a game. He was incredibly sweet, , though he’d often disappear mid-conversation for “class.” I was naive enough to wonder if college workloads were really that heavy. He confessed to me later. I turned him down at first. That all changed when I saw his Instagram. One photo hooked me: a face full of youthful rebellion, tall and built. “Just because of a photo?” Ben cut in, his voice sharp. “Since when did you become so shallow??” “Mind your own business!” I glared at him. “I’ve always been this superficial! Is this your first day knowing me?” Our own story had begun with a picture-perfect rescue. I was traveling out of state, my wallet got stolen, and then I got caught in a sandstorm. He was a soldier on a temporary assignment, and he found me. Back then, he was in his uniform, tall and strong, with an incredibly handsome face and cute little canines when he smiled. I was instantly smitten. What I never told him was that the scammer’s photo hooked me for one reason: he was the spitting image of Ben. But more importantly, it was a younger, more attentive, emotionally available version of Ben! We chatted daily. He was sweet, clingy, and impossibly thoughtful. Then yesterday, he went out with friends. Someone broke a leg, ended up in the ER, and they needed a deposit. I transferred the money. And then, nothing. “Officer Carter,” I said, clinging to a last shred of hope. “Could something have happened? What if his phone was stolen? Or…he was kidnapped?” He didn’t even look up. “Provide the chat logs. We’ll see what we can trace.” Fuming, I handed over my phone. He scrolled through it, then his finger suddenly stopped. His brows drew tightly together. “My Ex Is In Heaven?” Crap, he saw my SnapChat handle… “I’m still breathing, and you’ve already sent me to the grave?” I cleared my throat, my eyes darting nervously. “Please don’t take it personally. It’s not necessarily about you.” He scrolled down, then paused. “Babe?” My face burned. Damn it. I really should have changed that name for my vanished new boyfriend before filing a police report. He stared at the screen, his back teeth grinding loudly. “Seriously, Chloe? We dated for four years, and you always called me by my name. Now you’re calling some scammer you’ve never even met ‘babe’?” He kept scrolling through my chat logs. With every message he read, his face got darker. I was mortified and indignant, and I tried to snatch my phone back. Ben’s gaze suddenly froze. His voice filled with disbelief. “Fifty thousand! Chloe, you sent him fifty thousand?! You slept with me for three days and all I got was a nine-ninety pizza! And some random scammer you’ve never even met gets fifty grand?! What the hell was I to you?” His shout made several colleagues crane their necks, their eyes wide with gossip. I was mortified. I lunged to cover his mouth. “He’s different from you!” Besides, I was a broke student back then, what money did I have…’ “Different how? He’s better at faking it, better at scamming, right?” His attitude ignited my own anger. “He’d tell me everything! He’d say goodnight every single day! He’d listen to me vent! Even without seeing him, I never felt like I was dating a phone! You? Could you do that?” He fell silent instantly. His eyes swirled with emotions I couldn’t decipher. Back then, our breakup was messy. I’d chased Ben relentlessly for ages before he finally said yes. I was a college student, he was a soldier. Four thousand kilometers apart, we did the long-distance thing for three years. From sweet nothings to screaming matches. The last time we argued, I broke up with him. He just said, “Okay,” adding that he was tired anyway. In a fit of pique, I sent him photos with other guys to provoke him. He said, “I wish you happiness.” I demanded to know what he meant. He just said, “Just pretend I’m dead.” Years passed, and who would’ve thought we’d meet again under these circumstances. Ben lowered his gaze, organized the report, and handed it to me, his professional calm restored. “We’ll do our best to investigate, but the chances of recovering the money in these cases are slim. Let us know if you have any more leads.” I suddenly remembered. “He posted photos on his Ins. I saved them.” I quickly found the photo and handed it to him. He sighed in exasperation. “This is probably an AI-generated image. Useless.” But after scrolling for a bit, he suddenly stared at one photo. Then he said, “That’s my damn nephew, who hasn’t even graduated high school yet!” My eyes widened. What?!

Ben’s face was dark. He pulled out his phone and made a call. “Where’s Leo? Are you coming in yourself, or do I need to come arrest you?” A rustling sound came from the other end of the line. Moments later, a sharp-faced middle-aged woman came rushing in. “Get in here!” She yelled over her shoulder, yanking a student dressed in a school uniform inside. The kid hung his head, looking sulky. He looked up and saw me, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “You’re my online girlfriend?” I looked down, speechless. Ben’s face got even darker. He pulled Leo aside. “Leo, are you completely broke, or is the family starving you? Learning to scam people online at your age?” Leo looked wronged. “I didn’t!” “Then why did you vanish after she transferred you the money?” “Mom confiscated my phone! How could I contact her? I was going crazy too!” Leo blurted out. Ben’s sister stood by, completely lost. “Ben, what is this about?” After a terse explanation from Ben, his sister’s expression shifted. She quickly grabbed my hand, her voice filled with apology. “Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry! He skipped class, his friend broke a leg, and his teacher reported it. When I saw he was obsessed with gaming and dating apps instead of studying, I lost my temper and took his phone.” “I’ll transfer the money back to you right now. Truly, I apologize!” Leo secretly glanced at me, then cautiously spoke up. “I really wasn’t trying to scam you.” My head was still buzzing. I gritted my teeth and asked him, “You’re just a high school student? You said you were in your twenties!” He cleared his throat, his gaze evasive. “I’ll be twenty in three years.” Ben’s sister slapped him on the back of the head. “Apologize to her! Learning to trick women’s feelings at your age, huh?” Leo hung his head, pouting miserably. “I’m sorry.” Ben’s sister looked at me, then suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! Sweetie, have we met before? You look so familiar!” My heart seized up. I quickly looked down. “You must be mistaken.” Ben saw my reaction and reminded her, “I’ll walk you out. I’m off work anyway.” Ben’s sister immediately chimed in enthusiastically, “Great, great! How about we all go grab a bite?” I frantically waved my hands. “No, please! It’s really not necessary!” Wasn’t this situation chaotic enough already? But his sister simply linked her arm through mine and half-led, half-coaxed me to a restaurant near the police station. Her eyes darted subtly between Ben and me before she smiled. “Chloe, dear, how old are you this year?” “Twenty-five,” I replied. She clapped her hands. “See? My brother here is twenty-nine, just out of the military. He’s an officer, and quite handsome, don’t you think? What a perfect match!” But Leo couldn’t hold back. “Mom, Ben’s so old for her! Chloe deserves better!” “Leo!” Ben said coldly, tapping the table, warning him. Ben’s sister looked at me, then suddenly smacked her forehead. “Oh, my goodness! I remember now! You’re Ben’s ex-girlfriend from his phone!” Oh no! I can’t believe she recognized me! Someone save me! Just then, my phone rang! My best friend Sarah’s tearful voice came through. “Chloe, I broke up with him!” I quickly stood up. “Excuse me, I have an emergency. I have to go.”

At the bar, Sarah was getting wasted. “Girl, I’m miserable. Please, comfort me.” I silently took a swig of my own drink and told her, “I got scammed by my online boyfriend and went to the police.” She looked up. “Oh, really? Hugs, you poor thing.” “The officer who took my report was my ex-boyfriend, who I broke up with three years ago.” “What?!” She sobered up considerably. I nodded, then added, “Later, I found out my online boyfriend was his nephew, who’s still in high school.” Sarah froze, completely stunned. I asked, “So, are you still miserable?” She slowly recovered. “Not anymore. Tell me that joke again, hahaha!” I recounted my bizarre day. She went from shocked to even more shocked, then utterly bewildered. “That family’s taste is surprisingly consistent. How did they all fall for you?” I wanted to bury my face in my drink. “Stop talking about it!” Sarah leaned in, a mischievous grin on her face. “So, which one do you actually like?” I nearly spat out my drink. “Leo is only seventeen!” “He’s almost an adult, isn’t he?” she chuckled. “Unless you’re still hung up on your ex-boyfriend?” I said, “Maybe, a little…” After all, Ben’s face, that body-they were still my favorite. Back then, I’d gone to the wilderness alone for a photography project. My wallet was stolen, and I got caught in bad weather. Ben appeared like some guardian angel, and I fell for him instantly. I pursued him relentlessly, but he kept refusing me. “My duties are demanding. I can’t promise to always be available online, and phone calls are often impossible…” “Then I’ll just wait for your replies! However long it takes, I’ll wait!” Back then, I was young and stubborn, my heart completely set on winning him over. Eventually, he couldn’t resist my persistence and said yes. Just as he said, we couldn’t be together like regular couples. Four thousand kilometers apart, with time differences and spotty signals. Every day, I’d share my daily life with him. He’d reply to each message whenever he had time. I’d push my luck, too. “Show me your abs.” He’d furtively look around. Only when he was sure no one was there would he shyly lift his T-shirt. Through the screen, I could see him, but I couldn’t hold him. My longing grew even stronger. His leave was rare, but every time, he’d rush to see me first. To be honest, we didn’t have many dating memories. His time was so limited that whenever we met, all we wanted to do was kiss and touch. We hadn’t seen each other in so long, we craved each other’s warmth. And his stamina was terrifying. The craziest time, we stayed holed up in a hotel for three days straight. When he finally had to leave, we were reluctant. There wasn’t enough time, so we just grabbed a pizza near the campus gate before parting ways. Sarah’s eyes gleamed as she teased. “No wonder you’ve been single all this time. You’d already found the best!” “Your relationship sounded pretty good, though. What happened in the end? Did he cheat?” I shook my head. “No, nothing like that. I think we just… burned out.”

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On our anniversary night, I accidentally grabbed Julian’s Apple Watch to charge. The screen lit up, revealing a heart rate peak of 158. The location was Serena Vance’s room at Southside Medical Center. Serena. His first love. And that day, was the day I found out I had cancer. The same day, his pulse was racing in her room! Julian walked out of the bathroom, snatched the watch, and slid it onto his wrist, his expression annoyed. “Checking up on me again? How many times have I told you not to touch my things?” The words died in my throat. Ten years living together, and I wasn’t even his girlfriend. Then his expression softened. He pulled a ring box from his pocket. “Just a little longer. We’ll get engaged next month.” Always “next month,” I gave a bitter smile. But this time, I don’t think I’ll live to see your “next month.” He dropped the ring box onto the bed. “What? Even this isn’t good enough for you now?” Ten years ago, Julian was a broke medical student. I funded his PhD and his personal lab with the inheritance my parents left after they died of cancer. I was the one who gave up a full scholarship to Stanford, trading a brilliant future in biochemistry to become his unseen assistant. Over a decade, he rose from a man whose tuition I worked three jobs to pay into a top surgeon hailed as a “Rising Star.” And I sacrificed it all-my family’s legacy, my future, my very life. He’d forgotten. He chose to specialize in targeted cancer therapy because he vowed to conquer it for me. He promised I’d never have to be afraid. The ultimate irony? I am now the cancer he’s trying to conquer. Seeing me still stunned, the curve of Julian’s lips completely hardened. “Clara, I’m tired from work. I don’t have the energy for your mind games.” His voice held its usual dismissive coldness. He didn’t even look at me. “I have an early flight to Zurich for the summit tomorrow.” I gave a noncommittal hum. I didn’t get up to pack his luggage as I always did. Julian seemed taken aback by my uncharacteristic calm. He stared at me for a few seconds, then ultimately said nothing and turned into his study. The door closed, separating two worlds. I looked down at the diagnosis report, still warm and crumpled in my hand. Stage IV Lung Adenocarcinoma. Bone and brain metastasis. The doctor had said that with aggressive treatment, I might have six months. Without it, perhaps less than two. Curled up on the sofa, my body felt cold, as if I’d fallen into an ice cave. Julian didn’t emerge from his study until late at night. He didn didn’t even look at me, heading straight to the bedroom. That night, we lay back to back, separated by an unbridgeable galaxy. The next morning, he dragged his suitcase, ready to leave. Before stepping out, he stood in the doorway, turned, and squeezed my cheek. “Keep the ring safe, don’t lose it.” “Give me a smile when I get back, okay?” I looked at him, at his expensive, perfectly tailored suit-the one I’d helped him pick out last week. I spoke softly, “Julian.” “Hm?” He sounded a little impatient, glancing down at his watch. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wanted to ask him if I was dying, could he please not leave. But I knew the answer. He’d just think I was pulling another stunt for attention. “Never mind, it’s nothing.” Julian frowned, seemingly displeased by my hesitation. He pulled open the door without another look at me. After the loud slam of the door, the whole world fell silent. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it couldn’t bring a speck of warmth into my heart. I took out my phone and opened Dr. Miller’s SnapChat. The interface was still on yesterday’s chat. “Two paths. One is palliative care, slowly fading away amidst endless cancer pain and breathing difficulties.” “The other… go do the things you always wanted to do but never did.” My fingers trembled as I typed, one word at a time. “Dr. Miller, I’ve made up my mind.” “I choose the second option.” My fingertip hovered over the send button. I thought for a moment, then added another sentence. “And I’m willing to sign the organ donation agreement.” It was set for the day he would have made his thirteenth promise to get engaged to me.

Three days after Julian left, a live interview with him aired on the financial channel. He appeared as a rising star in the medical world, seated beside Serena Vance, the heiress to another pharmaceutical empire. On screen, they were hailed as “the Sun and Moon of the Industry.” A perfect match of talent and beauty. The host smiled and asked him charismatically, “Professor Vance, you’re a leading authority in cardiothoracic surgery. What inspired you to pursue medicine and choose such a demanding field?” Julian turned his head slightly, gazing deeply at Serena beside him. In that moment, the tenderness in his eyes was a sight I hadn’t seen in ten years. The camera perfectly captured a close-up beneath the table. Their hands, fingers tightly intertwined, seamlessly clasped. He spoke to billions of viewers worldwide, his voice carrying clearly through the airwaves into my ears. “To prevent the most important person from ever being lost to illness again.” As soon as he finished, Serena shyly lowered her head and added to the camera, “And I am that lucky person he snatched back from the jaws of death.” A wave of benevolent laughter and applause erupted on set. I gripped my cold phone, my stomach churning violently. Those tightly entwined hands were practically a public declaration of their relationship. So, his grand ideal of saving lives was for her. His entire motivation to become “the Bright Star of Medicine” was also for her. And me? What was I for these past ten years? A joke? A generous, foolish, self-deluded… sponsor? A fierce wave of dizziness washed over me. I leaned against the wall, dry-heaving for a long time. The side effects of chemotherapy were starting to show: hair loss, nausea, bone-deep fatigue. I dragged my broken body back to that empty house. The place I once believed would be my lifelong home. On the dining table, surprisingly, was a note he’d left, tucked under a thermos bowl. It was Julian’s bold, sweeping handwriting. “There’s porridge in the fridge. Stop dieting for the wedding, you’ve lost too much weight recently.” In that moment, I almost thought I was hallucinating. Ten years. It was the first time he’d ever actively prepared food for me. Choking back bitter tears, I fiercely crumpled the note into my chest, as if embracing a person I might never see again. That heart, which had long turned cold, actually felt a pathetic flicker of warmth. Maybe he still cared about me. Maybe he just wasn’t good at expressing it. With this meager hope, I trembling opened the lid of the thermos bowl. A rich, savory aroma wafted out. Inside was a meticulously prepared seafood porridge, plump shrimp and dried scallops clearly visible. My blood ran cold instantly. I was allergic to seafood. Severely allergic, enough to trigger anaphylactic shock. He had known this since the first day he pursued me. Because back then, I’d been rushed to the emergency room after accidentally eating some shrimp paste at a company dinner. And seafood porridge, coincidentally, was Serena Vance’s favorite food. I remembered, years ago, when he was still doing his PhD, Serena had been sick in the hospital. He had clumsily learned to make porridge, then carefully carried the thermos, taking a two-hour bus ride to see her. At the time, I, a fool, thought he was preparing a surprise for me. A tremendous sense of absurdity and sorrow completely overwhelmed me. He didn’t forget. He simply mistook me for her. With trembling hands, I replaced the lid, then tossed the bowl and the note into the trash. I thought, with a self-deprecating laugh. Even if I died from a cancer attack in the next second, he’d probably just think I starved myself to death from excessive dieting. But as a top doctor in the country, could he really not see that something was wrong with me? Or was he just choosing not to see?

I started packing up this apartment, which was permeated with his presence. All his lab coats, each one ironed without a single wrinkle, the cuffs always pristine white. All his shirts, from Armani to Zegna, hung meticulously arranged by color and fabric, filling the entire walk-in closet. Then there were the foreign papers I’d translated and the case notes I’d annotated during countless late nights. Together, they had nearly filled the entire study. Once, these were all testaments to my love for him. Now, they only served to remind me, again and again, of what a fool I had been. I called a moving company and had everything that belonged to me, every single item, packed up and taken away. Clothes donated, books and notes sent to the recycling center. Workers moved boxes in and out, and the large house quickly became empty. I sat on the bare living room floor, and a strange, hollow laugh escaped me. Julian, you have saved countless cancer patients. You became a god in their eyes, a beacon of hope in the media’s narrative. Yet you never once turned around to see that I, too, was sick. Stricken with the very illness you vowed to conquer. Finally, I understood. Completely. I walked with you from obscurity, step by step, to become the revered “Bright Star of Medicine.” But your light was never meant to shine for me. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Julian, his tone demanding, with his usual air of expectation. “Where’s the spare key card for my office? My assistant can’t get in, bring it over quickly.” Before, no matter when or where, if he said a word, I would drop everything and solve it for him immediately. I looked at the message, and calmly typed my reply. “Threw it away.” After a thought, I added, “I’m traveling. From now on, you handle your own affairs.” Send. Then, I turned off my phone, took out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the toilet. The flush sounded, like a trivial funeral for my ten years of absurd youth. Downstairs, the vehicle from the hospice care facility was already waiting quietly. I pulled a small suitcase containing only a few changes of clothes, and took one last look at the empty house. Goodbye, Julian. I don’t want to play this game anymore. I concede.

On the way to the hospice, my phone, which should have been off, vibrated persistently, like crazy. It was Julian, who had somehow found a satellite phone and called the driver’s spare phone directly. I hesitated, but answered. As soon as the call connected, his voice, unprecedentedly urgent and suppressing rage, came through. “Clara! What are you doing?! What’s all this about?!” “Serena developed a post-op infection, her condition is critical, and she urgently needs a granulocyte transfusion!” His voice was laced with undisguised panic and helplessness, yet he didn’t ask me a single question about my willingness. “You’re the only match for her in the entire database! Clara, you need to get to the hospital. Now!” I was utterly drained from a fresh cycle of chemotherapy, each breath tinged with the metallic taste of blood. My primary doctor had warned me in the most severe tone that, given my current physical condition, any form of blood donation or component transfusion could directly lead to immune system collapse and acute organ failure. It would be equivalent to suicide. Leaning against the car seat, I used almost every ounce of strength I had to force out a few words from my raw throat. “I… I don’t feel well. I can’t go.” On the other end of the line, Julian’s voice rose sharply, even tinged with incredulous anger. Yes, when had I ever refused him? “What could possibly be wrong with you? It’s just a little blood donation! Don’t be so dramatic!” “Have you considered the impact on the hospital’s reputation and my project if anything happens to Serena?” “Clara, I know you’re jealous of Serena’s success… but don’t throw a tantrum at a time like this. This is a human life we’re talking about!” Listening to his self-righteous roar, I suddenly found it incredibly laughable. Serena’s life is a life, and mine isn’t? After the ultimate despair, came an absurd calm. I couldn’t help but let out a low laugh. “Fine, Dr. Vance.” “But you might need to send someone over quickly.” I paused, feeling my life force slowly draining away from my body. “I’m afraid… I might not last until you get here.” “Otherwise, once I’m dead, the blood won’t be fresh anymore.”

I hung up, returned the phone to the driver, and told him to ignore any further calls. The car continued smoothly toward the hospice facility in the suburbs. I thought that would be the end of it. But I underestimated Julian’s callousness, and overestimated his remaining rationality. The car stopped at a temporary infusion center for my daily nutritional support injection. Just then, the door to the infusion room was violently pushed open. Serena stood in the doorway, her face pale, but with a sickly, triumphant smile. Behind her stood two tall security guards in hospital uniforms. “Clara, Julian told me everything.” She slowly approached, looking down at me, weak and lying on the chair. “I know you’re not feeling well, but I can’t wait.” My pupils constricted. Before I could react, the two guards stepped forward, pinning my arms down tightly! I struggled with all my might, but my post-chemotherapy body couldn’t muster an ounce of strength. One of the guards skillfully took out a component blood collection kit from a medical box; the thick needle gleamed coldly under the light. “What are you doing! Let me go!” I screamed hoarsely. Serena chuckled softly, then played a recording on her phone. From it, Julian’s voice, devoid of any emotion, came through clearly. “Her blood source is the safest. Use it directly.” “Make her donate! Whatever happens, I’ll take responsibility!” “I’ll take responsibility.” I hadn’t expected Julian to be so utterly ruthless, but I still struggled with my last remaining strength. I didn’t know if Serena’s illness was real or fake, but a cancer patient’s blood cannot be used! Choking back the metallic sweetness rising in my throat, I glared at the triumphant woman before me. “I have cancer. If you’re not afraid of dying, go ahead and use it, but don’t harm innocent people.” Serena scoffed, then suddenly looked pitiful as she glanced behind me. “I know you resent me for taking Julian from you, but you shouldn’t lie like this…” I had no intention of arguing and stumbled, trying to walk past her. But Serena suddenly collapsed to the floor, her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at the person who had just arrived. It was Julian. Before I could react, a stinging slap landed on my face. A mouthful of blood finally spilled from my lips. Julian looked at me with deep disappointment, the delicate woman in his arms still softly sobbing. “Julian, please don’t blame Clara. She just said she has cancer, maybe… maybe she really has some difficulties.” Julian’s eyes showed a flicker of panic for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. “Clara, don’t test my patience with these crude tricks. I know you’re not sick. Today, even if I have to drain your blood dry, I will ensure Serena’s safety.” “Clara, I don’t like women who stoop to such lows.” I wanted to laugh for some reason. The lowest I’d ever stooped in my life was giving up my career to be his personal assistant. Actually, in the first few years, I really wasn’t sick. Julian was afraid of inherited cancer from our parents, protecting me like the apple of his eye. He said, “Clara, I wish for us to have many years together.” So he took me for full body check-ups every year. But he hadn’t called me Clara in years, and he hadn’t taken me for a check-up in a long time either. Now, he used that nickname for the sake of another woman. I stopped struggling and closed my eyes in despair. Julian, once this blood is drawn, I owe you nothing. You were with me after I lost my parents, giving me the courage to live. My life was a gift from you. Now, I’m giving it back. The cold needle, mercilessly pierced my vein. Blood began to be forcibly drained from my failing body, and my consciousness slowly blurred. When I next opened my eyes from the cold operating table, no one else was around. I struggled to push myself up, but stumbled and fell after only two steps. Perhaps my light was truly fading, I thought. It was a shame, I still had so many things I wanted to do. Just as I thought I would die there, I saw a pair of polished shoes step into my shadow. I expected it to be Julian, returned, but when I looked up, I saw an unexpected face. His face was as handsome as ever, but his eyes now held a mature sharpness, and he looked at me as if I were a pile of hopeless trash. He leaned down slightly, a familiar, cutting sneer gracing his lips.

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My best friend Brooke once lost a tooth defending me. My boyfriend Luke won me over with 200 love letters and a sky full of fireworks. Then, on my 25th birthday, I caught him pressing Brooke against his car, kissing her until her lips were swollen. “What about Lena?” Brooke asked, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt her,” Luke groaned, “But I can’t stop wanting you. Tell me what to do.” Then the car began to rock. I tucked my cancer diagnosis deeper into my pocket and smiled bitterly. Easy enough. That night, I booked my assisted suicide. Snowflakes lashed against my face, sharp and biting. It was the first heavy snowfall of the year. I stood behind a wall, watching them kiss in the secluded corner. The hand Luke had wrapped around Brooke’s neck still bore the couple’s watch he shared with me. And Brooke was nestled in the very scarf I had knitted for her with my own hands. After a moment of passionate kissing, they climbed into the car. I saw the vehicle begin to rock, moans faintly carrying through the frozen air. My hands and feet had gone numb with cold after waiting half an hour in the relentless snow. Only when they opened the car door and stepped out did I pretend to have just arrived, raising a hand in greeting. “You both got here so early?” “You’re the guest of honor today! How could you be late?” Brooke unwound her scarf, the one I’d knitted, and wrapped it around my neck. Her eyes were full of concern. “You’re freezing. Why didn’t you call me to pick you up?” That’s when I noticed my eyelashes were completely frosted over. I remembered how Luke used to bundle me in his coat when it snowed, terrified I’d catch a chill. But now, he only hesitated for a second before finally reaching out to gently brush the snow from my shoulder. The moment his hand brushed my shoulder, Brooke’s expression tightened. She quietly averted her gaze. Luke immediately stepped back, putting a respectful distance between us. I shook my head, pretending not to notice, and forced a cheerful grin. “Oh, come on, I’m not that delicate. Let’s get this party started!” After all, this was my last birthday. Brooke exclaimed. “Guess what I got you!” Luke snorted playfully. “My gift is definitely better!” They fell into their familiar bickering, the easy back-and-forth lightening the mood. When Luke and I first started dating, Brooke couldn’t stand him. Now, it sounded like playful banter. I wanted to pretend I couldn’t see, that if I didn’t turn my head, I wouldn’t cry. But the streetlights cruelly stretched their shadows long. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luke secretly reach for Brooke’s hand. Their fingers intertwined tightly. A perfect match.

“Come on, get inside, it’s cold out here.” I quickly opened the door for them. “Don’t rush us, we’re coming!” Brooke laughed, quickening her pace in high heels to catch up. As she entered, she stumbled slightly. The cake she was carrying crashed to the floor. I rushed forward to help steady her. “Watch out!” Luke beat me to it, grabbing her waist to steady her. He anxiously crouched down to check her ankle. “How is it? Can you still walk?” My outstretched hand hung in mid-air, and Brooke’s smile froze on her face. The air fell into an awkward silence. Luke’s movements faltered as his eyes met mine. “Lena, don’t be mad. Brooke’s always been clumsy, she didn’t mean to drop the cake. I’ll go buy another one right away.” I watched him protect Brooke. Just like Brooke had always protected me, standing in front of me since we were kids. Brooke and I grew up together in an orphanage. She was hot-headed, and I was timid; she always protected me. Now, I just awkwardly shoved my hand back into my pocket, fingers caressing that terminal illness notice, and looked away, smiling. “I’m not a three-year-old, there’s nothing to be mad about. It’s just a cake.” “Luke, can you clean that up? I’ll go check the medicine cabinet for band-aids.” Luke lowered his head apologetically. “I’ll order a new cake right now.” I waved my hand dismissively, helped Brooke sit on the sofa, and found some ointment to gently apply. Brooke said, “Lena, you’re too kind.” I smiled and said, “You are too, Brooke.” Brooke lowered her head and stayed silent. After I put a band-aid on her, Luke had already finished cleaning up and called us over to eat the newly ordered cake. Luke lit the candles. In the flickering candlelight, I saw a photo displayed on the corner of the table. Luke and I, in our high school uniforms, holding hands tightly. Brooke, in a red spaghetti-strap dress, hugged my other arm, glaring resentfully at him. Back then, they couldn’t stand each other. Brooke would fiercely tell Luke, “Hey! You’re her first boyfriend. If you ever hurt her, you’re dead!” Luke would retort, “No way! I think *you’re* the one who looks like you’d hurt Lena!” At that time, Brooke’s eyes dimmed. I quickly told Luke to stop. When I was fifteen, the orphanage closed down. Brooke dropped out of school and worked to put me through high school. She dressed in sexy clothes, became an influencer, and each time I tried to help her shoulder the burden, she’d send me back to school with a lecture. “Lena, you’re smart, and you’re still young. You have to study hard and go to college! I don’t have that chance anymore, you need to cherish this opportunity to learn, understand?” But she was only three years older than me. Memories flooded my mind. I closed my eyes and made a sincere wish. I wished for my best friend and the boy I loved most to be happy forever. Even long after I was gone. After I made my wish, Brooke eagerly volunteered to cut the cake, then mischievously dabbed frosting on my nose. “Happy birthday, Lena, another year older.” I forced a smile, but then I saw Luke’s burning gaze fixed on her. It was tender and lingering. The bitterness in my heart flared up again. Brooke, completely oblivious, casually pulled out a small gift box. “See? Do you like it?” Luke finally snapped back to reality, playfully elbowed her aside, and, holding something mysterious in his palm, leaned in. “Guess what I got you?” “You little brat, stop trying to steal my thunder, don’t you dare compete with me!” Brooke puffed out her cheeks, exasperated. “You two rivals, stop bickering and just leave me alone.” Neither of them would back down, so I helplessly rubbed my forehead, forced to open both their gifts at once. The moment I opened them, we all froze.

They both picked rings from the same series. The styles were incredibly similar. Luke’s had a mountain pattern, while Brooke’s had waves. They weren’t just similar; they fit perfectly together, like a pair. Brooke looked a little lost, but I laughed, snatched the two rings, and quickly slid one onto each of my hands. “No wonder we’re such good friends, we’re so in sync! I was debating which design to get, but now I don’t have to.” I pulled out my phone and snapped a dozen photos. But everyone just grew more awkward. Brooke forced a smile. “He definitely copied me. But since you like it, I won’t bother arguing.” My heart ached faintly. Then, I forced myself to be cheerful and suggested we drink to celebrate. But Brooke, who usually had the best alcohol tolerance, was the first to get completely wasted, sprawling like a rag doll. She kept mumbling, “Lena… we’ll always be best friends…” Luke stood up, expertly picked up her jacket, and helped her stand, saying, “Lena, I’m taking Brooke home first. If you’re tired, just go to sleep, don’t wait up for me.” I quietly nodded. From the balcony, I watched them lean on each other as they disappeared into the distance. I took a deep breath, then scooped a spoonful of cake for myself. The cream tasted sickly sweet and bitter. I reluctantly put down my fork and went back to my bedroom, planning to sort through my belongings. But by chance, I discovered the love letters Luke had written to me when he was eighteen. Two hundred letters, their pages filled with his tight, meticulous script. “Lena, I noticed you long before you ever noticed me. You never looked up. I was always so curious-what did you think about when you were so quiet?” “Silly girl, I didn’t save you. You were the one who gave me a chance to prove my love.” “Lena, we’re going to grow old together.” As I read, my nose grew slightly sore, and the corners of my mouth unconsciously turned up, but then I abruptly stopped as I turned a page. The back of the love letters had new writing. “Strange, before I always thought of Brooke as my rival, and only gave her a friendly face for Lena’s sake. But now I realize, she seems really special.” “I ran into Brooke today. It’s the middle of winter, and her face was bright red from the cold. I felt a little pang of sympathy.” “No, I have to control my feelings.” “My hand accidentally met Brooke’s during our walk. She jumped back like she’d been shocked, her face turning red. Does she feel it too?” “Lena was surprisingly clingy today, but Brooke was clearly disappointed. I don’t want to run from my feelings anymore. I need to be clear with her.” Fragmented handwriting. It formed a reverse love letter. Though the handwriting was new, the feelings were just as genuine and passionate. I saw that it seemed to have started about a year ago, and the entries on the back were even starting to exceed those on the front. His heart, it turned out, had shifted long ago. The most recent date was just yesterday: “I’m sorry, Lena.” “But it’s time to end things. I’ve already failed you; I can’t fail Brooke too.” A torrent of tears finally burst forth. I struggled to breathe, coughing heavily twice, and hot blood splattered onto my palm. I fumbled for a tissue. Luke chose that moment to return. He habitually pulled open the door and peeked in. “Lena, are you asleep?”

I stumbled, rushing to block the door tightly. “I feel a little dizzy, I’ve already lain down.” My shirt was still stained with blood. The love letters on the floor were scattered. Luke knocked on the door twice more, asking if I needed medicine, but I brushed him off with an excuse. I couldn’t face him. I didn’t know if he was more worried about me being sick, or if he hoped to break up with me soon so he could openly pursue the girl he loved. After a long time, silence finally fell outside. Luke was probably asleep. I put the room back in order, packed a few small bags, and checked myself into the city hospital alone. The doctor frowned, trying to persuade me. “Are you really not planning on chemotherapy? Even though it’s stage four lung cancer, aggressive treatment could still buy you some more time.” “You’re still… very young.” I smiled and shook my head. “No, I’ll only be staying a few days.” Originally, I planned to leave all my savings. Enough for Brooke to get a proper streaming studio, and some seed money for Luke’s startup. With the rest of the money, I booked my assisted suicide procedure abroad. Seven more days, and I’d be free. Ultimately, I was still a coward. The next day, Luke called. I picked a random excuse and hung up. For seven days straight, he called countless times. Each time, I found various reasons to refuse, until eventually, I couldn’t even bear to hear his voice. I still remembered the burning love in that eighteen-year-old boy beneath the fireworks. So I couldn’t accept his change of heart. I wanted to beg him not to be so cruel. Just a few more days, and I wouldn’t bother them anymore. It felt like as long as he didn’t break up with me, I would die still believing I was loved. But the night before my assisted suicide, as I was counting my documents, Luke’s anxious call came through, his voice a panicked shout. “Lena! Brooke’s live stream just cut out, and her phone’s going straight to voicemail. Something’s wrong. I’m on my way, but the meetup spot is too far. I might not get there in time. You have to go check on her, now!” My eyes widened. I didn’t have time to question why he was so worried about Brooke’s live stream. I quickly said, “Don’t worry! I’m on my way!” I ripped out my IV, forgot to grab a jacket, and got into the car, speeding through the night towards the place Brooke usually streamed from. I couldn’t remember how many red lights I ran. But when I finally arrived. Brooke’s clothes were torn to shreds, and a unconscious thug lay nearby. Luke had already arrived, clearly having fought someone; his face was bruised and swollen. He was holding the trembling Brooke, comforting her over and over again. My knees buckled, and I stumbled over, trembling, trying to reach for her hand. “I’m too late, I’m so sorry.” “Get lost! Why are you still pretending to care!” Luke’s eyes were bloodshot. He fiercely slapped my hand away, in a protective stance. “You were so close, why didn’t you rush over to save her? If you had gotten here sooner, Brooke wouldn’t have…” “You’ve always enjoyed her sacrifices, why couldn’t you sacrifice for her just once? How could you be so selfish?!” “Enough!” Brooke’s voice was hoarse, and she forced a smile at me. “That animal didn’t actually violate me, I’m fine.” My throat tightened, and my nose felt terribly blocked. But he was still frantic. “Brooke! Stop pushing me away!” Hearing this, Brooke’s body trembled, and she lowered her head. She finally accepted the jacket Luke draped over her. Luke took a deep breath, then continued to scold me: “How can you say something like this is fine? This is a lifelong trauma! Lena, what have you been doing these past few days?” I didn’t know how to answer him. I stared at the bruised needle marks on the back of my hand. I was only wearing a thin undershirt, and I couldn’t help but shiver from the cold. Guilt mingled with a deep sense of injustice. Besides “I’m sorry,” no other words would come. “Lena, you wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for Brooke. Now that she’s in trouble, this is how you repay her? You’re utterly lazy. You’ve disappointed me beyond words.” Luke held her close, his expression icy as he turned to me, his gaze like that of a stranger facing an enemy. “We need some time apart. You need to think carefully about everything that’s happened recently.” I gasped in shock, wanting to explain, but then I violently vomited a pool of blood. The snow immediately stained a stark red. Before I could even cover it, I saw Luke. He was already helping Brooke into the passenger seat. He pressed the gas pedal, and he never looked back. I lowered my gaze to the blood on the ground. I was such a mess, always ruining everything. I wiped my mouth bitterly and went to the airport alone. I remembered the wish I made on my fifteenth birthday: “I wish my best friend would always be by my side, and the person I love most would always be across from me, forever and ever.” What a pity. It never came true. I sent one last text: “I wish you both a happy life together.” Then, I turned off my phone. Goodbye, Luke. Goodbye, Brooke.

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Everyone at school knew I was head-over-heels for Hugh Davies. I’d bring him breakfast, tutor him, and even when he’d trip playing basketball, I’d practically be on my knees to help him tie his laces. Until that day on the rooftop, when I overheard him say: “Chloe? She’s like glue, I can’t shake her off. After the SATs, I’ll tell her I’m applying to A University, and she’ll totally follow me blindly. Then, Serena and I can just go to C University.” His friend asked, “Why don’t you just dump her already?” He sighed, “Can’t do that. I’m afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Later, I did go to A University, but he came crying to me, saying: “But you always used to cling to me…” I was on my way to bring Hugh breakfast, but now I was frozen stiff at the staircase. Lately, Hugh had been pushing me hard to tutor him, claiming he wanted to apply to A University. Turns out, it was all just a lie to get rid of me. One of his friends asked, curious: “What if Chloe doesn’t apply to A University?” Hugh scoffed: “If I say I’m going to A University, she’ll definitely go. She’s more clingy than my dog.” The whole group laughed. Someone winked at Hugh: “Honestly, only you could put up with a girl like that.” Hugh shrugged, “She’s practically throwing herself at me, why would I say no to free attention?” Another friend asked, intrigued: “So, when are you finally going to tell Serena how you feel?” A subtle smile touched Hugh’s lips: “She said she’d go out with me if I got into C University.” I don’t know how long I stood there. My ears were ringing so loud, and my chest felt so tight, it was like my heart was being squeezed. On the way back to class, Hugh’s words kept replaying in my head. It reminded me of something that happened when I was ten. A girl in our class told me: “Hugh secretly told me to tell you he’ll be waiting for you in our usual spot after school. He has something important to tell you!” I went, full of hope. I waited there like an idiot for what felt like forever. Hugh never showed up, and the sky turned dark, then it started to rain. I was cold and scared of the dark, eventually just crying all the way home. Later, that same classmate made fun of me in class: “See? She’s so easy to fool!” That day, Hugh exploded at her for the first time. He promised me, looking me right in the eye: “I’ll never lie to you, Chloe!” But now?

Thinking back, Hugh really changed a lot. When he was little, he was so lively and bright, like a little sun. Then his parents started fighting constantly, and eventually, they divorced. After that, he became more and more rebellious, and he stopped wanting to go home. I always felt like he was just too cold, that he’d just built a wall around himself like a porcupine. And my home had so much warmth, I thought I could share some with him. He used to be the one protecting me when we were kids. Now, it was my turn to be like a little firefly, illuminating his way. So, after that. He skipped class, I’d take notes for him. He got hurt playing basketball, I’d help him tie his laces. He’d glare at me, tell me to mind my own business, even throw my notes back at me. But the next day, those notes would always be tucked deep inside his backpack. And he’d always eat every bite of the breakfast I brought him. After a while, people started joking around in front of him, saying I was his crazy admirer. That time, Hugh punched the guy right in front of the whole class. I thought I was the most important person to Hugh, but then Serena showed up. And everything changed. Serena transferred to our school in junior year. She was really pretty. One time after school, a few bullies cornered her in an alley. Hugh got into a fight with them to protect her. From then on, they became really close friends. He never walked me home anymore. I knew he was walking Serena home instead. But every time I asked, he’d just say: “You don’t understand, her family life is really complicated. She’s pretty helpless, I just want to help her out.” Hugh, who was usually so aloof. Would give her his jacket when it was cold. Would specifically buy her favorite ice cream outside of school. He even wanted to go to the same university as her, afraid she’d get picked on. But that was *our* agreement. On the day we graduated middle school. I looked at the shining stars in the sky and asked Hugh, who was beside me: “Have you ever thought about what you want to do in the future?” Hugh shook his head, a hint of resignation on his face: “Do I even need to think? My dad only has me as a son. I’ll definitely study something related to his business and manage the company after graduation.” I paused, then spoke: “So, after high school, we’ll go our separate ways?” Hugh gazed into the distance, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes: “Probably.” A cool evening breeze blew past. Hearing his words, I felt a strange sadness. Hugh looked at me, suddenly flustered. “Hey, don’t cry! Are you really that sad to leave me?” He said, haphazardly wiping away my tears. “Which university do you want to go to? I’ll apply with you.” My eyes suddenly lit up. “Really? Then I want to go to A University.” “Tsk, you change your mood so fast.” Hugh ruffled my hair, smiling lazily, “A University, huh? Looks like I’ll have to study hard then.” “You cry so easily. What if you go somewhere so far away by yourself and someone bullies you into crying again?” Maybe it was just a joke to comfort me back then, but I never forgot it. In high school, his grades never improved, and I was secretly anxious, but he didn’t react at all. It wasn’t until the end of junior year that he anxiously pulled me aside, asking me to tutor him. I thought he remembered our old promise. Now I realize, I was just fooling myself.

Hugh told me to go home without him again after school today. I was used to it, so I just left him to it. That evening, Hugh came to my house for tutoring, carrying a strawberry-flavored ice cream. Honestly, I hated strawberry flavor. But somewhere along the line, Hugh started bringing that flavor every time. Only now did I realize—it was Serena’s favorite. I said coldly, “You should go home. Don’t come to me for tutoring anymore.” It was the first time I’d ever refused him. Hugh raised an eyebrow slightly, asking, “Are you mad because I didn’t walk home with you this afternoon?” He ruffled my hair, “I know you’re clingy, but you have to let me have my own things going on too.” I shook my head, “SATs are coming up, and I have a lot to study too. You can get a tutor, or maybe, ask Serena to help you.” Hugh quickly shot down that idea. “No. Her parents have really high expectations for her, she needs to get first place, she doesn’t have time to tutor me. You’re a better fit to tutor me.” I suddenly found myself speechless. My nose stung, and my eyes felt hot. Right. One was a resilient good student in a tough situation. The other was just a cling-on who followed him around all day. Hugh didn’t want to hold Serena back; she needed to fight for her future. And I, with my comfortable background and happy family, was naturally expected to make concessions, always revolving around him. Seeing my silence, his tone softened, a hint of pleading in his voice: “Didn’t you always want us to go to the same university? Then you’re responsible for me.” He still remembered our promise. I looked at his familiar face, suddenly feeling like I was staring at a stranger. I forced back my tears, staring into his eyes as I asked, word by word: “Are you really planning to go to the same university as me?” Time seemed to freeze for a few seconds. Then, he smiled awkwardly, changing the subject: “Alright, don’t be dramatic.” “I’ll walk home with you tomorrow…” Before he could finish, I slammed the door shut, leaning against it weakly. My tears finally broke free, falling in heavy drops.

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My husband won five million in the lottery. That same day, he brought his mistress home. He demanded a divorce and told me to get out without a cent. When I refused, he drugged me. He hired five men, and they filmed it all. The video went viral. I became the whore while he played the heartbroken, betrayed husband. The scandal gave my father a heart attack. I watched Derek kick his medication across the floor. His hired thugs tortured me to death. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day he left to buy the winning ticket. I watched Derek heading for the door. “Honey, I’m coming with you.” He looked at me, confused. “Why?” Feigning a pout, I hooked my arm through his. On this exact day in my previous life, he bought a lottery ticket that won the $5 million jackpot. That same evening, he brought his mistress into our home and demanded a divorce. When I refused to leave, he used the vilest methods to destroy my reputation. On my birthday, he pretended he wanted to reconcile. He tricked me into drinking whiskey. The drink was drugged with aphrodisiacs. As I grew disoriented, he led me into a room. Five men wearing animal masks waited inside, holding various toys. “Not bad for an older chick!” “Who’s going first?” The men traded crude jokes over my broken sobs. Soon they gagged me. I squeezed my eyes shut, despair washing over me as hot tears of shame tracked down my face. The horror deepened when the video surfaced online. Shot from specific angles and brutally edited, it made me look like a willing participant. A storm of online abuse came crashing down. I became the target of every vile insult, while Derek played the role of the pitiful, betrayed husband to perfection. Extreme users tracked down our address. They smashed our windows and pounded on our door with midnight threats. I sank into severe depression, trapped inside home, terrified to go out. My father went to confront Derek, only to find him making out with his mistress in public. The sight was too much for my dad’s weak heart. He collapsed on the spot, consumed by rage. Instead of helping, Derek kicked my father’s emergency medication into a storm drain. I never got to say goodbye. I grabbed a knife, determined to make Derek pay. But his thugs disarmed me and threw me into the basement. “It would’ve been easier if you’d just agreed to the divorce,” Derek said coldly. “Scarlett’s pregnant. I can’t have my child born a bastard.” I spat in his face. “I’ll haunt you from my grave! Wiping the spit from his jacket, he smirked. “You? Get revenge? Don’t make me laugh.” Then he turned to his men. “She’s all yours. Have fun.” The door slammed shut, sealing my fate. After my death, Derek and his mistress lived a life of luxury with their newborn son. My case was closed as a depression-related suicide. I never become a ghost. Instead, I woke up reborn. This time, I’ll make them pay for everything!

I slipped my hand through Derek’s arm, gazing up at him sweetly. ” promised my followers I’d buy some lottery tickets for a giveaway. They all say I’m so lucky to have such a wonderful husband. They want to share in my good fortune.” As a minor influencer, I’d carefully crafted the image of a perfect marriage for my audience. The reality was… different. Before Derek could respond, I added, “I already had Scarlett bring the car around. The three of us can go together.” At the mention of Scarlett’s name, his expression shifted instantly. I knew. Today was his anniversary with his mistress. They’d planned to celebrate together, and I was crashing their precious date. Feigning innocence, I continued, “ou’re so gentle, thoughtful, and loyal. Being married to you is truly the greatest honor.” Hearing me praise, his expression softened into a proud smile. “In that case, you’d better hold on to me tightly. Don’t give any other woman a chance, alright?” A wave of nausea washed over me. How could I have been so blind in my past life? He was a gold-digger who genuinely believed he was a coveted prize. Just as we reached the curb, Scarlett pulled up in her car. “Ava, Derek, hop in.” Scarlett was wearing a red, deep V-neck dress today, her ample chest drawing all attention. It looked like Scarlett had put a lot of effort into their anniversary. In my previous life, I only found out right before I died that Derek and Scarlett weren’t cousins, as he claimed, but his lovers. Scarlett was sexy, fiery, and knew how to charm men. Taking her out probably boosted Derek’s ego immensely. I was a career woman, a boss. At home, he was a freeloader around me, but only with Scarlett could he feel like a man again. He even recommended his “cousin” Scarlett when I needed to hire an assistant for my busy job. I remembered how he used to come to my company frequently to bring me coffee. Turns out, he wasn’t coming to see me at all. He was coming to see Scarlett. Such blatant cheating! I was truly blind in my last life! And at this moment, Derek was staring at Scarlett as if he wanted to rip her dress off. I feigned jealousy. “Honey, you’re staring at Scarlett like that. People might think you two are a couple.” My words made a flicker of panic flash in both their eyes. Scarlett waved her hands frantically. “Ava, don’t joke around. Derek’s my cousin!” “Is he?” My gaze lingered between the two of them, my tone flat, as I stepped into the car. My sarcastic question made them squirm. The car was eerily quiet the whole way. Derek frequently glanced at me, his lips moving, but he said nothing. “Scarlett, how long have you been my assistant now?” I suddenly asked. Scarlett paused, then said, “Three years.” Scarlett had been my assistant for three years. And Derek’s mistress for three years. I had been kept in the dark for three whole years! Derek retorted, “Why do you ask? Scarlett is diligent and responsible. She’s helped you a lot, hasn’t she?” I looked at him desperately defending Scarlett and found it amusing. The car stopped. I turned my head, staring intently into Derek’s eyes. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by a smile. I smiled. “Nothing, just thinking Scarlett’s been here three years, figured I’d give her a raise.” “I didn’t expect you two to be so excited.” I pushed the car door open and stepped out ahead of them. Walking straight into the lottery shop, I approached the counter. “I’d like to buy every ticket with a 9 in its number. Every single one.”

The clerk stared. “That’s…a significant number. Are you sure you want all of them?” I nodded, my gaze firm. Derek, who had followed on my heels, came up and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I had my eye on the nines today too, honey. Let me have one.” “No.” I didn’t even hesitate. There was no chance I was giving him a shot at that five million. My family’s lives depended on it. Derek’s smile stiffened on his face. Scarlett stepped in to smooth things over, pulling out five dollars. “Derek, I think the eights look lucky today too.” “Fine.” They exchanged a sweet glance, which sent shivers down my spine. “Derek, well? Did you win?” Derek sighed, rubbing his forehead, and shook his head. In my previous life, when they came out for their anniversary, Scarlett suggested buying a lottery ticket for fun. But to their surprise, that ticket hit the $5 million jackpot. Derek immediately saw Scarlett as his lucky charm and brought her right to my doorstep to gloat. Well. Now the winning ticket was safely in my hands. How this game would be played was entirely my decision. The next day, I took the ticket and claimed the prize. After taxes, I walked away with a cool $4 million. Worried Derek might snoop through my accounts, I immediately transferred the entire amount to my father’s bank account. In my previous life, because I made good money as an influencer, I’d give Derek $7,500 every month. It was for his expenses, framed as compensation for taking care of me since he didn’t work. Ever since we started dating and then got married, Derek had never held a job. He’d rub my shoulders, coaxing me. “My colleagues always isolated me. I don’t know what I did wrong.” “Ava, you work outside, and I’ll be your supportive partner at home.” “I love cooking, cleaning, and giving you massages. It makes me so happy.” At the time, I was completely swept away by his sweet talk and kept supporting him. And he, in turn, shamelessly used my money to keep his mistress! The thought made me tremble with rage. When I got home, I saw Derek and Scarlett sitting on opposite ends of the sofa. Scarlett’s hair was a little disheveled, and her lipstick was smudged. Both their clothes had wrinkles. It was clear how intense things had been on the sofa before I came home. “Ava, weren’t you supposed to be filming a commercial?” Scarlett adjusted her collar. “Yeah, why are you back so soon? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve picked you up,” Derek said, his eyes darting away. I found the panicked looks on their faces incredibly amusing. “Oh, they canceled it last minute.” I took a couple of steps then suddenly turned back. “What were you two doing just now? You’re both out of breath.” The two on the sofa froze. A long silence hung in the air before  Derek spoke. “We were… just exercising. That’s why we’re tired.” I gave a nod of feigned understanding and retreated to my room. In minutes, I’d created a new TikTok account. My first post went live. “GUESS WHAT?! I just won $5 MILLION from that lottery giveaway!” I made sure to tag my main account. At lunch, Derek’s face was stormy. “Did you see,” he demanded, his voice tight, “that post from one of your followers? The one about winning five million from your giveaway?”

I lowered my head to sip my soup, giving a slight nod. My calmness seemed to infuriate him most. He slammed his bowl to the floor, sending shards flying. “I saw that ticket! The one I wanted! If you’d just given it to me, that five million would be mine! That money should be mine!” Watching his outburst, I felt nothing but absurdity. “I bought it first. Why would I give it to you?” “We…we’re married, Ava.” Now he remembers we’re married? Where was that thought when he killed my father? When he destroyed my life? “I don’t care! The winner was supposed to be me. Go get that ticket back.” He screamed hysterically, as if he’d lost his mind. I ignored him and went back to my room. Derek made a call from the living room. No doubt, it was Scarlett on the other end. He’d taken a hit here and needed to go back to his comfort zone. I wanted to push him to his limits. After all, even a cornered dog will bite. It wasn’t surprising he was desperate, because right about now… Scarlett had just found out she was pregnant. It was the same timing as in my previous life, only I had found out later. Derek desperately wanted to divorce me now. If he didn’t, his and Scarlett’s child would be born a bastard, and they’d constantly face the risk of me finding out and kicking them out. But he had no job and no money. His only income was the money I gave him. That’s why he was so furious when he saw the follower win $5 million. Because in his eyes, that lottery ticket rightfully belonged to him. He was the one who asked me for it first. I just didn’t give it to him. It wasn’t just $5 million; it was his leverage to divorce me. While Derek was out, I installed hidden cameras in discreet corners of the house. Then, I picked up my phone and made a call. “Yes, I’ve decided to participate in your reality show.” I slept for a whole afternoon in my room. When I woke up, Derek was back, and Scarlett was there too. The shattered bowl from lunch had been cleaned up, and Scarlett was cooking dinner in the kitchen. Seeing me come out, Scarlett rushed over and grabbed my hand. “Ava, Derek didn’t mean it this afternoon. He told me he was just really upset.” “Ava, don’t hold it against him.” I pulled my hand away and sat down at the dining table, resting my chin on my hand. I smiled. “I’m not holding it against him. Winning or not winning is just a matter of luck.” “You should blame Derek for his bad luck.” He certainly had bad luck. After all, I was reborn on the day he went to buy that lottery ticket. Thinking this, I tried hard to suppress the corners of my mouth from turning up. To be fair, Derek was an excellent cook. Had he been honest, I wouldn’t have minded increasing his monthly allowance. But he wasn’t content with honesty. He needed a mistress too. “Darling, could you lend me $150,000? I’m looking to invest in stocks.” Me: “Didn’t you just lose $75,000 in the market last month?” “I’m not even asking about that $75,000, but this $150,000 is absolutely out of the question.” Derek: “But-” Scarlett’s sudden retching cut him off. I set down my fork, feigning surprise. “Scarlett, are you… pregnant?”

“No, no, it’s nothing. Just an upset stomach lately. I’ll be fine after resting for a couple of days.” The moment Scarlett finished speaking, a glass of water appeared before her. Derek had already risen to fetch it from the kitchen the instant she started retching. What a considerate Prince Charming. “Scarlett, since you’re unwell, I’ll attend tomorrow’s event alone. You should stay at my place and let Derek look after you.” “Ava, are you sure you can manage by yourself?” I nodded calmly. “Derek, you must take very good care of Scarlett while I’m away on business.” Oh, he needed to take excellent care of her indeed. Because after today, the two of them would be utterly, completely ruined. The next day, they saw me off at the airport. The moment they returned home, they were all over each other. The high-definition cameras captured everything. You could even hear the wet smack of their kisses with perfect clarity. They had grown careless this time, never even bothering to ask what kind of show I was participating in.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “307601”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic #魔幻Magic #重生Reborn