Author: Momo Chan

The night Nate skipped class to meet the girl who broke me, I was trapped downstairs, forced to listen to every sound. “Does Leila do this for you?” A low grunt from him, then his sharp voice as he gripped her chin. “Stella, if Leila ever finds out, you’re dead.” Stella laughed, a sound like broken glass, before her lips met his. “Then I’ll die happy.” Through the flickering window light, I saw their tangled silhouettes. Stella had led the bullying in middle school, relentless, carving depression into my soul. Those three years were the darkest chapter of my life, ending with me framed and forced to transfer. I thought I’d escaped her, but she haunted my sleep. Then came Nate, my high school desk mate. “Leila,” he’d say with that easy smile, “your name makes me think of a future with you.” He pulled me back from the edge, time and again. Now, the woman I never wanted to see again was in my boyfriend’s bed. My body trembled as I dug nails into my palms, the sting a welcome distraction. “You bullied Leila in high school, right? Watch yourself here. If she complains to me, I’ll show you real bullying.” My heart stopped. He knew. Nate knew everything—exactly who Stella was—and chose her anyway. That night, the bitter wind carried their sounds to me, each one a blade shredding my heart. … “Enjoy the show?” Stella’s voice, laced with amusement, cut through the cold night air. She was wearing Nate’s jacket, the collar hanging open to reveal the pale skin of her neck. The scattered marks there were like a brand, searing themselves into my vision. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, saying nothing. My eyes were raw and sore, but there were no tears left to cry. Just like all those years ago, I bowed my head in silence and turned to leave. But she grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt. “God, Leila, I hate this innocent little victim act of yours. So pathetic and fake.” She yanked the fabric tight around my neck, and that familiar feeling of being choked, of not being able to breathe, washed over me. I clawed at the hood, gasping for air. A second later, she let go. “We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,” she purred, shrugging the jacket off and tossing it at me. I stared at the jacket in my hands, taking a shaky breath to force the tears back down. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Nate. I ignored the first call. I ignored the second. The third time, I answered. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Time to rise and shine.” His voice was cheerful, oblivious. “I brought you that oatmeal you like and a hot coffee.” Every morning at six-thirty, like clockwork, Nate would call to wake me up and have me come down for breakfast. He’d clearly rushed back to keep up the pretense. “Yeah… I’ll be right down.” I fought like hell to keep the tremor out of my voice, to swallow the questions burning in my throat. He didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. I took a cab back to campus, slipped in through a back entrance, and changed into my pajamas before heading downstairs. I saw him through the glass doors of the dorm, shivering in just a thin hoodie. He waved, holding up the breakfast bag with a grin. “You came down in your pajamas again? Aren’t you freezing?” Nate reached out instinctively to warm my ears, but I flinched away. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What about you?” I asked, quickly changing the subject. “Why are you only wearing a hoodie?” His hand holding the breakfast faltered for a second before he scratched the back of his head. “Oh, uh, I was playing ball with my roommates this morning. I must’ve left my jacket at the gym.” “It’s too cold. You should head back,” he said, pressing the warm bag into my hands. “And don’t forget, the portal for elective sign-ups opens at eight.” He smiled, backing away and waving, then turned and broke into a run. I watched his back disappear into the distance. Then I turned and dropped the breakfast into the nearest trash can. Standing in the biting wind, I took a deep breath and finally made the call. “Sasha? It’s me. About that study abroad program… I’ll do it. Can you help me with the paperwork?” Her excitement was palpable. She promised to get everything sorted as quickly as possible. Then, a note of concern entered her voice. “Leila? Did something happen between you and Nate?” Our families had finally given our relationship their blessing our senior year of high school. I used to believe we would have a storybook ending. Now, he was a wound too deep to even speak of. “It’s nothing,” I lied. “I just need a change of scenery. He understands.” In the computer lab, Nate had already saved me a seat. “Okay, I’ve got it pulled up for you,” he whispered, leaning close. “The second it goes live, you click! If the server crashes, just grab the basketball elective, okay?” I nodded numbly. The clock ticked over. My cursor hovered, then landed on Yoga. This was the first step. To disappear from your world, Nate. Nate and I weren’t in the same program. After walking me to my building, he headed for his own. As he turned a corner, I saw Stella. She jumped into his arms, peppering his face with a flurry of kisses. “Thanks, babe, for getting me into the basketball class!” “I’m warning you, don’t you dare give Leila a hard time.” “I won’t, I won’t. I just wanted to be in a class with you,” she cooed, linking her arm through his. “By the way, did you get that apartment?” “All set. Paid the lease for a year. I’ll get some guys to help you move your stuff in tomorrow.” He had mentioned getting an off-campus place to me before. He’d complained about the dorms, about not being able to spend enough time with me, and had even asked his mom for the money. But I had turned him down. “We’re still young, Nate. I don’t think living together is a good idea. Let’s wait until senior year.” Now, he had a new roommate. Over the next few days, Nate was constantly at the new apartment, using a dizzying array of excuses. Meanwhile, Stella started skipping half her classes. “Leila, how come you didn’t get into the basketball elective?” Nate asked a few days later, his voice sharp with annoyance. I stirred the noodles in my bowl. “I don’t really like basketball.” “You know,” I added quietly, “you seem to be having plenty of fun with your new classmates.” I had seen them more than once, chasing each other around the court, laughing. With her, Nate’s smile was wild and carefree, nothing like the steady, serious boy I knew. He didn’t push it. Maybe with Stella there, it didn’t matter to him anymore. “Fine. Whatever you want,” he grumbled, then stood up and left, saying he had to get to class. The moment he was gone, Stella appeared. “My boyfriend,” she announced loudly to her friends at the next table, but her eyes were locked on me, “he just has such a high sex drive. I can barely get out of bed most mornings.” She smirked. “But I don’t really like class anyway, and he got me this great apartment so I can rest.” Stella talked about their sex life without a hint of a blush, her voice ringing through the cafeteria. “Oh, and look what he got me for my birthday! Five figures!” She held up a delicate necklace, her gaze a triumphant, mocking challenge. The girls around her gasped, cooing about how lucky she was, how good her boyfriend was to her. I’d seen that necklace in Nate’s online shopping cart. He told me it was a gift for his mother. Another lie. I couldn’t listen anymore. I stood abruptly, needing to get to the bathroom, to breathe. But Stella and her friends blocked my path. A second later, I was on the cold tile floor, pinned down. “I’m giving you a chance, Leila,” Stella sneered. “Break up with Nate.” The sole of her shoe ground against my cheek, the rough concrete scraping my skin raw. The dead memories clawed their way back up my throat. “Why should I listen to you?” I spat back. “Because you sleep with him for free? Stella, what do you think you’re really worth to him?” My words, sharp and laced with scorn, shattered her triumphant facade. She snapped. Her fists and feet flew, her voice a torrent of vile insults. “Leila, you’re just as pathetic as your mother,” she screamed. “My mom should have finished the job and gotten rid of you both!” One of her friends finally pulled her back. “Stella, that’s enough! If you get disciplined for this, you won’t graduate.” “Come on, let’s go.” They half-dragged a struggling Stella away. “This isn’t over, Leila!” she shrieked over her shoulder.

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1 I stayed in the shadows for ten years, helping her climb from the mud to the clouds. I thought I was just a loyal dog whose time was up, a servant who finally needed to make a dignified exit. So, at three in the morning, I slipped out of the villa gates with nothing but a suitcase. Twenty minutes later, my face was on every security monitor in the city. The digital “Wanted” posters carried a four-word command: Capture alive. Return immediately. My name is Gabe Miller. I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve spent exactly a decade by Diana Harrison’s side. Ten years ago, I found her in a rain-slicked ditch on the outskirts of a dying coal town. She was covered in blood, barely breathing, a seventeen-year-old princess of the Harrison empire who had lost everything in a single, brutal night of betrayal. I carried her to a back-alley clinic and spent my last three hundred dollars to keep her heart beating. For the next decade, we lived under the radar. I was her shadow, her shield, and her ghostwriter. I helped her gather her strength, piece by piece, until we returned to the city to dismantle the uncles who had scavenged her father’s multi-billion dollar legacy. Three months ago, Diana was officially inaugurated as the CEO of Harrison Global. On that day, hundreds of people stood to applaud her. She stood at the podium in a bespoke suit, chin tilted high, her gaze sweeping over the room with the cool indifference of a queen. She looked at me last. I was sitting in the back row, and I gave her a small, quiet smile. I thought, We made it. She was back where she belonged. And that meant it was time for me to disappear. I had always known this day would come. I was the man she picked up when she was at her lowest. We walked the hardest miles together, but the road had reached its end. She was the woman on the cloud; I was the high school dropout who had spent ten years hiding in the dark. I never told her how I felt. A love like that is better left to rot in your chest. I was waiting for the right moment to leave. That moment came tonight. At eight o’clock, I went to her office to drop off some final documents. The door was ajar, and I heard her voice—light, soft, and carrying a warmth I had never once felt directed at me. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.” I froze. Through the crack in the door, I saw Diana standing in front of a man. He was tall, thin, wearing a grey trench coat, his back to me. Diana reached out and straightened his collar. The gesture was natural, intimate, practiced. She looked up at him with a tenderness that made my chest ache. I stepped back. The corners of the folder in my hand were crumpled under the force of my grip. As I turned away, only one thought pulsed in my brain: Go. Now. I went back to the guest wing of the villa and locked my door. I took a dozen deep breaths to steady my hands, then I started to write. Draft one: “Diana, ten years together, no regrets. Goodbye. Take care of yourself. —Gabe.” I read it over. It sounded like a suicide note. I shredded it. Draft two: “Dee, stay healthy. Don’t skip meals. Don’t work past midnight. If you need anything, call Marcus, not me. I’m changing my number.” It sounded like a parole notice. Shredded. Draft three: “Ms. Harrison, thank you for the opportunity. Best of luck in your future endeavors.” Too cold. Draft four: “These ten years…” I stopped there. Everything after those words was just a variation of “I love you,” and I couldn’t write that. It wouldn’t be dignified. I was rubbing my temples, surrounded by crumpled balls of paper, when my door was kicked open. Marcus, the only “friend” I had in this gilded cage, stood there with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “The lights have been on for hours, man. What the hell are you—” He stopped. He saw the trash can overflowing with paper. He saw the half-finished letter. He saw the packed suitcase. Silence for three seconds. Then, Marcus lost his damn mind. “Holy shit.” He slammed his beer on the desk and leaned over, snatching up draft five. “‘Diana, I’m leaving, don’t look for me’—Gabe, what is this? Are you a middle-schooler running away from home?” “Put it down.” “Ten years of being a soldier, and you’re pulling a tragic hero act at 3 AM?” “I said, put it down.” Marcus didn’t listen. He started fishing the crumpled papers out of the trash like a forensic investigator. He read every single one. When he finally looked up at me, his face was a mix of shock, pity, and a desperate urge to laugh. “Gabe.” “What?” “Are you in love with Diana?” I said nothing. “For ten years?” Still nothing. “Does she know?” “No.” Marcus took a long drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke curl under the lamp. “And you’re leaving? Because of what?” “She has someone,” I said quietly. Marcus stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and paced the room twice. Then, in a voice I couldn’t quite read, he said, “Fine. Go ahead. Leave.” I blinked. I expected him to fight me on it. Marcus reached the door and looked back. “Need me to call you an Uber?” “…No.” “Alright then.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Safe travels. Send me a pin when you land so I know where to send the flowers for your funeral.” Then he left. He didn’t even take his beer. I stared at that beer for a long time. So much for brotherhood. So much for a decade of “having each other’s backs.” He didn’t even ask me to reconsider. But maybe it was better this way. It saved me from having to play out a scene. At 3:17 AM, suitcase in hand, I slipped out the side exit. I avoided the main gates because of the biometric security. I climbed over the low stone wall on the east side of the estate, twisting my ankle when I landed. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. I hailed a rideshare to the Greyhound station downtown. As the car pulled away, I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes. All I could see was Diana straightening that man’s collar. My phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: “You left draft three on the desk. Want me to slide it under her door?” I replied: “Touch it and you’re dead.” He sent back a laughing emoji. I turned the phone off. Twenty minutes later, I was at the station. It was 4 AM, empty and hollow, bathed in the sickly fluorescent light of the ticket counter. As the car pulled away, I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes. All I could see was Diana straightening that man’s collar. So practiced. So familiar. It felt as if she had done it a thousand times before. I didn’t want to admit it, but in that moment, it felt like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed. “Give me a ticket for the earliest bus out,” I told the woman behind the glass. “I don’t care where it’s going.” She looked at me like I was a runaway husband. “Earliest is 5:30 AM. Bound for Portland.” “Fine. One ticket.” I pulled out my phone to pay. Denied. Insufficient funds. I tried my credit card. Transaction failed. I tried my backup card. Your account has been frozen. Please contact your financial institution. My fingers went numb. Three cards. All of them dead. It was 4:03 AM. Who had the power to freeze my accounts at this hour? There was only one person. I reached into my pocket and found fifty bucks in crumpled bills. “Can I pay cash?” “Ticket’s sixty-eight, sugar.” “…” I tucked the fifty back into my pocket. The morning air suddenly felt like ice. My phone buzzed again. Marcus. “Card frozen, buddy?” I didn’t reply. “Diana had the CFO freeze them ten minutes ago,” he texted. “Reason listed: ‘Suspicious activity, suspected theft.’ Lol.” Then, a voice memo. I clicked it. It was Marcus, laughing so hard he was coughing. I took a deep breath. It didn’t matter. I had legs. I could walk. There was a row of rideshare bikes outside the station. I scanned one. User credit score insufficient. Service unavailable. Insufficient? My score was near perfect. I scanned another. Same message. I put my phone away and stared at the bikes. A plastic bag tumbled past me in the wind, a lonely little parade for my shattered dignity. 4:30 AM. I started walking toward the city limits. My plan was simple: get to the edge of the county where the local shuttle vans didn’t use apps. Twenty bucks would get me to the next state. I walked for forty minutes. The sky was turning a bruised grey. My ankle was throbbing, but I kept going. I stopped at a gas station to buy a bottle of water. Fifty minus three. Forty-seven dollars left. Enough. Once I was out of the city, I’d be free. I leaned against a pillar at the gas station to catch my breath. After a minute, I pushed off and kept walking. Twenty minutes later, the highway entrance sign appeared. My spirits lifted. Then I saw the digital billboard. The one that usually showed traffic alerts or local news. I stopped dead. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. There, in giant glowing letters: GABRIEL MILLER. MALE. 29. 6’0″. MISSING SINCE EARLY THIS MORNING. IF SEEN, CALL THE NUMBER BELOW. PRIVATE SEARCH—FAMILY SEEKING RETURN. And there was a photo. Me, in a suit, looking far more composed than I felt. But that wasn’t the point. “Family seeking return”? What family? I didn’t have anyone left. I stood there staring at my own face for thirty seconds. Then I turned my phone back on. Forty-seven unread messages. Thirty were from Marcus. I clicked the latest one. “Bro, you’re on the billboards. Every LED in the city. Bus stops, subways, the whole works. You’re the number one trending topic in Seattle right now.” Next one: “Diana sent your photo to every security firm in the state. She blasted it to every taxi driver, Uber driver, train station, and hotel front desk.” Next: “Note attached: ‘Subject is a key executive, suspected kidnapping. Detain and contact immediately.’ Kidnapping! Hahahahahahaha!” Then a screenshot. A group chat for local cab drivers: “Harrison Global just put out a bounty. $100k for the guy in the photo. Just bring him in alive.” “$100k? For real?” “Yeah, the CEO herself signed off on it.” “Holy shit, send the photo again. I’m gonna find this guy.” I slowly lowered my phone. The sun was coming up. A taxi was idling at the gas station pump. The driver was leaning against his car, smoking. He looked up at me. Then he looked at his phone. Then back at me. Our eyes met. His lit up like he’d hit the jackpot. I turned and ran.

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My husband Declan and I were married for three years. At home, I was the perfect wife who cooked and cared for him. In public, he was the devoted husband who never strayed. To the world, we were the model couple. Then came the night of a private gala. He got drunk and called me to pick him up. I hurried to the suite, but as my hand reached for the door, I heard his friend’s teasing voice float through. “Declan, man, you’re something else. Three years with Victoria and not an ounce of real feeling. Are you sure you never felt even a little spark?” Declan’s reply was slick with careless arrogance. “My heart has only ever belonged to Sophia. Victoria was just a stepping stone to get closer to her.” And Sophia, the woman he spoke of, was my best friend of twelve years. 1 I froze, my fingers hovering over the phone screen, the words “Honey, I’m at the door” still typed out in the message box. All the warmth drained from my body. For three years, everyone said I had married for love. In their eyes, I was a promising fashion designer, and he was the brilliant, self-made tycoon. I had naively believed we were destined for each other. Last year, I had a fever of 102. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I felt someone taking care of me. When I finally opened my eyes, I saw Declan wearing my pink apron, a bowl of oatmeal in his hands. He’d even managed to cook an egg into the shape of a heart on top. “I looked it up online,” he’d said softly. “They said this is good for a fever. I simmered it for half an hour. Want to try?” Lying there in his arms, I thought, This is it. This is my forever. Four years ago, I was a nobody in the design world. Frustrated with a blank sketchpad, I posted a throwaway comment online: “Can anyone save my inspiration? One more creative block and I’m quitting to sell boba tea!” Less than ten minutes later, a private message popped up from a user named “D.” “The waistlines in your designs are too conservative. Try incorporating satin panels and an asymmetrical hem. It might break you out of the rut.” On a whim, I tried his suggestions. That design ended up winning a small award. Our conversations grew from there, weaving from design to life. He understood my passion, and I understood the grueling work he put into his start-up. When he proposed, he said, “Victoria, I want to take care of you for the rest of my life. Marry me.” Through a blur of happy tears, I had shouted, “Yes, Declan, I will.” Looking back now, all that sweetness feels like an elaborate, meticulously crafted lie. 2 I slowly pulled my hand back from the door, my back finding the cold wall of the hallway. Suddenly, a flood of details I had long ignored rushed into my mind. The time Declan asked for Sophia’s contact information, claiming he wanted to get to know my friends and hobbies better. Our first trip abroad, where the destination just so happened to be the city where Sophia was studying. And especially the time Sophia went through a bad breakup. She was sobbing uncontrollably on the phone, and as I sat there, my own tears falling in sympathy, Declan seemed even more agitated than I was. “Is Sophia okay? Should we go see her?” he kept asking. He even got her address and overnighted a huge care package of her favorite snacks across the ocean. At the time, I’d laughed and called him the perfect husband, saying he loved my friends just because he loved me. Now I understand. I wasn’t the one he loved. I was just the convenient package deal. My thoughts were shattered by a vibration from my pocket. A message from Sophia lit up the screen. “Tori, I’m coming home next week! Don’t forget to pick me up at the airport! ;)” I stared at the screen, my thumb hesitating for a moment before I typed back a simple reply. “Okay.” The moment the message sent, I deleted my entire chat history with Declan. Then I turned and walked away from the hotel without a backward glance. The sharp click of my heels on the polished floor was the only sound, each step shattering the illusion of a three-year fairy tale. 3 We never spoke of that night. It was an unspoken, mutual silence. The day Sophia returned, the weather was beautiful. As I was getting ready to drive to the airport, Declan offered to come with me. “The airport is a bit of a drive. I’d worry if you went alone. I’ll drive us,” he said, his tone perfectly normal, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Alright.” If I hadn’t known what I knew, I probably would have thought the same. A simple, kind gesture. The car was silent, the only sound our breathing. From the corner of my eye, I studied Declan. He was in a remarkably good mood, so much so that he didn’t seem to notice the oppressive quiet in the car. He drove quickly, fueled by an excitement he couldn’t hide, and we arrived at the airport in no time. Sophia was there, pushing a luggage cart, as radiant and bold as ever. She saw us and waved with a brilliant smile. “Over here!” Declan was at her side in a few long strides, handing her a bottle of her favorite brand of mineral water. He then effortlessly took her luggage cart, his voice filled with a light, easy familiarity I hadn’t heard from him in ages. “Welcome back, Sophia. Victoria has been talking about you non-stop. Was the flight okay? Have you found a place to stay yet?” Sophia tossed her long hair, her eyes flicking over to me for a second before landing back on Declan. She smiled, her voice a lazy drawl. “I’ve missed you guys too! I’m not too tired, just a little dizzy from the landing. I was in such a rush to get back, I haven’t found a place yet. I might have to crash with you two for a couple of days.” “You won’t have to crash,” Declan said instantly. “Victoria and I have a condo downtown. You can stay there. The furniture is all brand new. It’ll save you the trouble of looking.” That condo. We had bought it for our future child. A place we had planned and dreamed about together. And now, he had forgotten that promise completely. I forced a smile. “Of course.” 4 For dinner, we went to Sophia’s favorite sushi restaurant. On the way there, Declan and Sophia chatted nonstop. “So, life abroad treated you well?” Declan’s voice, full of undisguised cheer, drifted into the back seat. Sophia laughed and told him all about her experiences, the conversation flowing from life overseas to the changes back home. They were so engrossed in each other they seemed to forget I was there at all. I was the third wheel at my own best friend’s welcome home dinner. As we entered the restaurant, Declan took the menu and his first words were, “Sophia, you always loved the miso-glazed cod here. Should we get it?” She nodded, then turned to me. “Tori, what do you want?” Before I could answer, Declan cut in. “She’s easy. She’ll eat anything.” I sat beside him, feeling like a decorative accessory. When the food arrived, he served Sophia first, even pouring her a small glass of sake. They moved together with the easy grace of a long-established couple. My chopsticks barely moved. The steam rising from my miso soup blurred my vision, or maybe it was something else. As the meal wound down, Declan glanced at his phone, as if suddenly remembering my presence. “Victoria, why don’t you grab a cab home? Sophia has a lot of luggage, and I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself. We’re a team anyway, so me helping is the same as you helping.” I didn’t argue. I just nodded. “That’s fine. I’m finished anyway, and I have some work to do at the studio.” I picked up my bag and stood. At the door, some strange impulse made me look back. The warm, yellow light of the restaurant fell on Declan’s profile. He was looking down, carefully peeling a shrimp for Sophia, a gentle smile playing on his lips. It had been so long since I had seen him look that tender. 5 After that, the nights Declan didn’t come home grew more frequent. At first, he made an effort with his excuses. “A big project at the office is on a tight deadline, I have to work late.” Or, “A client changed their schedule last minute, I have to go out of town for a couple of days.” I’d see the exhaustion in his eyes when he finally came home in the dead of night, and for a fleeting moment, I’d almost believe him. But then he would take off his suit jacket, and a foreign perfume would hit me. A sweet, fruity floral scent. Identical to the one Sophia always wore. All my self-doubt would shatter. My fingers would trace over a long strand of hair on his collar that wasn’t mine. He’d notice my gaze and hastily toss the jacket into the laundry basket. “Must have been from a meeting,” he’d say, his tone a little too casual. “One of the female colleagues.” He told that lie again and again. And I never called him on it. I just quietly washed his jacket separately from mine. 6 A week later, I was at my studio working on a new design when my assistant ran in, holding out her phone with a complicated expression. The photo was crystal clear. In the dim, moody lighting of a bar, Declan was seated in a booth. Sophia was leaning against his shoulder, their cocktail glasses clinking together. The look he was giving her was so tender you could drown in it. The headline was a knife to the gut. 【VANCE ENTERPRISES CEO ON DATE WITH MYSTERY WOMAN, INTIMATE BEHAVIOR SUGGESTS NEW ROMANCE.】 The comments section was a war zone. 【That is definitely NOT Mrs. Vance.】 【Is she his mistress?】 【No, you guys are wrong. Look at the way he’s looking at her. That’s true love.】 My hand holding the phone trembled, my fingertips ice cold. I forced back the tears and handed the phone back to my assistant, my voice carefully steady, though the slight tremor at the end gave me away. “It’s probably photoshopped. It’s fake. Don’t worry about it.” I waited for Declan to call, to explain, even to lie like he used to. But the call never came. He didn’t post a single denial on social media. He acted like a complete bystander, letting the rumors fester, letting the world speculate about the state of our marriage. The night outside my window grew darker. I stared at that blinding photo on my phone and suddenly felt an immense, crushing exhaustion. 7 Sophia’s welcome-home party was on a Saturday night. She delivered the invitation to my studio herself, asking both me and Declan to come. That evening, I chose a simple, elegant cream-colored dress. I wore no makeup, just a touch of pale lipstick. As I walked to the foyer, Declan emerged from the closet. I paused. He was wearing the custom-tailored suit I had given him for his birthday last year. It fit him perfectly. His hair was impeccably styled, and he was even wearing the platinum cufflinks I had recently bought him. As far as I could remember, he only dressed this carefully for major corporate events. And tonight was just my best friend’s party. “Have you been waiting long?” he asked, stepping toward me. He reached out to adjust my collar, and I instinctively took a step back. His hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep Sophia waiting.” The party was in full swing. Sophia was the center of attention in a stunning red slip dress, a blooming rose in a sea of people. The moment Declan walked in, his eyes were glued to her. She spotted us and gracefully made her way over. “Victoria! You’re here! I saved you guys seats!” We sat down next to her. Declan pulled a small, crimson velvet box from his pocket and handed it to her. “Welcome home, Sophia,” he said, his voice a full octave gentler than usual. “This is from both of us.” Sophia’s eyes widened. She lifted a hand to her mouth as she opened the box. Inside, a necklace set with a magnificent pigeon-blood ruby glittered under the lights. It was the diamond necklace I had fallen in love with when Declan and I were window shopping last month. The price tag, a staggering six figures, had made me hesitate. “It’s too much,” Declan had said at the time. “I’ll get it for you at the end of the year as a gift.” I thought he was being sensible, considerate. And now, he had bought it for Sophia. He watched her awestruck expression, his voice thick with an undisguised affection. “I knew you liked it. I saw you staring at it in the window for a full thirty seconds that day, so I made a mental note.” The people around them started to buzz. “Mr. Vance, you’re so thoughtful!” “That necklace must be worth a fortune!” Someone who knew of my marriage to Declan laughed and teased, “Honestly, the two of you standing together… anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the married couple!” Declan didn’t deny it. He just smiled down at Sophia, his eyes full of adoration. She leaned closer to him, and a little of her wine sloshed onto her dress. “Oops, I think I’ve had a little too much,” she said with a playful pout. Declan immediately put a steadying hand on her waist, completely ignoring me. “Be careful. You shouldn’t drink anymore. Let me take you to the lounge so you can rest.” He guided her away, and as they passed me, he didn’t even spare me a glance. I watched their retreating backs and downed my entire glass of champagne in one gulp.

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I ate, he killed. I slept, he killed. In our chats, he’d even send me gruesome photos. “Killed three today,” he’d text with a smiley face, “I’m such a busy little bee.” I’d respond with graphic descriptions of pig slaughter back on my family’s farm. I thought we were just two abstract individuals with a shared love for the macabre. Until one day, a message popped up: “Baby, after this kill, I’ll meet you in person.” The location was right outside my apartment building. 1 I didn’t take Asher Flynn’s words seriously. Waking up from a hangover, my head felt like it was splitting. But for the sake of our first meeting, I rushed to wash my hair. I casually shot back, “When I see you, I’m going to kiss you to death!” In real life, I’m pretty reserved; online, I’m a total firecracker. Just as I was testing the water temperature, a sudden clarity hit me. How did Asher know where I lived? I had never revealed any real personal information to him. When I ordered takeout or received gifts, I always had him convert it to cash and send it to me. I typed out a question. Asher replied: [You posted it in the group last night.] I quickly opened our chat group – it was a true-crime and mystery enthusiast’s forum. Asher and I had met there. At midnight last night, I’d posted a location, with the caption: [Come find me, everyone!] [Thirty floors, one hundred and eighty units, guess which one I am?] The group was lively with replies: [Forensics Fanatic 1: No way, your star killer would murder us all!] [Forensics Fanatic 8: I bet you’re a total bombshell, Asher’s a lucky guy!] [Forensics Fanatic 16: This place looks familiar, I think I’ve handled a case there.] There were seventeen people in the group, all calling themselves “Forensics Fanatics.” I was the seventeenth. I’d stumbled in one day after a random search. Everyone in the group absolutely loved true crime and mysteries. Asher replied to me: [So happy, my target is in the same building as you.] He had wanted to come find me in the middle of the night. He’d sent me a flurry of excited emojis in private messages. Half-asleep, I’d replied: [No late-night mischief, mister!] So he’d rescheduled for the morning. My toes curled with embarrassment. I’m a homebody with social anxiety. I quickly messaged him that I didn’t actually live there. I was a “haunted house” test sleeper. This apartment had seen eight deaths a year ago, it was truly cursed. My employer had paid me half a million dollars to live here for a year. Today was the last day, and I’d happily opened a bottle of wine to celebrate. I was moving out this afternoon. I hadn’t told Asher about this; I was afraid he’d judge me. I just said: [I’m moving this afternoon, it’s not convenient.] Asher was insistent, saying he could “clear the scene” in an hour. Alright, fine. I felt a mix of anticipation and a secret resolution. If he was handsome, we’d keep seeing each other. If he was ugly, I’d make a run for it. 2 I’d never seen Asher Flynn; he never shared photos. He always said mysteriously: [A killer revealing their face is the prelude to their death.] We’d known each other for a year, dated for six months. Still, we maintained a mutual wariness. Addresses, names, appearances – nothing. His sudden request to meet in person put a lot of pressure on me. Curiously, I asked him: [Aren’t you afraid of exposing your face and dying?] Asher replied: [Are you a cop?] Of course not. Then he added: [Even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be willing to be your big break.] All talk and no trousers. I realized Asher was also a serious role-playing enthusiast. He constantly fantasized about being a top-tier assassin. And the group members always played along, hyping him up. I chuckled. Who could he possibly “kill” here? This building was full of ordinary people, upper-middle class at best. He replied: [You know the rules, can’t reveal the employer or target’s identity.] [I’m going to kill a woman.] The second sentence came a minute later, he seemed to hesitate. I was amused, pressing him for how much this “job” paid. [Just pocket change, enough to buy you some game skins.] Asher didn’t seem to care about money. He often transferred tens of thousands to me. Over six months, it added up to well over a hundred thousand. I hadn’t accepted all of it; my pride got in the way, making me feel like a kept woman. I knew he was loaded, which always made me suspect he must be ugly. Opening the group chat, I asked: [Who’s helping Asher clean up this time?] Many times when Asher announced he was “going on a kill,” the group would respond. They’d volunteer to go with him, and Asher never refused, just sent them cash. They’d take photos when they arrived, usually of lavish mansions. For a while, I even suspected they were real assassins. But when I searched online, there were never any murder cases reported in those places. I figured they must be actual cleaners. Professional junk removers. Asher was probably a small business owner in that field, with a weird obsession for “cleaning.” The group replied: [Forensics Fanatic 8: We wouldn’t dare interrupt Asher and his ladylove’s sweet time!] [Forensics Fanatic 12: He can handle it alone.] They said you could tell by the location it wasn’t a big job. They were curious why Asher took it. I was curious too; I hadn’t heard of any resident needing a massive cleanup. 3 Asher said: [A friend was caught in a tax evasion scandal; I loaned him money to cover it.] He claimed he was broke, a truly plain and unexciting reason. I suspected this “friend” was himself. And a criminal at that. My enthusiasm started to wane. I’m a law-abiding citizen, after all. I opened another chat group, for our building residents. I asked: [Who hired a deep-cleaning service today?] It took a while for someone to respond, a resident on the eighteenth floor. They asked what I wanted in a rather surly tone. I wanted them to take a picture of the cleaner. If he was ugly, I’d know for sure and bolt immediately. The guy wasn’t happy, calling me crazy. Asher messaged me saying he was heading up. I gritted my teeth, got dressed carefully, and headed out to the elevator. I went straight down to the eighteenth floor. In the elevator, I ran into my next-door neighbor. She was a single woman, beautiful with a melancholic air. “Are you my neighbor?” she asked, initiating the conversation. I answered warily. She was surprisingly friendly, pointing to my bracelet and saying they were identical. Mine was red; this was my zodiac year. It was quite a coincidence—we were the same age and had the same bracelet. But I wasn’t interested in chatting further. We parted ways on the eighteenth floor. As I stepped out, a wave of pungent odor almost made me gag. One apartment door was wide open, trash spilling into the hallway. Greasy liquids oozed and pooled, sticky and disgusting. I cautiously peered through the doorway. A short, overweight man in a hazmat suit was cleaning up the mess. I called out softly, and he turned around. His round face was obscured, a messy beard hiding most of his features. My heart sank immediately. I pulled out my phone. Running away, I typed furiously: [Let’s break up. We’re not a good fit.] 4 Asher blew up. He started a barrage of messages: [Why? I still have money, don’t leave me!] [Come out and meet me, I’m super handsome.] [Please, or I’ll kill you!] I rolled my eyes. I’d meant to tell him he was ugly, in a subtle way. But then I thought, a self-absorbed guy getting upset might actually retaliate. I replied: [You’re too amateur. A top assassin like you, and you didn’t even know I was tracking you.] My persona in the group was also a mysterious assassin. I usually read a lot of crime novels, and someone in my family was a lawyer. I often shared case analyses with them. They were quite impressed with me. Asher had actively added me, drawn by my mystique. He went silent. I ignored him, focusing on packing my bags. My head felt fuzzy, so I rested for a bit. Checking my phone again, the group chat had also exploded. [Forensics Fanatic 1: Please, ladylove, don’t leave Asher. I’m kneeling in the street!] [Forensics Fanatic 2: Please, ladylove, don’t leave Asher. I’m kneeling at home!] [Forensics Fanatic 3: Please, ladylove, don’t leave Asher. I’m kneeling in a restaurant!] Sixteen messages in total. Asher was the first to “kneel,” sending a photo of himself kneeling in a hallway. His legs were long and slender. The others also sent photos of themselves kneeling, in all sorts of places. My social anxiety was reaching critical levels. I asked Asher in the group how he’d been tormenting them. [Forensics Fanatic 8: No threats, absolutely sincere!] I was willing to bet Asher had threatened to kill them. Whenever they teased Asher in the group, he’d just send one message: [I’ll kill you.] The group would instantly fall silent. They were all law-abiding citizens, and Asher, the “small boss,” was just bullying them! My inner worker bee awakened. I challenged Asher: [If you’re so tough, come find me. If you can’t, we’re over!] It would take him at least half a day to go through the entire building, knocking on every door. Asher agreed. Rubbing my throbbing head, I suddenly realized that ugly, overweight man wasn’t him. And it didn’t matter anymore. Just then, the delivery guy called. He said he couldn’t get into our complex. “Go through the back entrance, by that broken iron gate!” He just replied that he couldn’t find it, and I couldn’t even complain about him since I couldn’t find him. I had to go down myself. I’d ordered seafood and spicy noodle soup. It was easy to attract stray cats and dogs. I didn’t want any trouble on my last day here. As I was getting into the elevator with my food, I ran into my neighbor again. 5 The beautiful neighbor had also gone to pick up food. She was carrying several dishes. I hadn’t expected someone so petite to have such a huge appetite. “You live alone too, don’t you? Want to share a meal?” she asked, smiling warmly. We’d seen each other a few times before. She was always receiving packages. She didn’t seem to go out much, and faint sounds often came from her apartment. She was probably a streamer or content creator. I almost agreed, ready to contribute traffic and money to her. I don’t have much resistance to attractive people. But I managed to restrain myself. When we parted, we exchanged names. She was called Evelyn Shaw. As soon as I got home, my phone started buzzing non-stop. Asher excitedly sent me several messages: [I found you!] It had only been about fifteen minutes since I challenged him to find me. Only a fool would believe he’d actually found me. He sounded wronged: [I got into the surveillance room. I can see everyone.] The surveillance room could only see the elevators and the ground floor. I really wanted to complain to building management; anyone could access the cameras? Curiously, I asked Asher which one he thought was me. He said: [A girl in her twenties, not too tall.] That was too vague; I could guess that too. Then he added: [You went downstairs to get takeout.] That wasn’t unusual; near noon, many people went down for takeout. The security here didn’t allow delivery drivers inside. And the back gate was a tight squeeze. I sent him a disgusted emoji. He immediately replied: [You’re the one with the red gemstone bracelet, right? You’re so cute.] My scalp instantly prickled. How did he pinpoint me so accurately among so many people? He said with a smile: [Being an assassin, you’ve got to have that kind of observational skill.] I freaked out, cautiously asking: [Baby, you still love me, right?]

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On a reality TV show, A popular young actress subtly hinted at countless romantic details with the “Crown Prince” of the city. The host asked about her relationship status, and she covered her mouth, smiling demurely. “My man prefers I keep quiet about it.” The entire audience gasped. Only I, an unknown actress, glanced at the marriage certificate with the “Crown Prince” in my bag, and muttered to myself, “Are there two Crown Princes now?” 1 It was my third year drifting in Hollywood, waiting for my career to die a slow death. My agent, unable to watch any longer, shoved me into a wildly popular pet reality show overnight. Both I and the trending actress, Brooke Sterling, were invited guests for this season. Our debut immediately garnered immense attention from netizens. Why? The glaring disparity in our pets. She had a championship-pedigree, double-coated Golden Retriever by her side, gleaming like gold. Beside me was an unknown mixed-breed mutt, all dusty grey. [Hahahahaha, I’m dying. Does anyone still own a mutt these days?] [Where I’m from, mutts are practically dinner.] [Truly, like owner, like dog. Brooke’s Golden Retriever is so handsome!] [No way, same hair color as the Crown Prince, hahahaha.] [Same hair color? What’s that about?] Seeing the comments flood the screen, the host feigned curiosity and asked about it: “Brooke, you posted on social media before the show. What’s this about ‘father and son’ matching hair colors?” Brooke giggled shyly. “It’s really nothing. Just someone insisting on dyeing his hair the same color as Little Gem.” The host knelt down and stroked the dog’s head. “I know this is Little Gem. So who’s ‘someone’?” She looked bashful: “Oh… I can’t say.” But even if Brooke didn’t say, the comments had already guessed. The production team even put up a huge screen showing a late-night post from Rhys Vance, the “Crown Prince” of New York’s elite. Rhys Vance V: [So bored, getting the wife a new husband.] The accompanying picture showed his platinum blonde hair. A notoriously difficult hair color, yet paired with Rhys Vance’s devastatingly handsome face, it didn’t look out of place at all. Instead, it added a touch of rebellious charm. The comments section instantly exploded. [OMG! What a handsome face!] [So much hotter than any celebrity idol. Is the Crown Prince not considering a career in entertainment?] [It really is Little Gem’s matching hair color!] [The Crown Prince is so totally in love! He even dyed his hair to match Little Gem!] [Hahahahaha, I can’t imagine how much the Crown Prince spoils Brooke in private!] The host playfully asked: “Is ‘someone’… Mr. Rhys Vance?” Before Brooke could answer, my dog barked excitedly, wagging its tail furiously. I soothingly patted its head. At the same time, my forehead creased with annoyance. It was all my fault for always calling him “Rhys Vance, Rhys Vance” at home, making the dog now go wild whenever it heard his name. [What kind of dog is that? Still barking?] [They’re on a show, can’t they train it better before bringing it out? I hate dogs that bark randomly!] [Why does this dog react to Rhys Vance’s name?] [Stella probably taught it. She’s definitely trying to cling to the Crown Prince’s fame.] [Ugh, seriously. Instead of improving her acting, she’s always pulling these cheap stunts!] The host also looked over: “What’s wrong with your dog?” “Nothing.” Actually, my dog had quieted down under my calming strokes, but the comments kept fixating on that random bark. Brooke laughed lightly: “Did your dog not go to training school when it was little? My Little Gem spent a few months in a training camp, and now his manners are excellent. He never barks or howls unnecessarily.” “Mine doesn’t bark randomly either,” I clarified, adding, “That was an accident.” “What kind of accident?” “…” I bit back the words, “The kind of accident where it thought its daddy arrived.” 2 Rhys Vance was the “Crown Prince” of New York society, as the netizens called him, and I was an unknown actress in Hollywood. Worlds apart. But we were childhood sweethearts and had already tied the knot. It was my idea to keep our marriage a secret. Mainly because I found Rhys embarrassing. Take the hair dyeing incident, for example. His initial reason for dyeing his hair was because my current celebrity crush had that hair color. He wouldn’t let me look at other men, so he dyed his hair the same color, constantly parading in front of me to compete for attention, even calling it “getting me a new husband.” Just thinking about his recent boundless energy gave me a headache. Even more headache-inducing was that such things had happened many times before. Ultimately, he’d always end up tormenting me in bed… With such a childish and jealous husband, I kept him hidden, terrified of anyone finding out. Who would have thought someone would be so eager to claim a connection to him? The production team started playing a short video. It was a segment we’d been asked to send before the show aired, featuring cute moments of our dogs at home, so the audience could quickly get to know and love them. My video had been handled by my agent. While everyone’s attention was focused on Brooke’s video, I quietly messaged my agent: [You didn’t expose Rhys, did you?] My agent gave me an “OK” sign: [Don’t worry.] Only then did I feel comfortable watching Brooke’s video. Undoubtedly, Little Gem was a very well-behaved and intelligent dog, but Brooke’s video was laden with too much subtle manipulation. The camera casually panned over a matching wristwatch left casually on a coffee table. Then over the dining table, where a matching designer plate, which Rhys had once posted on social media, was visible. Not to mention the throw pillows on the sofa, the double pillows on the bed, and finally, Little Gem retrieving a tie that matched Rhys’s in the video. It was all implied, all suggestive. The comments section was already swooning. [OMG! It’s all the Crown Prince’s stuff! Every item looks so familiar!] [Little Gem is rubbing against what looks like the Crown Prince’s suit pants, right?] [Aaaaaah, our Brooke is going to marry into royalty!] [They’re all common items, you can buy them if you have money. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the Crown Prince’s, right?] [Father and son matching hair colors, sweetie.] In the midst of the joyful atmosphere, the production team started playing the video of my dog. After only two seconds, I had a bad feeling. The video truly didn’t expose Rhys. In fact, many clips were ones I’d sent to my agent when I usually posted about my dog. But… it was too similar to Brooke’s video! Coal, my dog, wagged its head around the living room with a toy, and the camera panned over Rhys’s leather shoes. Coal bounced onto the sofa, running around, and the camera showed a painting on the wall that Rhys had once posted. Even when Coal was sleeping soundly in my arms, Rhys’s wrist, with his watch, was visible in the frame. His voice echoed at the very end of the video. “Good boy, don’t bother Mommy. Come to Daddy.” The video finished playing. The comments section was silent for a moment, then erupted in a barrage of ridicule. [I’m not saying anything, but Stella is really trying too hard to cling to fame, isn’t she?] [This is hilarious! Stella really thinks if she edits a video like this, we’ll believe she’s involved with the Crown Prince, right?] [Hahahahahaha, so absurd!] [If Brooke’s video hadn’t come first, maybe I would’ve actually believed it.] [Just quietly saying, that male voice at the end sounds pretty similar…] [Yes! Only you!] [Some people are such killjoys, can’t stand to see anyone else doing well, huh?] [Stella’s fans, stop struggling. You’ll be quiet once the Crown Prince publicly shuts you down.] Brooke chuckled amidst the ridicule: “Stella’s video is quite interesting.” I frowned slightly: “What do you mean?” “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she said innocently. “You just want everyone to misunderstand that you’re involved with Mr. Vance, right?” I never imagined she would accuse me first! She was the one clinging to fame! She was the one playing games, and here I was, keeping things hidden, and I became the one being pretentious! Blood rushed to my head. I didn’t care about anything else. Didn’t care about our secret marriage, didn’t care about Rhys being embarrassing… I looked directly at her: “Isn’t your video the one implying that?” “But I’m already with Mr. Vance…” She paused slightly, then lowered her head bashfully. “My relationship with him, I don’t think I need to explain it to you, do I?” I took a deep breath, maintaining my composure as I said to her: “I think you should explain, considering I’m Rhys Vance’s wife in the eyes of the law.” The comments section instantly exploded! 3 The atmosphere in the live stream reached its peak. [OMG! Did I just hear that wrong? What did Stella say she was to Rhys Vance?] [Wife?? Wife!!] [I don’t believe it. If she really was his wife, why didn’t Stella say anything before?] [This woman really just says whatever she wants!] [But her expression doesn’t look like she’s lying…] [Use your brain, there’s no way! The top elite of New York society, how could he marry an unknown actress?] [Brooke is also an actress!] [Our Brooke is gentle, generous, cute, and kind. Who wouldn’t want to marry her?] Amidst the chaotic comments, Brooke let out a light laugh. “Lying comes with a price, you know.” I calmly looked at her: “That warning applies to you too.” She smiled: “You say you’re Mr. Rhys’s wife. Do you have proof?” Suddenly, all eyes in the room were on me. I calmly pulled out my phone and went to my photo album. But it was my own fault for being too cautious; there wasn’t a single photo of Rhys and me in my regular album. I could only open my hidden album. It was full of photos of Rhys and me. Some were even risqué, taken in moments of passion, the kind that would get the live stream shut down… My face flushed slightly. I found a few intimate photos that weren’t too explicit but clearly proved our relationship, and handed them over to the production team to display. The moment the photos appeared on the big screen, the comments section erupted again. [OMG! It really is Stella! And it’s really Rhys Vance!] [Stella, you eat well, girl!] [If Stella really is the Crown Prince’s wife, then was Brooke lying all this time?] [And the “Crown Prince’s matching hair color,” don’t make me laugh!] [The “clinger” always says others are clinging to fame.] [Side note… Rhys looks so satisfied in these photos. Did something happen when they were taken?] [Maybe it’s photoshopped? Photoshop is so advanced these days, they can even make videos!] [Stella looks like a Rhys Vance fangirl, so creepy!] [Same goes for Brooke’s fans!] [Don’t judge without knowing the full story. I unconditionally believe Brooke.] Brooke calmly pulled out her phone amidst the dispute. She lowered her head, typed something, then looked up at me, a hint of challenge in her eyes: “But… I have photos like this too.”

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Until traces of my girlfriend’s brother’s fingerprints were found on my sister’s body. Stella and I completely lost it. I broke her brother, destroying his life bit by bit; She, on the day of my sister’s funeral, rented out every billboard in the city center, broadcasting my sister’s most intimate secrets. We saw red, consumed by a hatred so furious, so incandescent. The warmth we once shared transformed into the sharpest blades, tearing at each other until we bled profusely. Eventually, the military stepped in, sending one of us to a distant post and keeping the other stateside. When we met again, Stella was a decorated Major General, renowned for her valor. And I was terminally ill, with less than three months left to live. … After picking up my medication from the hospital, I returned to the flower shop I owned, directly across from the military base. The moment I stepped inside, the electronic screen opposite was broadcasting news of Stella’s return to the capital. The former “Rose of the Northern Command,” now the youngest female Major General in the Army, was back from her overseas deployment. Naturally, it was a major story, eagerly covered by all media outlets. I averted my gaze and placed the freshly delivered white daisies before my sister’s framed portrait. The door suddenly burst open, and a young man in military uniform rushed in, clutching a large bouquet of dazzling red roses. He looked fresh-faced, but his voice was crisp and clear. Pointing to the imported ‘Snow Mountain’ roses in the refrigerated display, he declared, “These, I want all of them!” Trailing behind him was Stella’s adjutant, Captain Sarah Chen. Seeing me, her steps halted abruptly, her expression becoming extremely awkward: “Liam, maybe we should try another shop?” The young man immediately refused: “No way!” “I sent Stella a preserved flower box from this shop before, and she said it was very special. Tonight is her promotion ceremony, and I absolutely have to make it grand.” He blinked his clear eyes at me: “Sir, my fiancée just got promoted to Major General, and she absolutely loves the flowers from your shop. Could I borrow your space to hold a small celebration for her?” I couldn’t refuse, only nodding. “Sir, could you add more Eustomas?” he softly added. I acknowledged him, my hands trembling as I arranged the bouquet. It wasn’t fear, nor nostalgia. It was my illness, flaring up again. The kind that had no cure. “Sarah, quickly help me! Stella will be here any minute, and I want her to be happy.” Sarah stood rooted to the spot. She knew better than anyone that Stella was never happy to see me. In the news footage, Stella smiled appropriately for the camera, but there was no warmth in her eyes. “He must be watching the news too, right?” The camera zoomed in, making the scar above her eyebrow particularly clear. “I’m really looking forward to… this reunion.” That was a mark I’d left with my combat knife. No particular reason, just a bad mood, and I lashed out at her. And the hideous bullet hole below my collarbone was a gift from her, a deliberate raising of her aim during target practice. No reason for that either. We always believed in an eye for an eye, relishing the sight of each other bleeding, half-dead. On TV, the reporter chuckled and pressed on: “Major General Shen, will you be stationed in the capital long-term after this return? And seeing you with roses, are you going to meet someone important?” She paused briefly, her voice low: “My fiancé.” The young man in the shop was meticulously adjusting the placement of the roses and lilies. He looked back at the screen, hearing her words. “Sarah, I heard Stella had a first love in the capital she was entangled with for many years. Do you know about that?” I lowered my head, trimming flower stems. In my peripheral vision, Sarah’s gaze fell upon me. “Stella!” The young man’s light cry broke the stagnant air in the flower shop. He exuberantly ran out, even forgetting his jacket. “Liam.” Outside the door, Stella smiled and stroked his head, draping her military jacket over his shoulders. The boy lowered his head and pressed a rain-kissed kiss on her forehead. Stella seemed to subtly tilt her head, avoiding it slightly. Our gazes, separated by the misted glass window, abruptly met. The young man was about to turn around but was pulled into a deep kiss by her. I averted my eyes, snipping the last ribbon in my hand. Sarah had already walked up to me. She hesitated for a moment, lowering her voice: “Julian, please… she’s being honored today. At least today, don’t embarrass her.” She paused, then added: “This boy just turned twenty. He’s a new recruit, a sniper. His smile… reminds me a little of you when you were young.” I nodded, my fingertips numb with cold. “He’s quite similar. He’s more cheerful than I ever was.” The door was pushed open again, and Stella walked in, holding a folded black long-handled umbrella. “Talking about my fiancé?” Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes were like frozen blades, fixed on me. Sarah held her breath, staring at me. She was waiting, waiting to see if I would lose control like before. But I merely handed over the prepared bouquet: “Your custom-made ‘Wish’ bouquet, please check it.” Liam propped his chin in his hands, gazing at Stella with adoration: “Stella, smell it. Isn’t it your favorite champagne rose?” Stella’s fingertips brushed over the petals, her thumb stroking the ribbon, as she leaned in to sniff gently. “Too fragrant, cloyingly sweet. Not really my style.” Her voice rose at the end, her eyes curving as she teased Liam. Liam suspiciously lowered his head and sniffed: “It’s clearly very elegant! You’re just teasing me again!” He didn’t see that the moment he lowered his head, Stella’s gaze remained fixed on me. The next second, the flower shop’s glass door was violently pushed open. “Major General Shen! Congratulations on your promotion!” Several officers in dress uniforms rushed in, smiling, but their smiles froze the moment they saw me. Their gazes followed me, wary and scrutinizing, all turning to Sarah Chen. I carried the prepared tea cups over, and the officers all simultaneously took half a step back—as if they feared I was carrying explosives. In those years, Stella and I had brutalized each other during drills, and I’d certainly “taken care” of them too. But those were just regular confrontations. I hadn’t expected them to have such profound muscle memory. Someone subtly nudged Sarah’s elbow, lowering their voice: “Captain Chen, what’s going on here?” Sarah shrugged, not answering. “Please, have some tea.” I turned to leave. But Liam grabbed my wrist: “Sir, can you take a photo for us?” “No.” I gently brushed his hand away, refusing without hesitation. I had barely turned halfway when a shadow fell over me. I looked up to see a cold-faced Stella, her expression indifferent: “I know, you run a business, everything’s conditional. Name your price. How much will it cost to buy you…” She paused, her tone nasty, as if waiting for my rebuttal. Seeing no reaction from me, she coldly finished her sentence: “…buy you to take our photo.” I looked her up and down, said nothing, and tried to walk around her. The old scar on my forearm was suddenly pressed hard, and I stumbled, falling to my knees. A black card slapped against my face, its edge leaving a bloody scratch. “The money on this card is enough to buy your life.” I forced myself to stand, my eyes fixed on Stella. Liam, smiling, stepped between us, trying to smooth things over: “Stella, don’t be like that…” “I’m sorry, sir. My fiancée must be tired after her drill.” But her epaulets were perfectly aligned, her breathing steady. She was simply looking for trouble with me, just as she had for over a decade. This time, I truly believed that she had been utterly free-spirited these past few years overseas, completely forgetting what kind of person I was—one who always demanded an eye for an eye. I crouched down, picked up the black card, and stood firm before Stella. Those around us let out a scoff. “Major General Shen, this person really hasn’t changed a bit. Stops dead in his tracks at the sight of money!” She confidently offered her phone, seemingly pleased with my sudden “compliance.” I wrapped a rose stem around the black card, then gripped her wrist, pressing it hard into her palm. Until I smelled blood, then I stopped. I casually picked up two cups of tea from the table and splashed them onto her face. “Your mouth stinks. I don’t mind helping you wash it.” As I raised my hand, I also slapped the person who had just spoken: “You pathetic cur, if you can’t use your mouth right, shut it!” It all happened too fast; no one reacted. Only the sound of rain hitting the glass remained. Sarah leaned against the corner, tilting her head back to gulp down a large cup of tea, sighing, “Why did you provoke him?” Liam snapped back to reality, craning his neck to argue with me: “Sir! We were in the wrong first, but what you’re doing is too much!” His face flushed with anger, and he raised his hand as if to strike. “Ah!” The moment he made a move, I grabbed his wrist and swiftly delivered a backhanded slap. Only Liam’s cries of pain echoed in the confined space. Stella wiped the water from her face, her smile chillingly cold, “Hitting me is one thing, but touching my fiancé is where you crossed the line.” She shielded Liam, who was covering his face, behind her: “Shall I have this shop smashed to vent your anger?” Liam bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes, and nodded. Several military personnel instantly flooded in from outside. Flower stands toppled, glass shattered, crystal vases exploded. Cold rain mixed with wind poured in, drenching my white shirt. Stella grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up. “You’re not wrong, but I have to give him an explanation. Think about what compensation you want, write it down, and send it over. I’ll accept it all.” Her gaze was heavy, like she was scrutinizing a prisoner of war. I shook her off, then suddenly coughed, frantically searching through the wreckage. A small pill bottle rolled out, and my eyes lit up. She bent down faster than me, picked up the rolling pill bottle, and stared at it intently. “Six painkiller pills at once? You really have no fear of death.” With that, she casually tossed it into a puddle, then took Liam’s hand and turned to leave. And I knelt by the puddle, retrieving the pill bottle, and swallowed two more. Besides pain relief, this medicine also had a sedative effect. From half a pill initially, to now, eight pills couldn’t suppress it. The medicine was almost gone, and my life was nearly at its end. In three years, my parents had passed away. My illness kept relapsing and never improved, so I retired from the military, using all my savings to buy this flower shop. Now it was destroyed, and I didn’t know where to go next. Perhaps the pain once again swept through my limbs and bones; I no longer had the strength to even move. So I simply sat amidst the chaos, letting the night rain drench me. Overnight, news spread through the military compound: “Major General Shen smashed her ex-lover’s flower shop for her new flame.” As the morning light dawned, I prepared to leave. Before I did, facing the widespread wreckage, I slowly bowed three times. Stella appeared behind me without me noticing, pulling me around abruptly. “Just a broken flower shop. Is it worth all this?” I pulled free from her hand, stood steady, then raised my hand and delivered three sharp slaps across her face. “My parents’ military honors were kept in the shop. They’re gone now.” My voice was calm. She curled her red lips into a sneer. “Is that so? Three slaps for your parents’ medals of valor. That sounds like a good deal for me.” I ignored her, simply staring at the wreckage. She was behind me, saying things designed to wound me. “Julian, I’m talking to you.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard, walking straight out. She caught up in a few strides, blocking my path. “Don’t pretend to be calm with me! Look at yourself now. Your face is as white as paper. What are you trying to prove?” “Just an old injury flaring up, looking a bit tired, that’s all.” I looked up, forcing a cold smile. “Stella, do you really think you’re something that can affect me?” But I knew perfectly well. Her return this time was specifically to make trouble for me. If my body were still as strong as before, I wouldn’t mind tangling with her again, letting her taste a bullet through the chest. But now, just standing already drained all my strength. In the military hospital, the smell of disinfectant was overpoweringly acrid. Several military doctors exchanged worried glances over my test results, their expressions grim. “How much of that special medicine I prescribed you last time do you have left?” “It’s all gone.” “All gone?!” Dr. Lee’s voice shot up. “That was a quarter’s supply! It’s only been a week!” Dr. Lee had been in charge of my injuries for a long time. His hesitant demeanor instantly made me realize my time was probably truly limited. “Do you… have anyone else in your family?” she asked tentatively. “Old Lee, have you forgotten?” My voice was calm. “My dad died in the line of duty, my mom is gone, my sister…” “Anyway, I’m just a useless life.” He took off his glasses, rubbing his temples forcefully. “It was quite stable for the past three years, wasn’t it? How did it get this bad in just one week…” I looked at the news automatically pushed to my phone screen. A photo of Stella, arm in arm with Liam, attending her promotion ceremony, stood out. The person I thought I no longer cared about could still wound me the deepest. Stella was the most accurate bullet in my life, killing without spilling blood. “Your condition is very grim. After stopping medication, seven days, one month, three months… all are critical periods.” “Take this bottle of medicine,” he handed me a small pill bottle. “Take three pills when it hurts. Remember, no more than three…” He didn’t finish his sentence. I had already twisted open the cap, poured a handful into my mouth, and dry-swallowed them. The number didn’t matter, as long as it suppressed this bone-gnawing pain. Seven days or three months, to me, made no difference. After taking the medicine, I squatted in a corner of the hospital corridor, my back pressed against the cold tiles. This was a method I’d figured out myself: freezing myself to hypothermia could also alleviate the pain. Cold sweat drenched my clothes. For ten minutes, I listened to the prayers and cries from outside the operating room next door. Those most fervent wishes, all hinged on the razor’s edge of life and death. “Mommy, isn’t that the big brother who was in the bed next to ours? Should we go say goodbye to him?” “His illness… it won’t get better. Let’s not disturb him. Oh, what a poor child. Both his parents died in service, and he’s so severely injured himself. I’m afraid in the end… there won’t even be anyone to claim his body.” The little girl looked up innocently: “But there must be someone in this world who cares about Big Brother, right?” I blinked hard, my blurry eyes focusing on my phone screen. It was a text from Stella.

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New Year’s Day, I visited my childhood friend’s home. Archer extended a hand from the bathroom, his voice languid, “Asteria, could you grab my pajamas?” His mom, spatula in hand, burst out of the kitchen. “How old are you? Asteria’s a girl, you know, you should avoid impropriety.” Archer emerged, wrapped in a towel, utterly unfazed. “What’s the big deal?” He wasn’t wrong. This was our third year of a secret relationship. We’d long since done things far more intimate. His mom shot him a glare. “It didn’t matter before, you two grew up together, naturally closer than others. But not anymore. Asteria has a boyfriend now.” Archer froze, his face suddenly turning cold. “Boyfriend? She can’t possibly have a boyfriend.” 1 Auntie Gwen was about to retort when a sizzling sound erupted from the kitchen, a smell of burning spreading through the air. She dropped her lecture for Archer and stormed back into the kitchen, spatula aloft. “Oh no, my fish!” The air fell silent again, leaving just Archer and me in the hallway. Steam wafted from the half-open bathroom door. His towel was loosely draped around his waist, his ‘V-line’ disappearing into shadow. He stood there, watching me intently, relentless. I wasn’t in the mood for a standoff. Turning, I walked to his room and pulled out his usual dark gray silk pajamas from the closet. Returning to the bathroom door, I handed them over, my gaze fixed on the wall beside him. “Your pajamas.” Archer didn’t take them. After a few seconds, I asked, puzzled, “Do you want them or not?” The next second, my wrist was abruptly seized. Bang! The bathroom door slammed shut behind me. The small space filled with humid heat. Archer pinned me against the door. My spine prickled with cold, but his bare, scorching body pressed against mine. “Archer! What are you doing!” I closed my eyes, warning him in a low voice. He chuckled softly, coaxing me, “What else could I be doing?” Archer’s other hand pressed against my waist, his thumb deliberately stroking the thin fabric of my dress. He leaned in, as if to kiss me. I snapped my eyes open, pushing him with all my strength. “Don’t touch me.” Archer frowned, as if accustomed to my level of resistance, even showing a hint of helpless indulgence. “Still mad?” he murmured. “I was out of line that day, said things I shouldn’t have. But Asteria, is this really why you’re pushing me away? How long are you going to keep this up?” I turned my head, avoiding his touch, my eyes fixed on the gaps in the floor tiles. “We broke up, Archer.” Archer scoffed, as if he’d heard a joke. “Broke up? How many times have you said that? When have you ever meant it?” “This time, I’m serious.” I looked up at him. That day, we’d had yet another argument, this time about Willow. I angrily shook off his hand and blurted out, “We’re over. Don’t follow me!” But I hadn’t walked far before I, spineless as ever, looked back. Archer was handsome, smart, always the golden boy. Countless girls secretly adored him, and I was one of them. Being close to someone doesn’t always mean you’re the chosen one. From my place as a friend, I watched girls come and go from his life. I grew increasingly insecure, even self-deprecating. The one who loves more is always more desperate, and finds it harder to let go. So, when I finally got what I wanted, even when he insisted we keep it a secret, even when he indulged his junior classmate’s flirtations, I could never bring myself to truly break up with him. Archer just stood there, head down, starting a game on his phone. Hearing my movement, he looked up, a casual smile on his face. “Didn’t you tell me not to follow you?” I froze, a sudden emptiness in my heart. It was replaced by an unprecedented calm. I was used to chasing after him, but in that moment, I suddenly felt so tired. So that day, I wiped away my tears with determination and said, “Archer, let’s really break up.” And Archer, as usual, gave me the silent treatment, waiting for me to come back and apologize. Except this time, he went to the north for eight months with that junior classmate, and I didn’t contact him once. He seemed to recall the scene too, the lingering trace of a smile in his eyes instantly vanishing. He straightened up, irritably raking his damp black hair back from his forehead, revealing a smooth brow and sharp cheekbones. “Asteria Hayes.” He used my full name, his voice deepening. “I didn’t agree. That was just something said in anger.” “Eight months.” My lips twisted, my voice clear and slow. “Eight whole months. You didn’t call me once, didn’t send a single message. Archer, do those eight months count as ‘just something said in anger’?” He froze, his lips moving as if to speak, but he instinctively reached out to me again. I took a step back, completely widening the distance between us. His hand hung in mid-air, fingers curling, before slowly dropping back to his side, clenching into a fist. “Asteria, the professor gave us short notice for a field study. I didn’t realize the place was so remote, and would take so long…” Knock, knock, knock. A knock on the door sounded just then. My parents must have arrived. I quickly interrupted his unfinished sentence. “You don’t need to explain to me.” I took a deep breath; the humid air of the bathroom, carrying his scent, filled my lungs, feeling a little stifling. “I don’t want to hear it anymore. From now on, in front of our families, we’ll act like ordinary friends. It’s better for everyone.” “Ordinary friends?” Archer chewed on the words, as if he’d heard something utterly absurd. A suffocating silence followed. Then, he suddenly pulled back his lips and laughed. “Fine,” he nodded, stepping aside to let me out. “Asteria. You’re the boss. Whatever you say.” 2 At the dinner table. Auntie Gwen, pressing for marriage, placed a piece of food on Archer’s plate. “Asteria has a boyfriend now, you need to bring a girlfriend home soon. I’m hoping for grandkids.” My parents looked at me, surprised. “You have a boyfriend? Since when? You didn’t tell us.” Archer, who had been silent, suddenly spoke, his tone casual yet pointed. “It’s not fake, is it? You’ve always been so obedient, how come even Auntie and Uncle don’t know about this?” I ignored him and nodded. “Yes, but we just started dating recently.” Out of the corner of my eye, Archer’s knuckles, gripping his chopsticks, were slightly white. I served myself a bowl of soup, my voice even. “He’s younger than me and just inherited his family’s publicly traded company, so he’s incredibly busy with work. I figured I’d wait until things settled down before officially introducing him to you all.” Archer suddenly let out a small laugh, putting down his chopsticks and leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on my face. “Is your boyfriend 6’2”, looks like a model, worth millions, and the only son of the boss?” I nearly choked on my water, surprised. “How did you know?” Archer scoffed for a moment, then said flatly, “I guessed. Isn’t that how all rom-com heroes are?” The table instantly fell silent. Archer’s mom immediately threw a napkin at him. “You brat, what’s wrong with you today! You sound like you’ve been eating gunpowder.” My parents, who always trusted Archer, immediately grew anxious. “Archer makes a good point. Is your boyfriend really that amazing? So exaggerated, could he be a scammer? There are all sorts of people these days, you really need to be careful, don’t get carried away.” Archer probably believed I couldn’t leave him and was just making up a fake boyfriend out of spite. But I couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. I patted my mom’s hand. “Don’t worry. He’ll be visiting you over the New Year.” I met Archer’s gaze, speaking each word clearly. “You’ll see for yourselves then.” My parents relaxed, and the atmosphere became lively again. For the latter half of the meal, Archer was unusually silent, only occasionally forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I got up to get water from the kitchen and turned to see Archer leaning against the doorframe, having watched me for who knew how long. I walked directly towards the door, intending to go around him. He stepped across, completely blocking my path. I patiently didn’t want to argue with him in front of our parents. After all, we had broken up, and our relationship had been secret. A scene now would only make things awkward for both families. “Move.” Archer’s eyes held an unreadable emotion. “It’s truly something, for you to make up all these stories without batting an eyelid.” I rolled my eyes. “Believe what you want.” I tried to go the other way, but he blocked me again. “What do you want?” Silence stretched for a few seconds. He reached out and, without a word, took the water glass from my hand, placing it aside. Then he put the steaming glass he was holding into my palm. “Your period is coming soon. Don’t drink anything cold.” “Thanks.” I said, after a moment of surprise, my tone flat. 3 The company called an emergency meeting, informing me of a project issue and asking me to return to the city for overtime. At eleven o’clock, I was finalizing the last version of a presentation. My phone screen lit up, showing a missed call from Archer and two messages. “My mom asked me to drop off some late-night snacks at your place. Your parents said you went back to the office for overtime?” I rubbed my tired eyes, feeling impatient. “Yeah.” “It’s almost the holidays, and it’s late, so it’s hard to get a cab. I’ll come pick you up.” “No need, my boyfriend will be here.” Archer chuckled softly. “Asteria, do you have to annoy me? I said I’m sorry, isn’t that enough? Just give me a break and let me take care of you.” “You’re really overthinking this.” I hung up, not in the mood to argue. Late at night, after finishing overtime, I went downstairs. The early spring night air carried a biting chill. Archer’s SUV was parked right at the entrance. I paused, surprised. The passenger side window immediately rolled down, revealing Willow’s round face. “Asteria, long time no see.” I gave a slight nod, a minimal greeting. But I didn’t stop, walking straight towards the roadside. Archer opened his door and quickly got out. He’d changed into a dark gray overcoat that made him look tall and lean. When we were together, I loved him in overcoats. “Asteria.” He approached me. “Willow just got back to the country and hasn’t gotten a local SIM card yet, so she can’t call a ride-share. It’s on my way, so I gave her a lift. Get in the car, stop acting out.” There it was again, “acting out.” The phrase pricked at an already numb nerve, like a fine needle. “I’m not acting out.” I looked up, calmly meeting his gaze, and at the same time, unlocked my phone, holding the screensaver up for him to see. “I couldn’t care less about your relationship with her. I remember I’ve told you countless times that I have a boyfriend. Archer, the great scholar, your memory can’t be that bad, can it?” The screen’s light illuminated a small patch of air between us. Archer’s gaze fixed on the screensaver, his pupils imperceptibly contracting. “Danny Thorne?” He then laughed. “Asteria, at least make your lies believable. Don’t joke around; back in college, he hated you the most. We shared a dorm; he was always telling me to break up with you.” Willow, sensing her cue, got out of the car and walked to Archer’s side, gently tugging his sleeve, a look of worried reluctance on her face. “I’m so sorry, I’m causing trouble for you two again. But Asteria, even if you’re angry with Archer, you shouldn’t drag others into it. It’s really rude. Besides, Danny is famously cold and distant. He barely even spoke to you; how could you suddenly be together?” Her hair blew in the night breeze, and she shivered slightly, leaning closer to Archer. I looked at her, forcing a smile. “You know you’re trouble, and you still come to cause it for me. If you’re intentionally stirring things up, don’t play the victim in front of me. You toxic bitch.” Willow gasped, covering her face in disbelief, on the verge of tears. Archer frowned, his voice cold. “Asteria, don’t go too far…” I flipped him off, still feigning a smile. “Asshole. Did I forget to insult you? Break up, break up, break up, break up, break up. Can you hear me now? Get lost.” Archer, enraged, laughed, pulling Willow into his arms. “Fine, then I’ll be with her. You have no objections, right?” I clapped. “You two go ahead and get hitched!” Without another look at their reaction, I turned and walked away.

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On the day of our engagement, Noah’s little “friend” called him seven times. He paused, a diamond ring gleaming under the lights, midway through placing it on my finger. He glanced at the screen, not even a flicker of a frown, and simply hung up. I kept my smile in place, my fingernails digging into my palms. That unlabelled number—I’d memorized it three years ago. When the eighth call came through, Noah finally stood up, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “Urgent client matter, I need to take it.” I clutched his sleeve, the engagement ring blindingly bright. “What client needs seven calls during our engagement party?” Noah froze for half a second, then chuckled. “Asteria, are you checking up on me?” A low ripple of laughter spread through the guests below. I let go of his sleeve. The ninth call. When Noah returned, his arm around my shoulder, he said, “Willow had a bit of an issue. I need to go over there.” Someone joked, “Mr. Thompson, this is your engagement party!” Noah smiled and shook his head, a mix of helplessness, indulgence, and a hint of affection. “I can’t help it. She’s all alone in New York; if she runs into trouble, she only has me.” He kissed my forehead. “Asteria is the most understanding, right?” I stared at the sugar-frosted couple on the cake, a wave of nausea washing over me. Understanding. I’d heard that word for seven years. 1 Noah came back at 3 AM. I was sitting on the living room carpet, still in my engagement dress. He opened the door, reeking of alcohol, and paused when he saw me. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” “Waiting for you.” He walked over, instinctively reaching to ruffle my hair, but I turned my head, dodging his touch. His hand hung in the air for a moment before he sat on the sofa, loosening his tie. “There was a problem with the fire inspection at Willow’s gallery. I found someone to handle it. She was terrified, crying constantly, so I had to stay and comfort her.” I looked up. “Noah, today was our engagement party.” “I know.” He closed his eyes, weary. “That’s why I rushed back, didn’t I? Asteria, please don’t make a scene, okay? I’m really tired today.” I laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “I’m making a scene? You abandoned me in front of all our guests for Willow, and now you’re saying I’m making a scene?” Noah opened his eyes, his gaze full of incomprehension. “How can that be the same? Willow had a real problem. Those toasts and social obligations were just going through the motions. Asteria, you used to not be so petty.” Yes, I used to. Before, when he spent Willow’s birthday with her, ditching me at the cinema, I said, “It’s fine.” Before, when he drove to pick her up drunk in the middle of the night, forgetting I had a high fever, I said, “You should.” Before, when he arranged for her to work at his company, and then smiled and said, “Good, you can rest more,” when my job application was rejected, I said, “Whatever you say.” I was too understanding, so understanding that he forgot I could feel pain too. “I don’t want the ring,” I said. Noah sat bolt upright. “Asteria Quinn, what do you mean?” I slowly turned the ‘dove’s egg’ diamond on my ring finger. “It means this thing feels heavy, suffocating me.” He stared at me for a long time, then suddenly chuckled, getting up and heading to the bathroom. “Alright, I know you feel wronged today. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to buy that handbag you’ve been eyeing for six months as compensation, okay?” The sound of running water filled the air. I looked down, each facet of the diamond reflecting my distorted face. 2 Noah and I were truly childhood sweethearts. Our families lived next door, and we were in the same class from kindergarten through high school. He was always dazzlingly brilliant, good grades, handsome, and when he played basketball, all the girls in school would secretly watch him. I was as ordinary as his shadow. After high school graduation, at a dinner party, he’d had too much to drink and cornered me in the karaoke lounge hallway. The neon lights flickered across his face. His voice hoarse, he’d said, “Asteria Quinn, let’s just make a go of it, you and me.” My heart pounded like a drum, but I asked, “Why ‘just make a go of it’?” He laughed, his warm breath on my ear. “Because we know everything about each other. It’s easy.” That night, he kissed me and whispered in my ear, “We’ll get married once things settle down.” Only later did I understand that “settle down” meant when he’d had his fun, when I was completely unable to leave him. Noah went to a top finance program, while I barely made it into a local university for journalism. For four years, we were apart. I wore out the seats on countless train trips between New York and Boston, while the number of times he visited me could be counted on two hands. Sophomore year, on Valentine’s Day, I secretly went to his school to surprise him. Beneath his dorm building, I saw him walk out alongside a girl. She wore a Chanel suit, her eyes curving into crescent moons when she smiled. Noah bent his head to listen to her, the curve of his profile so gentle it made my heart ache. I hid behind a tree and heard the girl say, “Noah, your little childhood friend didn’t call you today, huh?” His voice carried a smile. “Asteria is understanding. She knows I’m spending the day at an exhibition with you.” The girl looped her arm through his. “I’m so envious of her, so easygoing. If it were me, I’d be raising hell.” Noah flicked her forehead. “That’s why you’re not as sweet. Asteria never makes a fuss.” They walked away. I stood beneath the tree until my legs went numb. My phone showed a message he’d sent that morning: “Asteria, project team is working late today, can’t video chat. Get yourself something nice to eat.” I looked up and saw his social media feed updated five minutes ago. The girl had posted a photo, geotagged at the Waterfront Art Museum. “Thanks to a certain finance whiz for ditching work to walk around with me~” In the photo, Noah was bending his head, helping her adjust her audio guide, sunlight catching his eyelashes. I liked her post. Noah immediately messaged me privately: “Asteria? How do you have Willow as a friend?” My fingers trembled as I typed: “Last time your phone was with me, she called for you, so I added her.” “Oh. Willow has a child-like temper, loves to show off. Don’t take it to heart.” I didn’t reply. He sent another message: “By the way, her birthday is next month. What do you think I should get her? She seems to like that new Tiffany necklace.” I’d seen that necklace three times last week while browsing the mall. Finally, I typed: “Sounds good.” 3 Willow was a teammate Noah met during an international finance competition in his freshman year. A talented art student from a wealthy background, she opened a gallery after studying abroad. When Noah spoke of her, his eyes would light up. “Willow is the most spirited girl I’ve ever met.” At Noah’s onboarding celebration dinner, she walked over with a glass of champagne, sizing me up and down. She smiled. “You must be Asteria? Noah talks about you all the time. You’re… just like a girl next door.” I was wearing a new dress I’d bought for the occasion, but next to her haute couture, I felt like a clown who’d wandered in by mistake. Noah naturally put his arm around my shoulder. “Asteria isn’t quite used to these kinds of events, Willow. Please look out for her.” “Don’t worry,” Willow winked, leaning closer to me. “Asteria, I heard you work as a planner at a cultural company? My gallery needs some copywriting for its next exhibition. Want to give it a try? The pay isn’t great, but it’s an opportunity.” My nails dug into my palms. “No, thank you.” She didn’t seem offended, turning to Noah. “Your little childhood friend, she has spirit.” That night, after coming home, I asked Noah, “Does Willow like you?” He was unbuttoning his shirt and chuckled at my question. “What are you thinking? Willow and I are just buddies. If she were really interested in me, would she have waited this long?” “But her attitude towards me…” Noah hugged me from behind. “That’s just how she is, a spoiled princess, but she doesn’t mean any harm. Asteria, you never used to be so suspicious.” I fell silent. “Used to.” I’d never seen the light in his eyes when he looked at someone else before. 4 In my third year of work, I gritted my teeth and bought a small apartment. The down payment was from my own savings, hard-earned without a penny from my family. On the day I got the keys, I excitedly pulled Noah to see it. He walked around once, frowning. “It’s too far from my company. The commute would be over an hour.” “But it’s close to my company,” I said, pulling him towards the balcony. “We could put a small coffee table here and sunbathe together on weekends.” Noah was absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. “Willow’s gallery is looking for a new space recently. I’ve looked at a few places for her. Tomorrow, I have to go with her for a site visit.” My smile froze. “Tomorrow is Saturday.” “I know,” he put away his phone, ruffling my hair. “Be good, you go ahead and get settled. I promise I’ll come help you next week.” He left. I sat alone in the empty living room, my phone screen glowing. It was Willow’s latest social media post: “Why rely on others when you have Mr. Thompson? His efficiency is unmatched~” It was accompanied by a screenshot of her chat with Noah. Noah: “It’s too much for a girl like you to handle all this. I’ll help you oversee it.” Willow: “Oh, I couldn’t possibly be a bother [cute emoji]” Noah: “Why be so formal with me?” I turned off my phone and started painting the walls. Latex paint splattered on my face, mixing with tears, salty and acrid. That night, Noah called, his voice weary. “Ran around all day. Willow’s standards are really high; she wasn’t happy with several places.” I stared at the ceiling. “Noah, I strained my back today lifting heavy things.” “Oh? Is it serious?” He paused. “Maybe you should go to the hospital tomorrow? I really can’t get away this weekend.” “No need. I’ll be fine after some rest.” He let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Oh, by the way, Willow said she wants to treat me to dinner to thank me. Why don’t you come along? She said she wants to apologize to you for her bad attitude last time.” “No.” His voice deepened. “Asteria, Willow genuinely wants to be friends with you. Can you please stop being so resistant towards her?” I laughed. “Noah, are you my boyfriend, or hers?” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Asteria Quinn.” He called me by my full name, which usually meant he was truly angry. “I thought you were understanding. I didn’t realize you could be so unreasonable.”

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The car crash, the night before my wedding, stole my legs. And every trace of expression from my face. After that, I never smiled at Alex again. Every day, he’d carry me out of bed, help with my physical therapy, and massage my legs before I slept. His attention grew more meticulous, almost bordering on desperate appeasement. I offered no resistance, no reply, not even sparing him a glance. Five years later, he finally broke. He’d drowned himself in liquor, kneeling before my wheelchair, his forehead pressed against the cold armrest. His eyes, bloodshot and brimming with despair, stared up at me: “Just tell me, what do I need to do? It’s been five years, Evie… Are we truly meant to live like this forever?” I slowly lowered my gaze, a cold smirk playing on my lips. It was the first time in half a decade I’d felt such a potent emotion towards him. “Don’t you get it, Alex?” I met his tormented gaze, each word a deliberate strike, “Between us, there’s only an endless war.” … Alex was utterly shattered. He clutched me fiercely, his grip so strong I thought my bones would shatter, his voice thick with tears: “Curse me! Hit me! Hate me! Just stop being a doll!” “Can’t we just start over?” Start over? I let him hold me, finding the thought utterly laughable. In the five years since that crash, Alex had dedicated everything, staying by my side without falter. From therapy massages to late-night vigils. Everyone praised his unwavering devotion. Even my usually doting parents chastised me for being ungrateful: “Stop tormenting him, just try to live a normal life.” But they would never know the truth behind that accident. That afternoon, five years ago, I finished work early, bubbling with excitement as I hurried to the bridal boutique. I wanted him to be the first to see me in my wedding dress. But outside the changing room, I heard the soft, simpering voice of Bethany, my best friend: “If I weren’t her best friend, would you break up with her and be with me?” Peeking through the crack in the door, I saw her wearing my wedding dress. Alex’s hand gently traced her waist. “Yes,” he replied without a second’s hesitation. A tender kiss brushed her lips. In that moment, my world imploded. I stumbled out of the bridal shop. My mind a blur, I drove away. Then, at the next intersection, I collided with an out-of-control truck. Alex’s tears streamed scalding hot onto my neck. Yet all I felt was a profound chill. He knew, of course. From the first moment I woke and looked at him, he understood. I knew everything. For five years, he lived with me, day in and day out, burdened by guilt. Everyone believed he was a man of integrity and deep affection. Only we both understood the unspoken truth: this was a silent, drawn-out torment. “That day at the bridal shop…” his voice was hoarse, “I saw you in the mirror.” My fingertips trembled. It was the first time in five years he’d brought up that day. “By the time I chased after you, your car was already gone.” He knelt by my wheelchair, his shoulders shaking. “Every day for five years, I’ve wondered, what if I hadn’t been so foolish? What if I hadn’t been soft-hearted and answered her that one word?” “But Evie, Bethany and I, we were over long before that.” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, “You’re the one I love.” Watching his anguish, I suddenly found it absurd. He thought I still cared about his betrayal with Bethany. Cared if he still loved me. But when I witnessed that scene in the bridal shop, my love for him died then and there. Every time he massaged my atrophied legs, all I could think of was how those hands had caressed Bethany’s waist. When he pushed me to the hospital for check-ups, my mind replayed the moment he unhesitatingly agreed. If I hadn’t been crippled. They probably would have overcome all obstacles and been together by now. So, an endless war. That was my curse for him. Alex, exhausted from his outburst, slumped onto the sofa and fell into a heavy sleep. His phone vibrated persistently on the carpet, the screen lighting up and fading. On an impulse, I maneuvered my wheelchair over and picked it up. The number flashing on the screen, though unsaved, was one I could once recite by heart – Bethany. “Alex! Why aren’t you answering your phone! Is she the only one you care about?! Your son is dying—” Bethany’s voice on the other end was a frantic, piercing shriek, choked with tears, practically tearing through my eardrum. Son. The word was a poisoned icicle, stabbing deep into my heart. Freezing my blood in an instant. My fingers gripped the phone, icy cold, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “Then let him die.” I heard my own vicious voice, completely devoid of emotion. The other end of the line fell into abrupt silence. Then, Bethany found her outlet. My once closest friend unleashed a torrent of venomous curses: “Evie! It’s you! Why are you still clinging to Alex! Why can’t you just let us be happy! Why don’t you just die! Why didn’t you die in that crash five years ago! You’ll get what’s coming to you! You’ll burn in hell—!” What’s coming to me? Listening to her curses, I looked down, my other hand instinctively pressing against my cold, flat, numb abdomen. I remembered the doctor’s regretful yet brutal words when I woke five years ago: “Ms. Caldwell, the car crash caused a uterine rupture and severe hemorrhage. We… did our best. You won’t be able to have children in the future.” In that moment, I lost more than just my legs. I lost a child, barely conceived, who never got to see the light of day. And the right to be a mother. I chuckled softly into the phone. My voice was fleeting, like a wisp of smoke: “Bethany, my reckoning came long ago.” The moment you wore my wedding dress, and he answered, “Yes.” The moment I lost my child, forever broken. I’m already in this hell. What’s there to fear in dragging you all down with me? The next morning, after his fitful sleep, Alex reverted to his role as the impeccable husband. Gentle, patient. He meticulously tucked away all his pain and regret. The disheveled, vulnerable man from last night had vanished, evaporated like dew in the morning sun. Over these five years, his career had soared. Our home was spotless, tended by professional housekeepers and nurses. Yet, for my care, whenever he was home, he insisted on doing everything himself. Now, he knelt before my wheelchair, a warm cloth in hand, meticulously wiping each of my fingers. Every crease, every nail edge, was tended with painstaking care. The sunlight outlined his bowed profile, creating an almost devotional illusion. Breakfast was a porridge he’d cooked himself. He scooped a spoonful, naturally offering it to my lips: “It’s a beautiful day today. How about I take you for a stroll by the lake later?” I offered no reply, a silence he’d long grown accustomed to. He talked on, about new flowers blooming by the lake, about which tree had sprouted fresh buds. As he was about to wheel me out, his assistant rushed in, speaking in hushed tones about being unable to reach him, then pulled Alex aside for a private word. Alex’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and he turned back to me with an apologetic look: “Something urgent came up at the company. I need to go.” He didn’t even have time to change out of his light gray loungewear, hastily following his assistant out the door. I watched him disappear, my heart clear with an indifferent certainty. It wasn’t about the company, of course. I knew well that over these five years, he’d never lacked for female company. I could sometimes catch the faint scent of perfume on his suits, a fragrance not my own. I remembered the subtle, hastily concealed scratch on his neck when he returned from a “business trip.” I’d also glimpsed the relentless message notifications on his phone, face-down on the table, quickly silenced. He thought he was a master of concealment, playing the role of devoted and repentant husband before me. But I’d long lost any curiosity to expose him. How many fleeting encounters or casual affairs he had outside meant nothing to me, no more than the clouds drifting by or the wind blowing outside my window. But a child—that was different. I recalled the tender, childish voice accidentally caught on his phone. Hatred, like a venomous vine, spiraled madly, suffocating me. Almost instinctively, I maneuvered my wheelchair back to the study and logged into my social media account, untouched for five years. Bethany’s social media account was public. I easily found the child. The boy in the photos looked less than two years old. He was held intimately in Bethany’s arms, the background a playground. Another showed Alex, dressed in casual wear, bending to wipe the boy’s brow. His profile revealed a truly relaxed tenderness I hadn’t seen in a long time. And countless fragments pieced together their happy family life – family restaurants, park picnics, birthday parties at home… I scrolled through the pictures, my face devoid of emotion. Only the fingers gripping the mouse were white from the excessive pressure. Five years I’d spent building a fortress of coldness, meant to ward off all pain. In this moment, hatred tore it open with a gaping, bloody wound. Why? Why, when I had lost my child and was forever stripped of the right to be a mother, Could they have a healthy, living child, who cried and laughed, and called him ‘Daddy’? The thought of a child, flowing with his and Bethany’s blood, growing day by day, softly calling them “Mommy and Daddy.” Receiving all their love and care… The image made my skin crawl. Alex returned in the dead of the third night. He carried the faint scent of disinfectant, silently knelt before my wheelchair, his hands clasped, knuckles white. “Evie,” his voice was terribly hoarse, “Bethany’s boy… had acute leukemia a few days ago. They fought for his life all night.” I watched him, this husband of mine, consumed with worry for my best friend’s son. “He’s out of immediate danger for now.” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, searching my face for a flicker of emotion. I offered a cold, brittle smile: “Not dead? What a shame.” The air thickened, suffocating. Alex shot to his feet, his chest heaving, as if seeing me for the first time: “How can you say such a thing!” Alex’s eyes burned with disappointment: “I barely recognize you anymore, you used to be so kind!” “He’s just a child! He doesn’t understand anything! What has he done wrong?” “And what about me?” I looked up, my gaze like an ice-pick piercing him, “What did my unborn child do wrong?” He seemed choked, all anger trapped in his chest. “Yes, Bethany and I… it was wrong of me.” He turned his head, his voice sinking, offering an excuse: “After your accident, she blamed herself terribly, couldn’t get past it for a long time… Then she said she didn’t want anything, just wanted a child… She said she would never disrupt our lives…” I watched him scramble for excuses, then let out a low, bitter laugh. “Alex,” I choked back my laughter, my voice a whisper, yet each word a dagger to his heart, “Because of her, I lost my child, and I lost the right to be a mother forever.” “And now you tell me how noble and selfless she is, the woman who inserted herself into my friendship, and bore a child to my husband?” I stared at his suddenly pale face, each word a hammer blow: “You’re both despicable.” “Why do I rot in this abyss, while she gets to enjoy the full joy of motherhood?” “Why do I suffer in despair, my future shattered, while she finds solace and fulfillment through the child you stole together?” Five years ago, I was the brightest star of the ballet company, a swan under the spotlight. And now, this friend who once danced behind me. Not only wore my wedding dress and slept with my fiancé. But after I was crippled, she smoothly took my place on stage. I expressionlessly opened Bethany’s social media page. On the screen, she was wearing an elegant dance costume, demonstrating moves in a spacious, brightly lit dance studio, with the caption: “Thank you, my Mr. Caldwell, for giving me my second stage in life.” It was Alex, who, using our shared marital assets, had opened a ballet school for her. Scrolling further down. Under a pregnancy announcement from three years ago, it boldly read: “Bidding farewell to the stage, embracing the most beautiful role of my life.” Someone commented: “From principal dancer to the most beautiful mom, then founding a dance school – Ms. Hale is truly a life winner!” Life winner… Those two words were like poisoned needles, stabbing deep into my heart. I scoffed, looking at Alex, his face ashen: “She stole everything I once had – my stage, my glory, my love, my child, my healthy body… And I am trapped in this wheelchair, day after day, enduring your nauseating pity.” “You tell me, if you were me, how could you possibly be kind?” Alex stared at me, utterly speechless. I finally understood: hell wasn’t just the prison of a body. It was watching, with wide-open eyes, how the person who destroyed you, stepped over your corpse, and lived the life that should have been yours, glorious and unhindered. My curse seemed to have taken hold. Alex began to visibly waste away. Company affairs were demanding, and Bethany and the child also needed him. He began to “travel” frequently, his time away from home growing longer. Each return saw him disheveled, carrying the strong scent of disinfectant from the hospital. I suspected the child wasn’t doing well. Then, a number, dormant for five years, sent a message to my phone. It was Bethany. No words, just a series of photos. Alex asleep beside her, his tired profile etched with exhaustion. Another showed her, shoulder bare, curled in his embrace. Then came a message, dripping with undisguised triumph and provocation: “One child is too lonely; we plan to have another soon, a sibling for our son. Alex says this time, he wants a daughter.” I stared at the indecent images on the screen, feeling no anger, only disgust. When Alex returned that evening, dark circles shadowed his weary eyes. He still intended to massage my legs, but his movements were distracted. “Evie,” he began, his voice dry, “Leo’s illness… he needs constant care. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m just fulfilling my responsibility. I hope you… can understand.” He knelt, trying to take my hand, his eyes alight with that familiar urgency: “Don’t overthink this. I promise you, no matter what, you’re still the one I love most.” I listened to his performance in silence. Then, I picked up the tablet beside me and tapped the screen. One by one, Bethany’s photos scrolled clearly across his vision. The images were nauseatingly explicit. “Caring for a critically ill child in the hospital,” my voice was calm, yet laced with scorn, “and still finding time for… a romantic tryst with the mother of said child. Alex, you two certainly have appetites.” Alex’s face instantly went ashen, as if struck. Shame and embarrassment practically poured off him. He stammered, then finally found his voice, a raw urgency from having his facade ripped away: “Listen to me! It’s not what you think!” “Leo’s illness… it needs a bone marrow transplant! Bethany and I aren’t a match! The doctors said… that a sibling’s cord blood might be our only hope… we just have to… try for another child…” His voice trailed off, barely audible by the end, almost too ashamed to speak. I looked at him, suddenly devoid of even a cold smirk. “Get out.” The next day, I contacted my lawyer, Mr. Davies. I meticulously organized all the evidence and sent it to him. “Here are Alex’s bank card statements for the past five years. He used our joint marital assets to purchase property and luxury cars for Bethany, and also funded her dance school.” “This is a copy of Leo Caldwell’s birth certificate, with Alex’s name listed as the father. And here are surveillance screenshots of his frequent visits to Bethany and her son’s residence.” “The evidence is damning,” my voice was level, “I want to sue him for bigamy. Simultaneously, I want to file a pre-litigation asset preservation order to freeze all his and the company’s liquid assets.” “Furthermore,” I paused, adding with unshakeable resolve, “on the grounds of disposing of substantial joint marital property without spousal consent, I will file a civil lawsuit against Bethany, demanding she fully return all property, school investments, and large gifts Alex provided her.” “Immediately apply for asset preservation, and freeze her personal accounts and the dance school as well.” Mr. Davies was remarkably efficient. Or perhaps, the chain of evidence I provided was simply too perfect. Within days, the legal hammer fell swiftly. Bank and court officials arrived at the company simultaneously while Alex was in the midst of a crucial business negotiation. Overnight, all his accounts, equity, and even the funding channels for Bethany’s ballet school were frozen. To make matters worse, several key project partners simultaneously sent inquiries, trapping him firmly at the company. When he finally disentangled himself, storming home in a rage, He was met by a starkly clean, empty space. The living room, bedroom, walk-in closet… every trace of Evie was gone. The jewelry box was empty, and large sections of the wardrobe where I kept my clothes were bare. Even the bottle of my usual, faint white-floral hand cream on the bathroom counter had vanished. It was as if I, Evie, had never lived there for five years. Alex’s face instantly paled, his chest heaving as he roared at the empty house: “Evie!” Mrs. Gable, who had taken care of me for years, peeked cautiously from the kitchen, still holding a dishcloth. “Sir, you’re back.” “Where’s my wife?” He strode over, his voice tight with panic. Mrs. Gable flinched, then quickly answered: “The missus… the missus had the caregiver help her pack her bags this morning, and then she left. She… she didn’t say where she was going.” “Left?” A terrifying storm erupted in Alex’s eyes, “She’s in a wheelchair, where could she possibly go?! Why didn’t you stop her! Why didn’t you call me!” Mrs. Gable was about to stammer a reply. But Alex’s phone rang then. Hope instantly flared in his eyes as he pulled out his phone. The name flashing on the screen, however, was not the one he yearned to see. He frowned, picking up the call with extreme annoyance. The next moment, a woman’s utterly frantic shriek and sobs, even without speakerphone, echoed clearly through the silent living room. “Alex! Why are all my bank cards frozen?! The hospital said they’ll stop Leo’s medication if we don’t pay! He’s surviving on those drugs, he’ll die without money!” Bethany’s voice, distorted by despair, screeched: “Evie! It must be that wicked witch, Evie! May she burn in hell! Alex! That’s the Caldwell family’s only—” Alex seemed not to hear the wails on the other end, mechanically disconnecting the call and violently slamming his phone against the wall. The screen shattered on impact. He surveyed the suffocatingly empty house; Evie’s scent seemed to still linger in the air. But everywhere he looked, there was no longer any evidence of her presence. He stumbled into the bedroom, frantically opening every drawer, every closet door, even bending to look under the bed – nothing. “Evie…” he murmured, his voice hoarse, then slammed a fist against the cold closet door with a dull thud. His knuckles instantly swelled and bled, but he felt no pain, only the agony of an empty heart filled with cold air. Mrs. Gable stood in the doorway, too terrified to breathe. Just then, the doorbell chimed.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “580591”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The new intern Lily White called herself a “clumsy beauty.” She shredded my bonus check from my fiancé Arthur, then teased, “Oops, I’m so silly—you won’t be mad, right?” At the company gala, she “tripped” naked into his arms. “This goofball can’t even walk yet—isn’t that awful?” Her team suffered constant blame. Every time a project was nearly done, she’d “accidentally” delete it all. In my past life, I fired her, but Arthur kept her as his assistant, accusing me of being harsh. The day we planned our wedding, she stopped my car, crying that she and Arthur were soulmates. I told her to leave—then she staged a runaway act and got kidnapped. Later, when I was pregnant, Arthur cut me open, saying I owed his “goofball.” I woke up again, avoiding the street where I first met Lily. Arthur’s grandfather had decreed: marry me, inherit the company. Now, with nothing left, I’ll watch how he protects his darling fool. … The smile on Mrs. Caldwell’s face faded when Arthur didn’t arrive with me, but instead brought an unfamiliar woman. “Arthur, family dinners are for family only. Who is this?” Arthur’s gaze swept over me, not lingering. “This is my assistant. We just finished a meeting, and she had nowhere to go, so I thought she could join us for a casual meal.” “Eva, you don’t mind, do you?” I smiled. “Not at all.” “If you don’t mind, why should I?” A “strategist,” isn’t she supposed to win over everyone important in his life? Mrs. Caldwell was a crucial piece of that puzzle. I was eager to see how she’d play her hand today. Seeing the room filled with elite relatives, Lily White, as the housekeeper prepared to serve tea, eagerly volunteered. “Auntie, I know a super pretty fancy way to pour tea! It makes the tea smell extra fragrant!” Mrs. Caldwell frowned but, out of deference to Arthur’s presence, said nothing. I watched silently as Lily picked up the porcelain teapot. Her wrist, clumsy, spun the pot three times in place, then, as if possessed, she half-stumbled, half-ran diagonally towards Mrs. Caldwell. Scalding hot tea splashed all over her. “Ah—!” Mrs. Caldwell cried out, jumping from her chair, burned. Lily, utterly terrified, flung her hand back. The teapot flew, precisely smashing a Ming Dynasty Five-Color Porcelain Vase on the antique shelf. It was Mr. Caldwell’s most cherished antique, a priceless treasure. Lily stuck out her tongue innocently at Arthur. “This teapot was just too slippery! It was bullying this little goofball!” I almost burst out laughing. In this life and the last, her idiocy always managed to redefine my expectations. However, I didn’t laugh, but someone else felt pity. Arthur completely ignored his scalded mother, anxiously grabbing Lily’s hand and blowing on her slightly reddened fingers. I was holding a damp cloth, kneeling to wipe the tea stains from Mrs. Caldwell’s dress. His roar, without warning, hit me. “Eva Carter!” “You were closest! Why couldn’t you catch the teapot? Are you a statue?!” “Now Lily’s hand is all red and burned too!” Mrs. Caldwell, hearing this, trembled with rage. “Arthur! I was the one scalded! And let me remind you!” “That was your father’s favorite vase! Either conjure up an identical one, or start figuring out how you’re going to beg your father for mercy on your knees!” Mrs. Caldwell’s words were heavy, outwardly scolding her son, but every syllable was a slap in Lily White’s face. Yet Lily, oblivious, failed to grasp that Mrs. Caldwell was reprimanding her, and instead defiantly shouted back at her. “Auntie, how can you talk about Arthur like that!” “It’s just a vase! If it breaks, it breaks! Are you blind, not knowing how to cherish the people around you?” The guests were silent, barely breathing, terrified of becoming collateral damage. Someone dared to stand on the Caldwell family’s turf, Gotham City’s wealthiest tycoon, and accuse his matriarch of being blind. Just as the tension reached a breaking point, a gentle, elderly voice drifted down from the second floor. “What’s all this commotion? Everyone standing around, such a lively scene.” Grandpa Caldwell, dressed in a traditional silk robe, leaning on a cane, descended with a cheerful smile. Mrs. Caldwell, seeing her father-in-law, swallowed her anger, forcing a smile onto her face. “Father, you’re here.” Arthur also reined in his cold expression, respectfully greeting him. “Grandpa.” Lily’s eyes lit up. She immediately pulled free from Arthur’s hand, skipping over to Grandpa Caldwell. She pulled out several bags of colorful items and offered them to him. “Hello, Grandpa! My name is Lily White, Arthur’s assistant! Nice to meet you! This is my gift for you!” I took a closer look, barely managing to keep a straight face. Five bags of gummy bears. Arthur’s face instantly darkened. He lowered his voice. “Where’s the ‘Whispering Pines’ scroll I told you to bring?” Lily puffed out her chest, self-righteously. “I sold it!” “That painting of yours was so dull and ugly! The boss at the antique market only gave me twenty dollars!” “Look at my gummy bears, they’re colorful and full of fruit! They cost me twenty-five dollars, and I even paid an extra five! Grandpa’s an elderly person; eating more fruit is good for your health!” I lowered my eyes, using the act of sipping tea to hide the corners of my mouth, which were dangerously close to my ears. That “Whispering Pines” scroll was an authentic masterpiece by Master Lin Feng from a previous dynasty, fetching a staggering thirty million dollars at auction just three years ago. Twenty dollars… sold… Grandpa Caldwell’s smile visibly stiffened, but he maintained his composure, graciously accepting the gift. “Very good, very good, you’re thoughtful, a good child.” He waved his hand, beckoning everyone. “Don’t just stand there, sit down, dinner’s about to be served.” The atmosphere finally eased, and everyone took their seats. But Lily, restless, pulled out a yellow charm paper from her pocket. With a solemn air, she circled Grandpa Caldwell three times to the left, then three times to the right, muttering incantations. Finally, she lit the charm paper, dropped the burning ashes into Grandpa Caldwell’s teacup, and stirred it with her finger. “Grandpa, this is a special good luck charm I got for you! Drink it, and it will cure all your ailments and grant you a long life!” She lifted the murky cup, about to force it into Grandpa Caldwell’s mouth. Even Arthur couldn’t stand it anymore. He yanked Lily back. “What are you doing?!” Lily blinked innocently. “Old people all believe in superstitions! This way I can win Grandpa’s favor! Aren’t I brilliant!” Seeing her like this, Arthur swallowed back the harsh words, his face grim as he apologized to his grandfather. “Grandpa, I’m sorry, she… she means well, but her methods are a little… misguided.” I let out a soft chuckle, lifting my own teacup. “Quite misguided, indeed.” “Grandpa spent fifty years researching aeronautical dynamics at the National Academy of Sciences; he detests anything to do with superstitious beliefs.” As my words fell, Grandpa Caldwell’s expression grew even more somber. He cast a cold glance at Arthur, then at Lily behind him, but said nothing. Just as the atmosphere threatened to plunge back into icy silence, I chose that opportune moment to have a housekeeper present the gift I had prepared. “Grandpa, knowing your appreciation for the works of Elder Zheng, I spent a long time collecting this complete set of ancient Greek philosopher’s dialogues. I hope you like it.” Grandpa Caldwell’s face, seeing the rare collection, brightened, his earlier gloom completely erased, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Oh, Eva, my dear, you’re too thoughtful!” “Today is the day you and Arthur set your wedding date; you shouldn’t have gone to such expense.” I smiled openly, my voice clear and bright. “Seeing you happy, Grandpa, is the best omen for today.” Mrs. Caldwell’s expression finally softened. She clapped her hands, instructing a housekeeper to open several bottles of wine. “Come, come! Let’s celebrate! I’ve brought out some of my cherished Vintage Chateau Margaux! Good days deserve good wine!” The atmosphere rekindled, everyone raising their glasses. But the moment the wine touched their lips, everyone’s expressions turned indescribably strange. The usually rich and smooth wine now carried a cheap, sickly sweet taste. Lily, seeing this, immediately popped up, eager for praise. “I added Sprite! Isn’t it sweeter and yummier now?!” “You guys must like me even more now, right? My favor points should be soaring!” Mrs. Caldwell clenched the stem of her wine glass, almost shattering it. This was wine she had bought at a high price, and before she could even taste a sip, Lily had ruined it all! She could no longer restrain herself, pointing at Lily and roaring at Arthur. “Arthur Caldwell! Get this woman out of my house! Now! Immediately!” “On such an important day, you bring this trashy, inappropriate person back to cause trouble!” “If you still consider me your mother, get her out right this instant!” Two well-trained security guards immediately entered from outside, their faces expressionless, and headed towards Lily. Just as she was about to be escorted out, Lily clutched her stomach and collapsed to the floor. “Oh, my tummy! The Caldwell family’s heir is going to be scared away!” She wailed hysterically. Arthur instantly rushed forward, shielding Lily tightly in his arms, his eyes bloodshot as he screamed at everyone. “Who dares touch her!” “She’s carrying my child!” One sentence, a double explosion. I was his fiancée, and today was supposed to be the day we set our wedding date. Yet, he announced, in front of all our relatives, that another woman was carrying his child. Several cousins stopped eating, simply staring, glued to the drama. “You… you…” Facing the questioning stares, Lily, protected in Arthur’s embrace, straightened up. “What are you looking at!” “What do you mortals understand!” “I’m the chosen strategist! The system told me that if you just listen to me, I can lead you all to financial freedom!” She jutted out her chin, looking utterly proud. The Caldwell relatives exchanged glances, their expressions a kaleidoscope of emotions. Financial freedom? The Caldwell family had already stood at the pinnacle of wealth twenty years ago. They needed this wild girl, who appeared out of nowhere, to lead them? Crazy. Arthur’s face was also strained, but he still stood firmly in front of Lily. “Mom! Lily’s just too naive; that’s why she says such silly things!” “Her heart is truly for the Caldwell family’s good! Why can’t you be more understanding of her innocent spirit?” “Innocent spirit?” Mrs. Caldwell scoffed. “I see a wolf’s ambition!” “Arthur Caldwell, do you even know what day today is!” Grandpa Caldwell could finally tolerate no more, striking his cane heavily on the floor. “Nonsense!” “Bringing such an ambiguous woman back, are you trampling on my dignity, or Eva’s dignity?!” The other relatives quickly chimed in. “Exactly, Arthur, you’re utterly out of line!” “Eva is such a wonderful girl; how will she face people after what you’ve done?” “Is she worth all this, for such a deranged woman?” Accusations flooded Arthur like a tide. He retreated, his face pale with fury. He looked up at me, then changed tack. “You say Lily is bad, you say I’m blind!” “Then ask Eva! She hasn’t said a word, so what right do you have to speak for her?!” Instantly, all eyes turned back to me. I immediately dropped my spectator’s grin, my wide smile quickly contracting, restoring the dignified demeanor befitting a lady of good standing. I set down my teacup and slowly rose, my gaze calmly settling on Lily. “You want me to disappear, to make way for you?” “Fine.” I paused, staring at Lily. “Give me everything you own in exchange.” Lily froze, seemingly caught off guard by my demand. Arthur, however, immediately frowned. “Eva Carter! She’s just a freshly graduated intern, she has nothing!” “Asking her for money, aren’t you trying to ruin her?!” Lily lowered her head, counting on her fingers, muttering to herself, “Three times one is three, three times two is eight, March 8th is International Women’s Day… anyway, as Mrs. Caldwell, I’ll have tons of money! It’s a bargain!” She pulled out her phone, and I immediately received thirty-nine payment notifications. All together, they totaled eight hundred eighty-six dollars and sixty cents. Quite auspicious, actually. “Take this measly money, I’m gifting it to you!” “From now on, Arthur is mine! You evil ex-wife, get out of our sight!” I took out my phone and replayed the recording of what she had just said. “I’ve got the evidence. Don’t come crying back to me later, even if you regret it.” Arthur pulled Lily even closer. “Eva Carter, I never realized you were so disgusting.” “You greedy woman, taking even eight hundred dollars from her. You’ve truly scraped the bottom of my barrel.” He paused, his voice turning cold. “You can leave now!” “Bang—!” A loud crash, making everyone jump. Grandpa Caldwell, shaking with rage, slammed his cane on the table, knocking over a wine bottle that shattered on the floor. “Who is leaving?” “Arthur Caldwell! Since you’ve chosen this fool, from today onward, you are banished from the Caldwell family!” Arthur froze, looking at his grandfather in shock. “Grandpa, do you know what you’re saying?” “I’m your grandson! And Lily’s carrying our Caldwell heir!” “What is Eva? At best, she’s a sponsored stray dog! You’re kicking me out for an outsider?” “Outsider?” Grandpa Caldwell scoffed. “Let me tell you, Eva Carter is not an outsider! And the Caldwell family does not need a brain-dead heir!” The assembled relatives dared not breathe, all looking down, pretending to inspect their plates. Arthur’s lips moved a few times, as if he wanted to argue, But meeting his grandfather’s resolute eyes, all words caught in his throat. Finally, he said nothing, pulling the still-giggling Lily along, and turned to leave. At the doorway, he paused, turning his head to glare at me. He spoke in what he thought was a low voice, gently comforting Lily. “Don’t worry, Lily, Grandpa is just having a hard time accepting this right now.” “Once our baby is born, and they see such a cute grandchild, their hearts will soften, and everything will be fine.” Hearing this, I couldn’t help but lower my head and chuckle. Wait for the baby to be born? Ha, too late! Arthur didn’t know. Within seven days, Caldwell Holdings would officially be renamed Carter Industries.

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