Author: Momo Chan

“You old piece of trash, you think you can shake me down?!” I was sweeping up litter on the sidewalk when a college girl on an electric scooter swerved and clipped me. I was about to apologize, but before I could get a word out, she grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head down with terrifying force. It felt like my scalp was being torn clean off my skull. My knees slammed into the concrete, the pain so sharp that tears instantly flooded my eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m not trying to shake you down… I’m really not…” “Bullshit!” Before I could even process what was happening, her hand came flying at my face. “You pathetic old leech!” “Trying to sue me?” “I’ll show you what happens to scammers!” She dragged me across the asphalt by my hair. She kicked me so hard she shattered seven of my ribs. Later, she knelt on the hospital floor, sobbing her eyes out, begging, “Ma’am, I’m so sorry, I was just drunk. I blacked out.” I stared at her, my chest throbbing too violently to let me speak. But in my head, there was only one clear, unwavering thought— I will never forgive you. … That first slap came too fast. I had only managed to say, “Sweetheart, watch out,” before she spun around and hit me. Crack. My ears rang. My left cheek burned like fire. I stood there, clutching my face, completely disoriented. Before I could even understand what was happening, the screaming started. “You want a payout? Is that it? I’ll teach you a lesson, you pathetic old scammer!” I parted my lips. “I didn’t—” Before the words could leave my mouth, she grabbed a fistful of my hair. Pain. She yanked my head down. I lost my balance, and she planted her boot right into the back of my knee. I crashed onto the pavement. “You’re still denying it? What did you just say to me? ‘Watch out’? Who the hell do you think you’re threatening?” “I wasn’t threatening you. Your scooter ripped my safety vest…” “Your vest? How much could a piece of garbage like that possibly be worth?” She pulled my hair upward, and I felt my skin ripping away from my head. “Help!” I screamed. She drove her fist into my chest. “You want to scream? I’ll give you something to scream about!” The first punch didn’t feel heavy, but it hit the bone. A dull, sickening thud. Then came the second. The third. She straddled me, her fists raining down on my chest, my shoulders, my arms. I curled into a ball, trying to shield my face, but her targets were my ribs, my chest. God, it hurt. So bad. It wasn’t the kind of pain you get from a bump or a fall. It was the sound of something snapping inside me. “Keep running your mouth! You want a piece of me? I’ll give it to you!” I heard my own voice, weak and desperate: “I didn’t do anything! Please stop! I’m not trying to scam you!” But she only hit me harder. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face flushed red, and she reeked of cheap liquor. She was wasted. But what did that have to do with me? She tore my clothes, and I wasn’t even allowed to speak up? A man walking by shouted, “Hey! Stop! What the hell are you doing to her?” She paused, glaring at him. “Mind your own business! You didn’t see her try to shake me down?” The man said, “I didn’t see her do anything. I see you beating an old woman.” She stood up, pointing a finger in his face. “Oh, you’re with her, aren’t you? I knew it. You’re in on it together, trying to extort me!” The man took two steps back, held up his hands, and hurried away. I tried to use the distraction to crawl away, but she spun around, saw me, and kicked me hard in the ribs. I collapsed back onto the concrete. “You want to run? Where do you think you’re going?” She crouched, grabbed my wrists, and dragged me toward the curb. The pavement was covered in gravel and grit. The stones scraped against my back like tiny knives, tearing through my clothes and skin. I couldn’t even scream anymore. My chest was too tight; I couldn’t catch my breath. “Look at her! Look at this act!” she shouted to the gathering crowd. “She’s faking it! All of it! She just wants a lawsuit!” Someone muttered quietly, “Hey, stop. She’s old.” “So what if she’s old? Being old doesn’t give you a free pass to scam people! She’s a parasite!” She slapped me again. My left ear went completely deaf. I could only watch her mouth move, her voice sounding muffled, like she was shouting underwater. Later, I found out she had dragged me nearly twenty feet from the alley entrance to the curb. My back was shredded. A small crowd had formed. A guy in his thirties stepped in, blocking her. “She’s old enough to be your grandmother. How can you lay a hand on her?” She glared. “Get lost. You want a cut of her payout too?” The guy’s face went pale with anger. “What payout? I saw you hit her with your scooter! She was just doing her job, you swerved right into her, and then you started beating her. How are you pretending you’re the victim here?” She hesitated. The alcohol seemed to hit her all at once; she swayed on her feet. But she wouldn’t back down. “What did you see? You didn’t see her try to extort me?” “Extort you for what? Saying ‘watch out’ is extortion now?” “She didn’t say ‘watch out’! She said, ‘You’re not getting away with this, pay up!’ Ask her yourself!” I lay on the cold ground, my body screaming in pain, unable to form words. The guy knelt beside me. “Ma’am, what did you actually say to her?” I parted my dry lips, my voice so faint I could barely hear it myself. “I said… watch out…” “Hear that?” The guy stood up. “She said watch out. You hit her, ripped her vest, and she told you to watch out. What’s wrong with that?” She sneered. “She says one thing, but I know what she meant! You guys are all in this together. I’m not playing this game.” She pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the cops. Let them handle you scammers!” I watched her dial 911. She spoke into the receiver: “Yeah, I’m being surrounded by a group of scammers trying to extort me. You need to get here fast. I’m at…” She gave the intersection, hung up, and shot me a venomous look. “Just lay there. Let’s see how long you can keep up this act once the police get here!” I tried to push myself up to sit, but a blinding flash of pain shot through my chest. I groaned and sank back down. She laughed. “Look at that. Didn’t I tell you? She’s faking. You tell her to stand up and she can’t, but watch her run the second the cops show up!” She kicked the heel of my boot. “Get up! Come on, show us your little performance!” Cold sweat poured down my face. I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. The guy who had defended me stepped in front of her. “Don’t touch her! Look at her face, she’s bleeding!” “Bleeding? Where?” She leaned in close. “A tiny scratch on her lip? You call that bleeding? If she dies of old age right now, do I have to buy her coffin too?” The crowd grew larger. “This girl is psycho.” “Seriously, she’s completely wasted.” “I smell the booze from here. She’s drunk off her mind.” She heard them. She spun around, screaming at the crowd. “So what if I’ve been drinking? Does that mean she gets to scam me? If anyone else opens their mouth, I’ll sue you too!” The crowd went quiet. Satisfied, she nodded, pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, lit one, and leaned against the streetlight pole to smoke. While we waited for the police, she’d occasionally kick my foot. “Get up. Stop embarrassing yourself on the street!” I clamped my teeth together and stayed silent. It hurt so much. My back felt like it was on fire, and my chest felt like it was crushed under a boulder. I didn’t dare move. I was terrified that if I did, a broken bone would puncture my lung. A few minutes later, a cruiser pulled up. Two officers got out. When they saw me lying on the pavement, the blood dried on my face and my uniform torn open, the younger officer’s brow furrowed. “What happened here?” he asked. She threw her cigarette down and ran to him. “Officer! Thank God you’re here. They’re gang-pressing me!” She pointed at me. “She threw herself in front of my scooter, scraped it, and now she’s refusing to get up because she wants a cash payout!” Then she pointed at the guy who defended me. “And him! He’s her partner. He threatened me, saying he’d put me in jail!” The guy’s face turned white with rage. “What are you talking about? When did I threaten you?” “See? See! He’s yelling at me right in front of you! Imagine what he was doing before you got here!” The younger officer held up a hand. “Calm down. One at a time.” He walked over to me and knelt down. “Ma’am, can you speak?” I nodded. “Tell me what happened.” I gasped for air, the pain in my chest flaring up, but I forced the words out. I had to make him understand. “She hit me with her scooter. She ripped my vest. I just said, ‘Sweetheart, watch out,’ and she turned around and hit me.” “She slapped me, yanked my hair, kicked me down, and punched me in the chest. Then she dragged me by my arms across the road.” “I didn’t touch her scooter. I wasn’t trying to scam anyone.” The officer looked at the tear in my vest. He stood up and faced her. “Have you been drinking?” She blinked. “Just a little.” “Did you hit her with your scooter?” “No! She jumped out of nowhere! She walked right into me!” “But your handlebar ripped her vest, didn’t it?” She hesitated. “That… that was an accident when I slammed on the brakes. But then she started cornering me! Screaming that I couldn’t leave, demanding money, threatening to call the cops!” Her eyes began to well with tears. “Officer, I’m just a college student. She’s a grown adult bullying a kid. What was I supposed to do? I barely tapped her, and she threw herself on the ground and refused to move.” Listening to her lie, my body began to tremble violently with rage. “I never said those things! I never asked for money!” She glared at me. “You know exactly what you did!” The guy who had stepped in spoke up. “Officer, I saw the whole thing from start to finish. This girl was riding her electric scooter, swerving all over the place. The lady tried to get out of her way, but the handlebar caught her vest and tore it.” “The lady just said, ‘Sweetheart, watch out,’ and this girl slapped her. Then she started beating her.” “She dragged her all the way from over there to here—nearly twenty feet. A bunch of us saw it.” “You’re all in on it!” she screamed, her eyes red. The officer held up his hand to quiet her. “That’s enough.” He studied her flushed face, catching the scent. “How much did you have to drink?” “Just two beers.” “Two beers don’t leave you smelling like a distillery.” She went quiet. The officer called for an ambulance. While we waited, she kept muttering, “I can just give her two hundred bucks. Does it really need to be this big of a deal? Old people these days are obsessed with suing everyone.” Two hundred dollars. She broke me, and she thought two hundred dollars would fix it. I’ve swept the streets at this intersection for three years. I wake up at four every morning. I make fifteen dollars an hour, barely twenty-three hundred a month. And she thought she could brush me off with two hundred dollars. No. She didn’t even want to give me that. She felt like even offering two hundred was an act of charity. The ambulance arrived. As they lifted me onto the stretcher, the tears finally came. Not because of the pain. But because of the sheer, suffocating humiliation. I am a sixty-year-old woman. I’ve spent half my life working hard, never picked a fight, never taken a penny that wasn’t mine. She beat me, dragged me, and then accused me of being a thief. Who gave her the right? In the ER, the doctor peeled back my shirt. His expression changed instantly. “Get her to CT immediately.” My son ran in, drenched in sweat. “Mom! Mom, what happened?” I saw his eyes fill with tears. I said, “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just got into a little scuffle.” When the doctor came back with the CT scans, he called my son out into the hallway. Through the thin curtain, I heard him: “Fractures to the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth ribs on the right side… fourth, fifth, and sixth on the left… pulmonary contusion… extensive road rash across her back…” Seven. She had broken seven of my bones. As the nurse prepped my IV, my son stood by the bed, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles popped. “Mom, who did this to you?” I said, “A young girl.” “What young girl?” “She was riding a scooter. She’d been drinking.” “Why did she hit you?” I didn’t have an answer. Because I didn’t know why. All I had said was, “Sweetheart, watch out.” Just those three words. And for that, she beat me. She beat me for ten minutes, broke seven of my ribs, and dragged me across the asphalt. And when she was done, she called me a scammer and thought two hundred dollars would buy my silence. My son was out in the hall making a call. His voice was booming, echoing through the ward: “You beat an elderly woman so badly she’s in the hospital with seven broken ribs! Where the hell are you? What do you mean, calm down? Tell that girl to come look at what she did!” He came back in, sat by my bed, and stared at the floor, silent. I reached out and touched his hand. “Don’t be angry, Luke.” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Mom, why didn’t you run?” “I couldn’t. She had me by the hair.” “What about the people around? Nobody stopped her?” “Someone tried. She just screamed at him too.” He fell silent again. After a long while, he said, “The police said she’s been booked. Felony assault.” “Okay.” “Did she even know what she was doing when she was hitting you?” “She was drunk.” “Being drunk isn’t an excuse.” I shook my head. It wasn’t. Maybe the first blow was the alcohol. But the second, the third, the tenth? She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew what she was doing when she grabbed my hair and dragged me. She knew what she was doing when she lied to the police. The surgery took three hours. Once the anesthesia wore off, the pain hit. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before—the kind of pain where every single breath felt like broken glass scraping inside my chest. I lay there, completely paralyzed. My back was bandaged, my chest bound tight, an IV dripping into my arm. Every two hours, the nurse came to check my vitals. “Don’t try to move, sweetheart. Just rest.” I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t. On the third afternoon, she showed up. She wasn’t alone. Her mother was with her. The two of them stood in the doorway, holding a fruit basket and a carton of milk. The mother was dressed elegantly—expensive clothes, styled hair, gold bracelets clinking on her wrist. A woman of privilege. The girl stood behind her, head bowed, her face hidden. The mother stepped in first, a warm, practiced smile on her face. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Diane, Hailey’s mother. We wanted to come see how you were doing.” I said nothing. She set the fruit basket on the bedside table, pulled up a chair, and sighed. “Ma’am, we are so incredibly sorry about what happened. Hailey was young, foolish, and had a bit too much to drink. She made a terrible mistake. As her parents, we feel absolutely sick about this.” I watched her, remaining silent. She continued, “The doctors say your injuries are quite severe. We want to cover all of your medical expenses, of course. And on top of that, we’d like to offer you fifty thousand dollars as a personal settlement. How does that sound?” Fifty thousand. Her daughter had shattered seven of my ribs, beaten me for ten minutes, and dragged me across the street. And her mother thought fifty thousand dollars would make it go away. “We’ll handle any physical therapy you need later, too. Whatever you need, just let us know.” Diane turned back toward the door. “Hailey, get in here.” The girl stepped forward. I finally got a clear look at her. Twenty-two. Petite, slender, ponytail, wearing a gray hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. She looked like any ordinary college student. If I hadn’t burned her face into my memory, I would never have believed she was the monster who had pinned me down and pounded my chest with her fists. Her mother nudged her. “Say it.” She looked up briefly, then looked back down at her shoes. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Louder,” her mother commanded. “I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean to. I was just so drunk that night, I totally blacked out. I don’t remember any of it. When I woke up, I was already at the precinct. I swear I’m not that kind of person. I would never do something like that if I were sober.” Drunk. Blacked out. Doesn’t remember. As I listened to her, my chest began to throb again. Not my ribs, but my heart. She broke seven of my bones, and she wanted to erase it with three cheap excuses? Her mother chimed in: “You see, ma’am, she’s truly remorseful. She’s apologizing from the bottom of her heart. Please, find it in your heart to forgive her this once. She’s still just a kid. She hasn’t even graduated college yet. If she gets a criminal record, her entire life is ruined. She’s twenty-two with a bright future. We can’t let one bad night destroy everything she’s worked for. You have a child of your own. I’m sure you understand how a mother feels.” I listened to every single word, letting them hang in the sterile air. She broke my bones, and now she was worried about her life being ruined. When she was beating me, did she stop to think that I was someone’s mother too? When she lied to the police, did she think about the consequences? When she stood outside the precinct complaining about a two-hundred-dollar payout, did she think about her precious future? I looked at the mother and daughter. My voice was quiet, but every syllable was sharp: “No.” The mother froze. “Excuse me?” “I said, I will not sign a release. I do not forgive her.” The smile on Diane’s face vanished, replaced by a strained, desperate grin. “Ma’am, please, let’s not be hasty. We can negotiate. Whatever you want. One hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand? Name your price.” “I don’t want your money.” “Then what do you want?” “I want her in prison.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456732”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I found the video on my husband’s phone. A man who had always been so cold and detached with me was suddenly alive, burning with a passion I’d never seen. He shifted through positions with an eagerness that made my stomach turn. And the woman in the frame was someone I knew all too well. For the three years of our marriage, I had cyberstalked her profile like a sewer rat, obsessively tracking her life in the dark. I was sick with it, desperately wanting to know what made this “perfect” ex-girlfriend so much better than me. What made her so unforgettable that he murmured her name in his sleep. We were driving to our anniversary dinner that night. Gavin noticed my distraction and reached over, his voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong, babe?” The question clawed at my throat, threatening to burst out. But my mind drifted for a split second, and the next thing I knew, my car slammed violently into the bumper of the SUV in front of us. When the driver of the front car stepped out, the blood in my veins turned to ice. I froze. It was her. Gavin’s ex. The woman I had spent three years obsessing over. At that exact moment, Gavin’s hand, which had been squeezing mine, went completely slack. …… I stared blankly at my wrist, where Gavin’s fingers had just been. I could still feel the lingering warmth of his palm. But before he could offer an explanation, his body reacted first. He took a half-step forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Chelsea? You’re back in the States?” The woman walking toward us had voluminous chestnut waves and bold, sharp makeup. Her striking face was permanently burned into my memory. Over the years, his friends had compared us more times than I cared to count, usually after a few too many drinks: “Gemma is sweet and a great housewife, but she’s got nothing on Chelsea. Chelsea’s got fire!” “Right? Once you’ve had wild and reckless, how do you settle for plain vanilla, Gavin?” Back then, Gavin had never defended me. He had never argued. He’d just down his drink in silence. He had no idea that I was standing near the hallway, having just returned from the restroom, taking in every word. And he definitely didn’t know that later that night, as he drifted off in a drunken stupor, he had clearly whispered her name: Chelsea. On those agonizing nights when sleep eluded me because of the ghost in our marriage, I couldn’t stop myself. My fingers would betray me, tracing his digital footprints to Chelsea’s Instagram feed. I would compare myself to her, over and over, dissecting every photo in a spiral of self-sabotage, watching the sun rise through swollen eyes. But I kept it all bottled up. I lied to myself. I told myself that everyone has a past, but I was the one who had Gavin’s present. I thought that was enough. But now, his past was standing right in front of us, her heels clicking against the asphalt as she closed the distance. “Long time no see, Gavin.” She offered her hand with effortless poise. As their fingers met, I noticed the slight tremor in Gavin’s pinky. “And this is your wife?” Her eyes swept over me, a brief, patronizing flicker of amusement crossing her face before she masked it. Gavin gave a barely audible murmur of agreement and quickly shifted the focus. “Is your car okay? Do you want me to call insurance?” “It’s fine. Just a tiny scratch. Don’t worry about it.” Gavin opened his mouth, clearly wanting to say more, but Chelsea waved her phone, murmuring something about being late for an appointment. She turned on her heel and walked away with an effortless grace. Gavin’s eyes trailed after her. Even after she got into her car, he kept his gaze locked on her rear windshield, where her business number was printed in neat vinyl lettering. Swallowing the bitter ache rising in my throat, I climbed back into the passenger seat alone. Gavin followed a moment later, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. He didn’t say a word as he started the engine. The silence in the car was suffocating all the way to the restaurant we had booked for our anniversary. Once he put the car in park, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Is there anything you want to tell me—” “Babe, I just remembered there’s an emergency at the office. I need to run back and handle it.” Gavin forced a tight, plastic smile and pressed a hollow kiss to my cheek. “Go ahead and grab our table. I’ll be back as soon as I can so we can celebrate.” As his hand reached for the door handle, I stopped him. “Are you really going to the office, Gavin? You’re not lying to me, right?” His smile stiffened, and a shadow of irritation crossed his eyes. “Of course. Stop overthinking things. Just wait for me, okay?” After he drove off in a cab, I collapsed against the steering wheel, a sharp, physical pain blooming in my chest. I wanted so badly to believe him. But two hours later, my phone vibrated. I opened Instagram to find Chelsea’s latest post. [Couldn’t help ourselves. He’s still as amazing in bed as he used to be.] [Honestly, his wife is such a bore. No wonder he’s been spamming my DMs from alt accounts for years.] The attached photo was of a man’s hand resting casually on her bare waist. Strong, familiar fingers, with the exact same mole on the back of his hand as Gavin’s. But his ring finger was bare. The wedding band engraved with my name was gone, replaced by a pale, mocking tan line. The dam broke. I slammed my fists against the steering wheel, sobbing until my ribs ached, crying like a madwoman in the dark cabin of the car. I cried for our three years of marriage, which hadn’t even stood a chance against a single chance encounter with his ex. I cried at my own stupidity—how, even seconds before opening her profile, I had still been making excuses for him: If he just comes back before the kitchen closes, I’ll pretend none of this happened. By the time my tears ran dry, a cold, hard clarity settled over me. I pulled out my phone and dialed my lawyer. “I need to file for divorce.” We spoke for three hours. By the time I unlocked the front door of our house, it was well past midnight. Gavin wasn’t home. I sank into a hot bath, letting the water rise to my chin, unable to tell if the moisture on my face was from the steam or my own tears. My inbox chimed with a draft of the divorce agreement. Because he was the one at fault, the terms required him to forfeit the majority of our marital assets. I stared at the sterile black-and-white text on my screen, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Three years of my life, boiled down to three thin pages of legal jargon. All those moments of warmth I thought we shared… they were nothing but a fool’s delusion. At two in the morning, Gavin finally let himself in. He was humming a soft tune, looking lighter than he had in months as he shed his coat. But when his collar shifted, a fresh, vivid bite mark on his collarbone caught the light. Noticing my gaze, he quickly adjusted his shirt, smoothing down the fabric. He walked over to me, his voice carrying its usual gentle, easy cadence. “Babe, I’m so sorry. Work kept me hostage. I can’t believe I ruined our anniversary.” He fished a small, cheap-looking jewelry box from his pocket. “Look what I got you, though. I spent forever picking it out.” Without waiting for my reaction, he flipped open the lid, pulled out a generic silver necklace, and draped it around my neck. I stared at the mass-produced, uninspired piece in the mirror, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. Just a few days ago, I had found his real purchase receipt in his coat pocket. It hadn’t been this cheap trinket. It had been a limited-edition piece by my favorite designer—the crown jewel of her final collection. When we first married, we had nothing. We couldn’t even afford wedding bands. Gavin had held me close, pointing at that exact necklace in a magazine, resting his chin on my head. ‘I’m sorry I can’t give you the world right now, Gemma,’ he’d whispered. ‘But I promise you, the second we make it, I’m buying this for you.’ Back then, my heart had melted. I never could have imagined that years later, he would hand me this cheap, insulting imitation. While Gavin was in the shower, I picked up his phone from the coffee table where he always left it. In three years of marriage, I had never once snooped through his things. This was the first time. My fingers trembled violently as I bypassed the lock screen, the sound of rushing shower water echoing from the bathroom. He had added Chelsea back on iMessage. Her last message was a selfie. I tapped the image, and the blood in my veins turned to liquid fire. There, draped elegantly over Chelsea’s collarbone, was the designer necklace I had dreamed of for years. [Thank you for the welcome-home gift, love. I adore it. But what about your wife?] Gavin’s reply was chillingly casual: [Don’t worry about her. I’ll just grab some cheap knockoff from a street vendor on my way home.] I opened his banking app. His “thoughtful” anniversary gift for me had cost exactly twenty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. I ripped the cheap metal from my neck, the sharp edges scratching my skin, and threw it into the trash can. The phone buzzed in my hand again. It was a thumbs-up emoji from his best friend, Travis. My eyes darted upward to read their previous exchange, and the words stole the air from my lungs. Gavin had written: [You’re right. Gemma is just too vanilla. She’s built for stability, not excitement. Chelsea is a different breed. I barely have to touch her and she already knows exactly how to move.] A hot tear spilled onto the glass screen. I scrambled to wipe it away, but the sudden silence from the bathroom caught me off guard. The shower had stopped. A second later, the bathroom door swung open. Gavin stood there in a towel, his eyes locking onto the phone in my hands. His face instantly contorted. “Gemma, are you going through my phone?!” He was the one who had shattered our vows, yet he was standing there accusing me. The fragile wall keeping my emotions in check collapsed. I thrust the screen toward him, sobbing. “She’s your ex, isn’t she? Why, Gavin? Why would you do this to me?” He set his jaw, staring down at me with cold detachment. The silence was deafening. No excuses. No apologies. Just a blank, defensive stare. Driven mad by his indifference, I grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at his face, screaming every profanity I knew, sobbing hysterically. My hand found a heavy water glass on the table. I threw it with all my strength. It grazed his cheek and smashed directly into our large canvas wedding portrait hanging on the wall behind him. Shatter. Shards of glass rained down onto the hardwood floor. Only then did Gavin’s expression shift, his patience clearly wearing thin. He frowned, his voice dropping into a chillingly calm tone. “Fine. Since you know, there’s no point in lying. Honestly, Gemma, if you weren’t so boring compared to her, I wouldn’t have looked elsewhere. But don’t worry. You’re still my wife. That’s not going to change. Once I get this out of my system, I’ll come home.” I stared at his moving lips, completely numb. I understood every word, but the sheer cruelty of them refused to register in my brain. My fingers brushed against the papers of the divorce petition hidden under the cushion. But before I could pull them out, Gavin spoke again, his voice carrying a patronizing edge of advice. “Grow up, Gemma. This is just how marriage works. Pull yourself together. Don’t forget your mother’s surgery is in two days. You don’t want to stress her out.” My hands clenched into tight fists. My mother had been diagnosed with end-stage renal failure six months ago. She was currently in the ICU, and the kidney donor had been secured solely through Gavin’s business connections. Seeing me go quiet, Gavin nodded with smug satisfaction. He grabbed his keys and jacket, walking out of the front door without a single backward glance. I was left alone in the wreckage of our home, staring at the shattered remains of our wedding photo, choking on my own breath. On the ruined canvas, right where my face was printed, lay a dirty boot print. Gavin had stepped on my face without even looking down before he left. But he was right about one thing. My mother was my only family left in this world. No matter what, I had to keep my head down and wait until her surgery was a success before I could settle things with him. For the next few days, I lived at the hospital, holding my mother’s hand and trying to soothe the anxiety she felt about the high-risk transplant. Meanwhile, Chelsea’s social media was a parade of her life with Gavin. She flaunted Cartier bracelets, luxury designer handbags, and captioned every post with nauseating declarations of her happiness. The night before the surgery, her account suddenly went viral. The post gaining the most traction was the one she had posted on the day of our car crash—the one mocking me as a boring wife. An army of internet users had flooded her comment section, slamming her as a home-wrecking mistress. A few internet sleuths had even doxed her, uncovering her employer’s email and threatening to send reports of her behavior to her boss. I locked my phone screen, utterly detached. None of this mattered to me anymore. Once my mother was out of surgery, we were leaving this city. I would take her to some quiet, warm town where we could start over and live out our days in peace. But on the morning of the surgery, the moment I opened the door to the chief surgeon’s office, a stinging slap caught me squarely across the face. My glasses were knocked off my face, clattering onto the linoleum floor and shattering into pieces. Through a blur of tears, I looked up to see Chelsea, her face contorted with pure rage. “You bitch! Did you hire people to drag my name through the mud online? If you think you can ruin my life, you have another thing coming!” My cheek burned with white-hot pain, and a wave of raw anger surged through me. But just as I raised my hand to strike her back, a timid voice spoke from the corner of the room. “Gemma… we’re backing out. We aren’t donating the kidney.” My raised hand froze mid-air. I slowly turned my head toward the donor’s family members standing nearby. “Why?” My voice cracked, barely a whisper. My mother was already being prepped for the OR. The doctors had made it clear—this was her last chance. If she didn’t get the transplant today, she wouldn’t survive the next three months. The representative of the donor’s family shrank back, refusing to meet my eyes, their gaze darting nervously toward Chelsea. Chelsea smiled, savoring my panic. She took a step closer, leaning in until her breath brushed my ear. “Because I offered them more money,” she whispered, her voice dripping with venom. “You ruined my reputation, so I’m ending your mother’s life. Perfectly fair, don’t you think?” Gnashing my teeth, I pulled out my phone to call Gavin. But Chelsea snatched it from my grip and threw it against the wall, shattering the screen. “Going to complain to Gavin? Please. How do you think I got the donor family’s contact info? Gavin gave it to me. He said I could do whatever it takes to feel better.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. “What do you want?” She pulled out her own phone, aiming the camera directly at my face. “Easy. Get on your knees, slap yourself three times, and record a video admitting that you were the home-wrecking third party all along. Do that, and I’ll let your mother have her kidney. Deal?” The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Every second was a second closer to my mother’s death. Picturing her frail, pale face in the ICU, my knees buckled, and I slammed hard onto the floor. I raised my hand and slapped myself hard across the cheek. “I was the third party… they truly loved each other.” A small crowd of patients and nurses had gathered by the open door, their hushed whispers and pitying stares stinging worse than the blows. After the third slap, I stood up, keeping my head bowed to hide my burning face. Chelsea laughed hysterically, clapping her hands like a delighted child. Then, she leaned in close. “I lied. Even if you crawl like a dog, I would never let her have the kidney. You took my man, and you let the internet call me a whore. This is what you get.” She spun around and walked away, the donor’s family scurrying behind her. I lunged forward to stop them, but the burly bodyguard Gavin had hired to protect her shoved me hard onto the floor. The broken shards of my glasses sliced deep into my palms. Blood pooled on the floor, but I couldn’t feel the pain. I scrambled up, begged a nurse for her phone, and frantically dialed Gavin’s number. When he picked up, his voice carried no surprise. “You nearly ruined Chelsea’s life, Gemma. She’s just playing a little joke to blow off steam. We’ll postpone the surgery for three days. Consider it a lesson.” The line went dead before I could speak. As I desperately tried to redial, a panicked shout echoed from the hallway. “Who let the patient out of her room? She’s supposed to be prepped! Where is the family? The patient just collapsed! Code blue!” My head snapped toward the door. Through the window, I saw my mother’s frail body crumpled on the linoleum floor. The world around me dissolved into a high-pitched, deafening ring. Maybe it was a mother’s intuition. She had forced her weak body out of bed to find me. Standing at the edge of the corridor, she had watched through the crowd as her daughter knelt on the floor, slapping herself. She had used every ounce of her remaining strength to push through the crowd to reach me, but the rushing bodies had shoved her back over and over again. Until her heart gave out. Even in her very last moments, she was only trying to protect me… I went through the motions. I signed the death certificate. I filled out the cremation paperwork. My body was a hollow shell. It was only when the funeral director handed me the cold, heavy ceramic urn that the truth finally pierced through the fog. My mother was gone. Forever. Like a ghost walking among the living, I bought a plot in a quiet cemetery and laid her to rest. As I clung to the cold stone of her grave, sobbing until my throat bled, Gavin finally called me. “Have you learned your lesson?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescending authority. “Apologize to Chelsea properly, and I’ll have the doctors schedule the surgery for tomorrow.” The sheer absurdity of his words made me laugh—a terrible, broken sound. I pulled the SIM card out of my phone and snapped it in half. That afternoon, I hired a moving truck and erased every single trace of my existence from our house. I rolled my suitcase through the airport terminal. Gavin, I hope I never see you again, in this life or the next. …… That evening, Gavin felt a strange, nagging weight in his chest as he drove home. He hadn’t been able to reach Gemma since he called off the surgery. It didn’t make sense. Usually, she would be begging him, crying on her knees for him to reinstate the transplant. He opened the front door to complete darkness. Flicking on the light switch, his breath hitched. The house was dead quiet. Sterile. But what made his heart stop completely was the crisp white envelope sitting on the coffee table: the divorce papers.

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On the night of our fifth wedding anniversary, Julian Reed knelt on one knee, fastening a new diamond necklace around my neck. “My dearest, you’re my life,” he whispered, kissing my earlobe, his voice as soft as melted honey. I scoffed, remembering the document I’d just seen. Elara Vance Psychological Destruction Plan. His handwriting was on it: “Year five, self-awareness completely stripped. Initiate final phase.” “Julian,” I cupped his face, gazing earnestly into his deeply affectionate eyes. “What would you do if someone destroyed the thing you love most?” His eyes didn’t flicker. “I’d kill them.” I nodded, pulling a knife from behind my back, and smiled as I asked, “What if it was you?” Elara Vance POV In the fifth year of my marriage to Julian Reed, I found a top-secret psychological evaluation report in his private safe. The cover bore a bold title: Elara Vance Psychological Destruction Plan. I had only meant to find his passport to book two tickets to Iceland as a surprise for our fifth anniversary. The safe’s password was my birthday, and it opened with a casual try. But there was no passport, only this thick stack of documents. My hands trembling, I opened the first page. Julian’s familiar, sharp handwriting filled the pages, every sentence like a poisoned blade. “Year one: She trusts me completely. Her fear of abandonment has been entirely suppressed by my fabricated, unconditional affection.” “Year three: She has left the orchestra. Her social circle has been wiped clean; she has nothing but me.” “Year five: Dependency reached one hundred percent. Self-awareness stripped. Final phase can be initiated – complete emotional deprivation and social ruin.” My mind exploded, leaving only a sharp ringing in my ears. All of New York knew Julian Reed was completely obsessed with his wife. He would drive across half the city on a freezing winter night just because I mentioned wanting a strawberry cake from the upscale bakery across town, making sure it was the first thing I saw when I woke up. If I accidentally cut my finger while practicing cello, he would tear up, taking my hand in his mouth as if the wound was in his own heart. He even bought an entire island, naming it after me, claiming it was his worry-free paradise built just for me. He would always whisper in my ear, “Darling, the outside world is too complicated. You just need to hide under my wing and be my little princess.” So, I willingly gave up my position as principal cellist, cut off contact with my friends, and lived like a bird in a gilded cage. But now, these documents brutally revealed that every romance, every profound display of affection over these five years, had been a precisely calculated psychological trap. At the end of the file, a woman’s photo was clipped. It was Chloe Davis. Five years ago, the talented cellist Chloe Davis’s reputation was destroyed by a sudden bullying scandal. She ended up with permanently damaged legs in a car accident during a rainstorm. And the “biggest beneficiary” of that scandal was me, who took her place as principal. I had always thought it was just an accident, until I saw a sentence Julian had written on the back of the photo: “She took Chloe’s stage and her legs. I will take her soul.” The sound of the lock turning suddenly echoed. My body stiffened. I frantically shoved the documents back into the safe and slammed the door shut. The next second, the study door opened. Julian, dressed in a custom suit, held a bouquet of rare “crushed ice blue” roses. He walked in against the light, the tenderness in his eyes capable of drowning anyone. “Elara, why are you sitting on the floor? The marble is cold; you’ll get sick.” He strode over, casually placed the flowers on the table, and effortlessly lifted me, his movements practiced and careful, as if I were a fragile, rare treasure. He lowered his head, pressing his warm lips to my forehead, his voice deep and doting, “Happy fifth anniversary, darling.” I leaned against his broad, warm chest, breathing in his familiar cedar scent, feeling as if all the blood in my body had frozen. I looked into those deeply affectionate eyes. For five years, I had seen stars and oceans in those eyes, a unique, unconditional love. But it turned out they were just a mirror, reflecting his cold-blooded intent to kill. “Why are you trembling?” Julian frowned slightly, his large hand enveloping my icy fingers, a perfectly timed flicker of concern in his eyes. “Was the window not closed properly? I’ll go heat you some milk.” He placed me on the soft cashmere sofa and turned towards the kitchen. I watched his retreating back. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, his long fingers moving deftly, his profile looking so charming in the warm yellow light. This man had woven an airtight net with the most extreme tenderness. He had groomed me into a useless shell who couldn’t live without him. And then, he was preparing to push me off a cliff with his own hands. I bit down hard on my lip until I tasted blood, just to stop myself from screaming. I remembered when I was eighteen, I’d bled my finger practicing cello, and he’d cradled my hand in his, promising to protect me. I remembered on our wedding day, he swore before the priest that I was his only belief in this life. It was all fake. He never wanted to love me; he wanted to elevate me to the highest point, only to let me fall and shatter into a million pieces. Extreme pain, I realized, was silent.

Elara Vance POV I drank the milk. The sickly sweet taste slid down my throat, but it felt like swallowing broken glass, cutting my insides until they bled. The next morning, Julian said he had an important international meeting at his company. Before leaving, he pressed a lingering good morning kiss to my lips. I watched his car drive out of the villa, then turned and hailed a cab, following him. The car didn’t head to the Reed Group building but drove into New York’s most secluded high-end rehabilitation center in the suburbs. I stood at the end of the long corridor, peering through the glass panel on the patient room door. Chloe sat in a wheelchair, pale but still beautiful. And Julian, who was always composed and superior in front of me, was now kneeling before Chloe’s wheelchair. He wasn’t wearing his usual impeccably tailored suit jacket; his tie was slightly loosened, and his eyes showed deep fatigue and unconcealed pain. “Chloe, are you feeling better today?” His voice was hoarse, with a slight tremor. Chloe didn’t speak, just stared blankly out the window. Julian took her lifeless hand, pressing it to his cheek, his eyes reddening. “Soon, Chloe, just a few more days. I’ve completely broken Elara Vance’s will. Tomorrow is her comeback concert; I’ll make her atone for all the suffering you endured, in front of the whole world.” “I’ll ruin her reputation, make her taste the despair you went through.” I stood outside the door, my nails digging deep into my palms. Blood dripped from between my fingers onto the pristine white tiles, yet I felt no pain. So, this was the real Julian. In front of me, he was a perfectly executed program, every glance, every movement, a “best solution” derived from psychological analysis. His love for me was flawless, yet utterly devoid of warmth. But in front of Chloe, he felt pain, fatigue, and lost control. This was the love of a living, breathing person. I remembered Julian once telling me, “Elara, you don’t need to grow up around me. I’ll always be your safe harbor.” It turned out he wasn’t trying to protect me; he was trying to clip my wings, drain my blood, and turn me into a soulless puppet, only to effortlessly tear me apart at the very end. I didn’t rush in to confront him, nor did I cry hysterically. Like a ghost, I turned and left the rehabilitation center. Back in the villa Julian called our “love nest,” I looked around. Our massive wedding photo, intimately embracing, hung on the wall. The roses he’d clipped for me that morning sat on the table. The air still carried the calming scent he’d specially blended for me. Everything here was a custom-made cage for me. My phone suddenly vibrated. It was a message from Julian. “Darling, this meeting is so boring. All I can think about is you. Are you ready for tomorrow’s concert? Don’t be nervous, I’ll be in the audience with you.” I stared at the loving message on the screen, then suddenly chuckled. As I laughed, tears finally streamed down my face. For tomorrow’s fifth anniversary, I had secretly rehabilitated for six months, enduring excruciating pain in my fingers, just to pick up the cello again. I had planned to surprise him on stage, to show him that I was still the Elara Vance who could stand by his side. But it turned out he had already set the trap, waiting for me to fall into it. My fingers trembling, I typed a reply: “Okay.” Julian, since you want to see me shattered into a million pieces, then I will grant your wish and play out this final act with you.

Elara Vance POV On the night of my comeback concert, New York’s Lincoln Center was packed. Backstage in the dressing room, Julian personally knelt to help me put on my diamond-studded heels. He looked up, his gaze so tender it could melt anyone. “My Elara, you will be the most dazzling queen on stage tonight.” I looked at him, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Will I?” “Of course.” He stood, pressing a reverent kiss to my forehead. “Go on, I’ll be watching you from the best seat.” I hugged my cello, walking step by step towards the spotlighted stage. When I played the first note, the entire hall fell silent. It was “Sunken Star,” a piece I had once been most proud of. However, just as the music reached its climax, the giant LED screen behind the stage suddenly flickered. The beautiful starry background vanished, replaced by a maliciously edited surveillance video and audio recording. In the video, my back was visible at the top of the stairs, coldly watching Chloe fall. In the audio, a voice eerily similar to mine sneered arrogantly, “As long as your hands are crippled, the principal position will be mine.” The music stopped abruptly. The entire hall erupted in an uproar. Countless gazes of shock, disdain, and anger shot like arrows towards me in the center of the stage. “Oh my God! She’s truly despicable!” “So, Chloe’s scandal and accident back then were all her doing!” “Murderer! Get off the stage!” Camera flashes from the media flickered wildly, and reporters swarmed forward like sharks smelling blood. I didn’t move, just quietly held my cello, my gaze cutting through the chaotic crowd, landing precisely on Julian in the VIP box. He stood in the shadows, his gentle mask completely torn away, replaced by chilling indifference and malicious pleasure. He looked at me as if I were a piece of trash finally crushed. Under the escort of security, Julian slowly descended the stairs and came to the front of the stage. Reporters immediately thrust microphones at him. “Mr. Reed! Were you aware of your wife’s actions?” Julian stopped, his gaze coldly fixed on me on stage. He took the microphone, his voice deep and pained. “I apologize to everyone. For these five years, I was blinded by her hypocritical mask. Only today have I uncovered the truth of what happened.” He paused, every word he uttered like a knife stabbing straight into my heart. “Elara Vance, you disgust me.” That single sentence, amplified by the microphone, echoed through every corner of the theater. The man who once held me in the palm of his hand, who would ache if I even frowned, was now personally pushing me into an abyss of destruction. I stood on stage, looking at his seemingly righteous face, and suddenly laughed. I didn’t argue, didn’t struggle. Because I knew all this was evidence he had meticulously fabricated. He had spent five years setting this trap, and he would never leave me any room to turn the tables. I just stared fixedly at Julian, mouthing a phrase only we both understood: “Julian Reed, as you wish.”

Elara Vance POV I don’t know how I got back to the villa. The internet was flooded with insults; I was branded a “vicious woman” and a “murderer,” my former honors trampled into the mud. The villa was dark, silent. Julian sat on the leather sofa in the living room, a lit cigarette clutched between his fingers. The crimson glow flickered in the darkness. He never used to smoke in front of me, because I’d said I couldn’t stand the smell. But now, the entire living room reeked of choking tobacco. “Why?” I stood in the doorway, my voice so hoarse it didn’t sound like my own. Julian stubbed out the cigarette and slowly stood up. He walked step by step towards me, looking down at me. His eyes held none of their former tenderness, only bone-chilling coldness. “Why?” He sneered, then suddenly reached out and clamped my chin, his grip so strong it felt like my bones would shatter. “Five years ago, Chloe’s reputation was ruined because of you, her legs were crippled, and she could never play cello again. You ask me why?” “I didn’t do that,” I said calmly, looking at him. “It was an accident.” “Shut up!” Julian’s eyes were bloodshot. He roughly pinned me against the wall. “Even now you dare to argue! If you hadn’t bribed the judges, if you hadn’t forced her, how would she have run out in the rain?!” He leaned close to my ear, his voice laced with venom. “Elara Vance, do you know how disgusting I found it, looking at your face every day for these five years?” I didn’t struggle, letting him hold me. I looked at his familiar yet strange face and softly asked, “So, the good morning kisses, the hot milk every night, the vows under the Northern Lights, the roses on the island… were all fake?” “All of it was for today.” Julian curled his lips cruelly. “I hired the top psychologists to analyze your every weakness. I knew you feared abandonment most, yearned most to be unequivocally chosen. So, I gave you the most perfect love, made you utterly fall for me, made you abandon your career, made you have nothing but me.” “Only by lifting you to the highest point will the fall be painful enough.” He released me, watching me slide down the wall to the floor, a flash of vengeful pleasure in his eyes. “Elara Vance, this is just the beginning.” I sat on the cold floor, looking up at him. I didn’t break down crying, nor did I kneel and beg. I just stared at him, the light in my eyes extinguishing little by little, finally becoming a desolate wasteland. “Congratulations, Julian Reed,” I pulled at my dry lips. “You won.” I was calm. My gaze now was like looking at a stranger. “Don’t pretend to be indifferent.” Julian dropped a cold remark. “From tomorrow, Chloe will move in. You owe her, and you’ll spend the rest of your life paying her back.” With that, he turned and went upstairs without another glance. I sat alone in the darkness, listening to the wind outside the window. My heart was dead, even the pain had dulled. Julian, do you think you destroyed my reputation and my pride? No, what you destroyed was a woman’s unwavering, even self-sacrificing, genuine love for you.

Elara Vance POV The next day, Chloe moved into the villa. Julian gave her the master bedroom, changing the bedding to Chloe’s favorite pure white. I was relegated to the cold, damp guest room on the first floor. I was like a transparent ghost, forced to watch Julian’s extreme devotion to another woman in this “love nest” that once belonged to me. At lunch, Julian pushed Chloe into the dining room. He skillfully cut her steak into small, precisely 1.5-centimeter pieces – the size I used to prefer. He tested the soup’s temperature with his wrist, and only after confirming it wasn’t too hot, carefully spoon-fed it to Chloe. “Chloe, careful, it’s hot,” his voice was so gentle it could drip with sweetness. I stood in the corner, quietly watching this scene. It turned out that what I thought was “exclusive devotion,” those details I drowned in, were merely a program he could copy and paste onto anyone at any time. My profound love, from beginning to end, had been a joke. Chloe ate a few bites, then suddenly turned her head, looking at me in the corner, a hint of malice playing on her lips. “Julian, I’d like to hear some cello,” Chloe said softly. “I used to play for you, but now my hands are useless… could Miss Vance play for me?” Julian’s movements froze. He turned to look at me, his eyes cold. “Go get the cello.” I stood still. “I haven’t played in a long time.” “I told you to get the cello!” Julian’s voice suddenly rose. “You owe Chloe, and you’ll never be able to repay it! You’re not even willing to play for her?” I looked at the disgust in his eyes and suddenly felt incredibly weary. I no longer resisted, turning to the storage room to get the cello. It was an heirloom from my mother, a treasure I once valued more than my life. I sat in the center of the living room, and in front of Julian and Chloe, I drew the bow across the strings. Because I hadn’t practiced intensely for so long, coupled with the old injuries from my secret rehabilitation for his surprise, my fingers started to bleed in less than ten minutes. Blood flowed from my fingertips, staining the strings and dripping onto the expensive carpet. Every finger linked to my heart, an agonizing pain shot through me, yet I didn’t even frown. I mechanically played the cello, my eyes empty, staring straight ahead. Before, if I even got a small paper cut, he would be so distressed he wouldn’t sleep all night. But now, though he clenched his fists, he averted his gaze. “Enough!” Julian suddenly interrupted me impatiently. “That sounds terrible. Do you want Chloe to have nightmares? Get back to your room!” I stopped playing. I silently wiped the blood from the strings, hugged the cello, and limped back to the cold guest room. As I closed the door, I heard Chloe’s delicate voice from the living room, “Julian, don’t be angry, Miss Vance didn’t mean to…” I leaned against the back of the door, slowly sliding down. I looked at my bloodied hands and suddenly laughed. These hands, which had once cooked countless delicious meals for him, which had sketched countless portraits of him, now could only be used to satisfy his hatred.

Elara Vance POV A few days later, Chloe “accidentally” knocked over my cello in the living room. With a dull thud, that precious antique, a memento of my mother, broke its neck and was completely ruined. Julian rushed out from his study at the sound, seeing Chloe startled in her wheelchair, while I stood quietly amidst a pile of fragments. “What happened?” Julian strode over, shielding Chloe behind him. Chloe’s eyes were red, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry… I just wanted to look at the cello, I couldn’t control my wheelchair, and I accidentally bumped it… Miss Vance, please don’t blame me…” Julian looked at me coldly. He probably expected to see me become hysterical and enraged. After all, he knew how important that cello was to me; it was my last boundary. But I didn’t. I didn’t scream, didn’t question, didn’t even shed a single tear. I just calmly knelt down, picking up the broken wooden pieces one by one. Then I walked to the fireplace and threw them all into the burning flames. The flames instantly consumed the pieces, crackling loudly. “It’s just a broken cello,” Julian said stiffly. “It’s good to burn that scrap wood. Tomorrow, I’ll have someone buy you a hundred better ones.” I watched the dancing flames, my voice as light as a breeze. “No need. I won’t be playing cello anymore.” My tone was too calm, as if I were a body that had already lost its soul. Julian suddenly rushed over, grabbing my wrist, his eyes so fierce they looked like they wanted to devour me. “Who are you putting on this lifeless act for?! Do you think pretending to be pathetic will make me let you go? I’m telling you, you haven’t paid off your debt to Chloe yet. You’ll never leave me in this lifetime!” I slowly pulled my hand free from his grasp. I looked at Julian, my eyes devoid of hate or love, only endless emptiness. “Okay,” I said softly. Julian seemed enraged by my answer. To provoke a reaction from me, Julian began to escalate his torment. He cut off the funding to the orchestra of my most respected teacher, driving it to the brink of bankruptcy. He used this as leverage, forcing me to serve Chloe like a maid every day. I did everything he asked. I silently endured it all, even when Chloe deliberately splashed hot soup onto the back of my hand. I would just quietly clean it up, then turn and walk away. The more compliant I became, the more agitated Julian grew. He was like a madman flailing his fists in an abyss, desperately trying to grasp something, only to find he held nothing but ashes. What he didn’t know was that my heart had completely died, right there in the burning ashes of that cello. New York’s late autumn brought a rare downpour. Fierce winds whipped the rain against the villa’s glass windows. Late at night, my phone suddenly vibrated wildly. It was the hospital calling—my teacher, the old man who was the only one willing to believe in me and treated me like his own child after the scandal, had suffered a sudden heart attack and was in critical condition. My face instantly turned ashen. I didn’t even have time to put on a coat, stumbling towards the front door. But the door was locked. The password had been changed; even my fingerprint access was disabled. I frantically pounded on the door, then turned and rushed upstairs to the master bedroom. “Julian! Open the door! Please, open the door!” The master bedroom door opened. Julian stood in the doorway in his pajamas, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with you, raving like this so late? Chloe is afraid of thunder; she just managed to fall asleep.” “My teacher is in critical condition… the hospital wants me to see him one last time…” My voice trembled with extreme fear. “Julian, I beg you, open the door, let me go see him!” Julian looked at my paper-white face, a flicker of remorse in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold hardness. “Isn’t this just the punishment you deserve?” he said coldly. “When Chloe had her accident, her teacher also fell ill from the shock. You’re just tasting the pain she went through back then.” “I didn’t do it!” I suddenly let out a piercing scream, my knees buckling. I fell heavily onto the cold marble floor. The once proud-to-the-bone me, the me who stood tall even when everyone blamed me, was now kneeling at his feet like a dog. “Julian, I’ll give you my life, I’ll give you everything… please, let me see him one last time…” I pleaded desperately, trying to win his concession. Julian frantically pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed the unlock button. I scrambled out of the villa, rushing into the pouring rain. But it was too late. When I arrived at the hospital, soaked and bloodied, the emergency room light was already off. The doctor regretfully shook his head at me. I stood in the morgue, looking at the face covered by a white sheet on the gurney, surrounded by a deathly silence. I didn’t cry. Not a single tear fell. Extreme sorrow and despair reached their breaking point at this moment, then completely dissolved into nothingness. I reached out and gently touched my teacher’s face through the white sheet. At that moment, the last string connecting me to this world finally snapped. My love for Julian, my insistence on the truth, my hopes for the future—all died cleanly on that rainy night.

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Pregnancy three months in, I was in a severe car accident. I called my husband, Ethan, but he simply condemned me impatiently: “Lily, will you ever quit with the theatrics? Inventing a car accident just to get me to come home? Seriously?” Just as the call was about to disconnect, I heard him turn and say to another woman: “Don’t worry, darling, it’s just a scratch. The doctor will be right here.” The searing pain ripped through my abdomen, and a sudden, warm gush drained the last bit of heat from me. Our baby was gone. I was too greedy. I thought one life could make him turn back to me, but I was abandoned once again. I suddenly smiled. Maybe it was for the best. He finally didn’t have to be annoyed by me anymore. And I no longer had to pretend to love him. Lily POV When I woke up, the world was upside down. I was trapped in the twisted driver’s seat, an agonizing pain in my abdomen threatening to tear me apart. In that moment, I felt something incredibly important being ripped from my body. It was the secret I’d kept for three months. My hands trembled as I painstakingly fumbled for my phone amidst the shattered glass. The screen was cracked, but it still lit up. The name at the top of my contacts: Ethan. He was my husband, and my only family in this world. The phone rang for a long time before he finally answered. “What is it?” His voice was deep and cold, laced with impatience. “Ethan… help me…” My voice was hoarse and broken, a sob catching in my throat, “I’m on the Coast Highway… I was in a car accident, there’s so much blood…” A flurry of footsteps sounded from his end, followed by a woman’s delicate sniffle: “Ethan, it hurts so much, am I going to be disfigured?” Ethan’s tone instantly changed, becoming soft and anxious: “Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch. The doctor will be right here.” When he spoke to me again, his voice turned icy cold. “Lily, will you ever quit with the theatrics? Inventing a car accident just to get me to come home? Seriously?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand: “I’m not… it’s real, save the baby…” “Baby?” Ethan gave a cold laugh. “What baby? Are you still dreaming? You used to cry over a paper cut. This car accident story is too fake. I’m busy. Stop being so unreasonable.” “Beep—beep—” The call disconnected. My phone slipped from my fingertips, falling into the growing pool of blood. I closed my eyes in despair. I’d forgotten. In Ethan’s eyes, I, Lily, was a conniving woman, but Scarlett? She was the frail, helpless damsel in distress who needed his constant protection. The cramping in my abdomen hit its peak, and a hot gush of blood stole the last bit of warmth from me. In the last second before my consciousness faded, I thought: Ethan, this time, I won’t cause any more trouble. Truly, no more trouble. The hospital hallway was blindingly white. “Where’s the family? Why haven’t they come to sign yet? Look at the time!” The nurse’s anxious shouts echoed in my ears. I painstakingly opened my eyes; the lights on the ceiling made me feel nauseous. “Doctor, she’s awake!” The attending physician, Dr. Miller, was a middle-aged man. His brows were furrowed, and his gaze towards me was filled with sympathy and solemnity. “Ms. Reed, have you reached your family? Although the emergency miscarriage surgery is complete, you’ve lost a lot of blood, and furthermore…” Dr. Miller paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, “we found some abnormal indicators in your blood tests. It’s confirmed to be acute myeloid leukemia. You need chemotherapy immediately.” The air was dead silent. I lay on the hospital bed, my face even paler than the sheets. I reached down to touch my flat abdomen, empty now, even that faint connection was severed. Emergency miscarriage. Leukemia. Fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor, always picking on the most unfortunate. “No family,” I said, my voice as light as smoke. “I’ll sign myself.” Dr. Miller was taken aback: “This is a serious matter. Where’s your husband? The kind person who brought you to the hospital said they saw his number at the top of your phone.” “He’s dead,” I stated, my voice devoid of emotion. Dr. Miller seemed choked. He looked at me, a woman so weak she looked as if she could die at any moment, sighed, and handed me the pen. My hand trembled as I held the pen, every word I wrote was shaky and distorted. After signing, I felt as if all my strength had drained away, and I collapsed onto the pillow. My phone vibrated on the bedside table. “Ethan” flashed across the screen. Before, I would have answered ecstatically, even if all I heard were cold words. But now, it just felt like noise. I pressed the answer button. Before I could even speak, a barrage of questions was hurled at me. “Lily, where the hell have you been? Scarlett got scared looking for your cat. If you don’t come back and apologize, you can kiss your spot as my wife goodbye.” So it was for Scarlett. Always Scarlett. I looked at the IV drip, and suddenly chuckled. “What’s so funny?” Ethan seemed infuriated by my laughter. “I’m talking to you about something serious!” “Ethan,” I interrupted him, my tone frighteningly calm, “You don’t need to kick me out. I’ve already cleared out the spot.” “What do you mean?” “It means,” I said, looking out at the dark night sky, “I want a divorce.”

Ethan POV It was already three in the morning when I returned to the mansion. The living room lights were off, everything was pitch black. Normally, no matter how late it was, Lily would leave a warm yellow floor lamp on, curled up on the sofa waiting for me. She’d hand me a hot coffee the moment I walked in. Today, there were no lights, no coffee, and no one. I irritably yanked off my tie and tossed my jacket onto the sofa. “Trying to attract my attention by pretending not to care,” I scoffed coldly. I assumed Lily was still sulking about me hanging up on her earlier. She was always like this, narrow-minded, easily jealous. The moment I showed Scarlett even a little kindness, she would turn the house upside down. I went upstairs and pushed open the bedroom door. Empty. The bed was perfectly made, not a single crease, as if no one had ever slept in it. My brow twitched. I saw a document on the bedside table. In the moonlight, five bolded, capitalized words on the cover stabbed at my eyes—”Divorce Agreement.” Was this woman insane? I picked up the agreement and flipped it open. Relinquishing all assets. She wanted nothing but a few clothes. The house, the cars, the Reed Group shares, even the jewelry I’d given her over the years—all left behind. And in the signature section, the handwriting was somewhat sloppy, with a few dried bloodstains. Blood? My heart inexplicably tightened, then was immediately drowned by a surge of anger. Another one of her tricks! Using red ink to fake blood, using divorce to force my hand. Lily, is this all you’ve got? I pulled out my phone and dialed Lily’s number. “Sorry, the subscriber you dialed is currently unavailable.” “Fine, just fine.” I laughed in anger, slamming the agreement onto the floor. “Lily, go ahead and hide your whole life. Don’t come back begging me!” I was woken up the next morning by Scarlett’s call. “Ethan, if I accidentally lost the cat you gave Lily… is Lily angry? My head feels so dizzy, do I have a concussion…?” I rubbed my temples, suppressing the irritation bubbling inside me: “Stop overthinking. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.” “I’m at the hospital.” When I arrived, Scarlett was sitting in a wheelchair, her leg wrapped in bandages. It was just a scratch, but she was bandaged up like she’d broken her leg. “Ethan!” Scarlett, her eyes red-rimmed, threw herself into my arms. I instinctively flinched, the “bloodstains” I’d seen last night inexplicably flashing in my mind. “What did the doctor say?” I asked. “The doctor said I need bed rest… Oh, right, where’s Lily? I want to apologize to her in person, I shouldn’t have tried to catch her cat…” My face darkened: “Don’t bother with her.” Just then, a hospital bed was pushed down the corridor. The person lying on it was extremely thin, wearing an oxygen mask, her hands covered in needle marks. My gaze casually swept over her, and I froze, as if struck by lightning. That pale, lifeless face was unmistakably Lily’s.

Lily POV I was woken by pain. The chemotherapy side effects hit hard, like a thousand ants were crawling and biting deep within my bones. I opened my eyes, and a tall figure appeared in my blurry vision. Before I could even make him out, his cold voice cut through the air. “You’re really going all out for your act. Where did you learn this trick? Pretending to have a terminal illness?” My vision slowly focused. Ethan stood at the foot of the bed, looking at me arrogantly, his eyes filled with mockery and disdain. Scarlett sat beside him in a wheelchair, looking at me with feigned timidity. “Lily, don’t scare Ethan. Please, get up,” Scarlett said softly. “I know you hate me, but I really didn’t mean to…” I pulled off my oxygen mask, my throat as parched as if I’d swallowed sand. “Get out.” Just one word, but it took all my remaining strength. Ethan’s face turned dark. He quickly walked over and roughly grabbed my wrist. “Lily! How long are you going to keep this up? Scarlett’s leg is hurt badly and she still came to see you, what kind of attitude is that?” His grip was strong, right on my IV site. Blood immediately surged back, staining the IV tube crimson. I let out a muffled groan of pain, cold sweat beading on my forehead. “Let go…” “No!” Ethan glared at me. “I want you to apologize to Scarlett right now!” “Ethan, are you blind?” I looked up, those eyes once full of love now only held a desolate emptiness. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding?” Ethan froze, looking down. Fresh blood dripped down my hand, spreading into bright red stains on the clean white sheets. The blood was too real, too stark to be mere red ink. He seemed to instinctively loosen his grip. “Ethan…” Scarlett suddenly clutched her chest, gasping for air. “I… I can’t breathe…” Ethan’s attention instantly shifted. He turned to support Scarlett. “What’s wrong? What’s bothering you?” “Maybe it’s the strong smell of medicine here, Lily…” Scarlett leaned weakly against him. Ethan looked back at me, his gaze cold: “If you love the hospital so much, feel free to stay here as long as you like. Come talk to me when you’ve learned to behave.” With that, he picked up Scarlett and walked away without a backward glance. I watched his retreating back, and my tears finally broke free, falling in large drops. Ethan, you’ll never know, this might be the last time I ever see you. Perhaps it was for the best. Now, I truly had given up all hope. Over the next week, Ethan didn’t reappear. My body grew weaker. Chemotherapy caused massive hair loss, so I just bought a hat to cover it. Dr. Miller urged me to contact family, as the upcoming bone marrow transplant required a match. I shook my head. I was an orphan; where would I find a relative to match? That afternoon, the hospital room door opened. It wasn’t Ethan, but Ethan’s male assistant, Mark. Mark looked at my skeletal form on the bed, a flicker of something that looked like regret in his eyes, but he remained strictly professional as he produced a document. “Ms. Reed, Mr. Reed said that as long as you sign this understanding letter, admitting that the car accident was due to your own mishandling and had nothing to do with Scarlett, he would agree… not to divorce.”

Lily POV I froze for a moment, then began to tremble with laughter. So that was it. The car involved in the accident that day belonged to Scarlett? No wonder Scarlett was also on the Coast Highway that day, no wonder she only had minor scrapes. Ethan was afraid I’d sue Scarlett, so he came to silence me. “Not divorce?” I asked, as if I’d heard the funniest joke. “What makes him think I still care about being his wife?” Mark looked a little awkward: “Mr. Reed said you shouldn’t be stubborn. Without the Reed family, you won’t even be able to afford your medical bills.” “Tell him,” I pulled the already signed divorce agreement from under my pillow and flung it at Mark, “I’ve already signed it. I can afford these medical bills even if I have to sell my blood! Tell him to take his first love and disappear as far away as possible!” Mark scurried away in a hurry. I pulled out the IV needle in my hand. Blood welled up, but I felt no pain. I couldn’t die in this hospital. If I died here, that lunatic Ethan would surely discard my ashes anywhere, or force me to make room for Scarlett. I wanted to find a clean place to go quietly. That evening, I seized the opportunity during the nurses’ shift change and secretly slipped out of the hospital. The wind on the Coast Highway was strong, carrying the salty scent of the ocean. This was where Ethan and I first met, and also where I had my car accident and miscarriage. Round and round, the end had returned to the beginning. Just then, a black luxury car screeched to a halt beside me. The door opened, and Ethan, his face contorted with fury, rushed out and grabbed my arm. “Lily! You think you’re so smart? Daring to escape from the hospital?” Ethan must have just received the call from the hospital about a missing patient. He probably drove here inexplicably, never expecting to actually find me. In the car’s headlights, he saw me. Thin. Too thin. Like a fragile sheet of paper, ready to crumble in the wind. I looked up, my pale face beneath the brim of my hat devoid of any expression. “Ethan, let go.” “Come back with me!” Ethan seemed panicked. “As long as you’re obedient, I won’t pursue what happened before…” “Not pursue?” I laughed, tears streaming down my face, then a sudden gush of blood sprayed from my mouth, staining Ethan’s white shirt. Ethan’s pupils seemed to constrict, and he froze. “Lily?!” My body softly collapsed, like a kite whose string had been cut. This time, I wasn’t acting. Ethan caught my falling body, his palm touching something wet and warm. It was blood. An incessant flow of blood, gushing from my nose and the corners of my mouth, unstoppable. “Ethan…” In his arms, my eyes unfocused as I gazed at the night sky. “If there’s a next life… I never want to meet you again…”

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A massive sandstorm was about to hit the Crimson Sands Wilderness, but my husband, Mark, suddenly suggested we take a family trip there. He wanted to take maternity photos for his sister-in-law, Tiffany, who was due soon. He believed it would help her win “Top Pregnancy Influencer” and become a million-follower influencer. But going there now, with the sandstorm imminent, meant everyone would be swallowed by the swirling sands. We’d all die together in that desolate place. In my past life, as a geological engineer, I tried desperately to stop them. All I got was Mark’s furious retort: “If you make one more fuss, get out of this house!” My in-laws, David and Susan, also yelled at me: “You just can’t stand to see Tiffany do well, can you? Afraid she’ll become a big influencer and overshadow you!” Ignoring their insults, I called the authorities and reported them for trespassing in a restricted zone, finally stopping them. Tiffany gave birth smoothly, and the whole family was overjoyed. But at the baby’s welcome home party, she stabbed me in the back. When the police arrived, Mark and the entire family gave a unified statement: “She’s mentally unstable. She suddenly went crazy and tried to kill Tiffany, so Tiffany acted in self-defense!” Tiffany seized the opportunity to play the victim, truly becoming an influencer. The whole family lived an enviable life. My mom, Eleanor, tried to get justice for me, but she was slandered, accused of extortion and causing trouble. She eventually suffered a fatal stroke on the street, overcome with grief and rage. Only after I died did I realize it was all Tiffany’s scheme. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Mark suggested the family trip to the Crimson Sands Wilderness. This time, I’d just watch these ungrateful monsters vanish in the sandstorm!

As I lay dying, barely clinging to life, Tiffany crouched down, a cold smile playing on her lips as she leaned close to my ear: “Sarah, I already bought life insurance for everyone in the family. That’s why I suggested the Crimson Sands Wilderness. Only if you all die can I get the insurance money.” “You ruined my get-rich-quick dream, so go and be buried with my path to wealth!” Tiffany plunged the utility knife into my lower abdomen again, and blood gushed out. Filled with bitterness and fury, I closed my eyes amidst the joyful sounds of the celebration party. The next second, a sharp voice exploded in my ear: “Sarah, are you really that jealous of me?” “The Crimson Sands Wilderness has such amazing scenery. If I take photos there, I’m sure I’ll be named ‘Top Pregnancy Influencer.’” “You’re just afraid I’ll become a huge influencer and make you look completely useless, aren’t you?” I froze, a sudden realization washing over me: I had been reborn. And I was back to the day Mark wanted to take the whole family to the Crimson Sands Wilderness for Tiffany’s sake. Everyone in the family looked at me with cold eyes. The sunlight in the living room was dazzling, yet I felt a chill spread through my body. I gritted my teeth, my eyes stinging as I looked at them. In my previous life, I was willing to sacrifice my reputation, even calling the authorities to keep them safe. Afterward, Tiffany had a safe delivery, and the whole family was fine. But what I got in return was a knife in my back at the baby’s welcome home party. Recalling everything from my past life, I smoothed my brows, a slow smile curving my lips: “If you’re so determined to go, then go ahead.” “I have work tomorrow, so I won’t worry about it.” Seeing my calm demeanor, Tiffany was momentarily stunned. But then she quickly smiled: “I knew it! It’s just a trip, Sarah would definitely support it.” I listened to her words, a cold laugh echoing in my heart. A once-in-a-century super sandstorm was about to hit the Crimson Sands Wilderness. Once they went in, it wouldn’t be an influencer dream waiting for them. It would be the entire family buried alive by yellow sand, their bodies never to be found. But you can’t reason with people who are determined to destroy themselves. If they want to die, let them. I was about to go back to my bedroom to rest when Mark suddenly stopped me, his face grim: “No, you have to come with us.” Susan looked puzzled: “Why does she need to come? She’ll just get in the way.” Mark sneered: “She’s always stirring up drama. What if we leave, and she reports us for trespassing in a restricted zone the moment our backs are turned?” “Don’t you remember? Tiffany once mentioned using DIY baby food to feed the baby, and Sarah went crazy, repeatedly emphasizing the dangers of homemade formula. She insisted Tiffany listen to her.” The whole family’s eyes on me immediately changed. A wave of coldness washed over me. Before, I’d warned them because improper DIY baby food could lead to developmental delays for the baby. If Tiffany had followed through, it would have harmed the child. That’s why I repeatedly stressed the importance of proper, scientifically balanced feeding, using commercial formula. I never thought they’d see it as me just being a busybody. “We’ll buy her ticket too. She’ll come with us.” Mark grabbed my phone, giving me no time to react, and bought my ticket directly. Then, he locked me in the bedroom and told the others outside: “Alright, now we don’t have to worry about her messing things up.” “Tiffany, quickly think about what poses you’ll strike at Crimson Sands Wilderness, and how to get the best photos!” The living room immediately erupted in cheers, as if they had already returned from the Crimson Sands Wilderness with fame and fortune. But they didn’t know that I had received deployment orders from the Geological Bureau half a month ago. I was tasked with setting up monitoring equipment in the core zone of the Crimson Sands Wilderness, and a helicopter would arrive on time to evacuate me. As for them, with no rescue measures, I wondered if they’d still be laughing when the sandstorm hit. My eyes stinging, I shakily dialed my mom’s number. Recalling how in my past life, Eleanor tried to get justice for me, only to be slandered, accused of extortion, and eventually died of a stroke on the street, tears streamed down my face. This time, I would make these ungrateful monsters pay for their actions! They must be annihilated! The next morning, everyone gathered at the airport. After landing, we drove straight towards the Crimson Sands Wilderness. Tiffany was busy touching up her makeup and taking selfies. Mark was attentively holding an umbrella and offering her water. Susan kept taking photos with her phone, muttering, “My Tiffany is going to be a big influencer.” Just then, everyone’s phones chimed with a “ding–.” Emergency news alert: [RED ALERT: MASSIVE SANDSTORM IMMINENT IN CRIMSON SANDS WILDERNESS. ALL PERSONNEL MUST EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!]

In my past life, it was precisely because I knew the sandstorm was coming that I desperately urged everyone not to go to the Crimson Sands Wilderness. Now, without my interference, they had actually entered deep into the Crimson Sands Wilderness. For them to return safely, it would take nothing short of a miracle. After getting out of the car, Tiffany handed me a bottle of water, her face full of false remorse: “Sarah, I’m so sorry, pulling everyone into this adventure.” “I just wanted so badly to win ‘Top Pregnancy Influencer’ and become an influencer, to bring our family a good life. You won’t blame me, will you?” Before I could speak, Mark snatched the water bottle from her hand: “Tiffany, you didn’t do anything wrong, why are you apologizing?” “Selfish people like her don’t deserve your water!” Susan also chimed in to comfort her: “That’s right, we all came willingly. Once you’re famous, we’ll all enjoy the benefits.” “You remember us, and we’ll remember your kindness. Not like some people, who have hearts of stone.” Listening to their sarcastic remarks, I just smirked. Oh, wonderful! Just wonderful! I wondered if they would still be able to say such things when the sandstorm came crashing down. Tiffany’s influencer dream would cost them their most precious lives. This moment of absurd fantasy was destined to bring them the bitter fruit of being buried in the desert. They ate snacks and drank sodas, treating the Crimson Sands Wilderness like a photo op for their social media. But the wind grew stronger, and the sand blotted out the sun, visibility dropping rapidly. “Latest update: The sandstorm has been upgraded to a red alert. This area will be completely swallowed up soon.” “We need to turn back immediately, we might still make it.” Mark said, looking at his phone, his face grim. Susan was incredulous: “No… impossible. Isn’t the Crimson Sands Wilderness a tourist spot now?” At this moment, everyone began to panic. “What do we do? If we get trapped in the sandstorm, are we all going to die?” “Mark, quickly think of something! I don’t want to die here!” Mark gritted his teeth, his forehead covered in cold sweat: “To survive, we have to rush out before the storm fully hits.” I watched everything unfold before me, finding it amusing. Before, I had patiently urged them not to come, but they thought I was meddling. Now, with disaster upon them, they finally started to get anxious. Just then, Tiffany suddenly spoke with confidence: “Don’t worry, everyone, I know a place to shelter from the wind, it’s absolutely safe!” “We’ll leave after the storm passes!” Hearing her, everyone immediately breathed a sigh of relief. As if Tiffany’s words were gospel truth, they all believed her without question. I knew that in their eyes, I was just a meddling, malicious sister-in-law. And Tiffany, she was the perfect family member. I would manage their diets, encouraging them to eat less oil and spice, but Tiffany wouldn’t. I specifically got a sandstorm warning from my colleagues at the Geological Bureau, but it meant less than Tiffany’s casual “It’ll be fine.” Even my reminder for her to cut down on screen time and get more rest would be twisted into me deliberately targeting her. “Tiffany always has a solution. Not like some people, who just stand there like idiots when something happens, completely useless.” Mark said excitedly, as if he had grasped a lifeline, while not forgetting to belittle me. I sneered inwardly, clutching my phone. Here, with sand everywhere, barely able to tell north from south, and you really believe Tiffany can find some kind of shelter?

Unsurprisingly, The “safe place” Tiffany mentioned was completely useless. The sandstorm grew fiercer, visibility dropping to almost zero. Everyone’s faces turned pale. Every howl of the wind outside the window made their faces whiter. “Are we really not going to get out?” Susan asked, her face filled with despair, but only received a harsh, “Shut up!” from Mark. If they hadn’t insisted on recklessly venturing into the restricted zone, none of this would be happening. The car swayed violently in the sandstorm, then finally sputtered to a halt. Mark sat in the driver’s seat, his face ashen, looking at the swirling sand in disbelief: “How could this happen?” Susan tried to push open the car door and run out, but Mark grabbed her arm. “Are you crazy? Going out there is certain death!” The others slumped in their seats, trembling. This was a once-in-a-century super sandstorm. Encountering it meant certain death. I watched them with a cold smile, feeling a surge of satisfaction. Weren’t you all so eager to come to this godforsaken place with Tiffany to die? Why are you all cowering now? At that moment, Mark forced himself to shout: “Don’t panic! We still have the car. When the wind dies down a bit, we’ll find somewhere to shelter.” Everyone’s expressions immediately brightened. But before they could do anything, a dull thud echoed in the distance. A car not far away was overturned. Mark’s face turned even paler. He finally couldn’t hold it in and roared at Tiffany: “This is all your fault! Insisting on taking these stupid maternity photos!” Tiffany also lost her temper: “Weren’t you the most enthusiastic about it? Now you’re blaming me?” “I was enthusiastic? You were the one who kept talking about ‘Top Pregnancy Influencer’ every single day!” “Enough!” Susan shrieked, cutting them off. “Is this really the time to argue?!” Tiffany huddled in the back seat, her eyes suddenly darting to me. She pointed and yelled: “It’s all Sarah’s fault! She’s a geological engineer, she must have known about the sandstorm early!” “But she didn’t stop us, she just wanted to watch us die!”

I found her words utterly preposterous. “You’re making things up–” But before I could finish, Mark grabbed my neck, pressing me against the car door: “Sarah, you venomous woman!” “You deliberately planned to kill our whole family, didn’t you?!” Tiffany, with a tearful voice, added fuel to the fire: “I know you’ve always been jealous of me, but you can’t joke around with our entire family’s lives!” Mark’s hand tightened around my neck. I gasped for air, my head hitting the car window with a thud. Blood trickled down my forehead. “Sarah, even if we all die here today, I’m going to send you on your way first!” He slammed my head against the car window again and again, making my vision swim. But I knew I couldn’t give in now. Otherwise, they would beat me to death right here! I gritted my teeth and shouted: “You all came here yourselves!” “Shut up!” Mark screamed, like a madman. Tiffany also yelled: “It’s all your fault! You’re the one who killed our whole family!” Susan lunged forward, hitting me: “How could you be so heartless!” The three of them surrounded me, hitting and cursing, as if being trapped here was all my fault. David also started cursing, and a few of them even began insulting my mother. “Eleanor’s no good either, raising such a wicked woman!” “A whole family of awful people!” Just as Mark raised his fist again, a tremendous roaring sound came from the sky. A helicopter sliced through the swirling sand, landing steadily not far away. Mark’s eyes lit up. Susan scrambled to her feet. Tiffany screamed and ran towards the helicopter. “Help! Save us!” The cabin door opened, and a rescue team member jumped out. He glanced at the four of them, frowning: “The helicopter only has room for four more people.” The words had barely left his mouth when Mark grabbed Susan: “Susan, you and I go first!” Tiffany shrieked: “Why should you? I’m carrying your family’s blood! Let me go first!” “Shut up!” Mark snapped at her. “Is the baby’s life more important than mine?!” David also squeezed forward, trembling: “I… I’m the oldest, let me go first!” The four of them started arguing, none willing to give way. Just then, Susan suddenly looked at me, her eyes vicious: “Just leave her behind. The four of us can go up, right?” Tiffany quickly seconded: “Exactly, she’s the one who deserves to die. Make her wait for the next trip!” The four of them reached an agreement and looked at the rescue team member in unison: “Leave her! She deserves to die, she doesn’t deserve to get on the helicopter!” I leaned against the car door, blood still flowing from my forehead, watching their performance with cold eyes. The rescue team member finally shouted impatiently: “Enough! This helicopter is ordered to pick up *one person*, not for you to get on as you please!” Then, he looked directly at me: “Engineer Johnson, we’re from the Geological Bureau, sent to pick you up. Please board.” Mark’s face went white. Susan’s mouth hung open, speechless. Tiffany collapsed to the ground. The rescue team member added: “There are three more seats, but who gets on is up to Engineer Johnson.”

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My wife, after three months apart, pushed me away impatiently when I tried to get close. “Just got back and already focused on this? I’m sick of it.” She ran off right after saying that, and I instantly realized I’d been too pushy. I knew Ava had always been distant when it came to intimacy, and I admit I lost control this time. So I sent dozens of apologies, but my messages went unanswered. Just as I was about to go look for her, my phone buzzed with a video. In the video, Ava was kneeling in front of a man. His back was to the camera, so I couldn’t see his face, but he felt vaguely familiar. “Please, just take me, okay? See, I really didn’t let him touch me just now. He’s been starving for a month, but I only want your touch.” Watching Ava, completely different from how she was with me, all my long-buried memories came flooding back. Before, when I tried to hold her hand, she’d say, “Don’t you get it? I don’t like physical intimacy. Why do you insist on disgusting me?” Even our intimacy was rationed, a scheduled, monthly affair. At first, I felt frustrated, but eventually, I just accepted it. I never imagined, though, that it was all a lie. She wasn’t frigid; she just didn’t want me close. The thought made me sick to my stomach. It seemed she’d forgotten how our marriage even came to be.

I immediately sent Ava a SnapChat message: [Ava, do you remember who you are?] My tone was flat, devoid of emotion. Ava didn’t play dead this time. She replied instantly: [I’m your wife, but I’m also a person. If your sex drive is that strong, I don’t mind you going out to find someone to release it with.] I laughed bitterly at that reply. I immediately sent the video over: [Ten minutes. I want a reasonable explanation. Otherwise, our alliance ends here.] Yes, we were just an alliance marriage. She was just leveraging my affection to act completely without restraint. But I wasn’t desperate for her either. Since she chose another man, as her husband who once liked her, I naturally had to grant her wish. After sending the message, I went straight to the bathroom. When I came out, Ava was already back. Ava, with a slightly flushed face, reached out to hug me. I felt disgusted and instinctively recoiled. “Care to explain?” “Honey, I lost a game, and that was my punishment.” Ava batted her eyelashes at me. “Not being intimate with me was the punishment, or kneeling in front of him and begging him to take you was the punishment?” I looked at Ava expressionlessly. Faced with my questioning, Ava’s face instantly hardened. “Ethan, are you trying to humiliate me? I told you it was a punishment, and you’re still being so aggressive. Don’t you believe me?” “Then tell me, how am I supposed to believe you?” I tossed my phone onto the table. Another video was playing on the screen. I’d asked my assistant to investigate it before I showered. The man in the video was Caleb, an intern Ava managed. From his back, he seemed to be the same man Ava was kneeling for. I remembered Caleb had joined the company six months ago. Back then, Ava had told me, “Honey, Caleb is my mentor’s son. We have to give him a chance.” I hadn’t thought much of it, but I never expected she’d repeatedly ditch me because of him. In this video, the two of them were tightly embracing. I wanted to see how Ava would explain this. “You’re tracking me?” Ava’s face changed drastically the moment she saw the video. “I’m your wife, not your servant. How dare you track me? Even if I’m your wife, can’t I hug someone else?” “Ethan, your mind is so twisted.” Ava angrily turned and left. The room fell silent with her departure. Actually, our families were quite well-matched in terms of social standing, and Ava and I had known each other since childhood. Although Ava was the one who initially proposed the alliance, I wasn’t against it.

“Ethan, I know your family picked someone else for your alliance, and I don’t like the person my family picked for mine. Rather than marry that person, I’d rather marry you.” Ava then listed ten benefits of marrying her. I thought about it, and she made some good points, so I turned around and married Ava. For three years after the wedding, we got along well. Our recent frequent friction was mainly because both families wanted children. This was something Ava and I had agreed upon. I just hadn’t expected my kindness to make her get a little too comfortable, taking advantage of my kindness. I absolutely detest deceit and betrayal. Since Ava was showing signs of it, she couldn’t stay. I contacted my assistant to organize all current joint projects between our families. Divorce was fine, but it couldn’t affect the company. By the time I finished all that, it was past midnight. I crashed into bed and slept. Ava didn’t come home all night. I was woken up by noise in the morning. Ava glared at me, full of indignation. “I told you Caleb is just my assistant. Why do you have to target him? You’re the head of the company, don’t you think your behavior is beneath you?” My morning grumpiness wouldn’t allow Ava to say more. “Shut up.” I roared, and Ava instantly froze. After a long moment, she finally spoke, “You, Ethan, don’t you think you’ve done anything wrong? “Do you know that because of you, Caleb is now being criticized for using connections?” “Isn’t he?” I’d seen Caleb’s resume. With his qualifications, getting into our company wouldn’t have been easy. “I already told you, I only let Caleb in because of my mentor! But do you know how many projects he’s brought to the company since then?” Ava, at this moment, was like Caleb’s fiercest protector, completely biased towards that man. I listened as Ava painstakingly detailed the projects Caleb had supposedly closed. If I wasn’t mistaken, those projects were already secured; Caleb had only gone to deliver the contracts. Thinking of this, I grew interested. “Oh really? Then let Caleb prove himself. The North City project is currently being negotiated. As long as he closes it, I guarantee I won’t bother him.” “You said it!” I nodded, and Ava rushed out in a hurry. From that day on, Ava started staying out every night. Each time I asked, she’d say, “Busy.” She seemed to forget that I was the CEO, and she was only a VP. How could a VP be busier than me? I didn’t expose Ava, but I didn’t expect her to completely disregard my reputation. That night, I had a meeting with Mr. Davis, and Ava actually showed up. I was confused when she raised her hand and gestured for Caleb to join our table. “Mr. Davis, this is Caleb from our project department. He’s my assistant, and he’s been in charge of our company’s projects recently. He’s very young and promising. From now on, all your company’s projects will be handled by him.” Ava said all this without any regard for my presence. Mr. Davis was a shrewd one. He looked at me, then at Ava, and finally his gaze settled on Caleb. “The youth truly are promising.” But Mr. Davis didn’t agree to Ava’s proposal. She became anxious and whispered to me, “Ethan, Caleb is about to close the North City project. If Mr. Davis’s projects are now managed by Caleb, he won’t have to feel inferior anymore.” “Get out.” I couldn’t take it anymore. Everyone in the company knew Mr. Davis’s project was crucial for our company’s revenue in the second half of the year. I had warned everyone, “The most important thing right now is Mr. Davis.” No one had messed up during the project negotiations, yet I never expected Ava to pull this stunt at the very end.

My voice was soft, but Ava pretended not to hear, continuing to boast about Caleb to Mr. Davis. Caleb, too, was brimming with confidence, nodding repeatedly. “Yes, Mr. Davis, rest assured, if the project is entrusted to me, I will definitely satisfy you.” “Oh, really? How will you satisfy me?” Mr. Davis was in a playful mood, and I didn’t stop him, just watching Caleb make a total fool of himself. Once Caleb had talked himself hoarse, Ava interjected, “Mr. Davis, to show our sincerity, I’ll drink to that.” Ava blurted it out without thinking, then quickly downed several glasses. This made me think of our wedding day. My friends were teasing us into drinking, and Ava’s face had darkened. “I’m allergic to alcohol.” After that, Ava never touched a drop of alcohol in front of me. Now, she wasn’t allergic anymore. Mr. Davis, sensing something was off, finally looked at me. Without a word, I gave my assistant a look, and Ava and Caleb were escorted out. Before leaving, Ava looked at me resentfully. “You said you’d let Caleb be in charge! What’s the meaning of sabotaging it now? Are you trying to force me to side with Caleb?” Ava sounded like she’d completely lost her mind, and her words solidified my resolve for a divorce. After Ava was gone, Mr. Davis and I were finally able to discuss the project properly. An hour later, I saw Mr. Davis off and went home. When I arrived, I found Caleb there. He was curled up on the sofa, looking utterly wronged. “Mr. Grey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, but Ms. Black had too much to drink, and I didn’t dare leave her alone. I was afraid something might happen to her.” “Fine, you can take care of her then.” I left that remark and went straight upstairs to the master bedroom. I didn’t bother with Ava and Caleb that night. The two of them were quite “considerate,” sleeping together. I pushed open the guest room door and saw them lying on the bed. I calmly took pictures. Ava was startled awake and looked at me unhappily. “What are you doing?” “Taking commemorative photos of my wife and her intern.” Only then did Ava see Caleb beside her. But Ava didn’t seem to find anything wrong with it. She even complained about me. “Can’t you see Caleb is still resting? He took care of me for so long last night. What’s wrong with him sleeping a little longer now? You’re so selfish, Ethan.” The old saying was indeed true: never argue with a fool. Perhaps Ava genuinely believed that sleeping in the same bed with another man in front of her husband wasn’t a big deal, but I cared. So I immediately called my parents and told them I wanted a divorce. My parents only asked one question: “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Alright. Just don’t let it affect the company.” During this time, I had already contacted Daniel, Ava’s elder brother. I hinted at my intention to divorce. Daniel was instantly shocked. “You cheated?” I rolled my eyes at Daniel. “Your sister cheated.” Daniel was speechless. I warned Daniel, “Don’t tell Ava about this yet. As long as it doesn’t affect our projects, Ava and I can get a secret divorce.” Daniel finally agreed. And now, only the last step remained. While preparing the divorce papers, I also traced the account that first sent me the video. It was Caleb. It seemed he was truly desperate to take my place. That day, I stumbled upon Caleb’s video account. I never expected him to be a small influencer.

His account documented his daily life with Ava. Netizens affectionately called them [The Internet Boss and Subordinate Love Story]. Everyone wanted to see their office romance. And through those posts, I confirmed that Ava and Caleb had been secretly involved for a long time. One video, in particular, caught my attention. It was Caleb’s birthday, and Ava was with him the entire time. Their intimate interactions made even me, an outsider, envious. If I weren’t Ava’s husband, I would have applauded them. That day was also my birthday, but Ava had said, “You don’t celebrate your birthday every year. How did you celebrate before we got married? You can’t live without me now? I have something very important to do. You can find anyone you want to celebrate your birthday with.” Now that we were about to separate, I didn’t feel much about it. After all, this relationship started as an alliance. If it were true love, I’d be devastated. I thought Ava might do something extreme for Caleb to get the project, but I never expected her to risk her own reputation. She told the North City project manager, “Caleb is the most important person to me, more important than my husband. If this project is assigned to him, our family will prioritize working with your company in the future.” The other party was indeed hesitant and immediately called me and Daniel to confirm. We both denied it flatly. Ava called me, furious. “Ethan, do you think your dirty tricks will make me give up? I’m telling you, targeting Caleb is targeting me! If you keep this up, we’re getting a divorce!” “Fine, let’s get a divorce.” I immediately sent over the divorce papers I had already prepared. Ava’s tone changed completely after seeing the papers. “You… you want to divorce me? Ethan, we’re an alliance. Do you know how many projects our families have tied together? What good will divorcing me do you?” “That’s none of your business. After all, even for an alliance, I don’t like being associated with filth.” “You…” Ava felt utterly insulted. She wanted to retort, but I sent her the latest video. Since we were divorcing anyway, to prevent Ava from causing trouble, I naturally had to investigate properly. I didn’t realize how bad it was until I started digging. Ava and Caleb were even more intimate than I’d imagined. She had even pulled a lot of strings for Caleb after he joined the company. And this latest video was of them sleeping together. After watching the video, Ava was silent for a long time. After a while, she stammered an explanation. “I was drunk that day. If Caleb hadn’t helped me, I might have been… with other men…” “Enough.” I didn’t want to hear such absurd claims. “Sign the papers and get out.” With that, I hung up. I thought things had reached a point where Ava would quietly sign the divorce papers, but I never expected Ava to pull a desperate stunt. My assistant called just as Mr. Davis, the North City representatives, and I were signing the contract. All three of us received calls simultaneously. We keenly sensed something was wrong and picked up at the same time. The next moment, my face changed drastically. “Could you repeat that?”

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A week before Christmas, I fired everyone. Because in my last life, Jenny suddenly grabbed my hand, sobbing and pleading: “Audrey, please, take me home quickly! My mother ate the chocolate cake from your holiday gift box and now she’s dying!” I panicked instantly. I rushed her home and gave her a hundred thousand dollars in emergency cash. But when we arrived, her mother had already passed away. The very next day, her husband was outside my company holding signs protesting: “Killer Company, Justice for My Mother!” The video went viral, and I became a target of online bullying across the entire internet. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reed, were also implicated. Netizens constantly threatened them, sending harassment texts and even death threats. But her entire family remained relentless. They claimed I was responsible for her mother’s death and demanded two million dollars in compensation. Eventually, I had a mental breakdown and jumped off a bridge, ending my life. When I opened my eyes again, I threw out all the prepared cake gift boxes. Back in my office, I said calmly: “Today will be everyone’s last day of work. Please go to accounting now to settle your final pay.” 1 The moment I finished speaking, the previously quiet office instantly erupted. “Ms. Reed, what do you mean? You’re kidding, right?” “Why?! Didn’t we just meet our targets this month? You’re just firing us?” “Yeah, exactly! Christmas is right around the corner. If you fire us now, where are we supposed to find new jobs?” Amidst the noisy protests, Jenny clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with confusion. She grabbed my arm. “Audrey, what is this about? Why are you firing us?” Her expression was identical to my past life. I stared at her face. In my last life, I was completely fooled by this very look. My heart had been in turmoil then. I immediately drove her home, even stopping on the way to withdraw a hundred thousand dollars in cash to give her. When we arrived downstairs at her house, the doctor who had rushed there shook his head. Her mother was already gone. The next day, she and her husband, Kevin, were blocking my company entrance, holding protest signs. “Poisonous Cake Killer! Justice for My Mother-in-Law!” A dozen relatives were behind him. Some were live-streaming on their phones, others were throwing paint on my company’s door. The video went viral on social media that very day. In no time, it racked up over 500 million views. All my personal information was leaked online. Every single comment in the comments section cursed me. My partners called that day, terminating our collaborations. I didn’t even get a chance to explain. My company’s funding dried up, and I went bankrupt overnight. Kevin even showed up at my house, causing trouble. “You killed my mother-in-law, and my wife is now suffering from mental anguish.” “You need to compensate us two million dollars. Otherwise, your whole family won’t have it easy.” My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reed, were verbally assaulted outside our apartment building, and our front door was plastered with printed threat notes. It caused my parents to have heart attacks, and our family became pariahs. Jenny lay in bed, crying and posting videos accusing me. “Audrey, I trusted you so much. How could you kill my mother…” Under the endless online bullying and real-life pressure, I had a mental breakdown and jumped off a bridge spanning the river. Now, Jenny was still clutching my arm. Exactly the same as my past life. I pulled my arm free from her grasp. “It’s my company. I’ll close it whenever I want. Do I need to explain myself to you?” Jenny froze. Her tears still clung to her eyelashes, and her expression instantly stiffened. Brenda from the planning department quickly spoke up, agitated. “Ms. Reed, how can you say that?! Jenny is usually the hardest worker!” “Besides, you’re firing all of us right before Christmas. What are we supposed to do, starve?” I smiled. “Didn’t I say accounting would give you severance pay? Is that not enough?” Brenda’s mouth twitched, but she remained silent. Jenny regained her composure and started crying even harder. “Audrey, is there something I did wrong? I can change! Please don’t fire me…” 2 I looked at her, my lips twitching. “Like I said, the company is closing. Besides, you’re not the only one being let go.” Seeing that I wasn’t falling for her act, her face darkened, and she shouted: “But we just won the Best New Business of the Year Award last month!” This prompted others to agree. “Yeah, Ms. Reed, this is really unfair. You don’t want to pay bonuses, so you just fire everyone?” “Exactly! I was counting on this month’s paycheck for rent!” “Audrey, please reconsider. Don’t be so impulsive.” All eyes turned to me. Jenny reacted even faster. “Audrey, if you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave. I really won’t force you…” Her voice was soft and trembling: “But everyone has families to support. How can you be so heartless?” As she spoke, she seemed about to collapse. Brenda quickly rushed over to steady her, then shot me a glare. Mike also chimed in: “Exactly. Running a company isn’t playing house. You can’t just close it down like that. Do you have to be so ruthless?” Mr. Davies, the HR manager, slowly took a sip from his mug. His voice was neither loud nor soft, but just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Some people look mighty when receiving awards, but when it’s time to pay out, they suddenly want to disappear. ‘Closing down’? Who would believe that?” I didn’t say anything. I founded this company, and I considered our employee benefits to be among the best. We never lacked in material perks or care. Every holiday, including employee birthdays, we unfailingly gave everyone a $200 gift card along with a carefully selected gift box. I watched this group of people with cold eyes. But in my past life, Brenda was the first person to leak my address in the neighborhood forum. She even told neighbors, “Our boss is vicious and cruel. You should stay away from her.” Later, when someone dug up my parents’ information, Mr. Davies added, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. That whole family is rotten.” Now they stood here surrounding me. As if I truly were some cold-blooded, ruthless evil boss. There wasn’t a ripple in my heart. I simply said flatly: “I have nothing else to say. You can go.” Just then, Jenny’s phone rang. As soon as she answered, her face instantly turned pale. “Mom! Mom, what’s wrong?! Don’t scare me!” The people around her started to panic. “What’s going on?” someone asked. I was momentarily dazed. After the incident in my past life, I quickly learned everything about allergies. I read dozens of books and watched hundreds of educational videos. The videos explained that peanut allergy is an immediate allergic reaction, and severe cases can cause anaphylaxis and suffocation within minutes. But they had insisted it was because the cake I sent was problematic, and I had felt incredibly guilty and heartbroken. It wasn’t until after I died and floated in the air that I saw Jenny and her husband Kevin counting money at home. 3 “You’re so clever. Knowing your mother had a peanut allergy, you deliberately swapped out the original cake in the gift box for one with peanuts.” “Now look, the company’s ruined, and we extorted two million dollars.” Jenny had said with a laugh. “Well, she was the boss, and she was so easy to fool.” It turned out, from the very beginning, they had been waiting for me, a perfect mark, to fall into their trap. Jenny’s cries snapped me out of my memory. Jenny grabbed Brenda’s hand. “My mother ate the company’s gift box cake, and it had peanuts! My mother has a nut allergy, and now… now she’s dying!” “Audrey! What were you thinking?! I kindly took your discarded cake home for my mother to eat. Why did you poison her?” At that, the office fell silent for a few seconds. “Oh my god! The gift box Ms. Reed sent had a problem?!” Mike quickly followed up. “I knew something was up when Ms. Reed suddenly threw out all the gift boxes today! She was trying to destroy evidence!” “This is outrageous! Even if she didn’t give them to us, Jenny taking one home caused this. It’s a complete disregard for human life!” “I knew something was off when she suddenly wanted to fire us. She knew what she did and was trying to escape!” I stood there, watching Jenny. She kept repeating the same phrase: “My mother collapsed after eating it. What do I do?” Brenda hugged her, comforting her while glaring at me. “Ms. Reed! You need to give us an explanation right now! If anything happens to Jenny’s mother, you’ll be a murderer!” “Exactly! Give us an explanation!” “Call 911! Call 911 right now!” Mike pulled out his phone, making to dial 91

I frowned, taking a step closer to Jenny. She slumped to the floor, looking up at me. I looked at her, my voice flat. “Jenny, are you saying your mother ate a peanut-containing cake from my gift box and is now unwell?” Jenny’s sobs abruptly stopped. She looked at me, confused. Brenda and the others were still in the dark, and they started to protest again. “Ms. Reed, what are you doing?! Are you threatening her?” “Let’s talk this out. Why are you getting so close?” I straightened up, ignoring their shouts, and calmly looked at Jenny. “Did you call 911? Your mother needs emergency medical attention right now, not for you to be crying here.” Jenny seemed reminded, fumbling for her phone in her pocket, but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t even unlock it. Mike quickly snatched the phone and dialed 911. Jenny was helped up by her colleagues, stumbling as she rushed home. Before leaving, she shot me another look, pure venom, as if she wanted to tear me apart. Less than two hours after she left, my phone started buzzing wildly. I opened TikTok, and “Evil Boss Poisons Mother” was the top trending topic. Clicking on the first live stream video, I saw Kevin standing downstairs from our company. “Ruthless Company, Snake-Hearted Boss, Poisonous Cake Murder, Inexcusable!” Jenny was wailing on the ground, surrounded by a dozen relatives. The spectacle was even more dramatic than in my past life. The number of live stream viewers still topped a hundred thousand. 4 “Damn! Another food safety issue! They have to investigate thoroughly!” “I think I’ve seen this boss before. She’s a pretty young woman. How could her heart be so cruel?” “What’s her company called? Where’s the address? We have to go after her!” In the live stream footage, Brenda and Mike were talking to the camera, exaggerating everything that had just happened. “Jenny usually works the hardest, and she’s such a good person. I can’t believe something like this happened to her.” “Our boss, Audrey Reed, she suddenly wanted to fire all of us today. I think she had a guilty conscience and was trying to escape!” “Exactly! She bought cheap, uncertified cakes that killed someone, and she wants to run away without paying compensation!” “Right! Jenny is usually so filial. She kindly brought company perks home, and now her own mother is gone. It’s too tragic!” A ripple of uproar spread through the crowd. “She’s fleeing from justice!” “Drag her out! Make her go to jail!” “She doesn’t deserve to live!” I watched the farce calmly from upstairs. My phone rang. It was my mother, her voice tearful: “Audrey, is what they’re saying online true? Come home quickly. Don’t stay out there. A lot of people are saying they’re coming for you…” “Don’t worry, Mom. They won’t have time to look for me soon.” I hung up and dialed another number. “You can start.” Kevin, with a large group of people, stormed straight up the stairs. The moment Kevin saw me, he lunged, but was intercepted by the police who had arrived just in time. “Audrey Reed! You murderer! My mother’s dead! She died after eating your cake! It had peanuts!” Jenny was behind him, crying uncontrollably. “You’ll pay for my mother’s life! Two million dollars! Not a penny less!” I looked at them and suddenly smiled. I took a USB drive from my bag and dangled it in front of everyone. Then I looked at Jenny and asked, word by word: “You said the cake I sent had peanuts?” Jenny insisted. “That’s right! It was you! You killed my mother!” I nodded and continued. “But the custom holiday dessert boxes I ordered came in vanilla, chocolate, and berry flavors. To prevent any accidents, I specifically instructed the manufacturer not to include any nut ingredients, and every batch had a quality inspection report.” “So tell me, how did your mother eat peanuts and suffer an allergic reaction?” Jenny froze, but quickly she asserted again. “My mother died after eating your gift box! Don’t try to fob me off with some fake report!” “A lousy report could be faked anywhere!” “If you weren’t guilty, why would you suddenly fire all your employees? I think you’re trying to flee from justice!” At that, everyone nodded in agreement. The lead police officer also frowned. I didn’t care, looking up at Jenny and smiling. “Jenny, you really won’t admit it until faced with undeniable proof. Then take a look at this.”

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Seven years of marriage, and Ethan Thorne had no idea that everyone in my family, except for me, was completely unhinged. My father was a ruthless mob boss, and my brother was a twisted psychopath who collected bodies. After my mother’s death, they raised me as their princess. They always said anyone who dared hurt me would be stripped to the bone, sliced piece by piece, and left to wish for death! On the day I went into labor, Ethan’s little assistant, Sophia Davis, managed to call away every single doctor in the hospital because of a… well, a torn private part. I clutched his hand, terrified. “Ethan, please, get the doctors back. If my family finds out what you’re doing to me, you’re dead!” But Ethan Thorne just sneered and shook off my hand. “Still lying! I’m a billionaire now, even the mayor answers to me. Why would I be scared of them?” “Last time, Sophia fainted from low blood sugar, and you forced me to attend a meeting with our partners. Now it’s your turn to give birth, can’t you just suck it up?” He straightened up and said sternly, “Since you’re so ‘considerate of the bigger picture,’ just wait until Sophia recovers, then give birth. You won’t die!” The ward door slammed shut with a bang, and excruciating pain instantly ripped through my abdomen. Trembling, I fumbled for the emergency trigger button hidden in my necklace pendant, pressing it with my last ounce of strength. Ethan Thorne had no idea that hitting that button wouldn’t bring regular bodyguards. It would unleash the Shadow Raven Mercenaries, feared across the globe!

Ethan Thorne didn’t return until late into the night. Dragging my body, which was steadily leaking blood, I painstakingly crawled to the door. I looked up and saw Ethan’s secretary, Mark Stevens, leaning against the wall, his eyes as cold as ice. “Please… call a doctor… my baby… my baby is dying…” I reached out to grab his pant leg, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. Mark kicked my hand away, his disgust practically dripping from his eyes. “All the doctors in the hospital have been called by Mr. Thorne to treat Miss Davis. Madam should just wait patiently here.” The blood beneath me flowed more and more, and my stomach felt like it was being sliced by a dull knife, twisting with spasms of pain. “I’m about to give birth! What kind of injury could she possibly have that’s more important than a woman giving birth?!” He sneered. “Madam, you didn’t know? Last night, Mr. Thorne had quite a session with Miss Davis, and her private parts were severely torn. Mr. Thorne was heartbroken and immediately ordered all doctors to stay by her side without leaving.” “You… said what?” My mind went blank with a buzz, as if I’d plunged into an ice-cold abyss. The excruciating pain in my stomach couldn’t even overpower the suffocating tightness in my chest. I clutched his pant leg tightly, pleading humbly. “Please call Ethan Thorne. Tell him to come see me and the baby, even if just for a moment…” “Don’t bother, Madam.” Mark’s voice was chilling. “With Miss Davis, a beauty, in his arms, why would Mr. Thorne care about you? You and this child, if you don’t die, just bear it. If you do, it’s what you deserve.” His words were like a sharp knife slicing into my heart. Yes, Ethan Thorne wouldn’t care about me. He was completely consumed by Sophia now, so how could he possibly come save me? I opened my mouth, wanting to say more. But the severe blood loss made my vision suddenly go black, and I completely passed out.

In my dream, I felt like I was falling into a bottomless abyss. When I opened my eyes again. I saw Dad crouching by the villa pool, tossing a bloody piece of meat into the water. The fish were eating until their bellies were round, their scales glowing with a strange, eerie red hue. He turned, smiling at me, and said those fish, fed on human flesh, had the most beautiful scales, perfect for my bookmarks. My brother leaned outside the glass door, showing off a bracelet he’d made from human bones. Back then, I had just experienced my mother’s sudden death right in front of me and was most afraid of the dark. No matter how late Ethan’s work dinners ran, he would always come home early to stay by my side, waking up before dawn the next day to go to work. I casually mentioned I liked the starry sky, and he immediately spent millions to buy an observatory in the city outskirts, giving it to me as a birthday gift. A wealthy heiress, wanting to be with him, offered a multi-billion dollar project, pressuring him to break up with me. To give me a sense of security, he immediately blocked her and declared publicly, “The only woman I will ever love is Eleanor Moretti.” I believed him. So I kept it from my family, accompanied him as he built his fortune from scratch, acted as his shield against countless schemes, and even proactively cut ties with my family for him. He hugged me countless times, saying, “Ellie, once the company goes public, I’ll take you on a world tour and pamper you like a princess.” But now? That man who swore he’d never betray me was watching me bleed to death in a hospital bed, all for another woman! In a haze, I heard a baby’s cry. The next moment, I was violently pulled back to reality. Looking at Mark Stevens beside me, I forced myself to speak through the pain. “Mark, my father personally picked you to be my bodyguard all those years ago. You know exactly what my family is capable of.” He didn’t speak. But his trembling hands gave away his terror completely. “What do I want to do?” My pale face twisted into a sneer. “My father and brother will be here any minute. If you don’t get the doctors now, when they arrive, you’ll have nowhere to be buried!” Mark instantly trembled all over, scrambling to go find a doctor. Just as he reached the door, he seemed to remember something. He suddenly let out a chilling laugh, then turned and viciously slapped me across the face! A sharp smack echoed, and my head snapped to the side from the blow. “This is Mr. Thorne’s private hospital, built just for you! It’s deep in the wilderness – not even satellites can find it, let alone any divine intervention!” I gasped for breath, staring at him, weak but with fierce resolve. “You’re too late, all of you. I already sent out my location.” His face instantly turned ghostly pale, his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor, his eyes wide with terror as if he’d seen a ghost. “This… this isn’t real…” I gritted my teeth, every word causing me to break out in a cold sweat from the pain. “Go get the doctors now. When my father arrives, I’ll put in a good word for you, and you might just get to keep your worthless life. Otherwise… next year this very day will be your death anniversary!” Mark was terrified out of his mind. He fumbled for his phone, scrambling on all fours, and bolted out like a madman. I lay limp on the bed, the cramping in my stomach like a knife twisting inside me. But the knot in my stomach finally loosened a bit.

When Mark finally pushed the doctor in, seeing me covered in blood, he instantly exploded! “Are you insane?!” He practically stomped his foot, pointing at my belly in exasperation. “This pregnant woman is almost gone! The baby’s in a breech position. Five more minutes, and it’ll be a double tragedy!” The doctor quickly felt my pulse, then pried open my eyelids and shouted, “Quick, get the delivery kit! And the strong stimulant! She needs to stay awake. No more complications!” A needle jabbed, and cool medicine flowed in. My mind went blank for a moment, then instantly cleared. Finally, my baby and I were saved… The doctor had just picked up a scalpel when the ward door was kicked open with a bang! Sophia’s mother, Brenda Davis, suddenly burst in and roughly pushed the doctor to the ground. “Ethan and my daughter were at it until dawn last night! Her wound tore open again, and now she can’t even stand! I order you to go save her right now, or I swear I’ll make sure you’re run out of this city!” She turned and glared at me, her face practically overflowing with triumph. “My daughter is Mr. Thorne’s favorite trophy wife! He said every doctor in this city has to prioritize her!” She then scornfully kicked my stomach, her eyes filled with utter disdain. “Eleanor Moretti, don’t think that just because you have a face that could launch a thousand ships and helped Mr. Thorne build his fortune from scratch, you’re something special! Look at what you are, do you really think you deserve to be Mrs. Thorne?” I convulsed in pain, but with my last ounce of strength, I spat fiercely at her greasy face. Brenda’s face instantly turned green with rage. She raised her hand to strike me. “You wretched btch! Today, I’ll teach you a good lesson for my daughter and show you who the real mistress of the Thorne household is!” Mark, terrified, pounced and desperately held her back. “Madam is almost gone! If you lay another hand on her, she and the baby will die!” “So what?” She let out a twisted laugh, calling two bodyguards from outside the door. “Hold her down for me! You dare steal my daughter’s man? Today, I’ll show you what it means to wish you were dead!” Two burly men rushed in, pinning my arms and legs down. I was utterly powerless, able only to watch as she picked up a solid wooden stick from the corner. “Childbirth is always painful for women, isn’t it? Whining like a stuck pig, so delicate!” “So what if the baby’s breech?” She viciously patted my face, then jabbed the wooden stick directly into my stomach. “Just roll it a few times with this stick, and the baby will come out, won’t it?” My pupils constricted, and I struggled desperately. “You wouldn’t dare! Ethan will kill you if he finds out!” She laughed even crazier, raising the wooden stick and brutally rolling it over my swollen belly! “My daughter is Mr. Thorne’s darling! You and this bastard child die, and he’ll be delighted!” The moment the stick pressed against my belly, I screamed in agony. My internal organs felt dislocated, and the baby inside struggled violently for a moment, then went completely still! “No! My baby!” I screamed with heart-wrenching anguish, tears mixing with sweat as they streamed down my face. She ignored me, continuing to roll the wooden stick over my stomach again and again. Each strike was full of force, my belly burned, and my insides felt like they were being shredded. I convulsed all over, my consciousness fading! Mark was terrified, cold sweat dripping, his legs trembling nonstop. “Stop hitting her! She’ll really die if this continues!” “Get lost!” Brenda kicked him away, then raised the wooden stick, aiming to jab it at my private parts. “Might as well finish the job! Make sure you can never have children again, then let’s see if Mr. Thorne still wants you!” Just as the stick was about to fall again, a furious roar came from behind her. “Ellie!!”

Donovan Moretti stepped forward and violently shoved Brenda Davis aside. “Mr. Thorne… why are you here?” The blood I’d lost soaked through the sheets, and my stomach was red and purple from the beating, swollen to a horrifying size. Ethan looked at me, his eyes bloodshot, then whipped his head around and roared. “Who gave you the nerve to touch my woman and my child?!” Sophia, her face streaked with tears, tugged at Ethan’s sleeve. “Ethan, please don’t blame my mom. If you’re going to punish anyone, punish me. It’s all my fault, I couldn’t stop her…” Sophia cried breathlessly, then suddenly changed her tone. “But Ellie always hits and scolds me, saying I’m a vixen and not good enough for you… When my mom came to visit, she even hit my mom! I don’t know what I did wrong, why does Ellie hate me so much?!” As she spoke, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing a few faint old scars on her arm. “These are all from when Ellie used to hit me. I never dared to tell you, afraid it would make things difficult for you. My mom was just so upset, she lost her head for a moment, she really didn’t mean it…” Ethan’s eyes instantly turned bone-chillingly cold. He stared at me intently, his voice filled with disappointment. “Eleanor Moretti, I thought you were just spoiled, but I never imagined you were so vicious!” Those words were like an ice pick plunging into my heart! And with them, my last shred of hope for him shattered into dust! Ethan’s gaze hardened. “It seems I’ve pampered you too much, allowing you to become so lawless! You need to learn a lesson and remember your place! Whatever Sophia wants to do to punish you, you’ll take it!” I stared at him, unable to believe it. “Ethan, are you blind?! They were trying to kill our baby!” Seeing this, Sophia sobbed softly. “Ethan, Ellie is just too distraught…” I lay in a pool of blood, my heart filled with despair. “Dad… Silas… where are you…?” As the last tear slipped from my eye, I stopped struggling. “BOOM—!” A sudden thunderous crash erupted from outside the door! The main door was blasted to splinters, wood shrapnel flying everywhere! My father, Donovan, burst in, covered in blood. His eyes swept over Sophia and a stunned Ethan. When they finally landed on my barely-breathing form, they instantly turned scarlet. “Looks like my fish have fresh bait again!” My brother, Silas, strolled in behind him, his eyes fixated on Sophia. “That face… if you took it off to make a lampshade, it would be absolutely perfect!”

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In my previous life, I was finally recognized and brought back into the Sterling family. My biological brother, Joseph, accused me of causing Grace’s illness to protect her, his adopted sister. My biological parents believed him and kicked me out. Not long after, I died on the streets from my illness. When I woke up again, I was back on the day I was taken into the Sterling family. Joseph stood in front of my parents, pointing at me and saying, “Mom, Dad, she’s not my sister at all!” My parents gave me a disappointed look, then turned and walked away. I stood there, didn’t pull out the sapphire necklace that could prove my identity, and quietly walked back to the orphanage. Twenty years later, I became a leading internal medicine specialist in the country. The man sitting opposite me handed over a medical record, his voice trembling: “Doctor Harper, please, I beg you, save my sister.” I paused when I saw the name. My gaze fell on his haggard face. After staring for a long time, I finally looked at the man and said, “I’m not taking this patient.”

Joseph froze. “What did you say?” I closed the medical record and pushed it back to him. “I’m not taking this patient.” The consultation room fell silent. Joseph stared at me, his brows furrowing tighter and tighter. Grace, in the wheelchair, looked a bit pale, but it was clear she had decent energy. Twenty years. They’d lived truly well. Joseph had become the heir to the Sterling Group, and Grace was the apple of their eye, cherished by the entire family. And they probably would never recognize that the woman sitting before them, the Head of Internal Medicine wearing glasses, was the real daughter they’d locked out of their home all those years ago. “I know you’re the most authoritative internist, and it’s not easy to get an appointment with you.” “But don’t worry, money isn’t an issue. As long as you can cure Grace, name your price.” Joseph placed a black card on my desk, held between two fingers. I glanced down, then looked up at him. “The hospital has its rules. And I’m not taking her case because her condition falls outside my specialty.” “What do you mean?” Joseph was stunned again. “I’ve made inquiries. You’ve even brought back patients with late-stage heart failure.” “Grace only has a heart murmur and occasional angina. Are you telling me you can’t treat her?” Grace coughed twice, tugging on Joseph’s sleeve. “Joseph, it’s fine… I don’t want you to have to beg and grovel for me…” This act was identical to how she looked in my previous life when she falsely accused me of pushing her down the stairs. Joseph’s heart ached for her. He squeezed her hand, then looked back at me, his gaze like daggers. “Dr. Harper, is it not enough money? Fine, I’ll propose something else.” “If you accept Grace as a patient today, tomorrow, the Sterling Group will donate thirty million to your Cardiology Department for new equipment.” “Is that condition good enough?” A few intern doctors nearby gasped, but I didn’t even bat an eye. “Mr. Sterling, when I choose a patient, I look at the illness, not the money.” “I’m not treating your sister’s condition. Take the card and leave.” Joseph scoffed, his eyes filled with extreme disdain. “You just don’t have the confidence to cure Grace, do you? ‘Top expert’? I bet it’s all hype!” “Joseph, stop talking, my chest hurts…” Grace clutched her chest, breathing heavily. “Grace!” Joseph panicked, quickly motioning for the bodyguards to push the wheelchair. As he reached the door, he turned back and glared at me. After they left, I touched the cold sapphire necklace in my pocket. The next morning, right after I finished my rounds, Director Davies, who was usually all smiles, walked into my office with a grim expression. “Harper, you’re fired.” I stopped writing and looked up at him. “Reason?” “Reason?” The director snorted coldly. “What kind of attitude did you have towards Mr. Sterling yesterday? As a doctor, do you have any ethics, any humanitarian spirit? To refuse a seriously ill patient!” My gaze shifted downwards, catching sight of the brand-new watch on his wrist, which hadn’t been there yesterday. I understood. “How much did he pay you?” My tone was flat. The director’s face changed, then flushed with anger. “What nonsense! This is the hospital board’s decision! Pack your things and get out now!”

I didn’t say anything. I took off my lab coat, folded it, placed it on the back of my chair, picked up my car keys from the desk, and turned to leave. Joseph stood by a pillar in the middle of the hospital lobby, wearing sunglasses, one hand casually in his pocket. He was clearly waiting for me. Seeing me walk over, hugging a cardboard box, he took off his sunglasses, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Dr. Harper, leaving work so early?” “Yesterday, when you rejected me, you seemed pretty tough, didn’t you? How is it that today you can’t even keep your job?” He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Harper, starting today, no hospital in this country will dare to hire you.” He watched me, waiting to see a look of panic on my face, waiting for me to beg. But I didn’t. I just looked at him calmly. He frowned, seemingly displeased with my reaction. “However, I can offer you one last path.” “Come to my house, be Grace’s private doctor, on call twenty-four hours a day.” “Cure her, and I guarantee you’ll be set for life. What do you say?” I suddenly chuckled. “Joseph.” He paused. “Do you really think your family is the only one with money in this world?” I didn’t waste any more words, walking past him and out of the hospital. He didn’t know that I wasn’t just the Vice Director of this hospital or a famous internist in this city. I was also Mr. Allegri’s only adopted daughter, the head of the Allegri Medical Group. I came to this public hospital merely to hone my skills and complete the assessment Mr. Allegri had set for me. In the entire national medical field, the Allegri family was the true power. Blacklist me? Ridiculous. That evening, as I was scrolling through my phone, a trending topic about me popped up: Top Expert Refuses to Save Life, City Central Hospital’s Dr. Harper Accused of Bribery, Cold-Blooded Demon with No Medical Ethics. A video was going viral across the entire internet. It showed: Grace sitting in a wheelchair, her face haggard and distressed, constantly clutching her chest. Joseph was beside her, pleading with me to treat her: “Dr. Harper, please save my sister, we have money…” Then the camera cut to me, showing only a cold image: “I’m not taking her. Take the card and leave.” Immediately after, an account claiming to be an “insider” broke the news: “I’m an internal employee at City Central Hospital. This doctor is no good at all. She secretly demands money from patients!” “The Sterling family didn’t pay her enough, so she refused to treat the patient! The director found out about her misconduct and fired her this morning!” The comment section below was almost entirely filled with insults directed at me. “Viper! How can a woman like this even be a doctor?” “Even capitalists have more conscience than her! This doctor has no heart! Demanding a thorough investigation!” “Heard she got blacklisted across the internet, serves her right! Such scum should just die!” Grace also posted a tweet. The accompanying photo showed a pale, almost bluish wrist with an IV drip. The text read: “Perhaps my life is counting down, but I still believe there’s light in this world. I don’t blame Dr. Harper; it’s just my bad luck.” Countless people swarmed my account. My DMs were full of curses, morphed death photos, and other hateful messages. I scoffed internally. It was Director Davies who took Joseph’s bribe to fire me, yet he turned around and smeared my name. I’d experienced the same trick in my previous life. Grace had an “episode,” and he blamed it on me, then edited videos and fabricated lies to post online, ruining my reputation completely. I called Joseph. It rang several times before he picked up. His scornful and triumphant voice came through: “What? Dr. Harper finally giving up?” I didn’t respond to that. I just said, “Joseph, I agree to treat Grace.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a burst of even more arrogant laughter. “If you knew this would happen, why resist in the first place?” I cut Joseph off. “But I have one condition. I want this consultation live-streamed across the entire internet.” The laughter on the other end ceased abruptly. “Live stream?” His voice turned cold. “Harper, you’re being trashed online right now. Are you live-streaming because you haven’t been insulted enough?” I looked out the window, a slow smile forming on my lips. “A live stream. In front of millions of people, I’ll humbly treat your family member. Isn’t that what you want?” “I can use this opportunity to publicly admit my mistakes and find a way out for myself.” Joseph was silent. After a few seconds, he let out a highly amused hum. “Harper, you really know how to play the game.” “Fine, since you want to publicly embarrass yourself, I’ll allow it.” “However,” I shifted my tone, “we must keep the live stream a secret from Grace. She’s a patient; knowing so many people are watching might make her emotional.” “If anything happens to her because of that, I won’t be responsible.” Joseph didn’t think much of it and readily agreed. The next morning, I arrived at the consultation location Joseph had set: the VIP ward floor on the top of City Central Hospital. Two familiar faces stood at the door. A man and a woman, both in their fifties. The man was tall, wearing a dark gray cashmere coat. The woman wore an elegant navy trench coat, exuding grace. “You’re Dr. Harper?” Eleanor, Joseph’s mother, asked in a gentle voice. I nodded. “That’s me.” She looked me up and down, then nodded slightly. “I’m Grace’s mother. I’ve heard about you.” “Dr. Harper, Grace is a child we raised since she was small. We are sincere in inviting you here today.” She took a business card from her bag and offered it to me. I didn’t take it, and she didn’t seem bothered. “Cure Grace, and fame and fortune are no issue.” “I’ll take care of you being fired from City Central Hospital.” “And I can guarantee that the Sterling Group’s resources within the national healthcare system will be at your disposal.” “This is the Sterling family’s sincerity.” I glanced at her. Unfortunately, I lacked none of what she offered. “Mrs. Sterling, I’m here to treat a patient today. We can discuss other matters after the consultation.” Eleanor’s eyes flickered but quickly returned to composure. Richard, Joseph’s father, cleared his throat when he heard me say that. His gaze wasn’t as gentle as Eleanor’s. “Harper, what my wife said is her intention.” “My intention is, if you can cure Grace’s illness, our family will not treat you unfairly.” He paused. “Your reputation is already in tatters. This live stream today, which you requested, is your last chance.” “If you can’t cure her, there will be no place for you in the entire medical industry.” I just stood there, meeting his gaze for three seconds. “Mr. Sterling, whether I can cure her or not, we’ll only know after the examination.” With that, I walked past him and pushed open the door to the ward. He frowned slightly, as if pondering something. Then he and Eleanor followed me in. Once inside, they didn’t say another word, but sat quietly to the side. Joseph was sitting on the sofa, peeling an apple. He glanced at me, then his eyes flickered towards the air conditioning vent, and then at the decorative ornament on the bedside table. He must have hidden the camera there.

At this very moment, a live stream channel was already open online. The title read: Cold-Blooded Medical Expert Dr. Harper Publicly Submits, Live Consultation Session. Because the Sterling Group was actively promoting it, coupled with the lingering heat from yesterday’s trending topic, countless netizens were fuming. Less than ten minutes after starting, millions of people flooded in, and the comments scrolled like a blizzard. “This scumbag finally backed down! Capitalism did a great job this time!” “Let’s all watch how this quack begs for mercy!” “My heart aches for Grace, having to face this demonic doctor.” Grace lay on the hospital bed, her face still haggard and pale. Seeing me, she flinched. “Joseph…” She had no idea that millions of eyes were watching her. “Don’t be afraid. She’s here to treat you this time.” Joseph handed her the apple, then stood up and walked over to me. Knowing he was on camera, he adopted a very arrogant posture. “Harper, start now. Hurry up and treat Grace.” “If you can’t cure her, you’ll be out of the medical field forever.” I ignored him, walking straight to the medical cart beside the bed. As I put on my gloves, I gave him a cold glance. Joseph gritted his teeth, but mindful of the camera, he restrained himself from reacting, just letting out a cold scoff. He stepped back, hands in his pockets, and the room fell silent. With my back to the hidden camera, I picked up the stethoscope and placed it on Grace’s chest. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” Grace was very cooperative, her breathing especially heavy, her brows furrowed. The comments again filled with sympathy for her and insults for me. I put down the stethoscope and picked up the stack of medical reports the Sterling family had accumulated from various hospitals over the years. Late-stage heart failure, myocardial ischemia. The diagnoses were increasingly severe. I flipped through them page by page, my brows slowly drawing together. After about five minutes, I threw the stack of reports onto the bed with a smack. Taking off my gloves, I turned around. “Grace, your condition is indeed quite difficult to treat.” Joseph scoffed towards the camera. “What do you mean? Aren’t you an authority? Even you can’t cure her? I think you’re just a quack!” The comments started flooding in again: “Quack! She really is a quack!” “She’s just trying to shirk responsibility! The Sterling family should blacklist her quickly!” I ignored them and said softly, “Because your sister isn’t sick at all.”

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“Mia madre è una maiale grassa e imponente.” Outside the kindergarten, my six-year-old son introduced me to the other kids in Italian. The kids didn’t understand, they just laughed along. I understood, because every single sound in that sentence was something I had taught him. I stood outside the school gate, seven months pregnant, my heart aching. Orwell saw me, and the smile instantly vanished from his face. I reached out for his backpack. But he pulled it behind him, wrinkling his nose. “Mom, you smell.” I froze. It’s easy to sweat in the late stages of pregnancy, but I’d definitely changed before leaving. A child nearby asked him, “Is that your mom?” Orwell didn’t answer right away. After a few seconds, he looked down and mumbled, “Yeah.” He said it reluctantly, as if admitting I was his mom was something shameful. I looked at him. “Who taught you that Italian phrase just now?” His eyes flickered. “What Italian phrase?” “You said I was like a fat pig.” He lowered his head, kicking at the leaves on the ground, saying nothing. I asked again, “Did Dad say it?” Orwell pursed his lips. “Everyone says that. Eleanor said you’re getting less like your old self since you got pregnant with my sister.” My belly gave a gentle kick. I leaned against the railing beside me. Suddenly, the burning sensation in my palm didn’t hurt as much. What truly hurt was that I had personally taught him to speak. But after he learned, the first thing he learned was how to despise me.

My name is Chloe. Before I got married, I was an Italian translator. The year Fisher first started his company, he couldn’t even write a proper business email. The first time we met an Italian client, everything from how to greet them, how to quote prices, to how to write the after-sales terms – I guided him through every single step. That night, the client changed their requirements at the last minute, and Fisher paced anxiously in the living room. I sat at the computer, revising the proposal from scratch, then translating it sentence by sentence into Italian. At two in the morning, he was asleep on the sofa. I was still replying to emails for him. Later, when the deal was signed, he got drunk at dinner and slapped his chest, saying, “Good thing I kept my cool.” I just smiled back then. Now that I think about it, he didn’t forget my contribution. He just never planned to credit me for it. Later, the company grew bigger and bigger. Fisher bought a new car, moved into a mansion, and everyone around him called him Mr. Fisher. After I got pregnant with Orwell, Eleanor, my mother-in-law, advised me to quit my job. “The first three years of a child’s life are crucial. Can you really trust strangers to raise them?” Fisher also said, “You just stay home and rest for a few years. I’ll make the money.” I believed him. And that ‘rest’ lasted for six years. In those six years, I raised Orwell from a crying infant into a bright, accomplished child. He played piano, played chess, and spoke foreign languages. His kindergarten teachers praised his intelligence, and relatives praised Fisher for his parenting. Eleanor always grinned from ear to ear, “Our family’s kids are just different.” No one ever mentioned me. Occasionally someone would ask, “Wasn’t Chloe a translator before?” Eleanor would cut in, “She’s got it good now, staying home with the kids. How hard can that be?” I used to smile, thinking there was no need to be petty with family. Until today, when Orwell used the Italian I taught him to insult me. He reached out again, “Mom, I want ice cream.” Before, when he reached out, I would immediately take his backpack, water bottle, and jacket, then ask him if he’d been good at school today. Today, I didn’t move. “No ice cream today.” He looked up at me. “Why?” “Because you just humiliated me.” He looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected me to say that. “But I didn’t say it in English.” I looked at him. “Using a different language doesn’t make it less hurtful.” His face flushed. “You’re mean. Eleanor says you’re always complaining since you got pregnant with my sister.” I opened the car door. “Get in.” He stood still. Before, when he did this, I would crouch down and coax him. Today, I just put his backpack in the car. “If you don’t get in, you can walk home.” Orwell froze. He looked at me as if it was the first time he’d ever heard me say something like that. Three seconds later, he cried. Loudly. Many parents at the school gate looked our way. I didn’t comfort him; I waited for him to cry. Eventually, he got tired of crying and climbed into the backseat. Halfway home, he deliberately unscrewed his water bottle cap, spilling water all over. I glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “You clean it up when we get home.” He said, “This is Dad’s car.” I said, “You’re the one who dirtied it.” He widened his eyes. “You never used to be like this.” The traffic light ahead turned red, and I hit the brakes. “I never knew you all would be like this, either.”

Back home, Eleanor was watching TV in the living room. Orwell immediately ran to complain. “Eleanor, Mom wouldn’t let me have ice cream, and she told me to clean the car!” Eleanor immediately put down the remote. “Chloe, why are you so impatient just because you’re pregnant? What’s wrong with Orwell wanting some ice cream?” I changed my shoes and placed my prenatal check-up book on the entryway cabinet. “He insulted me at the kindergarten gate today.” Eleanor frowned. “What could he have said to insult you?” I looked at her. “He said I was like a fat pig.” Her face stiffened, just for a moment. But I saw it. She knew. At least, she’d heard similar words before. Sure enough, the next second, she started to cover it up. “He’s just a kid, what does he know? He must have learned it from a cartoon.” “He said Fisher said it.” Eleanor’s face instantly darkened. “Don’t blame everything on Fisher. He’s so busy at work every day, when would he have time to teach the kid stuff like that?” I asked, “Then what about Mia?” The living room fell silent, the TV still playing laughter. None of us spoke. Mia, Fisher’s administrative assistant. Twenty-six years old, always wearing white dresses, speaking softly. Last month, she came to the house to deliver documents and brought Orwell a LEGO set. Orwell was thrilled all evening. At the time, I even laughed and said, “You’re so good with kids.” Now that I think about it, she really was good at charming people. A LEGO set and a few sweet words were enough to make a six-year-old remember her kindness. Meanwhile, all the sleepless nights I’d pulled, the meals I’d cooked, the hospital visits I’d made, the classes I’d attended – all of it just became “what a mother is supposed to do.” Orwell ran to grab the remote. “Eleanor, I want to watch cartoons.” I said, “No cartoons today.” Eleanor shielded him. “He’s been at school all day, what’s wrong with him relaxing a bit?” I took the remote. “He humiliated me today, so no cartoons.” Eleanor got agitated. “Why are you arguing with a six-year-old?” I looked at her. “When you were teaching him to look down on me, why didn’t you remember he was only six?” Her face turned ugly. “Don’t spread lies.” I ignored her. I went into the kitchen and cooked myself a bowl of pasta. Only one bowl. Eleanor stood at the doorway. “What’s Orwell eating tonight?” “You make him something.” She looked like she didn’t understand. “Didn’t you already cook?” “I only cooked for myself.” “Chloe, what do you mean?” I brought the pasta out and sat at the dining table. “It means that from today on, whoever feels sorry for him can cook for him.” Orwell sat on the sofa, staring at me, bewildered. I never used to let him go hungry. Even if he’d just thrown a tantrum at me, broken a knife or fork, I’d turn around and go into the kitchen to make him pudding, pan-fry a steak, or cut fruit. Today, I didn’t. Eleanor angrily went into the kitchen and started clanking pots. Ten minutes later, she brought out a plate of burnt steak. Orwell took a bite, frowning. “It tastes awful.” Eleanor’s face hardened. “Eat it anyway.” He looked at me. “Mom, I want your cooking.” I lowered my head and ate my pasta. “Not today.” His eyes reddened. “You don’t love me anymore.” That sentence used to work wonders on me. As soon as he asked if Mom didn’t love him anymore, I’d panic. I’d hug him, kiss him, and explain a hundred times that I loved him. Today, I just put down my knife and fork. “Love doesn’t mean you get to hurt me whenever you want.” He didn’t understand. But he knew, crying wouldn’t work this time.

Fisher returned at nine in the evening, carrying a paper bag. I recognized it at a glance; it was from the dessert shop Mia often bought from. Orwell rushed over. “Dad!” Fisher bent down to hug him, handing him the paper bag. “Mia got you this.” Orwell happily tore it open. Inside was a box of macarons. Eleanor smiled. “Mia is so thoughtful.” I sat on the sofa. “Fisher, we need to talk.” He paused while taking off his jacket. “About what?” “About what you’ve been saying about me in front of the kid.” Fisher glanced at Orwell. “What did Orwell say now?” I repeated the Italian phrase. His expression wasn’t shocked, just impatient at being exposed. “Chloe, can you just not be so sensitive right now?” I asked, “Did you say it or not?” He tugged at his tie. “Just joking around.” “Joking around with whom?” He didn’t speak. I answered for him. “Mia?” Eleanor immediately cut in. “Why are you bringing up Mia? She’s a good, decent girl, don’t think the worst of people.” I looked at her. “She’s so decent she buys Orwell desserts and teaches him to compare her to me?” Fisher frowned. “You’re getting more and more unpleasant.” I gave a small laugh. “I’m already like a pig, how much more unpleasant can I get?” Fisher was speechless. Orwell sat to the side, holding a macaron. He looked at me, then at his dad. Finally, he mumbled, “Mom, don’t argue.” I asked, “Why not?” He said, “Dad works really hard to earn money.” A six-year-old wouldn’t randomly feel sorry for a dad who “works really hard to earn money.” Unless someone taught him that every day. I looked at Eleanor. She avoided my gaze. I suddenly understood that Orwell hadn’t turned out like this overnight. He had simply learned, word by word, the daily contempt that the adults in this house let slip. I stood up. “Fisher, let’s get a divorce.” The TV was still laughing, but no one in the living room responded. A few seconds later, Eleanor was the first to shriek, “Are you crazy?” Fisher stared at me. “Just because of one sentence from the kid?” I looked at him. “It’s not just one sentence.” That sentence was just the final straw. It was when I finally heard clearly how much badmouthing this family had been doing behind my back.

Fisher didn’t take the divorce seriously; he even chuckled. “Chloe, you’re pregnant now, your emotions are unstable. I won’t argue with you.” I nodded. “Then let’s talk when I’m stable.” He thought that was the end of it. The next morning, he still tossed his worn shirt into the laundry basket. “Iron the blue one for me this afternoon. I have a dinner engagement tonight.” I stood at the sink, brushing my teeth. “Iron it yourself.” He froze. “What?” I spat out my mouthwash. “I said, iron it yourself.” Fisher frowned. “Chloe, don’t take your anger out on our daily life.” I looked at him in the mirror. “The clothes are yours, the dinner is yours, your reputation is yours. How did it become my daily life?” His face darkened. “You’re home all day, and you can’t even do this much?” I put my toothbrush back in the cup. “I’m home, but I’m not your household assistant.” He stared at me for a long time, then sneered. “Fine, you win.” After that day, the house quickly descended into chaos. Fisher couldn’t find his socks. Eleanor forgot to pack Orwell’s water bottle. No one set up Orwell’s online class equipment beforehand, and the teacher called his name for ages, but his microphone was still off. Who filled the water bottle? Who matched the socks? Who set up the equipment before class? No one asked. They just thought that’s how things were supposed to be. At 7:40 PM, Orwell called me from his room. “Mom, Italian class is about to start!” I walked to the door. “Not accompanying you today.” He froze. “Why?” “You’ll go by yourself from now on.” “I can’t!” I said, “You can insult people in Italian, so you must be learning well.” His face instantly flushed. “I don’t want to go by myself! The teacher said a parent has to be there!” “Then have your dad go.” Orwell opened his mouth. He knew his dad wouldn’t go. Fisher was busy, and Eleanor didn’t speak a foreign language. The only person in the house who could follow his entire lesson was me. Before, when he didn’t study well, I was more anxious than he was. I’d message the teacher, take notes, record the class afterwards, and organize his mistakes. He just had to sit there and wait for me to spoon-feed him the knowledge. Now that I wasn’t spoon-feeding him, he panicked. “Mom, I won’t say bad things about you anymore, okay? Please come to class with me?” I looked at him. “An apology isn’t meant to buy a service.” He didn’t understand the words. But he understood that I wouldn’t be there. That evening, the teacher called me. “Chloe, Orwell wasn’t doing very well today.” I said, “For future academic matters, please contact his father directly.” Five minutes later, Fisher’s phone rang. He was in his study on a video call. I heard him say in a hushed voice, “For things like the kid’s studies, just contact his mom.” The teacher must have said something, because Fisher looked my way. I sat on the sofa, slowly drinking water. He hung up, his tone harsh. “Chloe, do you have to drag the kid into this too?” I said, “The child isn’t just mine.” “But you always handled it before?” “So I was wrong before.” Fisher laughed in exasperation. “You’re just going to stop taking care of it now?” I put down my cup. “Yes.” He looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. Perhaps in his eyes, Chloe shouldn’t say “yes.” Chloe should explain, should feel wronged, should say, “That’s not what I meant.” But I didn’t want to explain anymore.

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