Author: Momo Chan

1 My boyfriend, Blake, got the girl who made my life a living hell a part-time job. When I found out, his face didn’t even twitch with guilt. “She lost her financial aid because of what you did. I’m just helping her out so you don’t have to carry that guilt.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Instead of thanking me, you’re interrogating me?” Usually, this was the part where I’d swallow my pride and coax him, begging him not to be mad. But this time, I was just so exhausted. I was done paying the price for her pathetic, innocent victim act. When he dumped that blame on my shoulders, my mind went entirely blank. I couldn’t fathom why the victim was supposed to feel guilty when the bully finally faced the consequences of her own toxic actions. “You really think Ivy getting disciplined by the board and losing her scholarship is my fault?” Blake shrugged off his jacket, tossed it to me, and sprawled out on the couch like he owned the place. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Because of you, she lost her funding. She can’t pay her tuition. She’s practically being forced to drop out.” He rolled his eyes. “The whole campus is talking about it. Everyone thinks you went way too far.” “And as your boyfriend, it’s my job to clean up your mess.” So his brilliant idea of ‘cleaning up my mess’ was getting her a high-paying gig at the cafe where I worked. He even went as far as draping the jacket I bought for him over her shoulders. It was a joke. A sick, twisted joke. The fabric of the jacket in my hands suddenly felt disgusting. I dropped it right onto the hardwood floor, staring him down with eyes like ice. “Sierra, are you seriously blaming me?” “Yes.” No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered anger. Blake sat up, tilting his head back to glare at me. “You think I’m just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong?” “Are you saying you aren’t?” “Fine.” He let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “I’m a fucking idiot for trying to do you a favor. Don’t worry. I won’t lift a finger for you ever again.” In the past, whenever he threw a tantrum like this, I’d practically be on my knees, begging him to stay. I’d buy him designer sneakers and expensive hoodies just to smooth things over. Not today. I didn’t care anymore. I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing down the thick lump of betrayal in my throat. “Good. I hope you keep your word.” Blake’s eyes darkened. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward so violently that my shin smashed into the edge of the glass coffee table. A sharp gasp tore from my lips. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You breaking up with me?” “Yeah. We’re done.” It was the first time I had ever said those words to him. He stared at me, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. When he realized I wasn’t going to take it back, he lashed out, kicking the coffee table with brutal force. The glass top shattered. “Fuck you.” He spat. “Don’t come crying to me when you want to get back together. You’re too much drama.” Flying shards of glass sliced into my calves and toes. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from screaming, collapsing onto the sofa as I gasped for air. He walked out, slamming the door behind him. My phone buzzed on the cushions. A text. It was the guy who had tipped me off earlier today. [I saw him leave. Are you… okay?] A cold sweat broke out across my spine. Whoever this was didn’t just know where I was going. They were sitting outside my apartment building right now, watching. My fingers trembled as I deleted the message and blocked the number. But he wasn’t going to give up that easily. A minute later, a text popped up from a completely different number. [He threw the jacket you bought into the dumpster. Can I have it?] [I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be creepy. I just think it’s a waste.] The room started to spin. The pain in my leg was making me nauseous. I managed to call my roommate, Lexi, before the darkness swallowed me whole. When I opened my eyes again, the harsh white lights of a hospital room blinded me. “How are you feeling?” The voice was low, smooth, and oddly familiar. I followed the line of a warm hand resting lightly against my fingertips. My gaze traveled up an immaculate suit to a devastatingly handsome face. Silver wire-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his perfect nose, hiding the dark, swirling emotions in his eyes. Rowan. Lexi’s older brother. What was he doing here? “Lexi went back to grab you some clean clothes. She asked me to keep an eye on you.” “Oh. Then I…” “The doctor said you’ll be fine. You caught a fever from the rain.” His tone was professional, yet strangely gentle. “The cuts on your leg and foot have been cleaned and stitched. Keep them dry.” “Okay. Thank you.” I murmured, shrinking back a little. Rowan and I weren’t exactly close. My only interactions with him consisted of passing along stuff Lexi forgot to bring to campus. To say thanks, he’d occasionally send over premium pastries or expensive little gifts, always making sure there was a portion for me. The silence in the room was suffocating. Desperate for a distraction, I unlocked my phone, only to be hit with another wave of absolute dread. [Did he hurt you?] [Do you want me to teach him a lesson?] Terrified that this lunatic might actually do something violent, I hammered my thumbs against the screen. [Stay away from the people in my life. Stop stalking me.] [You’re sick.] A loud clatter made me jump. Rowan’s phone had slipped from his grip, hitting the linoleum floor. “Rowan? Is everything okay?” He picked it up, the corners of his mouth twitching into a forced, rigid smile. “It’s nothing. Just a little tired, I guess.” He did look exhausted. The edges of his eyes were faintly red. I felt a pang of guilt. He was a busy CEO, and I was just his sister’s roommate. I shouldn’t be wasting his time. “You should head home and get some rest. I can manage on my own.” He didn’t argue. He picked up his leather duffel bag from the floor and headed for the door. Just as he reached the handle, I called out. The bag looked bulky, sitting awkwardly against his broad shoulder. “Hey, do you need a shopping bag for whatever’s in there? It looks heavy.” His broad shoulders went rigid. He didn’t turn around. “It’s just company files. I don’t need a bag. Thanks.” The next text came the following morning. [I’m sorry.] Just that. No context. I felt suffocated in that sterile room, so I decided to take a slow walk down the hall to clear my head. And of course, my luck was garbage. I ran straight into Blake. He was leaning heavily on a crutch, his face bruised in shades of purple and blue, one leg encased in a thick white cast. He was practically hanging off Ivy’s shoulder. Ivy was struggling to support his weight. She looked up, making dead eye contact with me standing right in the middle of the corridor. She raised a single, perfectly plucked eyebrow. Her grip on Blake’s waist tightened. Then, with Oscar-worthy precision, she twisted her ankle and collapsed, dragging Blake down with her. Blake crashed right on top of her, groaning in pain. I dug my nails so hard into my palms that they left crescent-moon indentations. I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing myself to stand my ground. Ivy poked Blake in the ribs, playing the flustered angel. “Blake, get up. Look, it’s Sierra.” Blake froze. He pushed Ivy’s hands away and awkwardly scrambled to his feet, leaning heavily on his crutch. “What happened to you? Why are you hooked up to an IV?” He demanded, looking me up and down. “Who brought you here? Why didn’t you call me?” Then his eyes fell on the thick gauze wrapped around my leg. He instantly looked away, running a hand through his hair, shifting his weight guiltily. I bit down on the soft inside of my cheek, refusing to let my voice shake. “Since when is my life any of your business?” His fleeting moment of guilt vanished, replaced by that familiar, arrogant irritation. He scowled. “Look, you’re sick. I’ll let your little attitude slide.” He sighed like he was doing me a massive favor. “Just apologize to Ivy, and we’ll pretend the breakup never happened. Then I can focus on taking care of you.” I didn’t even want to waste my breath. I grabbed my IV pole, turned my back on them, and started walking away. Suddenly, Ivy lunged forward and grabbed the clear plastic tubing of my IV. “What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, trying to swat her hand away. But before I even touched her, she threw herself backward onto the floor, taking the tube with her. The needle was violently ripped out of my vein, tearing the medical tape right off my skin. Blood spurted instantly, hot and fast, running over my knuckles. I pressed my hospital gown against the wound, but the crimson stain just kept spreading. My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip, but hot, angry tears finally spilled over my cheeks. Ivy looked up from the floor, crying beautifully, like a fragile porcelain doll. “I’m so sorry, Sierra. I swear I didn’t mean to!” She sobbed. “I just wanted to explain that Blake and I aren’t doing anything behind your back! I know I was jealous of you. I know I did awful things, and I’m sorry.” She choked out a perfectly timed gasp. “But I paid for it! I got suspended. I lost my scholarship. Can’t we just… call it even?” Blake didn’t even notice the blood dripping from my hand. He dropped his crutch and pulled Ivy into a protective embrace. “Sierra, stop being such a vindictive bitch!” I had heard those words so many times before, but it still felt like a knife twisting in my ribs. When someone stole my project credit and I fought back, he told me to ‘be the bigger person’. When I was bullied out of my dorm room, he said I just needed to ‘learn how to fit in’. He would always look at me with that disappointed sneer and say, Why do they only pick on you? You must be doing something wrong. Every single time, I had backed down. “I know you care about me, Sierra, but your paranoid delusions aren’t an excuse to hurt people.” Blake sneered. “I’m drawing the line right now. If you want us to work, you apologize to Ivy right this second. Then we drop it.” He reached out and grabbed my bleeding hand, squeezing it so hard that the blinding pain paralyzed me. I couldn’t pull away. “No.” I hissed, glaring at the floor, my vision blurring. Just as my knees were about to buckle, a warm, solid chest pressed against my back. Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, shielding me completely. A familiar, deep voice vibrated right next to my ear. “I’m sorry. Am I late?” Rowan’s assistant was efficient. Within minutes, the hospital security footage was playing on a tablet in my room. It showed Ivy lunging to grab my IV line in high definition, followed by her pathetic, theatrical dive to the floor. Blake couldn’t defend her anymore. Under Rowan’s icy glare, he was forced to choke out an apology. “You think that’s enough?” Rowan was sitting on the edge of my bed. He placed a hot water bottle on his right palm and raised an eyebrow at me, silently telling me to put my hand on it. I froze, unsure of what to do. He didn’t wait. He just took my uninjured hand and sandwiched it between the warm rubber and his own large, incredibly warm palm. Maybe it was the blood loss. My brain short-circuited, and I completely forgot to pull away. “Sierra…” Blake started, taking a step toward the bed. “Mr. Blake,” Rowan’s voice was soft, but it carried the lethal edge of a loaded gun. “You’re already injured. I suggest you tread carefully. It would be a real shame if you accidentally tripped and shattered every bone in your body. Don’t you agree?” Blake deflated like a popped balloon. He hung his head, awkwardly shuffling toward the door on his single crutch. As he hobbled past Rowan, Rowan’s foot shifted just an inch. A loud thud echoed through the room. Blake hit the floor face-first. I tugged nervously at the hem of Rowan’s immaculate blazer. “Rowan…” I whispered. Rowan let out a low, breathless chuckle. He leaned in, shifting his broad shoulders to block my view of Blake groveling on the floor. His face was mere inches from mine, his warm breath ghosting over my lips. “Can’t I do this, little Sierra?”

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1 When my ex-wife rushed into the emergency room with her childhood sweetheart, who had nothing more than a paper cut, I was in the middle of performing CPR on a patient in cardiac arrest. Seeing that I did not immediately drop everything to tend to her precious Tristan, Hannah threw a tantrum right there in the ER. She immediately filed a formal complaint under her real name, accusing me of medical malpractice and using a personal grudge to withhold treatment. I did not even bother to explain myself. I quietly took off my white coat and accepted the hospital’s suspension. Later that day, Hannah posted a photo of Tristan’s bandaged finger on social media, gloating for all to see. “Only a pathetic, petty man brings personal drama into the workplace. He deserves to lose his white coat. Let this be a lesson.” Five days later, Tristan’s aorta ruptured. He was clinging to life. In the entire state, I was the only surgeon capable of performing the highly specialized repair. On the phone, she was sobbing hysterically, begging me to save him. I cut her off, my voice entirely flat: “I am sorry, Hannah. I am currently suspended. I do not even have the authority to write a prescription. Find someone else.” I hung up on Hannah. The living room was dark, save for a single cigarette burning on the glass coffee table, its orange glow fading in and out. My phone lit up again, her name flashing frantically across the screen. I picked it up and shut it off completely. Then I reached into the drawer, pulled out an old burner phone, and slipped in a backup SIM card known only to a few colleagues in my department. Five minutes later, loud, heavy knocks shook my front door, followed by a violent kick. “Owen! Get your ass out here!” Through the thin wooden door, Hannah’s shrieks of rage mixed with another woman’s desperate crying. I stubbed out the cigarette, stood up, and pulled the door open. Four or five people stood in the dimly lit hallway. Hannah was soaked from the rain, her expensive silk trench coat clinging to her body, making her look utterly miserable. Next to her was Tristan’s mother, shivering and supported by two burly men. “You have got some nerve, Owen! How dare you hang up on me!” Hannah swung her arm, aiming a slap right at my face. I caught her wrist mid-air, blocking her effortlessly, and shoved her back. Her high heels slipped on the wet concrete of the hallway, and she tumbled to the ground. “Are you out of your mind, Owen?” one of Tristan’s distant cousins barked, stepping forward and shoving a finger in my face. “I swear to God, I will tear this piece of shit apartment down!” Tristan’s mother threw herself forward, grabbing my collar. “Dr. Owen, please! I am begging you! My boy is dying! Have some mercy and come to the hospital!” I looked down at her wrinkled hands. Five days ago, in that very ER, those same hands had violently grabbed my arm while I was holding the defibrillator paddles. She had screamed at me: My son is bleeding! Are you blind? “Mrs. Coleman,” I said, peeling her fingers off me. “You have the wrong man.” Hannah scrambled up from the wet floor, her face streaked with muddy water. She tore open her designer purse, pulled out a gold credit card, and flung it at my chest. It bounced off and fluttered to the floor. “There is a hundred thousand dollars on that card,” Hannah said, her eyes bloodshot as she glared at me. “I know you are bitter, Owen.” “That is enough to buy you a decent place. But you are performing this surgery tonight, whether you like it or not.” “Save Tristan, and everything in the past is wiped clean.” I looked down at the muddy plastic card. A hundred thousand dollars. Two years ago, as the hospital’s administrative director, Hannah had personally diverted the last two bags of emergency blood reserved for my little sister. She gave them to Tristan, who had a mild stomach bleed after a night of heavy drinking. Back then, she had looked at me and said, “Don’t be so petty, Owen. It is just your sister’s bad luck that she got caught in a pileup.” My sister Lily was only nineteen. She bled out on the operating table because there was no blood left. A human life, dismissed as “bad luck” in Hannah’s eyes. And now, Tristan’s life was worth a hundred thousand dollars. I stepped forward, grinding the heel of my boot right into the center of the card. “Take your money back,” I said, looking Hannah dead in the eye. “I no longer have a medical license.” 2 Hannah’s face darkened, her teeth grinding. “Don’t use that pathetic excuse on me! My uncle signed that suspension, and I can make him rip it up right now!” She fumbled with her phone and dialed Vice President Richard. “Uncle! Owen is refusing to go! Tell him!” She slapped the phone onto speakerphone and held it up to my face. Richard’s voice boomed through the speaker: “Owen, the board only suspended you to appease the patient’s family. As a doctor, you need to show some grace.” “Tristan is in critical condition. Get back to your department immediately.” “Pull off a clean surgery tonight, and I will have your suspension lifted by tomorrow morning.” I looked at Hannah’s bloodshot, desperate eyes. “Mr. Vice President, the official suspension period is two weeks,” I said calmly into the phone. “If I step into that operating room right now, it is illegal practice.” Richard’s voice rose sharply: “Owen, I am the Executive Vice President of this hospital! If I say you can operate, you can operate! The hospital will take full responsibility if anything goes sideways. Don’t push your luck!” “Fine,” I agreed, nodding slowly. “Send a formal, written directive to my apartment, bearing the hospital’s official seal and your personal signature, explicitly stating that you assume all legal and medical liability. Once it is in my hands, we will talk.” The line went dead silent. Asking a bureaucrat to sign his name to liability was harder than pulling teeth. I pushed her phone away and grabbed the door handle. “Until that document arrives, don’t bother me.” I slammed the heavy door shut. The cursing outside grew louder. Tristan’s burly cousin began kicking the door with brutal force. The old lock groaned under the impact. I walked back to the living room and took a sip of cold tea. The burner phone buzzed. It was Gavin, a senior resident in cardiothoracic surgery. “Owen, they are coming to your place with muscle! Don’t open the door!” “Tristan’s aortic dissection has torn all the way up to his brachiocephalic artery. It is a complete disaster.” “Hannah is losing her mind in the department, trying to force Dr. Bradley to operate.” “Dr. Bradley took one look at the angiogram and said even if we flew in the best specialists from Boston tonight, the survival rate is barely ten percent. He said you are the only surgeon in the state who can pull this off.” I typed back quickly: “Don’t let anyone in your team touch him.” Gavin replied almost instantly with a sigh emoji. “Dr. Bradley would not even let them open the OR doors. He already issued a critical condition notice.” “Hannah’s uncle is rushing to the ER now. I think they are planning to drag you back by force.” I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. By force? They really thought they could. Suddenly, the kicking stopped. It was replaced by the high-pitched whine of a power drill. They were drilling out my lock. Two minutes later, the deadbolt gave way with a loud crack. The door was kicked open. Several men in dark suits flooded into the small entryway, blocking any escape. Hannah walked in, stepping over the metal shavings on the floor. A sneer twisted her lips. “Did we really have to do this the hard way, Owen?” “I don’t care if we have to trash this dump of an apartment. Tristan does not have time.” She waved her hand, and two of the hired men grabbed my arms, locking them behind my back. Tristan’s mother rushed in, her eyes red as she shrieked at me. “You heartless bastard! If my son dies, I will make your life a living hell!” I did not struggle. “Using physical force to coerce a medical professional,” I said, looking at Hannah. “You sure know how to dig a grave for your uncle’s career.” Hannah sneered. “Get him to the car. Take him straight to the ER.” 3 I was hauled out of my apartment and shoved into the back of an SUV, sandwiched between two large men. Hannah sat in the passenger seat, frantically coordinating with the hospital over her phone. “Where is Dr. Bradley? Tell him to prep the blood bags! Is the anesthesiologist ready?” The charge nurse’s voice on the other end was trembling: “Hannah, Dr. Bradley said we cannot prep blood or administer anesthesia without a lead surgeon. It is against protocol.” “To hell with protocol! Owen is on his way. Tell them to get ready now!” Hannah slammed her phone shut and whipped around to glare at me. “Listen to me, Owen. If Tristan dies tonight, I will make sure you and everyone you care about pay for it.” I leaned back against the leather seat, watching the streetlights blur in the rain. Two years ago, Tristan was complaining of dizziness in a VIP ward after drinking himself into a mild stomach bleed. Hannah had bypassed all protocols to take the last two bags of O-negative blood from the bank, blood that was flagged for Lily, who was actively bleeding out from a car crash. I had stood in front of Hannah, pleading, arguing, screaming for my sister’s life. She had simply leaned back in her leather office chair, inspecting her manicure, and said, “Tristan is dizzy, Owen. Your sister is not going to drop dead this second. She can wait.” Wait. But Lily could not wait. And now, it was Tristan’s turn to wait. The SUV tore through the storm, pulling into the hospital’s ambulance bay fifteen minutes later. The hired men dragged me through the sliding glass doors and straight to the trauma bay of the ER. The double doors to the resuscitation room were shut. Dr. Bradley stood outside, drenched in sweat, arguing with a group of residents while holding a stack of scans. When he saw me being escorted in by force, he froze. “Owen? What on earth…” Hannah pushed past the crowd and stood in front of Dr. Bradley. “I brought him. Get the OR ready immediately!” Gavin pushed his way through the huddle. Seeing my arms pinned, his eyes flared. “What the hell are you doing? This is kidnapping!” Gavin lunged forward to push the guards away, but Hannah grabbed him by his scrubs. “You had better watch your tone, Gavin. If you want to play hero for him, I will have your medical career ended by tomorrow morning.” Gavin clenched his jaw, glaring at her with pure disgust. Dr. Bradley stepped in, his face dark. “Hannah, Owen is suspended. You filed the complaint yourself.” “He has no privileges, no authority to operate. If he touches a scalpel, the entire department will take the fall.” “I told you, my uncle is taking responsibility!” Hannah screamed, pointing a finger in Dr. Bradley’s face. “You have been here long enough to know what is important. If anything happens to Tristan, you are losing your job as department head!” Dr. Bradley’s chest heaved with anger, but he was speechless. Suddenly, the resuscitation room doors burst open. A nurse, her scrubs covered in blood, ran out. “His pressure is down to sixty! The dissection is tearing downward, and he has gone into V-fib!” Hearing this, Tristan’s mother gasped, her eyes rolling back as she fainted onto the floor. The hallway erupted into chaos. Hannah’s face went white. She lunged at me, grabbing my collar so hard her fingernails dug into my neck. “Do you hear that? Go scrub in! Now!” I let her claw at me, my eyes fixed on the half-open door of the resuscitation room. Five days ago, in this exact lobby. I was in the middle of administering a shock to an elderly patient in cardiac arrest. Hannah had rushed in because Tristan had nicked his finger while peeling an apple. She had literally yanked the plug of my defibrillator out of the wall. “He is just an old man, but Tristan is bleeding!” she had screamed. The old man died right there. Today, fate was playing the exact same joke on Tristan. “Owen!” Seeing me motionless, Hannah let go of my collar, reached into her bag, and slapped a document against my chest. I looked down. It was an eviction and disposal notice for Lily’s ashes from the hospital columbarium. After my sister passed, my parents could not bear the grief and passed away shortly after. I was left alone, keeping Lily’s ashes in the hospital’s private memorial niche while I saved up for a proper burial plot. Since Hannah ran administration and logistics, she had intercepted the renewal notice. “Still refuse to operate?” She sneered, her face twisted in malice, holding the paper inches from my nose. “The lease expired today. You thought keeping your sister’s ashes here made them safe?” “Let me remind you, my department oversees the grounds. One word from me, and since you have not renewed, your precious sister gets cleared out.” She crumpled the paper in her fist. “If you don’t get into that OR right now, I will have her ashes thrown into the biohazard bin and sent straight to the incinerator!” 4 The surrounding doctors and nurses gasped in horror. Gavin cursed aloud: “Are you even human, Hannah?” The two hired guards immediately pinned Gavin against the wall. My eyes burned red. I stared at the stamped notice, my hands clenching into tight fists at my sides. “Well?” she hissed, her eyes dripping with venom. “What is it going to be, Doctor? Your precious rules, or your sister’s final remains?” Just then, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Richard, the Vice President, arrived with several administrators. “Owen!” Richard roared before he even reached us. “This is an emergency override! Scrub in and operate immediately! I, as the Executive Vice President, will take full responsibility!” I looked at him and let out a cold laugh, standing perfectly still. “Uncle, Tristan is dying!” Hannah shrieked. Richard grit his teeth and turned to the reception desk. “Give me a pen and paper!” Right there on the counter, he scribbled an emergency authorization, stamped it with his personal seal, and shoved it in front of me. It read: In light of the patient’s critical condition, Dr. Owen is authorized to perform emergency surgery. All clinical outcomes are to be managed by the surgical team. I looked at the paper and smiled. A bureaucrat is always a bureaucrat. Even pushed to the edge, he was still playing word games. If the surgery succeeded, his niece’s lover lived, and he would take the credit for a miraculous save. If it failed, I was practicing without a license, and the surgical team would take the fall. Richard waved at the guards. “What are you waiting for? Put the sterile gown on him and get him into the OR!” The two men grabbed a spare sterile gown from the desk and tried to force it onto me. Dr. Bradley stepped forward to stop them, but Richard shoved him back. “Stay out of this, Bradley!” Richard barked. I stood there, letting the gown hang loose from one shoulder. I turned my gaze to the back of the reception desk, where a half-empty bottle of high-proof whiskey sat. Some drunk patient must have had it confiscated earlier. Under the watchful eyes of everyone in the hallway, I broke free from the guards’ grip and grabbed the bottle. I twisted the cap off. Hannah froze. “What are you doing?” Richard frowned. “Go wash your hands and sterilize! Stop wasting time!” I ignored them, raising the bottle to my lips.

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1 My wife is severely obsessive-compulsive about time. In our three years of marriage, our lives have been calculated down to the second. Just because I was a minute late delivering a forgotten document to her office, she ordered me to stand outside the building and reflect on my mistake. I waited in sub-zero temperatures for three hours, only to end up in the hospital with a raging fever, where I stumbled upon her. She was sitting beside a hospital bed, fussing over a young man with a tiny scratch on his knee. This was the son of her “key business partner,” the one she claimed she had to look after. I turned and left. The next day, as she rushed to a crucial bidding meeting, I drove straight into a traffic bottleneck and parked. “Wait as long as you like,” I said. “Isn’t your time cheap anyway?” She said nothing, but the young heir beside her snapped. “Gavin, you’re just Fiona’s driver. You have no idea how important this bid is!” “Letting your petty jealousy ruin her business is pathetic.” I casually lit a cigarette. “Your partnership with Summit is terminated.” Fiona, who always maintained a perfect, elegant public image, lost her composure, stepping out of the car to slam her hand against my window. “Gavin Geller, you have no right to interfere with my business!” I let out a cold laugh. There is no need to keep a woman who does not know her place. I will simply withdraw all my anonymous financial support and find a woman who actually knows how to be grateful. At 4:07 AM, Fiona’s fingertip tapped lightly on my forehead. This was the optimal wake-up time for a husband she had calculated. It was exactly eighteen minutes before she got out of bed, leaving me just enough time to prep her breakfast so it was served at precisely forty-two degrees Celsius. She had severe time-related OCD. In our three years of marriage, seventeen atomic clocks hung throughout our house, calibrated to zero-point-three seconds of accuracy. A “Husband’s Schedule” was taped to the refrigerator. From how many centimeters of toothpaste to squeeze onto her brush, to exactly how many seconds we should hug before she left, everything was highlighted in red. I used to think this was the self-discipline of a successful female entrepreneur. Until 9:21 AM today, when she called me. “Gavin, bring File G-7 to Meridian Tower. Be there at ten sharp.” “A minute early, I’ll wait. A minute late, you stand and wait.” Outside, a blizzard was howling, the temperature dropping to fifteen below. I grabbed the file and bolted out the door. Following her rules, I did not even grab a heavy coat. As soon as I cleared the neighborhood, traffic ground to a halt. A jackknifed semi had blocked the entire intersection, paralyzing the main road. I ran half a mile through the blinding snow, holding the file to my chest. When I reached the lobby of Meridian Tower, the digital clock flashed 10:01. Fiona stepped out of the revolving doors, completely ignoring me, and reached her hand out to her assistant. Then, she finally spared me a cold glance. “Reflect on your mistake right here, Gavin. You leave when I leave.” “Fiona, it’s fifteen below out here.” “Even if it were fifty below, it is the price of your tardiness.” She walked away. I stood outside that building for three hours. First, my toes lost feeling. Then my fingers, ears, and the tip of my nose. Eventually, the line between standing and floating blurred. My throat burned, and every cough felt like a minor explosion in my chest. My buddy, Nate, happened to drive past the business district. Seeing me shivering violently under a streetlight, he immediately pulled over and dragged me into his car. “Gavin, are you out of your mind?!” I could not speak. I just laughed weakly. He rushed me to St. Jude’s Hospital. The ER doctor took my temperature and snapped, “103.6! Another thirty minutes, and you’d be looking at severe pneumonia!” After three hours on an IV drip, my fever broke to 99.5. I wrapped my down jacket tightly around myself and walked toward the inpatient wing. As I passed the third floor, I spotted a familiar silhouette. Room 302’s door was cracked open. Fiona’s back was to the door. She was sitting by the bedside, gently blowing on a spoonful of soup. In the bed lay a man in his early twenties. A tiny band-aid sat on his knee. A mere scrape. Yet he was staying in a private VIP suite. “Careful, it’s hot,” her voice was as gentle as a feather. In three years of marriage, she had never used that tone with me. “Fiona,” the boy whined, tugging at her sleeve. “Do you still have to deliver that bid today?” “No. I had the driver do it.” When she said “driver,” there was not a single second of hesitation. I stepped back, leaning my cold forehead against the hospital wall. Nate caught up to me, looked inside, and gasped. “Is that… Zach? Arthur Coleman’s son?” I closed my eyes. Zachary. The boy she called “the poor, motherless son of a business partner who needs extra care.” Outside the window, the snow kept falling. I turned and walked away. Nate whispered, “Gavin, do you want me to have the Kingsley Group intervene?” “Not yet.” “Why?” “I want to see how far Fiona will play this farce when she has no idea who I really am.” Tomorrow morning at ten, Fiona was scheduled to attend the Metropolis Center for the Metropolis Landmark bidding meeting. An 1.8 billion dollar contract. The prize she had been clawing for all year. She demanded I have the car at the south gate at precisely 9:45 AM. To ensure a thirty-second window of accuracy, she had forced me to practice driving the route seven times over the past week. The next morning at nine sharp, Fiona walked out of her building. She had not come home last night, but she looked immaculate. “I redesigned the route,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Go to 32 Michigan Avenue first. We’re picking up Zach.” My hands tightened on the wheel. “Michigan Avenue? That’s the opposite direction. Going there and then to the Metropolis Center will add at least forty minutes.” “Just do what I say,” she snapped, finally looking at me. “Zachary is joining us today.” “Joining us?” I chuckled. “There are only five pre-qualified bidders: Summit, Apex, Horizon, Crest, and Kingsley. Coleman Group isn’t on the list.” “Their credentials don’t even meet the baseline requirement for a supplier on this project.” Fiona’s expression hardened. “Gavin,” she said coldly. “Since when does a driver analyze my bids?” “I invited Zachary to observe. Is there a problem?” Coleman Group had absolutely nothing to do with the Metropolis project. I knew this better than anyone. But she wanted to bring him anyway. Not for business, but to show everyone who the charming young man beside the great CEO Fiona Campbell was. “Fine,” I said, starting the ignition. “Michigan Avenue it is.” At 9:21 AM, we stopped outside 32 Michigan Avenue. Zachary was already waiting, dressed in a tailored suit, his hair slicked back. He opened the back door and slid in. “Fiona, how is Driver Gavin so punctual today?” Fiona ignored him. I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, shifted gears, and drove. At 9:38 AM, as we approached a narrow construction lane, I slammed on the brakes and parked the car directly across the entrance to the emergency lane. The cars behind us erupted into a chorus of angry honking. “Gavin!” Fiona’s voice pitched high. “What are you doing?!” “Fender bender ahead,” I said, lighting a cigarette. “We wait.” She checked her GPS. The route was completely clear. “Have you lost your mind, Gavin?!” “Fiona,” I exhaled a puff of smoke, “didn’t you say time was precious? Today, we take our time.” “After all, your assistant Zach wants to see you win the bid, doesn’t he?” Zachary leaned forward from the backseat. “Gavin, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how important this bid is for Fiona today?” I turned to look at him. “Zach, why are you even going to Metropolis Center today?” “Coleman Group isn’t one of the five bidders. You don’t even meet the vendor threshold.” “Are you going as her mascot?” Zachary’s face went white. “Mind your own business!” “I am minding it, on Fiona’s behalf,” I said, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “And as of today, your partnership with Summit is terminated.” Zachary let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Who the hell do you think you are? A driver making decisions for the CEO of Summit Enterprises?” Fiona flung her door open and marched over to my window, slamming her palm against the glass. “Gavin! Get out of the car!” I rolled the window down. “Who the hell do you think you are to terminate my partnerships?!” her voice was trembling with rage. “The annual trade volume between Coleman and Summit is 160 million! Can you afford that loss?!” “You are nothing but a driver who shuttles me back and forth!” She finally screamed the words she had kept bottled up. The blaring horns of the cars behind us echoed in the air. Passersby stared. The refined, elegant image Fiona carefully cultivated for the media lay shattered on the asphalt. I stubbed out my cigarette. “Fiona, you are going to be late.” “Mr. Coleman.” Zachary stepped out and held Fiona’s arm. “Fiona, don’t waste your breath on him! We’ll hail a cab. We can still make it!” Fiona glared at me one last time. “Let’s go!” The two of them flagged down a taxi and sped away. I watched them disappear, the final thread of hesitation in my heart snapping. I started the engine and drove off the ramp. I wanted to witness her downfall with my own eyes. At 10:13 AM, Fiona pushed open the doors of the bidding hall. She was late by exactly thirteen minutes. The presenter paused, and all the evaluation experts turned their heads in unison. In that moment, she was no longer the brilliant rising star of the business community. She was an unprofessional latecomer who could not even manage basic punctuality. I did not enter the hall. I sat in the VIP lounge on the thirty-sixth floor, listening to Nate’s live audio feed. “Gavin, she tried to explain the delay, but the board didn’t buy it.” “Summit’s presentation time was cut to eight minutes.” “Apex’s presentation was perfect. They bid 1.68 billion.” “It’s over. Apex won the contract.” I pulled up my encrypted messaging app. My directive from last night sat quietly on the screen: “Execute the plan. Cap the bid at 1.68 billion. She leaves empty-handed today.” Fiona had no idea. Of the five pre-qualified bidders today, three were shell companies I had quietly established over the past three years. Nested through seven layers of holding companies, the ultimate owner was an offshore trust. She could investigate for a lifetime and never trace it back to me. She also did not know that the anonymous investor who injected twenty million into Summit three years ago, rescuing her from bankruptcy and placing her on the city’s under-forty list, was me. The very man she treated like a chauffeur, whose life she regulated down to the second. At 11:47 AM, the doors of the bidding hall opened. Fiona walked out first, her face as pale as paper. Zachary rushed to her side. “Fiona! How did it go?!” She ignored him, walking straight toward me and stopping. “Gavin,” her voice shook violently. “Apex bid 1.68 billion, which is twenty million below our cost margin. They won.” “Do you know why?” Her eyes began to redden. “Because I was thirteen minutes late.” “The board’s exact words: If Director Fiona Campbell cannot even manage basic punctuality, how can we trust Summit to deliver an 1.8 billion dollar project on schedule?” She glared at me. “You did this on purpose. You blocked me on the highway. You made me late. You ruined this bid.” Zachary quickly stepped in, rubbing her back and acting comforting. “Fiona! I told you! That driver did this on purpose!” “You were so good to him! You made sure his breakfast was exactly forty-two degrees, you made schedules for him, and this is how the snake repays you!” “How is Summit going to make up for an 1.8 billion dollar loss? How are we going to face the shareholders?” Fiona’s tears began to fall. In three years of marriage, it was the first time I had ever seen her cry. “Gavin, did you do this on purpose?” I looked at her tear-streaked face. The face that had looked down at me so coldly every single morning over a stopwatch. I smiled. “What if I did? What if I didn’t?” I pulled a document from my breast pocket and slapped it onto the glass coffee table. “Divorce papers. I had my lawyer draft them last night.” “I was hesitating this morning, but I’m not anymore.” Fiona froze. “You…” “How much money you lost today is none of my business. That 1.8 billion has nothing to do with me.” “I want a divorce. Right here, right now.” “I don’t want a dime. You keep the house, the car. I’m leaving with nothing.” Zachary let out a mocking laugh. “Driver Gavin, you cost Fiona 1.8 billion and now you’re just going to pack your bags and run?” “Fiona, don’t sign! He’s trying to escape liability!” Zachary slipped his hand around Fiona’s waist. “Fiona, this man is dangerous. If he had the nerve to ruin your bid today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow?” “I should stay with you tonight. It’s not safe for you to be alone.” “What if he regrets signing and tries to take revenge? What if he thinks he has nothing to lose and tries to extort you?” “I need to protect you.” I said nothing. I just looked at Zachary’s hand resting on Fiona’s waist. On his thumb, he wore a jade ring. The exact same ring Fiona had told me she bought as a “small souvenir for a girlfriend” during her business trip last month. Fiona looked at me, expecting me to rage, to plead, to argue. But I just nodded slowly. “Fine. Since Zach is so concerned about your safety, let him go home with you. Sign the papers first.” Zachary urged her, “Fiona, sign it! The sooner we cut ties with this parasite, the better! I’ll take you to the courthouse tomorrow morning!” Fiona grabbed the pen. The tip hovered over the paper for three agonizing seconds. She looked up at me one last time. There was a flicker of panic, a touch of hesitation, and perhaps a sliver of regret. But only a sliver. The next second, she grit her teeth and scribbled her name. The ink was still wet as Zachary snatched the folder. “Signed! Fiona, let’s go!” Fiona slipped the papers into her bag. “Gavin. Nine tomorrow morning, at the courthouse.” “According to your punctuality rule, if you are a single second late, I will make sure you never get this divorce.” She turned to leave. Zachary leaned in close to her ear. “Fiona, I’ll take care of you tonight. Driver, assistant, whatever you need me to be.” He paused, looking back at me with a smirk. “After all, Gavin’s position is officially open starting tonight.” The two of them walked toward the elevators. Fiona never looked back. In that moment, the anger in my chest burned to its absolute peak. But a second later, I smiled. I pulled my phone out and opened my encrypted messaging app. To: Command Center. I typed the first message: “Initiate a full financial audit and liquidation of Summit Enterprises.” “Recall the twenty million anonymous investment from three years ago as a private high-interest loan, principal plus interest.” “Inform all suppliers and vendors by midnight tonight: Fiona Campbell is no longer trustworthy.” Send. An instant reply came back: “Understood, sir.” I stared at the closed elevator doors and typed the second line: “And don’t forget the Coleman Group. Tear them down together.” “The time for reckoning has come!”

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1 I’ve been a lawyer for eight years. I only represent blue-collar workers, and my record is flawless: a hundred percent success rate. Recently, a major publicly traded corporation, currently drowning in a massive class-action lawsuit from its employees, dumped a three-million-dollar retainer on my desk. They were begging me to defend them. Twenty years ago, I faced this exact company in court. Back then, my dad was forced to work three days and three nights straight. His heart gave out from extreme exhaustion, landing him in the ICU. The company flatly refused to cover it as a workplace injury. My family couldn’t afford the astronomical medical bills, and we had to watch him die. When we tried to sue, the CEO used his massive PR machine to smear us in the media. The harassment drove my mother to jump from our apartment building. She died right in front of my eyes. Yet the public blamed us, calling us greedy scammers, while the CEO stood under the camera lights, looking pristine and untouchable. From that day on, I swore I’d clear my family’s name. After law school, I clawed my way up to become the kind of attorney that makes predatory bosses sweat through their expensive suits. My office walls were covered in framed letters of appreciation from families I had saved. So when my managing partner dropped the corporate retainer in front of me, I looked at the familiar logo on the file and smiled. “Looks like I’m about to add another win to my record.” Douglas, my managing partner, was already daydreaming about whether to buy a new Mercedes or a Porsche. When my words finally registered, his face went rigid. “This is three million dollars, Anya! I’ll only take a cut of five hundred thousand, and the rest is yours! You can’t keep being this stubborn because of what happened to your father. You bust your ass for these workers and make pennies. You think I run a charity here?” Douglas had been good to me. When I was a fresh graduate and everyone else shut their doors, he was the only one who gave me a shot. I lowered my head and offered a quiet apology. He only grew more frantic. “Everyone knows you’re a righteous, brilliant lawyer. If you lose just this once, nobody is going to judge you. Honestly, with your talent, if you hadn’t pissed off half the billionaires in the city, you’d be living in a mansion by now. Just look at this as your ticket out of the dirt, alright?” I remembered all the times Douglas had cleaned up my messes. The guilt weighed heavily on me. “I’m handing in my resignation. This case won’t touch the firm.” Douglas nearly lost his mind. “There are thousands of corrupt executives out there, Anya! Do you honestly think you can sue them all by yourself? Even if you win this class-action suit for the workers, what then? They’ll get maybe three hundred thousand dollars each! Why not take the three million? You can quietly donate a chunk of your fee to the victims’ families for funeral costs. Everybody wins!” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice steady. “It’s not about the money.” He yanked at his tie, his face flushed with frustration. “You’re a defense attorney, Anya, not a federal prosecutor! Determining guilt is their job. The world isn’t black and white. It’s about maximizing utility! Those three dead factory workers left behind parents and children. How does dragging this lawsuit out for years help them?” Seeing my resolve remain unshaken, Douglas let out a long, heavy sigh, as if making a monumental sacrifice. “Look, I know how pigheaded you are. If you don’t want to play ball, just call in sick and sit this one out. I promise you, once we secure this corporate payout, I’ll personally fund your little pro-bono crusade for the rest of the year.” A vivid memory flashed in my mind. Twenty years ago in that courtroom, the public defender assigned to my father’s case had worn the exact same expression. Your dad didn’t drop dead on the factory floor, kid. Legally, it’s a nightmare to prove it was overwork. Besides, the company offered five thousand for funeral costs. That’s more than fair. Is that all a human life was? A sum to be calculated, negotiated, and settled? If we had won that case back then, perhaps these three new families wouldn’t be mourning their loved ones today. I forced down the tears stinging the back of my throat. “I’m not changing my mind. No matter how dark this road gets, I’m walking it to the end.” I owed it to those families. And I owed it to the terrified, helpless little girl I used to be. Douglas knew there was no swaying me. He stopped pushing. “Have it your way. Go get the files from Jeff. If this blows up in your face, the firm is washing its hands of you.” He waved off my thanks and picked up his phone to call the corporate client. Before I could finish gathering the files, my phone rang with an unknown number. Even after twenty years, the voice on the other end was instantly recognizable, though slightly raspy with age. “Ah, Counselor. Is the price not right? I admire your talent, Anya. Play ball with me, and I’ll hand you whatever prestige, power, or position you want on a silver platter.” That patronizing, arrogant tone made my stomach turn. “With all your billions, Donald Garrison, why can’t you just upgrade the safety equipment in your factories? Why can’t you just pay the victims’ families what they deserve?” Donald let out a cold, mocking laugh. “How much do you honestly think their lives are worth? Why would I waste my capital on them? You’ve handled enough of these cases to know the truth. Nobody gives a damn when ants get stepped on.” It was the exact same script. Twenty years ago, I had burst into his office, demanding to know why he wouldn’t pay for my father’s ICU bills. His eyes had been filled with nothing but mockery. Your dad was a replaceable gear, kid. Why would I waste precious resources on him? He was a loser when he was alive, and he’s worth even less dead. If you want someone to blame, blame your father for not working hard enough and becoming a burden to his family. Yet, in front of the reporters’ cameras, he had shed crocodile tears, talking about how much he valued his staff and how devastated he was by the loss of such a dedicated employee. I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my skin. “Is your blood somehow blue, Donald? If you look down on your workers so much, where do you get the nerve to steal the fruits of their labor?” His chuckle grew louder, dripping with condescension. “No wonder you’re still broke after all these years. Has pitying the poor ever paid your mortgage? You know who we are. Aligning yourself with us is your only ticket to the upper class. I’ll give you thirty minutes to think about it. I’ll even throw in another million as a gesture of friendship. Otherwise…” Before he could finish his threat, I cut him off. “You’re not in my league.” Back then, Garrison Industries was just a rising mid-sized firm. My dad was their top salesman, pulling in millions in net profit for them every single month. Yet his salary barely covered our rent. When I clutched my father’s ashes, screaming that I would make Donald Garrison pay, the man’s smug grin had been intolerable. Sweetheart, people of your class don’t get to make demands. Today, I handed those exact words back to him. He was so stunned by the rejection that before he could utter a single curse, I hung up. A second letter of a collective groan echoed through the office. “What the hell? Are you kidding me? Our firm’s state registry access just got suspended! We can’t file any court documents!” Douglas emerged from his office, his face pale and grim, looking at me with a heavy silence. “Garrison Industries isn’t a company you play with, Anya. He has an only son, Dominic, and he’ll spend every dime he has to protect him.” Tyler, our new associate, stared with wide eyes. “Wait, the billionaire Garrisons? I heard they have friends in high places everywhere. Didn’t they drive a rival firm’s owner and his family to leap off a building last year?” Richard, a veteran attorney who had worked with me for five years, grabbed my hands, his eyes red. “Anya, I’ve always backed your crusades. But this time, you’re throwing all of us into the fire! My wife just had our baby, and I’ve got a massive mortgage to pay. I can’t lose my license!” Other voices chimed in around the room. “I spent five years studying to pass the bar. I’m the only lawyer in my family…” “My mom is in the hospital, and I still haven’t cleared her surgical bills…” Our firm was small, with only five or six attorneys. Every single one of them came from the exact type of ordinary, hard-working background that Donald Garrison despised. Twenty years had passed, and the man had only grown more ruthless. Douglas squeezed my shoulder, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Even if you win this trial, Anya, that old wolf has a dozen ways to keep his son out of prison and ensure the victims’ families never see a dime. But the colleagues you work with every single day? Their lives will be utterly destroyed.” I grit my teeth, but before I could speak, the glass doors of our office were violently shoved open. Several burly security guards in dark suits filed in, followed by Donald Garrison. He looked around the modest office with absolute disdain, his sharp eyes finally locking onto me. His expression was one of mild irritation, like a king forced to deal with a minor pest. After twenty years, the billionaire was graying and wrinkled, but those cold, calculating eyes remained entirely unchanged. He was exponentially wealthier now, his vintage watch and tailored Italian suit practically screaming old money. I took a step forward, meeting his gaze. “So you’re the attorney trying to drag my company through the mud?” He curled his lip in a patronizing smirk. “I heard you have a flawless record. I only offered you that retainer because I respect competence. This was your one ticket out of mediocrity, girl.” His son, Dominic, trailed behind him, casually lighting a cigarette. “Dad, why are you even talking to this nobody? We own half the city. People beg for our crumbs. Why did we even bother coming here? If she actually wants to try us in court, I’ll personally show her what a real defeat looks like.” It was pathetic. A rotten tree could only yield bitter fruit. A ruthless narcissist had raised an even worse successor. I stared at Dominic’s arrogant face, so similar to his father’s. “Then you’d better prepare your defense, because you’re the one who is going to lose.” Having his pride wounded in front of his father, Dominic snapped. He dropped his cigarette, stomped it out, and pointed a finger directly at my face. “Who the hell do you think you are? You got lucky on a few minor wage disputes and suddenly you think you’re in our league?” Donald raised a hand, silencing his son, though his face remained locked in a tight, artificial smile. “Anya, I’ve looked at your financials. You make maybe a hundred and fifty thousand a year, and you’re carrying credit card debt. I am offering you five million dollars. Distribute a bit of that to your colleagues, and you can retire comfortably today. People in your profession want two things: wealth and prestige. That’s why you represent those worthless factory workers, isn’t it? Take my offer, and I’ll have my media outlets paint you as a brilliant, cooperative legal mind. You’ll be famous overnight. Your future retainers will start at seven figures.” He was absolutely certain I would bend. Which was why his smile turned to stone the moment I whispered, “No.” “Of course, an orphan wouldn’t know any better,” Dominic sneered. “No parents to teach you how the world works. Rejecting a gold mine like this… you’re destined to die in the gutter.” I remembered my father’s words from when I was a little girl. Anya, always remember that every human being is born equal. Walk with your head high. Never look down on anyone, and never let anyone look down on you. A sudden surge of rage washed over me. This bastard had no right to speak of my parents. “I have parents. They were killed by a parasitic corporate thief!” Donald raised an eyebrow, a flicker of cold amusement passing over his features. “Ah, so that’s why you have this little obsession. Well, your parents deserved what they got. If they had any talent, they would have been the ones running a company. Why did they die when everyone else survived? They were useless, and they raised a useless daughter. Honestly, clearing people like that out of the system just reduces the burden on society.” My nails cut deep into my palms. My chest felt like it was going to burst. “Shut your mouth!” Dominic smirked, matching his father’s chilling arrogance. “Is he wrong? You working-class losers are always whining about evil bosses. The truth is, you’re weak, lazy, and can’t handle pressure. When you die, it’s just natural selection.” He stepped closer, looking at me with a sickening smile. “If you ask me, you should go join them in the ground. Weak genes like yours shouldn’t be passed down anyway. You’re just waste.” If Richard and Tyler hadn’t grabbed my arms, my fist would have shattered Dominic’s jaw. Donald cleared his throat, delivering his final ultimatum. “There’s no need to bicker over details. Accept the offer, rewrite your destiny, and give your future children a life of luxury. Your dead parents might actually rest in peace knowing their bloodline finally amounted to something.” He paused, his cold gaze sweeping over my trembling, silent colleagues. “Or, you can cling to your little crusade. But if you do, understand this: every single person associated with you, your colleagues, your friends, will pay the price. I will ruin them all.” Douglas was dripping with cold sweat, pulling me aside, his voice cracking as he whispered, “Anya, please. I’m begging you. We’re a tiny firm. We can’t survive this.” I closed my eyes, my breathing heavy, remaining silent. Donald’s patience finally evaporated. “Fine. If you want to do this the hard way, so be it.” He turned to his assistant. “Have their state credentials pulled immediately. Ensure none of these people ever work in the legal field again.” Panicked cries erupted in the office. The supportive glances of my colleagues instantly curdled into resentment. “Anya, do you really need to destroy our families to satisfy your ego?” “If you were actually as powerful as you think, you wouldn’t be stuck in a small firm like this! Why do you have to play the hero at our expense?” Douglas looked at me, his eyes bloodshot with rage and despair. “I know you want justice for the victims, Anya. But are your colleagues just collateral damage to you? Do you feel even a shred of remorse for what you’re doing to us?” I had seen this exact scene twenty years ago. The single journalist who had agreed to write about my father’s death was threatened by Donald Garrison. Her files were destroyed, and our relatives blamed us for dragging them into the mess. My mother, crushed by the isolation, had given up. But I wouldn’t. I had spent twenty years preparing for this fight. I was not going to break. Donald looked thoroughly pleased with the chaos he had sown. He tipped his chin at me with a smug, cruel smile. “Anya, understand your place. I offered you a hand, but that doesn’t mean you’re important. At the end of the day, you’re just a dog. If you won’t heel, I’ll have to put you down.” The heavy office doors opened again. This time, state investigators in dark windbreakers entered. “Anya Stone, you are under arrest for manufacturing fraudulent evidence and attempted extortion. Your license to practice law is hereby suspended pending trial.” Dominic let out a mocking whistle, looking at my colleagues. “If the rest of you want to avoid sharing her cell, you know exactly what to do.” Douglas glanced at me once before quickly lowering his eyes. The others couldn’t even look me in the face. A quiet voice mumbled, “We’re sorry, Anya. We don’t have a choice.” When questioned by the investigators, my colleagues used their deep legal knowledge to carefully tailor their statements, subtly shifting the blame onto me to save themselves. I was taken to a holding cell. Before leaving the station, Donald looked at my file, a brief flicker of curiosity on his face. “You’ve been remarkably persistent. You aren’t by any chance the daughter of one of my old factory hands, are you?” He shrugged a moment later, indifferent. “Well, I don’t remember. They’re all just faceless poor people anyway.” The destruction of my family was as trivial to him as a passing rainstorm. I glared at him through the bars, my blood boiling. “You and your son are going to burn for this!” He paused, then burst into a hearty laugh. “Every loser who fails to extort me says the exact same thing. But my family has enough wealth to last generations. You should worry about where you’re spending the next ten years, counselor.” He unleashed his media empire on me. Overnight, skewed reports painted me as a corrupt attorney who preyed on vulnerable corporations through fraudulent lawsuits. Douglas visited me once, only to hand me my formal termination papers. He stammered, looking at the floor. “They cleared out your office, Anya. I have a family to feed, so…” “It’s fine,” I cut in gently. “I understand.” I didn’t hate them. They were innocent people trapped in a giant’s path. While I was detained, the families of the factory workers formally withdrew their representation. “The dead are gone, but we still have to survive. We can’t fight them anymore,” they told the press. “The lawyer is locked in a cell. How can she help us? We’d rather take the fifty-thousand-dollar settlement.” But one family remained. A fifteen-year-old girl named Lily. She stood outside the visitor’s partition, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “Anya, their lawyers keep coming to my house, threatening to evict us. I’m so scared. But I can’t let them pretend my mom’s death didn’t matter…” Looking at her, I saw myself twenty years ago. “Don’t be afraid, Lily,” I whispered, pressing my hand to the glass. “I promise you, I will make them pay.” The detective handling my case quietly warned me that I was likely looking at a three-year sentence. Everyone told me to plead out. Lily was so terrified by the constant harassment that she stopped going to school, on the verge of breaking. The night before she was set to sign the settlement agreement, the court unexpectedly expedited my hearing, scheduling it for the very next morning. I was escorted into the courtroom in handcuffs. Donald Garrison sat in the gallery, wearing an expression of absolute triumph. “I wanted to be here in person to watch you break,” he whispered as I walked past. I remained silent. Donald and Dominic behaved with supreme confidence throughout the opening remarks. Everyone in the room assumed the trial was a mere formality before my conviction. Until the prosecutor activated the large presentation screen to display the state’s exhibits. Donald’s smug grin vanished, his mouth hanging open as he froze in his seat. “This is impossible!”

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“And they lived happily ever after.” That was how my story was supposed to end. Like hell we did. The bastard cheated on me. Then he ran my damn company into the ground. On top of that, these annoying, glowing comments have been floating in front of my eyes lately, mocking me day in and day out. [Aww, he doesn’t want you anymore. Poor female lead~] [The goddess on a pedestal turned into a chore in the end~] [Dean: The legendary King of Backstabbing.] I scoffed, turned around, and stabbed Dean to death. 01 When the blade sank in, Dean was still trying to force me to sign. One of his hands pressed down on the transfer agreement, while the other shielded Sienna behind him. Sienna, wearing my necklace, stood behind him. Her eyes welled with tears instantly. “Anna, I swear I never wanted to take anything from you.” Dean frowned. “Anna, don’t scare her.” I glanced at the documents spread across the desk. Equity transfer. Debt confirmation. Change of corporate representative. Every page was beautifully drafted, a perfect execution of my ruin. Three years ago, the epilogue ended at our wedding. He had knelt in the pouring rain, begging for my hand. Eyes red, he had sworn: “Anna, I will love you and only you for the rest of my life.” The comments had wept back then. [He finally realized his mistake.] [Hurry up and take him back, girl!] [The perfect ending. They’re going to be so happy.] I took him back. I married him. I gave him executive control over half the company. I stood before the board of directors and declared that Dean was not only my husband but the person I trusted most in the world. And now, he had used that trust to bleed my company dry. Sienna took a step forward, her voice tiny and sweet. “Anna, Dean is only doing this for your own good.” I looked at the necklace around her throat. Dean had given it to me on our first anniversary. He said the diamond was flawless, just like me. Now it hung on Sienna, sparkling mockingly. The comments began to scroll again. [Why isn’t she signing already?] [Who else does she even have besides Dean now?] [She’s just acting tough. She’ll end up crying and begging him anyway.] I picked up the heavy brass letter opener from the desk. Dean finally looked at me, his voice dropping into a stern warning. “Anna. Stop throwing a tantrum.” I walked over. Sienna’s scream tore through the room as the blade plunged straight into Dean’s chest. He looked down at it, dazed, as if his brain couldn’t process the sight. He grabbed my wrist, dark blood spilling over his fingers. “Anna…” I leaned close to his ear. “Shh.” Dean collapsed, his blood pooling and staining the hem of my shoes. Sienna fell to her knees, sobbing so hard her makeup smeared. The comments paused for a fraction of a second. [???] [She actually stabbed him?!] [The male lead can’t die!] Sirens wailed in the distance. I sat back down in my leather chair, watching Dean’s blood slowly seep into the edges of the transfer agreement. Three minutes later, the blood on the floor shifted. It began to flow backward. Not soaking into the carpet, but reversing, defying gravity, trickling back into Dean’s chest. Sienna’s jaw hung open, her screams choking in her throat. The shattered glass pieces of a fallen cup flew back together. The scattered documents floated off the floor and stacked neatly back on the desk. The wound on Dean’s chest sealed shut. Everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was standing in my walk-in closet. My phone screen lit up. The date had rolled back three days. Dean hadn’t brought Sienna to force me to sign the papers yet. The sound of running water came from the bathroom. On the vanity sat a strange diamond earring. I picked it up. It was a paved diamond stud, from the same luxury brand as the necklace Dean would later give to Sienna. The comments slowly floated back into view. [Thank goodness the story corrected itself.] [Stop trying to murder the male lead!] [Just be good this time. Ask him nicely whose earring this is.] The bathroom door opened. Dean stepped out, drying his hair with a towel. He froze for a second when he saw me standing by the vanity. “Anna?” I opened my palm. “Whose is this?” He glanced at it, his expression instantly smoothing over. “A client’s wife must have dropped it.” He walked toward me, reaching out to take it. “You’ve been working too hard lately. Don’t overthink things.” I let go. The earring clattered onto the marble floor. Dean bent down to pick it up. I grabbed the heavy crystal vase from the counter and slammed it against the back of his head. The glass shattered, exploding the room with the cloying scent of fresh lilies. Dean collapsed at my feet, his hand still clutching the earring. Blood began to seep through his dark hair. I stared at the digital clock on the wall. Three minutes. It was always three minutes. The world reset. 02 When I opened my eyes again, the calendar had jumped back two weeks. I was sitting in the company conference room. Dean was standing in front of the projector screen, introducing our new brand consultant. Sienna, dressed in a pristine white dress, stood beside him, smiling at me. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Cameli. I look forward to working with you.” Dean’s gaze when he looked at her was incredibly soft, as if he were afraid to break a delicate spell. Back then, I thought it was just a routine meeting. It wasn’t until later that I realized this was the day Sienna infiltrated my company. Dean had claimed she was talented and would be a perfect fit for the marketing department. I believed him. Six months later, she walked away with my entire client portfolio. Now, I sat at the head of the table, slowly closing my folder. Everyone in the room turned to look at me. Dean’s eyes met mine. “Is something wrong, Anna?” I turned to Sienna. “Your resume says you have three years of brand consulting experience?” Sienna nodded. “Yes.” “With which firm?” She named a company. I looked over at the HR director. “Verify it. Right now.” Sienna’s smile faltered, her face pale. Dean frowned. “Anna, you’re making this needlessly awkward.” I met his eyes. “Awkward?” The HR director made the call, sweat beading on his forehead. “Ms. Cameli… that firm says they have no record of a Sienna ever working there.” Sienna’s eyes immediately welled with tears. She looked at Dean. “Dean, I didn’t lie. I just… I used my English name back then…” Dean’s voice turned cold. “Anna, that’s enough.” I let out a soft laugh. “She forged her resume, and you’re telling me that’s enough?” He walked over to my side, lowering his voice. “I brought her in myself. Calling her out in public like this is a direct slap to my face.” I picked up the metal letter opener on the desk. Dean’s eyes twitched slightly at the sight of the blade. It was barely a fraction of a second, so brief he probably didn’t even register it. But I did. He was afraid of blades. Even after a reset, some subconscious terror remained. I stood up. The entire room went dead silent. Sienna took a step back. Dean suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening. “Anna, what are you trying to do again?” He used the word “again.” I looked up at him. “Dean, what do you remember?” His face went entirely blank. The comments flashed aggressively across my vision. [WARNING: Residual memory anomaly detected.] [Initiate immediate overwrite.] [Trigger male lead comforting sequence.] Dean’s grip tightened further. His eyes softened with unnatural speed. “Anna, you’re under too much pressure. Let’s call an end to the meeting. We’ll talk about this at home.” He reached out to pull me into an embrace. In the past, whenever he lowered his head and held me like this, I would always yield. Instead, I flipped my hand and drove the letter opener straight into his abdomen. The conference room exploded into chaos. Sienna screamed at the top of her lungs. The HR director scrambled out of his chair, nearly falling over himself to escape. Dean gripped my shoulders, dark red blood gushing through his fingers. For the first time, genuine terror flashed in his eyes. I stared into his face. “Further back,” I whispered. “Push us back even further.” Three minutes later, the world reset. When I opened my eyes, I was standing outside the company’s finance department. The date had jumped back four months. The door was slightly ajar. Dean sat inside, flipping through the corporate seal registry. The CFO stood beside him, looking hesitant. “Dean, Ms. Cameli gave strict orders. The corporate seal is never to leave the vault.” Dean gave a reassuring laugh. “She’s been so busy lately. I need to review and sign these contracts on her behalf. We’re married. She won’t mind.” I stood outside, listening. In my past life, after the company went under, the CFO had confessed this to me while sobbing. She had tried to stop him. But Dean had dismissed it, saying there shouldn’t be secrets between husband and wife. Back then, I had even defended him. He was just trying to help me. Hearing those words now made my stomach turn. “But Ms. Cameli…” the CFO mumbled. Dean’s tone cooled. “I will handle Anna. Just give me the seal.” I pushed the door open. The CFO’s face drained of color. “Ms. Cameli.” Dean turned, his hand still resting on the ledger. “Anna? What are you doing here?” I walked up to the desk. “Looking for my seal?” He offered a warm, easy smile. “There’s an urgent contract that needs signing while you’re in meetings. I thought I’d handle it for you.” “Where is the contract?” He paused. I held out my hand. “Let me see it.” The smile slowly faded from Dean’s face. “Anna, do you really not trust me anymore?” The comments began to scroll again. [And so it begins. The trust crisis.] [Don’t ruin this, Anna.] [He’s just trying to help you out.] I stared at Dean. At this point in time, he hadn’t brought Sienna into the company yet. He hadn’t signed those ruinous, fraudulent contracts. He hadn’t transferred my clients. But his hand was already reaching for what was mine. “Take your hand off my files,” I said. Dean didn’t budge. “Anna, I don’t like this side of you.” I picked up the solid brass paperweight sitting next to the vault and slammed it down on the back of his hand. The sickening crunch of breaking bones echoed in the quiet room. The CFO gasped, stumbling backward. Dean let out a choked groan, his eyes wide with sheer disbelief. “Anna!” I grabbed the ledger and tore it to shreds, page by page. “Don’t touch what’s mine.” Dean clutched his broken hand, his face pale. The look he gave me was finally laced with hatred. It was a flash of pure venom before some external force suppressed it. His eyes turned red. “We’re married. Why are you treating me like an enemy?” I picked up the spare shears from the vault shelf. “Dean,” I said quietly, “save that speech for the next run.” Three minutes later, I reset again. 03 The timeline jumped back even further. This time, it was our first wedding anniversary. I was sitting in a private dining room at a high-end restaurant. A beautiful cake sat in the middle of the table. Dean was down on one knee in front of me, holding a velvet box. “Anna, our wedding last year was so rushed,” he said, looking up at me. “I’ve felt like I owed you a proper celebration ever since.” He opened the box to reveal a diamond necklace. It was the exact one that would later hang around Sienna’s neck. The comments went wild. [OMG, the first anniversary gift!] [He’s so sweet and romantic.] [Anna was so happy at this moment.] Dean looked up, waiting. “Do you like it?” I didn’t reach for it. The smile on his face faltered. “Anna?” “Who picked this out?” I asked. He blinked. “I did, of course.” “Where is the receipt?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “Why are you asking that all of a sudden?” I snatched the box, flipped it over, and pulled out the small card tucked into the bottom slot. Written on it in elegant, looping cursive was a brief note: Mr. Cameli, I’m sure Ms. Cameli will love it. Signed, Sienna. Dean saw the card. His face shifted. He quickly reached out to snatch it away. “It’s just a note from the jeweler’s consultant.” I pulled my hand back, keeping the card out of his reach. “The consultant’s name is Sienna?” Dean’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Anna, today is our anniversary. Don’t ruin the mood over nothing.” I stared at him. So it had started this early. While I had been busy planning a surprise for our anniversary, he was already having Sienna pick out my gifts. The waiter knocked and entered, carrying a piping-hot tureen of soup. Dean stood up, clearly trying to brush the tension aside. I grabbed the boiling tureen and threw the hot soup directly onto his face and chest. He screamed in agony. The waiter dropped his tray in terror. I didn’t wait for the three-minute mark. I picked up the steak knife from the table and slit his throat. Blood sprayed across the pristine white cake, instantly blotting out the words written in chocolate: Happy First Anniversary. As the world began to dissolve, the comments glitched frantically. [The protagonist’s aggression level is too high!] [Timeline shifting backward further to compensate.] [Attempting to repair residual fear in the male lead.] When I opened my eyes, I was sitting in a bridal suite. It was our wedding day. A stylist was adjusting my veil in front of the mirror. The girl staring back at me in the white gown was beautiful, but she looked like a stranger. Dean stood at the doorway. He looked dashing in his tuxedo, a warm, bright smile on his face. “Anna. Are you ready?” I looked down at my hands. A diamond band sat on my ring finger. On the inner band, a tiny line of text was engraved. I slipped it off and held it close to my eyes. She will forgive him. The next second, the letters distorted into corrupted code. The sharp edge of the metal sliced into my finger, drawing a bead of blood. The stylist gasped. “Oh my, Ms. Cameli, are you alright?” Dean rushed in, grabbing my hand. “How could you be so careless?” His hands were warm. I watched him gently wipe the blood away. In my past life, I would have thought this was a sign of his deep devotion. Now, I looked past him at the mirror. Words were bleeding onto the glass surface. [The wedding node must not be interrupted.] The text appeared and vanished in a flash. I stared at the mirror. Dean looked up. “Anna?” “Did you see that?” I asked. “See what?” I held the ring in front of his face. “This text.” Dean stared at the ring, his expression completely blank. “There’s nothing there.” But the comments were losing their minds. [She can see the text layer!] [Block her vision! Now!] [The wedding node must be completed!] The minister’s voice echoed from the chapel outside. The guests were seated. The flower girls were in position. Everyone was waiting for me to walk down the aisle. Dean’s mother pushed the door open, her face beaming. “Anna, dear, it’s time.” She was smiling warmly, but on the wall behind her, a line of glowing text floated. [The mother-in-law approves of the female lead to enhance the feeling of a perfect family.] I looked back at the stylist. [Bystander praises the bride’s happiness.] I looked at the flower girls. [Symbols of purity and marital bliss.] Everyone had a line of text hovering over their heads. They couldn’t see it, but I could. Dean gripped my hand tightly. “Don’t be nervous, Anna. I’m right here.” He led me out toward the chapel. The red carpet stretched ahead of us. Guests applauded on both sides. With every step I took, words lit up on the floor beneath my feet. [She finally married him.] [After so many misunderstandings, she chose to believe in love.] [They will live happily ever after.] I stood beside Dean at the altar. The minister smiled warmly and asked, “Anna Cameli, do you take Dean to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Dean looked at me. His gaze was steady, but the hand holding mine was trembling violently. He was terrified. Even if he couldn’t see the floating words, his body remembered what I was capable of. The comments rained down on my vision. [Say ‘I do’.] [Say it now!] [The wedding node cannot collapse!] I stared at Dean. “Are you afraid of me?” His adam’s apple bobbed. “Anna… please don’t do this.” I let out a cold laugh. “You’ve said those words way too many times.” The minister froze. Dean’s mother stood up from the front row. “Anna!” I reached up, tore the veil off my head, and let the white lace drift onto the red carpet. The wedding march stopped instantly. I looked the minister dead in the eye. “I don’t.”

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1 During my fourth year with Lucas, I suddenly gained the ability to detect lies. Whenever someone lied, their words would float before my eyes in a vivid, burning red. Honest words, on the other hand, appeared in a stark, quiet black. At first, I thought it was a quirky trick. Until one night, Lucas held me close and whispered, “I will love only you for the rest of my life.” The words flared. A blinding, painful red. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Before leaving the next morning, he kissed my forehead. “I have to work late tonight. Don’t wait up.” Red. I started paying attention to everything he said. “There is no one else.” Red. “Just a text from a coworker.” Red. “You’re overthinking things.” Red. For an entire week, not a single word he spoke to me was black. Until the weekend, when he took a call, stepping out onto the balcony and lowering his voice. “I miss you, too. See you tomorrow.” Black. The only truth he had spoken all week. But it wasn’t meant for me. When Lucas slid the glass door shut and stepped back inside, he brought a draft of cold air with him. He slipped his phone into his pocket with practiced ease, sat down beside me, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I stared at him. The caring inquiry floated in black. He genuinely cared about my well-being. I bit my lip and asked softly, “Lucas, do you love me?” He smiled without a second of hesitation. “Of course I do. Why are you even asking?” The letters appeared in a deep, heavy black. He wasn’t lying. He really did love me. My chest loosened slightly, and I immediately asked my second question. “But… will I be the only one you ever love?” Lucas kissed my cheek, his voice soft as water. “Of course, sweetheart. Only you.” Red. My heart plummeted. “What’s wrong? You’re acting strange today.” Lucas ruffled my hair, his movements light and effortless, showing not a hint of a guilty conscience. “What do you want for breakfast tomorrow? I’ll make it for you.” He smoothly changed the subject. I lowered my eyes, my eyelashes trembling to hide the bitter sting. “Whatever. Anything you make is fine.” He smiled, getting up to wash. Hearing the shower running, I curled up on the bed. The mattress was soft, bought after three afternoons of searching. Four years ago, he was living in a tiny basement apartment. He had held my hand, his palm burning hot. “Barbie, I’ll make sure we live in a big house and sleep on the softest bed! Every word I say to you is the absolute truth.” Back then, those words would have been black. I fell for his honesty. Now the bed was soft, but the words were red. Next morning, he said, “I have a meeting with a client. Make sure you eat breakfast.” Red. I held my mug tightly. “Okay. Come back early.” He left. I went to fold the blankets and saw his tablet screen was still on, open to his calendar page. Gemma’s birthday, 7:00 PM, Cloud River Bistro. No cilantro, steak cooked medium. I stared at it. He remembered her dislikes, her steak temperature, and booked a restaurant. I flipped to my birthday. Clean. No restaurant, no notes, no preferences. Only a bank transfer with a note: Happy Birthday. I remembered that day. He said there was an urgent project issue. I told myself it was fine, he was busy. But he wasn’t busy; he just wanted to be with someone else. I took a screenshot of the calendar page and saved it to my hidden folder. Later, I met his mother in the courtyard. She was chatting with other elderly ladies. “Barbie! The knee pads Gemma bought me are wonderful. She even took me to the hospital for my checkup. That girl is so much more attentive than you.” Another lady joined in. “Not many young girls are so thoughtful these days.” His mother sighed. “Yes, Barbie, you should learn from her. Don’t be so quiet all the time.” I smiled. “Okay, I will.” Last month, I had bought her knee pads too. She barely looked at them, throwing them on the sofa. “Just leave them there, I already have some.” When I did it, it was expected. When Gemma did it, it was sweet. I squeezed my package, the cardboard digging into my palm. I booked a one-way ticket back home for five days later. Then I texted my mother. Mom, I’m coming home to stay for a while. She replied instantly with a voice message. Really? Wonderful! I’ll clean your room. What do you want to eat… In the recording, she coughed heavily. My eyes welled up. For four years, because Lucas was busy, I barely went home. I guarded a man full of lies and lost the only real love I had. Lucas returned at eleven that night. He brought my favorite dessert and hugged me from behind. “I’ve been so busy lately. I’ll make it up to you.” Red. “Didn’t you want to visit your mom? I’ll go with you once I’m free.” Red. His hands were warm, his voice soft. I shut my eyes and didn’t call him out. Next morning, I noticed a faint red smudge on his collar. It was not my shade. “Who did you meet yesterday? Your collar is dirty.” Lucas froze, then frowned with annoyance. “Who else? I told you it was a client. Barbie, since when did you start checking up on me?” He looked at me, righteous. “I’ve never lied to you. You should trust me.” Red. The red letters floating in front of his upright face were a cruel joke. I said nothing. He got angrier. “We’ve been together four years, and you never used to ask. You’ve changed, Barbie.” I whispered, “Sorry. I was overthinking.” He relaxed, patting my cheek. “That’s my girl. I’m working this hard for our future, aren’t I?” To make up for the morning, he offered to take me to a French restaurant I’d been wanting to try. I got dressed up. Right before we left, his phone rang. “Barbie, I’m so sorry. The client’s proposal has an issue, I have to go.” Red. He didn’t even bother to make up a new lie. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He kissed my head and left. I washed my face and made a simple bowl of noodles. At midnight, he came home. He put his phone on the table and went to shower. His screen lit up with Gemma’s social media post. I opened it. It was the restaurant he promised to take me to. Two steaks. Across the table, the man’s wrist wore the watch I gave him for his birthday. Caption: The best meal ever. Thank you, Mr. Lu. I dumped my half-eaten noodles, bowl and all, into the trash. Lucas showered and saw the empty table. “Why didn’t you eat? Not hungry?” “Not hungry.” I turned away. “Fine then.” He didn’t ask further. Next evening, he invited college friends over. Gemma came, smiling sweetly. “Hey, Barbie! Sorry to barge in.” Every compliment she paid me turned red. Not a single black word came from her mouth all evening. In the kitchen, she followed me to cut fruit. She naturally opened the left cabinet to get a glass, opened the drawer for tea. Then she grabbed my apron from behind the door and put it on. She was so natural, as if she lived here. Someone in the living room laughed. “Gemma, you and Lucas are so in sync. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you guys were an old married couple.” Silence. Then someone added, “Barbie, you wouldn’t mind something like this, right? Lucas is so good to you. Don’t be petty, Gemma is just sweet.” Like nails driving into me. Lucas sat right there, saying nothing. Not explaining, not stopping it. I remembered our first year, when a colleague said I wasn’t good enough for him. Lucas’s face had darkened. “Say that again and see what happens.” I had remembered that protective look for four years. Now, he didn’t even blink. After they left, he rubbed his temples. “See, even they think you’ve been off lately.” I stared at my hands. “You’re right. I was too sensitive.” I went to the study, shut the door, and slid down the wall. My eyes burned. That night, I packed. I found an old card from our first year. Every word I say is true, now and forever. I put it in the suitcase with the rest. Next day, Gemma’s private account posted a photo of an old café. He said this is his most important place, and he wanted to bring me here today. It was the place where Lucas confessed his love to me four years ago. The exact same seat. I closed my eyes. Back then, his hands had been sweaty. “I like you.” I knew those words were black. Now, same seat, different girl. Lucas came in, hugging me from behind. “Barbie, why are you standing here?” His phone rang. His mother. He put it on speaker. “Lucas, bring Barbie over for dinner this weekend. Gemma bought some fresh wagyu and brought it over for us. Honestly, Gemma is so family-oriented even without an official title, unlike Barbie. Your taste in friends is so much better than your taste in partners.” Lucas frowned, glanced at me, but didn’t defend me. “Mom, I got it. I’m hanging up.” He dismissed it. “My mom is just like that. Don’t take it to heart.” But Lucas, did you know? Every word your mother said was black. At dinner, the tension was suffocating. He kept putting food on my plate, telling random jokes to maintain the crumbling peace. I put down my chopsticks. “Lucas, what exactly is your relationship with Gemma?” He froze. He put down his bowl, knelt in front of me, cupping my face. “Barbie, I haven’t betrayed you. I swear, you are the only one I love.” A dense, suffocating wall of red text fell over us. His eyes looked sincere, his voice tender, his hands warm. But every single word burned red. “Why have you become like this? You never used to ask these things.” I bit my lip until it went white. I didn’t ask before because I didn’t need to. Now, with everything red, how could I not ask? In the end, I put my hand over his. “Okay. I believe you.” The biggest lie I ever told. Lucas smiled in relief, kissed my forehead. “That’s my good girl.” He hummed a tune and went to shower. I confirmed my flight and texted mom. Arriving tomorrow. She replied instantly. Great! I’ll pick you up! Making pork rib soup, travel safe. I stared at it and sent a single word. Okay. On the last morning, Lucas didn’t go out. He actually made breakfast. “I’ve neglected you lately. I canceled all my plans today. I’m staying home to be with you.” This text was black. He genuinely meant it in that moment. We had a quiet morning. He washed my paintbrushes, and I made coffee. He hugged me. “Let’s do this every weekend, okay?” Red. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. Before noon, his phone rang. Gemma was crying, her voice shaking. But every word she said was red. Not a single truth. Lucas didn’t know. He only heard her begging. He stood at the door, one foot inside, one foot out. He grabbed his coat. “I have to handle something. I’ll be back in an hour.” Red. “You always say an hour.” “I’ll definitely be back before lunch.” Red. The door closed. The eggs on the table were still warm. Soon, the doorbell rang. His mother. “Gemma told me you’ve been checking Lucas’s phone. Don’t you know men hate that? He works so hard, what else do you want from him? Look at Gemma, she never causes trouble. She cooks, cleans, buys groceries for you guys. She looks more like the lady of the house than you do.” My heart went completely cold. So when I wasn’t home, she had been here so many times, using my kitchen, my utensils, wearing my apron. His mother spoke again. “If you force him to break up with you, you’ll be the one crying. He has plenty of options.” I looked up. “You’re right. It’s my fault.” She left, satisfied. The house was silent. I went to the bedroom and pulled out my suitcase. In the study, I printed the screenshots from my hidden folder. I stuck sticky notes on each one, writing his lies. Meeting a client. Sudden dinner plan. Just a coworker. I’ve never lied to you. At the very top, I placed the card from four years ago. Every word I say is true, now and forever. Next to it, I placed the house keys. I dragged my suitcase to the foyer. I looked back at the home of four years. Quiet, unfamiliar. I gently closed the door and didn’t look back. Lucas. Every word you said was true. Once. But not anymore.

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1 Anna is twenty-six years old, yet she insists on referring to herself as “Baby.” She calls my boyfriend “Daddy” and refers to my future mother-in-law as “Nana.” “Baby wants the pink Barbie doll. Daddy needs to buy it for me.” “Baby wants dinosaur chicken nuggets. Nana needs to make them for me.” My boyfriend’s entire family coddles her. Whatever she wants, she gets. Until the day she threw a tantrum about wanting to celebrate Children’s Day. My boyfriend agreed without missing a beat, then turned to comfort me. “You know Anna has that Little Girl Syndrome. Don’t overthink it.” I gave a soft chuckle and plucked his car keys from his hand. “I’m a preschool teacher. Nobody understands babies better than I do. I’ll be the one spending Children’s Day with her.” I drove her straight to my preschool. I made her play games with toddlers, perform on stage, and line up for a lollipop. She was absolutely furious. Her sanity finally snapped, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Hannah, do you really think I’m a three-year-old? I’ll kill you!” Her hands were wrapped tightly around my throat when the heavy velvet curtain was suddenly yanked back. Everyone was standing in the doorway. In a fraction of a second, the adorable little “Baby” had transformed into a twenty-six-year-old assailant. … Anna had posted on Instagram again. “Three days left until Children’s Day!” She tagged my boyfriend, Liam. “Baby wants a super huge celebration this year! Is Daddy ready?” Attached was a selfie of her wearing a frilly lace nightgown, her hair styled in twin pigtails, flashing a peace sign at the camera. I set my phone face down on the table and glanced at Liam, who was eating his breakfast across from me. His fork paused in mid-air. He let out a dry cough. “You know how Anna is. She’s got that Little Girl Syndrome.” I knew exactly how she was. Liam and I had been together for three years. We were at the stage of discussing marriage. He always told me he was an only child. I never expected him to come with a precious “Baby” sister attached. Anna was the exact same age as me. But she didn’t work. She lived in Liam’s family home, and she had been living there for twelve long years. She spoke in a sickeningly sweet, high-pitched voice, always starting her sentences with “Baby wants” or “Baby feels.” She demanded to be spoon-fed at dinner. She needed her hand held when walking. She required endless coaxing whenever she threw a fit. As an early childhood educator, I handled over a hundred actual toddlers every single day. Not a single one of them acted quite like her. My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a group chat notification. The chat was named “The Smith Family plus Hannah.” Anna was the one who came up with that name. “Daddy, Baby wants that limited-edition designer bag for Children’s Day. Then a trip to the amusement park in the afternoon, and French cuisine for dinner. Baby has it all planned out!” Another message popped up immediately after. “Auntie Hannah won’t mind, right? Baby just loves Daddy so much and wants to spend more time with him.” I lifted my gaze to look at Liam. A helpless, fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his thumbs flew across the screen. “Alright, whatever Baby wants.” He typed those words without even bothering to look up at me. I placed my fork down. “Liam, I want to celebrate Children’s Day too.” He finally raised his head. “Huh?” “I’m a preschool teacher. I deal with kids from dawn to dusk. I want to be a baby for a day too. Why don’t you spend the day with me?” He clearly hadn’t anticipated my request. He stared at me in blank surprise. “Look how old you are. Why are you trying to copy Anna?” Look how old I am. Anna was four months older than me. I didn’t say another word. I stood up and began clearing the plates. Liam seemed to sense my sour mood. His tone softened. “Hannah, don’t read too much into this. How about I get you a gift too?” I wasn’t reading too much into it. And I didn’t want a gift. I was simply thinking. Thinking about how, or even if, he and I could keep going like this. Later that night, Anna sent another text. “Daddy, come coax Baby to sleep, please? Baby can’t sleep alone. Baby needs Daddy’s hugs to fall asleep.” Liam happened to be in the shower. I saw the notification light up his lock screen. A moment later, the screen illuminated again. “Has Daddy finished putting Auntie Hannah to sleep yet? Baby has been waiting forever.” “If Daddy doesn’t come right now, Baby is going to cry. And Baby is very hard to comfort when she cries.” I rubbed my temples, sinking into deep thought. Three years. Every Christmas, the check Liam’s mother wrote for Anna was twice the amount of mine. Whenever Liam’s father returned from a business trip, Anna got first pick of the souvenirs. I got the leftovers. Even when the three of us went out for dinner, Liam would always place the best cut of meat onto Anna’s plate first. The excuse was always the same. “Anna is a poor thing. She lost her dad when she was little. Just be the bigger person and let her have her way.” I had no choice but to yield. Because Anna’s father was a firefighter. Fifteen years ago, during a horrific apartment fire, Mr. Davis pulled Liam and his parents from the blazing inferno. But he never made it back out. That debt of gratitude was a crushing weight, a mountain pressing down on the shoulders of everyone in the Smith family. Twelve years ago, Anna’s mother passed away from a severe illness. From that day on, Anna moved into the Smith household and officially became their eternal “Baby.” If I hadn’t firmly insisted that Liam move out into an apartment with me, they would probably still be living under the exact same roof, breathing the same air day in and day out. The bathroom door clicked open. Liam walked out, drying his hair with a towel, and instinctively reached for his phone. “Go to her.” My voice cut through the silence. Liam froze, then quickly forced a laugh. “Anna is just joking around. Don’t say things out of anger.” “You know exactly whether she’s joking or not.” I walked into the bedroom and locked the door behind me. In the end, Liam didn’t go. He sat on the living room sofa for the entire night. But I knew the truth. He didn’t stay because he wanted to. He stayed because he lacked the courage to face my wrath. Early the next morning, my phone rang. Anna’s voice came through the speaker, thick with fake tears. “Auntie Hannah, are you mad at me?” “Please don’t fight with Daddy. Baby won’t call him Daddy anymore. Baby will be good. Baby will behave.” Her tone was so sugary sweet it made my stomach churn. I forced my voice to remain completely steady. “I’m not mad. Didn’t you say you wanted to celebrate Children’s Day?” Excitement instantly spiked in her voice. “Are you going to help me celebrate, Auntie Hannah?” “Exactly. I’m a preschool teacher. Nobody understands babies better than I do.” “Really? You’re the best, Auntie Hannah!” She cheered through the receiver. “Baby loves you! Mwah!” “I’ll pick you up at seven in the morning on the holiday.” “Okay! Baby will be waiting!” She hung up, her voice brimming with absolute joy. Liam looked at me, hesitating, as if wanting to say something but swallowing the words. I tossed the car keys in my hand and flashed him a smile. “What? You don’t trust me?” He paused for a long moment. “Just don’t push her too hard. She’s emotional. She can’t handle being stimulated.” “I know.” I patted him on the shoulder. “You and your parents can come by later. You’ll see for yourselves whether I bullied her or not.” “That’s not what I meant.” Liam tried to explain. I waved my hand, cutting him off completely. “Liam, take these next few days to really think things through.” “Think what through?” I looked him dead in the eye, enunciating every single syllable. “Think about whether we are still getting married or not.” He stared at me in stunned silence, rooted to the spot. 2 On the morning of the holiday, I pulled up to the Smith family home right on time. Anna was dressed in a puffy princess gown, a crystal tiara pinned in her hair. She looked as meticulously styled as a porcelain doll in a shop window. “Auntie Hannah, why didn’t Daddy come with you?” Her eyes sparkled as she peered into the empty backseat of my car. I held the passenger door open for her. “He’ll be here later.” She slid into the seat, buckled up, and chattered non-stop the entire drive. “Baby wants to ride the carousel today. And eat cotton candy. And Daddy has to buy Baby a giant balloon.” She clapped her hands together, then suddenly turned to look at me. “Auntie Hannah, you aren’t jealous, are you? Baby is just a little kid. You’re an adult with a big heart, so you won’t hold a grudge against Baby, right?” “Of course not.” I smiled. “I’m a preschool teacher. Why would I hold a grudge against a baby?” We drove for forty minutes. She scrolled through her phone for a while before finally glancing out the window. “Wait, this isn’t the road to the amusement park.” “Of course not. We aren’t going to the amusement park.” The color drained from her face. “We’re here.” I parked the car right in front of the preschool gates. It was my workplace. A massive red banner flapped in the morning breeze. It read: “Happy Universal Children’s Day!” “Auntie Hannah, why did you bring me to a preschool?” Panic made her voice pitch even higher. “To celebrate your holiday.” I unbuckled her seatbelt and tilted my head to look at her. “Didn’t you want the most authentic Children’s Day experience? Is there anywhere on earth more authentic than a kindergarten?” Her expression instantly froze. “I don’t want to go to preschool! I want to go to the amusement park!” She was shrieking now. “I want Daddy! I’m calling Daddy!” “Liam and his parents will be here soon. Don’t worry, they won’t miss your performance.” “What performance?” I stepped out, walked around to her side, and pulled her door open. I leaned in with a bright, professional smile. “Every baby has to perform on stage today. It’s the holiday pageant. Come on, hop out. Teacher will take you inside.” She didn’t move an inch. I held out my hand and waited with infinite patience. Three seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Her lower lip jutted out. Her eyes pooled with red, looking like she was on the verge of a genuine sobbing fit. “Hannah, are you trying to humiliate me?” “Humiliate you?” I put on my best face of mock surprise. “Why would I do that? Didn’t you say you wanted to celebrate the holiday?” I nudged my hand closer to her. “Come on. Be a good baby.” She bit her lip, holding my gaze in a silent war for three brutal seconds. Finally, she surrendered and placed her hand in mine. I reached into the backseat, grabbed a small item, and pinned it directly to her chest. She looked down. It was a standard-issue name tag. It read: Senior Class, Anna. I dragged her toward the main gates. “Today, you are the newest student in the Senior Class. You are the cutest little Baby, so I just know you’re going to love it here.” She dragged her feet, muttering something vicious under her breath as she followed me. I didn’t catch what she said, and I didn’t care to. Because I knew the real show was just getting started. 3 I pushed open the door to the Senior Class. Twenty-five toddlers were sitting obediently in their tiny plastic chairs. “Boys and girls, we have a brand new classmate joining us today to celebrate the holiday. Let’s give her a big round of applause.” A smattering of confused clapping filled the room. Anna stood in the doorway, her face twisted in pure agony. Twenty-five pairs of wide, innocent eyes locked onto her. “Whoa!” A little girl in the front row dropped her jaw. “That’s a really big baby.” “That’s a grown-up! Why is a grown-up coming to preschool?” A little boy stood up and inspected Anna with absolute seriousness. “Are you a teacher?” Anna let out a strangled, awkward laugh. “No, big sister is just here to…” “She is a new student.” I cut in smoothly, patting Anna on the shoulder. “Her name is Anna. She is… three and a half years old. She just transferred from another school. Everyone play nice with her, okay?” Anna whipped her head toward me, opening her mouth to protest. I leaned in close, dropping my voice to a harsh whisper. “I thought you were a baby? Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.” Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. I assigned her a seat. Our classroom furniture was built for toddlers. A fully grown adult woman cramming herself into a tiny plastic chair meant her knees were practically shoved against her chest. She looked like a tangled knot of limbs. The kids’ gazes swept over her like searchlights. “She’s so huge.” “Can she even fit?” “Is she going to break the chair?” A little girl with pigtails trotted up to her, tilting her head back to stare at Anna’s face. “Big sister, do you not want to be in preschool? My mommy says babies who don’t want to go to school are bad babies.” Anna’s eye visibly twitched. “Big sister doesn’t hate it.” “Then why do you look so grumpy?” The little girl tilted her head the other way. “You need to smile. You only look pretty when you smile.” The surrounding toddlers nodded in unison. “Yeah! You have to smile!” Anna forced out a smile that looked more painful than weeping. The first period was arts and crafts. I taught the class how to make origami frogs, handing out a square of colored paper to everyone. The kids launched into action. Within five minutes, the floor was littered with colorful, deformed paper shapes. Three minutes into the activity, Anna’s piece of paper sat perfectly untouched on her tiny desk. “What’s wrong?” I walked over. “Does Baby not know how to fold it?” She kept her voice low, her words grinding out through clenched teeth. “Hannah, what the hell are you trying to do?” She wasn’t even calling me Auntie Hannah anymore. “Teaching you how to grow up.” I kept my voice equally low, my bright smile never wavering. “If Baby doesn’t know how, Baby has to learn.” She glared at me, seething in silence. I picked up the paper and physically guided her hands to fold it. She remained entirely rigid, letting me manipulate her fingers like a lifeless wooden puppet. Twenty minutes later, a horribly mangled origami frog sat on her desk. “Ew, it’s so ugly.” The little boy next to her delivered the brutal truth without an ounce of hesitation. Anna’s face flushed an ugly shade of dark red. The second period was recess. I directed the kids out to the playground to use the slides. Anna stood stiffly by the fence. “I’m not playing.” “Why not?” “This is for little kids to play…” The sentence died in her throat. I kept my beaming smile in place and amplified my voice to address the playground. “Boys and girls, our new classmate says she’s too scared to go down the slide. Let’s cheer her on, shall we?” Twenty-five toddlers chanted in unison. “Go Anna! Go Anna! Go Anna!” Their high-pitched voices echoed across the entire yard. Anna’s face cycled rapidly between red and pale white. Finally, a couple of overly enthusiastic kids shoved her toward the steps of the play structure. She stood at the very top, peering down. The plastic slide was built to the exact width of a toddler’s hips. For an adult woman, it was physically impossible. “I can’t go down.” Her voice was weak, trembling. “Yes, you can! Be brave!” I yelled from the bottom, backed by twenty-five pairs of highly expectant eyes. She took a deep breath, shifted her weight, and slid down an inch. She immediately wedged tight in the opening of the tube, stuck completely fast like a cork jammed into a wine bottle. The kids instantly began whispering. “She’s stuck.” “I’ve never seen anyone get stuck on a slide before.” “That’s so embarrassing.” Anna was practically suffocating from sheer mortification. She looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her whole. In the end, it took me and another teacher physically hauling her by the armpits to pop her out of the slide. The moment her feet hit the ground, her face was completely scarlet. She shot me a look of unadulterated, venomous hatred. 4 At three in the afternoon, the Children’s Day Pageant officially commenced. The audience was packed with eager parents. Liam and his parents had arrived and taken their seats. The second Anna spotted them in the crowd, her eyes welled up with thick, dramatic tears. “Daddy.” She opened her mouth to cry out to him, but I grabbed her arm in a vice grip. “Hold on. It’s your turn to go on stage.” She froze. “On stage?” “Every student has to perform. You are the star of the Senior Class today. You’re our grand finale.” Her expression twisted into ugly outrage. “Why? You didn’t tell me this beforehand.” I gave a light chuckle. “It’s just a simple nursery rhyme. Do you really need to rehearse?” I paused for effect. “If you do a good job, there’s a huge prize waiting for you.” Anna furrowed her brows, clearly calculating the odds in her head. Before she could form a counterargument, I shoved her toward the backstage curtain. Five minutes later, her name was called. As she stepped out under the bright stage lights, Liam’s family immediately broke into loud applause. “You can do it, Anna!” Anna gripped the microphone, taking a deep, dramatic breath. She chose to sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” A song any breathing human could manage. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star…” The first line was somewhat on key. By the second line, she was drifting. By the third line, she was screeching in a completely different galaxy. The expressions on the parents’ faces in the audience morphed from polite anticipation, to profound confusion, to people desperately biting their lips to hold back laughter. Anna clearly knew she sounded terrible, but she didn’t care. Halfway through the verse, she suddenly twisted her ankle with a loud “Ouch!” and dramatically collapsed onto the stage floor. Her eyes turned glassy. Fat tears hung on her lashes as she looked pitifully down at Liam in the front row. I knew that look entirely too well. I had been forced to watch it for three years. Liam’s heart immediately bled for her. He gripped the armrests of his folding chair, his body lifting to rush the stage. I was faster. I stepped out and blocked his path. “It’s perfectly normal for babies to make a little mistake on stage. As adults, we need to give them the space to grow.” I turned to address the bewildered crowd, keeping my professional smile perfectly intact. “Parents, we have to trust that our kids can stand back up on their own, don’t we?” The thoroughly confused parents nodded along. One father started clapping, and soon the entire auditorium erupted into supportive applause. “You can do it! Stand up and finish the song!” “It’s okay, sweetie! You’ve got this!” Anna lay sprawled on the floorboards, sheer disbelief plastered across her face. Her carefully orchestrated damsel-in-distress routine had completely imploded. Taking my cue, Liam slowly began to clap. Mr. and Mrs. Smith joined in, offering encouraging nods. “Come on, Baby Anna! You can do it!” Anna bit her lip so hard it nearly bled. She awkwardly dragged herself off the floor, gripped the microphone stand, and choked out the final two lines of the nursery rhyme. Her singing, much like her entire existence in that moment, was utterly pathetic and completely ridiculous. The pageant finally wrapped up, leading right into the award ceremony. I stepped to the podium holding a cheap paper certificate and a single strawberry lollipop. “And for Anna from the Senior Class, who showed immense bravery during today’s performance, we present the Ultimate Encouragement Award!” The audience clapped politely. Anna stomped onto the stage, a dark, thunderous cloud hanging over her face. She snatched the certificate and the lollipop from my hands, glaring down at them. “This is it? This is the huge prize you promised?” “Honor is the greatest gift of all.” I smiled brightly and pointed toward the front rows. “Look how happy all the other babies are.” Every toddler in the room was holding an identical lollipop and an identical cheap certificate, grinning from ear to ear. Anna looked like she was going to throw up. Her entire body was vibrating with unfiltered rage. She barely managed to wait until the curtain dropped before sprinting directly into the backstage area. “Hannah!” She crumpled the paper certificate into a tight ball and hurled the lollipop violently at the wall. “How dare you play me like this!” The backstage area wasn’t empty. A few toddlers were still milling about. But Anna didn’t care. She lost her mind, shrieking without a single shred of dignity. “I told you, I wanted the limited-edition designer bag! I wanted French food! I wanted the amusement park! Are you completely deaf?” I dropped my smile entirely. I stared at her with dead, cold eyes. “Those are things adults ask for. Don’t tell me… you aren’t actually a baby?” A little boy standing nearby nodded vigorously. “Yeah. My mommy asks for designer bags and fancy dinners. Babies don’t even know how to use forks and knives.” “And she just called Teacher Hannah by her first name. She didn’t say Auntie.” “She’s just a grown-up. She’s really bad at pretending to be a baby.” Anna’s chest heaved. The last remaining thread holding her sanity together violently snapped. “So what if I’m faking it?!” She lunged forward and shoved me hard in the chest. “You dared to mess with me, Hannah. I’ll kill you!” She took another step, her hands flying up to wrap aggressively around my throat. Right at that exact second, the heavy velvet curtain to the backstage area was yanked back. A row of people stood in the doorway, staring in absolute horror.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “455098”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When I was eighteen, I used my heart’s blood to save Terry after he was shipwrecked, binding us in a three-year tribulation contract. But on the day of our ninth wedding attempt, Terry backed out again. Instead of arguing as I had in the past, I calmly proposed, “Let’s just call it off.” He frowned, his tone carrying a mix of exasperation and blame. “Don’t throw a temper tantrum. Amara isn’t doing well right now. This trip is very important to her. It’s just a one-week delay. We’ll get married the moment we get back.” I remained quiet for a moment, then finally nodded. Amara’s custom ringtone went off. Before leaving, he smiled and ran his fingers through my hair. “Be good. I promise, this is the last time. When I get back, I’ll transfer that beach house you love into your name.” I forced a tight, painful smile. There wouldn’t be a next time. Terry didn’t know that I was the last mermaid left in the world. If he didn’t choose me completely, I would dissolve into nothingness beneath the next full moon, exactly six days from now. “Bang!” The front door slammed shut, sharp and final. I stood alone in the center of the silent room, a dull, familiar ache beginning to throb beneath my skin. I quickly made my way to the bathroom. Under the running water, a faint, barely visible shimmer rippled across my skin, like a fading signal. After some time, the burning pain finally subsided. My limbs felt stiff, taking me back to the day I first stepped ashore. Back then, walking on the sand felt like treading on glass. Every step was the reminding price of survival. And in the end, despite bleeding for him, I still couldn’t win Terry’s heart. Just as I went to step out, the lock clicked. Terry walked back in, carrying the faint, unmistakable scent of medicine. It was the scent of his fragile, sickly adoptive sister, the girl he always had to protect. I stepped out of the bathroom, cold and dripping with water. He paused, not coming any closer. He raised an eyebrow. “A cold shower? Was your temper really that flared up?” My face was pale, and I didn’t answer. He didn’t care. He spoke casually. “Amara was worried you’d be bored here alone. Pack your bags tonight. We’re leaving tomorrow, and you’re coming with us.” I froze, looking up at him. Terry brushed his thumb gently against the corner of my eye, a soft laugh slipping from his lips. “You’re always jealous of me spending time alone with Amara. This should make you happy, shouldn’t it?” My body went rigid. He quickly withdrew his hand to check his phone. Without looking up, he added, “By the way, we’re heading to the desert. Amara has always wanted to see the night sky there.” My pupils contracted, my fingers trembling. “I… Can I stay behind?” “You know I can’t handle the heat, and my dehydration condition…” Terry looked up from his screen, his expression hardening. He let out a cold scoff. “Dehydration condition? You’re just being dramatic.” Before I could explain, his gaze turned icy. “Amara is in much worse health and she didn’t complain. She wanted to include you out of kindness, and this is how you repay her?” The blood drained from my face, leaving me speechless. Terry stared at me for a few seconds, letting out a weary sigh. “Neri, I don’t want to fight with you right before our wedding.” My body remained stiff as I looked into his warm yet unyielding eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” Under his heavy gaze, I finally whispered, “Okay.” Terry smiled, satisfied. He tapped his screen a few times, and the ticket confirmation popped up before my eyes. This was the ninth time he had used our wedding as a bargaining chip to force me to yield. Even though I knew the inevitable outcome, I still found myself stupidly hoping. The door opened and closed. Terry left with a light step, eager to return to Amara. I looked out the window, watching the moon grow fuller in the night sky. 2 The desert was more brutal than I had imagined. The air was dry enough to leach every drop of moisture from a human body. Even wrapped up tightly, my skin burned fiercely. Just as I unscrewed a bottle of ice water to drink, Amara backed up and bumped into me. The bottle slipped and crashed onto the sand. The water sank into the dry ground instantly, leaving only a dark, fleeting stain. Amara looked apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Nerissa. Here, you can have my water…” Terry stepped in, pulling her back by the hand. “You’re too weak to go without water.” Then he glanced at me carelessly. “Just hold on. We’ll have water once we reach the camp.” I struggled to breathe. Beneath my layers of clothing, my skin was already starting to crack. The sun grew harsher. Amara suddenly touched her forehead and whimpered, “Terry, the sun is so bright. I feel dizzy.” Terry stopped immediately. His eyes swept over my heavily bundled figure, and without a shred of hesitation, he said, “Neri, give Amara your coat and sunglasses.” My body shook. I looked at Terry with pleading eyes. “I can’t. I’ll…” Terry’s patience wore thin. “Amara is sick. She needs them more than you do. It’s just a little sun, what are you so afraid of?” Seeing me shake my head frantically, his patience evaporated. He grabbed my wrist, tearing the protective wrap from my body. “Neri, don’t be ungrateful.” The harsh sunlight beat down directly on my face and neck. Instantly, a horrifying rash of red burns and tiny blood blisters flared across my skin. When we first started dating three years ago, Terry had noticed my fear of the sun. He had silently taken off his jacket to shield my head for an entire afternoon, never mentioning that his own shoulders had blistered and peeled from the heat. He still knew how to care for someone. It was just that the person he cared for was no longer me. I bit my lip hard, refusing to let out a cry of pain. Amara gasped and took a step back. Terry covered her eyes, frowning with disgust as he looked at me. “What did you touch to break out like that? It’s hideous.” Without another word, he wrapped his arm around Amara and turned to leave. I stood alone in the heat, my hands shaking as I reached into the depths of my bag for a small bottle. It was filled with seawater I had brought with me. I opened the cap, but before I could spray it onto my burning skin, a hand snatched it away. Terry had doubled back. He stared at me, holding the bottle tightly. “Is this trash what you’ve been spraying on yourself to cause this reaction?” “Give it back!” My voice cracked with absolute terror. “Please, Terry, give it back. That’s seawater, it’s not trash…” Terry blinked, momentarily taken aback. He had probably never seen me lose my composure like this. But his expression quickly turned cold, and he tossed the bottle far out into the desert. I reached out, but I could only watch as the bottle landed on the sand, rolling a few times before being buried by the shifting wind. “Stop buying this useless junk,” he said coldly. “Neri, you should see what you look like right now. If you don’t care about your own appearance, at least don’t scare Amara.” His voice was swallowed by the desert wind. I stared at the sand, my eyes dry and burning, but my body could no longer produce a single tear. By the time we reached the camp, I could barely stand. A guide helped me to a chair and handed me a bottle of room-temperature water. But I didn’t even have the strength to open it. Terry was making a call nearby, his voice sounding tense and anxious. Through my blurring vision, I saw Amara leaning against him, looking fragile and pale. When he finished the call, he scooped her up in his arms. As he passed my chair, his footsteps paused. But the next second, Amara whimpered, “Terry…” Terry didn’t wait. He walked away with large strides. Their figures grew smaller and smaller until they vanished. My lips parted, but my throat couldn’t form a sound. As my vision faded into black, the last thing I saw was the sand dunes outside the tent, dyed blood-red by the setting sun. They looked like a burning sea. 3 I was awakened by my phone ringing. By the time I opened my eyes, the ringing had stopped. I was in a crude medical facility with an IV drip of saline hooked to my hand. I picked up my phone to find seven or eight missed calls from Terry. I stared at the screen for a moment before calling back. He answered almost instantly. “Neri, why didn’t you answer? Do you have any idea how worried I was?” My eyes welled with tears, my throat raw as sand. “I passed out from dehydration…” “Amara isn’t doing well right now. She needs a blood transfusion,” Terry interrupted, his voice frantic. “Your blood type is rare and matches hers. I already booked your flight back. Get to the airport immediately.” My limbs went numb. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the bed. Not hearing a response, Terry’s voice grew stern. “Nerissa, did you hear me? Don’t waste time, Amara can’t wait.” I licked my dry, cracked lips and finally managed a raspy whisper. “Okay.” The screen went black, reflecting a haggard face I barely recognized as my own. When I walked into the hospital, my steps were unsteady. The nurse took one look at my damaged skin and frowned. “Your veins are too collapsed from severe dehydration. You aren’t fit to donate blood.” Before I could speak, Terry walked in, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Do it anyway.” As the needle pierced my skin, I closed my eyes. The blood flowed through the plastic tube, carrying my remaining life with it. The first time I met Terry on land, he had been lying in a pool of his own blood. I had sliced open my wrist to let my mermaid blood flow into his mouth to save him. When he woke up, he held my hand and swore, “My life belongs to you now. I will cherish you forever.” He had promised to keep my secret. Now, he was draining my life to save his adoptive sister. “Mr. Drake, Miss Amara’s condition has stabilized. We can stop the transfusion now.” The voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance. I couldn’t hear clearly. I only saw Terry look at me, a sudden look of shock freezing his features. But he quickly looked away, his voice still tense. “Keep drawing. Just in case.” The moonlight seeped through the blinds. It wasn’t the full moon yet, but I could hear the sea drying up inside my veins. When it was finally over, I pushed myself up from the chair. My legs buckled. The skin on the back of my hand peeled away, exposing grey, dead tissue underneath. But no one noticed. Terry let out a sigh of relief, his gaze softening as he looked at me. I didn’t look back. I forced myself to walk out, concentrating every ounce of my energy just to keep from collapsing. Near the exit, I ran into Amara. She gave me a weak smile. “Thank you, Nerissa. Terry told me your blood is special and could save me. He’d do anything to keep me safe. I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.” Terry held her up, murmuring, “Why aren’t you resting in bed?” I bit my tongue to keep myself conscious. Ignoring them, I dragged myself back to the villa alone. I turned on every faucet in the bathroom and tumbled into the tub. Only then did the rapid drain on my life slow down. Looking at my reflection in the water, I saw cracks running across my skin like a dry riverbed. My eyes were sunken, my skin grey and dull. I tried to cover it with my hair, but clumps of it broke off from the roots, floating away in the water. A wave of panic seized me. I scrambled out of the tub and threw on every layer of clothing I could find, wrapping myself completely to hide my decaying body. Hours later, Terry returned with Amara and a few of his friends. Seeing the heavy curtains drawn, blocking out all light, one of his friends joked, “Is your girl putting on a surprise for you, Terry?” “Or maybe she’s playing hide-and-seek. The wedding is tomorrow, after all!” Terry’s face darkened as he threw open the doors. Finally, in the last room, they found me curled into a tight ball in the corner. “What are you doing now?” he snapped, walking over to tear the heavy layers of clothing away. When my body was exposed to the light, Terry froze. The room fell into a dead silence. 4 Dry, shriveled skin, thinning hair, hollow eyes… Everyone gasped in horror. No one spoke. Terry’s brow furrowed deeply. “You…” Amara suddenly let out a soft laugh. “Is this a cosplay, Nerissa?” “The makeup is so realistic, it actually scared me.” The others laughed along. “Terry, your fiancée is pretty creative. Is there going to be a performance at the wedding tomorrow?” “This special effects makeup is incredible. It looks so real.” Terry’s expression grew even more annoyed. He stared at me for a few seconds, his irritation turning into disgust. “Nerissa, what are you trying to accomplish?” “Did you make yourself look like a monster just to disgust me? To embarrass me in front of my friends?” My fingers trembled. I avoided their gazes, grabbing my coat to cover myself up again. Amara spoke softly. “Terry, don’t be mad. She was probably just playing a joke.” This only made him angrier. “Go wash that trash off your face, or don’t expect me to show up at the altar tomorrow.” He took Amara’s hand and turned to leave. I reached out, my fingers catching the hem of his coat in a silent, desperate plea. “Terry…” My grip loosened. Terry instinctively took a step back, distancing himself from me. But a sudden, inexplicable anxiety flared in his chest. He paused, pushing down the uneasy feeling. “Leave her. Let’s go.” At the door, he stopped and threw a cold look back. “Remember what I said. Clean yourself up. Don’t embarrass me tomorrow.” The friends chuckled and followed him out. “Alright, let’s get back to the bachelor party. No sleep tonight!” The door clicked shut. The room was plunged back into silence. Only the ticking of the clock remained, counting down my final hours. As the moon climbed higher, memories of his proposal flashed through my mind. He had knelt on the beach, his hands shaking as he opened the ring box. The fearless Terry had actually been nervous. His eyes had reflected only me and the setting sun. “Neri, I’ve never begged anyone in my life. But I’m begging you to wait for me, okay?” “Please wait for me. I will give you the grandest wedding in the world.” Back then, I truly believed our love would last forever. But I couldn’t wait any longer. Meanwhile, in the VIP lounge, a drink was offered to Terry, but he pushed it away distractedly. The liquor spilled onto the floor. Amara looked hurt. “Terry?” He didn’t answer. A heavy, suffocating weight seemed to press down on his chest, as if something precious was slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t take it anymore. Just before midnight, he raced back to the villa. He found me curled up by the window, motionless. He rushed over and pulled me into his arms, but the dry, brittle feel of my body made his heart stop. He finally realized this wasn’t makeup. “Neri? Neri?!” Through my hazy vision, I saw his frantic, terrified face. “What’s happening to you?” He was shouting, his lips moving, but my ears were filled with the roar of the ocean. I couldn’t hear him. The clock struck midnight. The bright moonlight poured through the window. Under his horrified gaze, I could no longer maintain my human form. My legs transformed into a long, shimmering fish tail, glowing with a brilliant silver light before fading rapidly. My scales fell away one by one, leaving my skin dry as bone. Terry stared, his mind unable to process the sight. In his pocket, the phone was vibrating with Amara’s ringtone, but he didn’t move. I looked up at him and smiled softly. “Terry, can you hear it?” I whispered, my voice barely a rustle of dry leaves. I pressed my withered, bark-like fingers against his chest. “My blood is flowing inside you. And it’s telling you…” “I am dying.” Terry’s pupils contracted in sheer horror.

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1 It was our first time attempting the high-altitude, single-hand throw lift during pairs training. My partner, who also happened to be my boyfriend, Tristan, failed to catch me. I plummeted straight onto the razor-sharp edge of his skate blade. The impact severed my Achilles tendon instantly. He held me on the ice as I bled, sobbing hysterically. In the weeks that followed, guilt kept him awake night after night, leaving him too terrified to even step back onto the ice. So when Coach Helena approached me, begging me to convince Tristan to resume training for the upcoming Winter Olympics, I didn’t hesitate. I rolled my wheelchair straight toward the rink. But as I approached the locker room, I overheard a conversation between Tristan and my alternate, Mika. “Keira is done. She will never step onto the ice again, Tristan. Your partner is me now, and it can only be me.” “Hold me, please?” Tristan’s voice was thick with hesitation. “I can’t do this to her.” “You already have. Those newly sharpened, altered blades, you’re the one who secretly disposed of them, aren’t you?” Mika’s voice turned into a soft, venomous purr. “Just admit it, Tristan. You’ve fallen for me.” Watching their silhouettes melt into an embrace through the cracked door, the physical agony of my severed tendon paled in comparison to the sudden, icy void opening in my chest. It felt as though I had been plunged naked into a frozen lake. I wheeled myself back to our apartment, my mind a chaotic blur of the scene I had just witnessed. Mika wanted my spot on the Olympic team, so she had sabotaged Tristan’s skates with dangerously sharpened blades, knowing what the impact would do to me. And my boyfriend, the man I trusted with my life, had realized it immediately. While everyone was frantic over my bleeding ankle, he had quietly destroyed the evidence. During my weeks in a wheelchair, he had knelt at my feet every single day, weeping and begging for forgiveness for his careless mistake. He had said, “If you never walk again, Keira, I’ll never skate again either.” Injuries are part of the sport, so I had never blamed him. Instead, I spent my days comforting him, hiding my own despair to soothe his guilt. Now, looking back, I wondered what he had actually been thinking during those quiet moments. Was he hoping for my recovery, or was he just relieved that his precious Mika’s crime remained buried? The click of the front door broke the silence. Tristan walked in, his expression tense and unnatural. Following closely behind him was Mika, looking equally solemn. He managed a weak, rehearsed smile. “Hey, sweetheart. You must be hungry. I brought takeout from that Italian place you love.” At the dinner table, the air was thick with unspoken words. They kept glancing at each other, waiting for me to make the first move, to ask the questions they were dying to answer. But I kept my eyes on my plate, silently chewing, refusing to grant them the easy way out. Finally, Mika couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Keira, Coach Helena wants me to partner with Tristan. The Winter Olympics are only a few months away. Do you… do you hate me for taking your place?” They had already made their decision. This performative guilt was just a pathetic attempt to ease their own consciences. They wanted me to bless their union so they could skate without looking like monsters. I looked up, my voice flat. “The competition is what matters. Besides, you’ve trained hard for this, haven’t you?” They exchanged a quick look, a visible wave of relief washing over both of them. After dinner, as Tristan went to clear the table, Mika smoothly took the plates from his hands. “Let me handle this, Tristan. Go sit and talk to Keira.” She moved around our kitchen with practiced ease, tossing my favorite yellow peonies into the trash and replacing them with a fresh vase of lilies of the valley she had brought with her. Her movements were so seamless, so natural, as if she were already the mistress of this house. I told them I needed to use the restroom. As Tristan went to stand, Mika quickly intercepted him, grabbing the handles of my wheelchair. “I’ve got her. It’s a bit awkward for a guy to help with this anyway.” Tristan offered her a soft, grateful smile. “Thanks, Mika. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” They had their own silent understanding. Neither of them seemed to realize how absurd it was that my own boyfriend of nearly twenty years would find it awkward to help me to the bathroom. Whether by accident or design, as she went to help me transfer from the chair, her grip suddenly went completely limp. I lost my balance, collapsing heavily onto the floor. My healing ankle slammed hard against the sharp edge of the bathroom step. A sharp, blinding agony tore through my leg, and a scream ripped from my throat. Hearing the commotion, Tristan rushed into the hallway. But before his hands could reach me, Mika let out a sharp cry of her own. She held up her hand, where a broken fingernail was oozing a tiny bead of blood. “Oh my god, it hurts so much! I don’t know why, but Keira suddenly pushed me! I tried to catch her, and my nail snapped! It hurts, Tristan!” My forehead was slick with cold sweat. “Tristan, take me to the ER,” I choked out, clutching my throbbing ankle. My Achilles tendon could not survive a secondary rupture. Mika whimpered, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. “Keira, are you doing this because you’re angry about the Olympic partnership?” Tristan, who had been taking a step toward me, froze. He looked down at me, his gaze suddenly hardening with disappointment and blame. “This was the athletic association’s decision, Keira. You shouldn’t let your personal jealousy get in the way of national glory.” With those words, he turned away from my bleeding leg, lifting Mika in his arms, and walked out the door without looking back. I watched their retreating figures, too exhausted to even cry. My only thought was that I couldn’t let my leg be ruined forever. Clawing my way from the cold bathroom floor to the living room couch, every inch of movement felt like a hot knife slicing through my flesh. It took me nearly twenty minutes of agony just to reach my phone and call for an ambulance. By the time Tristan finally showed up at the hospital, I had already undergone emergency corrective surgery. The surgeon’s words still echoed in my ears: one more trauma to this tendon, and I would walk with a permanent limp, never to skate again. I looked up at Tristan from the sterile hospital bed. “Do you know what I was thinking when they wheeled me into surgery?” He didn’t answer. “I was thinking that if I can never step on the ice again, I’ll have nothing left to live for.” Since we were children, I had always told him that figure skating was my religion. I would give everything for it, including my life. Back then, Tristan had looked at me with adoration and said, “I just want to be the one standing beside you in your sanctuary.” He wasn’t naturally gifted. But to earn the right to stand next to me, he had pushed himself to the absolute limit, risking career-ending injuries just to hear the coach say he was worthy of being my partner. I had cherished him just as much as I cherished the sport. I truly believed we would glide through life together until our hair turned gray. Tristan reached out, his hand trembling as he took mine, his eyes swimming with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Keira. I had no idea it was this bad. Mika told me you were just trying to pick a fight to make her look bad.” “She feels incredibly guilty, too. She was too ashamed to face you. And her hand was injured…” I looked him dead in the eye. “Tristan, if I told you she dropped me on purpose, would you believe me?” His eyes flickered, shifting away from mine in a stiff, awkward motion. “Keira, Mika can be a bit impulsive and blunt sometimes, but you shouldn’t let your bitterness turn into slander. You’re better than this.” Mika. Not my alternate. Not the rookie. Just Mika. Looking at this man whom I had loved for nearly two decades, a profound sense of exhaustion washed over me. I slowly turned my back to him, refusing to say another word. He stood there awkwardly for a long time until his phone rang with a call from the training center. Before leaving, he hesitated near the door. “Next week is our first public exhibition as a pair. Mika wants you to be there to guide her. It’s for the national team’s reputation, Keira. Please don’t let your stubbornness ruin this.” I stared at the pale wall. “Tristan, how long have we been together?” “Next week… it’ll be twenty years.” Twenty years. A lifetime. We had been inseparable since we first learned to tie our laces. And now, he brushed off Mika’s malicious sabotage as mere impulsiveness, while treating my pain as malicious jealousy. What a pathetic excuse for a partner. But I still went to the exhibition. Sitting in my wheelchair at the edge of the rink, I watched the two of them glide in perfect harmony. For a fleeting second, I saw a ghost of my former self on the ice. I remembered the first time I met Mika. She was just a little girl huddled in the corner of a public rink, crying because her family couldn’t afford proper coaching. She had raw talent, a natural grace that made her look like she owned the ice even when her form was clumsy. I couldn’t bear to see that potential go to waste. I had walked over, extended my hand, and said, “Come with me. I’ll teach you how to fly.” Back then, she had looked up at me with starry eyes, calling me her idol. I never could have imagined that the sweet girl I rescued would eventually tear my life apart. A hand gently rested on my shoulder, breaking my reverie. My senior mentor and coach, Helena, sat down beside me. “What do you think?” she asked softly. “She’s good,” I replied. “Her jumps are clean, and her extensions are sharp. She has a real shot at the podium.” Helena shook her head, her gaze fixed on the ice. “Don’t you think she looks too much like you?” “Or rather, she is trying her absolute best to recreate you, to copy every single detail.” Watching Mika, I realized Helena was right. Even the precise angle of her arms during her transitions was an exact replica of my own style. “She’s been asking me for your old training footage for three years now,” Helena whispered. Three years. That was only a year after I brought her to the national training center. So she had been plotting to replace me from the very beginning. As the swelling crescendo of the music filled the arena, I finally understood what Mika wanted me to see. A triple axel, followed by three successive leaps, transitioning into a sweeping black swan glide across the ice, before finally collapsing like a sleeping child against Tristan’s knee as they spun. It was a sequence that required an insane amount of core strength, with only a single point of balance at the waist. It was my signature sequence. The routine that had won Tristan and me our world championship titles. Almost instantly, the eyes of everyone in the arena shifted toward me. Some held pity, some shock, and others a sick sense of amusement. When the music died down, Mika glided gracefully toward the barrier, stopping right in front of my wheelchair. “How did I do, Keira?” she asked, her voice sweet yet dripping with triumph. “You did well,” I murmured. Helena stood up, her tone sharp and demanding. “Mika, when did you learn that sequence?” Before Mika could open her mouth, Tristan stepped in. “There’s nothing wrong with learning techniques from other elite skaters, Coach. It’s common practice.” While skaters often study each other’s mechanics, copying an entire signature sequence step-for-step was a blatant insult. It was Mika’s way of marking her territory, telling me that I had been completely erased. I reached out and patted Helena’s hand. “It’s fine, Helena. If a routine can be so easily copied, then it was never truly unique to begin with.” But in reality, that sequence had taken me months of grueling practice and countless falls to perfect. More importantly, it required an absolute, instinctive connection between partners. You couldn’t practice it alone. Mika’s execution was too seamless to be a recent development. Which meant she and Tristan had been practicing my routine behind my back for months, perhaps even years. Even if the accident hadn’t happened, Tristan would have eventually found another excuse to put her in my spot. I asked Helena to wheel me out. But as we turned, Tristan called out after me. “Keira, wait!” I looked back. “What is it?” “Wait for me to finish this afternoon’s session. I’ll take you to your physical therapy appointment.” He looked desperate, as if trying to prove that even if my routine could be stolen, he couldn’t be. Catching the subtle darkening in Mika’s eyes behind him, I offered a faint, empty smile. “Sure.” Deep down, I knew he wouldn’t make it. But I stayed in the arena lobby anyway, staring at the white sheets of ice through the glass. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for. Maybe I just didn’t want my twenty years of dedication to end so abruptly. Or maybe the ice was the only place that still offered me some semblance of peace. During the afternoon break, Tristan came out. He wheeled me onto the ice, pushing the chair at a thrilling speed, gliding backward while keeping his eyes locked onto mine. He smiled, the familiar warmth returning to his face. “As long as I can skate, Keira, I’ll keep dancing with you on the ice. You will always have me.” It was the same promise he whispered before every major competition. “Tristan is forever devoted to Keira. Trust me.” He reached into his pocket and slid a ring onto my finger. “I should have given this to you sooner. If it weren’t for the accident, we would already be married.” I looked down at the ring. The diamond setting was shaped like our first gold trophy, with two tiny figures skating together engraved along the band. It was beautifully, meticulously designed. “Let’s get married next week, Keira. Let’s start our next twenty years together, okay?” His eyes were bright, filled only with my reflection. For a second, I couldn’t tell if this was born of lingering guilt or genuine devotion. My fingers tightened around the band. But just as I opened my mouth to speak, a sharp, agonizing shriek echoed from the locker rooms. It was Mika. Without a single second of hesitation, Tristan let go of my wheelchair. He turned and ran toward the sound, his sudden movement jolting my chair so hard it nearly tipped over. My arm slammed violently against the metal armrest. It throbbed with pain. By the time Helena wheeled me to the scene, a crowd had gathered. Mika was sitting on the bench, her bare feet covered in blood, with shards of broken glass scattered around her skate bag. She was sobbing hysterically as Tristan knelt before her, gently wiping away her tears. Seeing me enter, Mika looked up, biting her lip with an expression of profound betrayal. “Keira… why would you do this to me?” I stared at her, genuinely baffled. “What are you talking about?” “Just because I skated your sequence, you wanted to ruin my feet?” she cried, her voice trembling. “You wanted to destroy me!” A dry laugh escaped my lips. “And what makes you think I did this?” “Only you have the spare key to my locker! If it wasn’t you, did I put the glass in my own skates?” Her words were sharp, painting me as a bitter, vengeful monster. When she first joined the training center, she had been lost and dependent on me. I had looked after her, even keeping her spare key because she constantly misplaced things. Now, my kindness had been twisted into a weapon against me. “It wasn’t me,” I said simply. “I know I shouldn’t have taken your spot or your partner,” Mika sobbed, looking around at the murmuring onlookers. “But even if you hate me, could you have at least waited until after the Olympics? I just wanted to skate for our country…” I raised my voice, trying to stay calm. “I told you, I didn’t do it. You can check the security cameras, I haven’t been near the locker rooms today…” “Enough!” Tristan’s voice cut me off, loud and harsh. “Keira, you’ve disappointed me beyond words.” He scooped Mika up in his arms. As he brushed past my wheelchair, I reached out and grabbed the edge of his jacket. “The question you asked me on the ice,” I whispered, staring up at him. “Do you still want my answer?” He didn’t even look at me. Shucking off my grip, he carried Mika down the hallway, leaving me behind for the second time. I stared at my empty hands, then slowly pulled out a crumpled business card that a European scout had slipped into my pocket weeks ago. I dialed the number. “Hello, this is Keira. I’m ready to accept your offer.” Before leaving for good, I needed closure. I wheeled myself to the hospital where Mika had been admitted. But as I reached her room, Tristan’s muffled, strained voice drifted through the door. “We can’t do this, Mika. I just proposed to Keira.” Mika’s voice was thick with tears. “But we are the ones who belong together now. She only makes you chase her. When you skate with me, you’re actually happy, doesn’t it feel that way?” A long, heavy silence followed. It was the only answer she needed. Finally, Tristan spoke. “Keira has waited for me for so long. Other than skating, I’m all she has left. We already took away her career. If I abandon her now, she won’t survive.” He knew. He knew exactly what they had stolen from me, yet he had still chosen to protect her because she was the one who mattered. His proposal on the ice wasn’t a promise of love; it was a pity prize to keep me from falling apart. I looked down at the ring on my finger, slipped it off, and dropped it into a nearby trash can. There was no need for a dramatic farewell. I turned my wheelchair around and left. But the drama followed me. Someone had snapped photos of Tristan and Mika in the hospital corridor and posted them online. Within hours, the internet erupted in fury. The golden couple of pairs skating was dead. The public was outraged, pointing out that Keira was still in a wheelchair while they flaunted their affair. People began to suspect the breakup had happened much earlier, and some even questioned if Keira’s injury had truly been an accident, wondering if they had sabotaged her to take her spot. Mika was bombarded with demands to leave the team. Amid the storm of public condemnation, my phone rang. It was Tristan. There was no apology, no explanation. Only panic. “Keira, you need to release a statement to the press right now. Mika is crying her eyes out. She is young, she can’t handle this kind of cyberbullying.” “What do you want me to say?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “Just tell them your injury was a freak accident during training. That it had nothing to do with us.” “And the photo of you two kissing in the hallway?” “I’ll explain that to you later. Mika was just having a panic attack, and I didn’t push her away in time. Besides, if you hadn’t put glass in her skates, none of this would have happened!” Our betrayal had somehow become my fault. “How do you want me to spin it?” “I’ll post a statement saying we broke up a long time ago, and that I’m dating Mika now. You need to back it up so she doesn’t look like a homewrecker. We can put the wedding on hold for a bit. Once the drama dies down, we’ll get married.” His words were so casual, so dismissive of the ruin he had brought upon me. “Tristan, you two made this mess,” I said. “You’re the ones who owe me an apology.” I hung up. But Tristan was faster than I anticipated. He released a public statement shortly after. “Keira and I ended our relationship a long time ago. My relationship with Mika is completely normal. Keira’s injury was a tragic training accident that has nothing to do with anyone else.” But the internet didn’t buy it, pointing out the suspicious timing of the announcement right after the hospital photos leaked. Tristan replied directly to the skeptics, claiming he had wanted to protect my dignity, but since they insisted, he alleged we broke up because my jealousy had led me to bully my younger, more talented teammates. Mika immediately followed up by posting a picture of her bandaged, bleeding foot alongside her blood-stained skates, claiming she was only being comforted at the hospital because someone had put shattered glass in her boots. The narrative began to shift. The final blow came when the national athletic federation’s official social media account liked Tristan’s post and leaked a carefully edited security clip of Mika sobbing in the locker room, accusing me of sabotaging her. Suddenly, the tide of public hatred turned entirely on me. I became the bitter, crippled villain who had tried to sabotage her country’s Olympic chances. When I went to the clinic for my checkup, strangers spat insults at me in the streets. During all of this, Tristan never reached out once. Sitting in the departure lounge at the airport, I received two text messages. One was from Helena. It was simple: “I’m sorry.” I understood. Between a crippled skater who might never walk again and a rising star destined for the Olympics, the federation had made the logical choice to protect their investment. The second text was from Tristan: “Keira, this was the only way to handle things quickly. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll get married right after the Winter Games.” I didn’t reply to either. I dropped my phone into the trash can next to the boarding gate, turned my back on the country that had abandoned me, and boarded my flight to Europe.

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1 Before the wedding, Sebastian sent an Excel sheet with three hundred and sixty-five rows of Wife Code of Conduct. Rule 12 banned male likes on Instagram. Rule 87 limited weight fluctuation to two pounds. Rule 203 required chore photos by 10:00 PM daily. I thought it was his quirky way of building a life. After marriage, he turned it into an app scoring me daily. Below ninety meant his calm remark, “I am not punishing you, I am helping you improve.” Seven months pregnant, I scored eighty-seven for a three-minute delay to a prenatal appointment that “disrupted the family’s time management schedule.” He canceled my clinic ride. I took a cab, hemorrhaged en route, and heard a nurse scream, “We lost her blood pressure!” When I woke, his email glowed with the same spreadsheet and a voice memo: “Babe, here’s our marriage blueprint. Take a look.” I replied, “I read it,” and blocked him permanently. “Jennifer, I will only tolerate this childish ghosting game once.” A faint shadow fell over my head. I didn’t bother looking up, keeping my eyes fixed on my computer monitor. A freshly printed piece of standard printer paper was slapped hard next to my keyboard, completely covering the marketing proposal I was editing. “This is your preliminary performance review for the month. Your current score is negative five.” Sebastian pulled out the chair opposite my desk and sat down, crossing his legs in a posture of complete leisure. “Because you refused to reply to my voice memo last night and unilaterally cut off our communication channels, you violated Rule 42: Never let a conflict last overnight.” His voice was completely flat. He sounded like a heartless judge reading a verdict. A few colleagues in the open office space were already sneaking glances our way. I slid the printed paper right back to him. “Mr. Wright, we are on the clock. Please remove your personal garbage from my desk.” Sebastian frowned, clearly displeased with my strictly professional attitude. “Jennifer, do not bring your emotional baggage into the corporate environment.” He tapped his knuckles against the desk. “I spent an entire week tailoring those three hundred and sixty-five rules specifically for you.” “I am doing this to help you strip away your laziness. I am molding you into a woman worthy of being the lady of the Wright household.” I stared at his arrogant, self-righteous face, feeling my stomach violently churn. The perfect lady of the house. In my past life, I actually swallowed that toxic gaslighting. To reach that perfect score of one hundred, I wound myself up like a tight clock every single day. Once, I was running a hundred-and-two-degree fever and passed out on the living room sofa. I missed the 10:00 PM “chore completion photo check-in.” Sebastian remotely changed the passcode to our smart lock while I was asleep. I woke up confused and locked out. I froze in the winter hallway for half the night. When he finally opened the door the next morning, he just handed me a template for an apology letter. He told me, “If you cannot manage basic time management, you do not deserve to walk through this door. Go write a three-thousand-word reflection essay. Make sure your handwriting is perfectly neat.” That bone-piercing cold was something I remembered vividly right up to the moment I died. “I do not need to be tailored by you.” I hit the save shortcut and closed my proposal. “What kind of attitude is that?” Sebastian’s face finally darkened. “You threw a tantrum and blocked me last night, and I let it slide. I took the initiative to come see you today. How long are you going to keep throwing this fit?” “I am not throwing a fit. I do not accept your spreadsheet, and I do not accept you.” My phone began to vibrate on the desk. The caller ID flashed “Mrs. Wright.” Sebastian caught a glimpse of the screen and a cold, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Answer it. Let us hear what my mother has to say.” I swiped to answer. I didn’t put it on speaker, but Mrs. Wright’s shrill voice was piercing enough to bleed through the earpiece. “Jennifer, you think you are so tough now, do you? You actually dared to block my son?” “Mrs. Wright, we are no longer a good fit.” “What do you mean, no longer a good fit? A girl from an ordinary background like yours should be thanking her lucky stars that the Wright family even looked in your direction.” The voice on the other end grew even more venomous. “Sebastian is setting rules for you to train you properly. Look at yourself. You are a total workaholic who does not even know how to cook a decent meal. How are you supposed to serve my son in the future?” “Why on earth would I serve your son?” “Because that three-million-dollar penthouse you two are moving into was secured by Sebastian’s down payment!” Mrs. Wright let out a sharp sneer. “If you still want to marry into this family, you will come over to my house tonight and recite all three hundred of those rules to my face. If you get a single word wrong, you will not be getting any dinner.” I hung up the phone right in her face. Sebastian looked at me, his eyes brimming with a sickening, high-and-mighty sense of pity. “You heard her. My mother is highly dissatisfied with your current state.” “That sounds like a personal problem for her.” “Jennifer.” He lowered his voice, lacing it with an obvious warning. “Do not mistake my indulgence for a free pass to act however you want.” Indulgence? Treating a human being like a show dog to be graded and trained. He actually called that indulgence. “Sebastian, you can keep that spreadsheet and memorize it yourself.” I stood up, grabbing my mug to head to the breakroom. He reached out and grabbed my wrist with a crushing grip. “If you insist on using these pathetic tactics to get my attention, I will strip you of the Southside Resort project.” I stopped in my tracks. The Southside project was my absolute baby. I had pulled endless all-nighters for three months and done countless site visits to secure that core campaign. “You have no right to do that. I am the lead director on that project.” “I am your direct supervisor.” He released my wrist and casually adjusted his cuffs. “Since you cannot even learn the basic duties of a wife, you certainly lack the energy to manage a project of this magnitude.” He stood up, towering over me. “I am giving you one day to reflect on your behavior. Email an apology letter to my inbox, and I might consider giving the project back to you.” … The next morning, the moment I scanned my badge and walked into the department conference room, I noticed my seat was taken. A girl with a short bob haircut, wearing a casual designer hoodie, was spinning in my chair. Daisy. Sebastian’s childhood best friend. She had been parachuted into our department three days ago as an “intern.” She was the classic “guy’s girl” he was always raving about. “Morning, future wifey.” Daisy spun a pen between her fingers, smiling at me with sickening sweetness. “Seb said you’ve been a little emotionally unstable lately, and that you haven’t even memorized your pregnancy prep spreadsheet yet. So, I’ll be taking the Southside project off your plate.” She heavily emphasized the words “future wifey” with a condescending lilt. The other colleagues in the room immediately buried their heads in their documents. Nobody dared to make a sound. I walked straight up to her and pointed at the chair. “That is my seat. Get up.” Daisy pouted, staying perfectly glued to the spot. Instead, she looked past me toward Sebastian, who had just walked into the room. “Seb, look at her. Her temper is still so explosive. I’m just trying to be a good friend and lighten her workload, but she is completely ungrateful.” Sebastian walked to the head of the table and sat down, knocking his knuckles against the wood. “Jennifer, stop being unreasonable in the office. Daisy taking over the project was my executive decision.” “I poured my blood and sweat into this. Why are you handing it over to an intern who cannot even read basic architectural blueprints?” I glared at Sebastian, forcing down the fiery rage burning in my chest. “Because your priorities should not be focused on meaningless corporate climbing.” Sebastian clicked a button, and the projector flared to life. My personal performance review spreadsheet was plastered across the massive screen. The score was highlighted in bright, glaring red. “Excel Rule 45: A wife’s energy must not be scattered on meaningless socializing or excessive career ambitions. Her core focus must be building the family.” He was actually displaying this psychotic document in front of the entire department. “Look at your performance over the past few days. Consecutive overtime, highly irregular meals. With your current physical state, how are you supposed to breed a healthy next generation for the Wright family?” The conference room was so dead silent you could hear a pin drop. Daisy let out a loud, mocking giggle. “Seb, your standards for her are way too high. But honestly, Jennifer, Seb is just looking out for you. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” I stared at the utterly absurd clauses glowing on the projector screen. In my past life, this exact scenario played out in this exact room. Back then, terrified of starting a public fight with him, I swallowed my humiliation and handed the project over. And the result? Daisy used my flawless proposal to skyrocket up the corporate ladder, earning rapid promotions and massive bonuses. Meanwhile, I spent my pregnancy with zero personal income and zero social life, completely crushed under Sebastian’s control. “Sebastian, if your brain is rotting, I suggest you seek medical help.” I looked at him with ice in my veins. “Give me back what is mine, or I have absolutely no problem escalating this directly to the CEO’s office.” Sebastian’s eyes instantly turned frigid. “Escalate to the CEO?” He looked at me like I had just told a hilarious joke. “Why don’t you open your employee portal right now and see if you even have the security clearance to email the executive floor?” I instantly pulled out my phone and logged into the company intranet. My account status read: Suspended. “You privately revoked my access?” “It is called workplace correction.” Sebastian leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers together. “You disobeyed a direct order from a superior and displayed a hostile attitude. As your director, I have the full authority to place you on administrative leave for reflection.” Daisy chimed in, eagerly adding fuel to the fire. “Come on, Jennifer, just swallow your pride and apologize. Seb stayed up until midnight yesterday just to draft that new spreadsheet for you. If you keep acting like a psycho, nobody is going to put up with you.” I looked at the two of them. They were truly a match made in hell, and I found the entire situation incredibly laughable. “Since I am suspended, that means I do not need to be at work, correct?” Sebastian assumed I was finally backing down. His expression softened slightly. “I added a new rule, Rule 366: Talking back to your husband results in a one-month project suspension. You can go home and reflect now.” “Remember to clock in your daily chore progress photos on time. If your score drops below a ninety, the wedding will be postponed.” I nodded slowly, turning on my heel and walking straight toward the conference room doors. “There is no need to postpone it.” I stopped at the threshold and looked back over my shoulder. “The wedding is completely canceled. You can give your spreadsheet to someone desperate enough to memorize it.” Sebastian’s brow instantly furrowed, but before he could speak, the sound of measured footsteps echoed down the hallway. We both froze and turned toward the sound. A man in a sleek, tailored black trench coat was walking slowly toward us, flanked by two towering bodyguards in dark suits. The man was tall and striking, his features sharp and strikingly cold. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes radiated an aura of absolute, unapproachable frost. Gabriel Sinclair. The youngest, most legendary cardiothoracic surgeon at Trinity Medical Center. And also the doctor who, in my past life, fought like hell to save me on the operating table. The man who gripped my blood-soaked hand with red, devastated eyes when my heart finally stopped. Sebastian obviously had no idea who Gabriel was. He eyed the newcomer with extreme impatience. “Who the hell are you? This is a private corporate floor. Get out.” Gabriel completely ignored Sebastian. He walked straight past him and stopped right in front of me. His gaze swept over my face. There was a deep, restrained emotion in his eyes that I could not quite read. “Ms. Jennifer, we meet again.” He finally turned to face Sebastian. His voice was perfectly level, yet laced with a chilling cruelty that made the hairs on my arms stand up. “I am Dr. Gabriel Sinclair from Trinity Medical Center. I am the attending physician for Ms. Jennifer’s mother.” Sebastian was taken aback for a second, but then he let out a harsh sneer. “Just a damn doctor, and you think you can stick your nose in my business? Do you want me to make one phone call and get your license revoked?” Gabriel’s lips curved upward into an incredibly icy smile. “Her mother’s medical expenses will be entirely billed to the Sinclair family account.” He raised a single finger. One of the bodyguards immediately stepped forward, handing him a sleek, matte-black business card. Gabriel casually tossed the card directly at Sebastian’s chest. It fluttered off his suit jacket and landed softly on the floor. “As for you.” Gabriel didn’t even bother looking at the dropped card. “Stay the hell out of my hospital. And while you are at it, tell your executives that all funding from the Sinclair Consortium is officially terminated as of today.” … After leaving the corporate building, I drove straight back to my apartment. This was the “three-million-dollar penthouse” Sebastian was always bragging about. Yes, he had paid the initial down payment. But the subsequent seven hundred thousand dollars spent on custom renovations, fully integrated smart appliances, and the imported Italian leather sofas were paid entirely out of my own pocket, draining five years of my hard-earned savings. In my past life, after I died, Daisy had lounged on that exact Italian sofa while flirting with Sebastian. When I reached the front door, I habitually punched in my passcode. “Beep. Incorrect passcode.” The robotic female voice echoed in the quiet hallway. I paused, assuming I had mistyped, and re-entered my birthday. Incorrect again. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Sebastian. “I changed the lock passcode. It is now Daisy’s birthday.” “This is a minor punishment for publicly disrespecting me in the conference room today. Rule 88 states: A wife must memorize the important personal details of her husband’s close friends and family.” “Stand out in the hallway for thirty minutes and think long and hard about what you did wrong. Once you figure it out, you can ask me for the passcode.” I read the text on the screen and actually let out a genuine laugh. Without a single second of hesitation, I googled a local locksmith and dialed the number. The technician arrived incredibly fast. Twenty minutes later, the screeching sound of a heavy-duty power drill echoed through the corridor. Just as the lock cylinder was about to give way, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Sebastian and Daisy walked out, shoulder to shoulder. Seeing the locksmith actively drilling into the door, Sebastian’s face turned a violent shade of purple. “Jennifer, have you completely lost your mind!” He sprinted forward and violently shoved the locksmith out of the way. “What the hell are you doing? Who gave you permission to break into my house?” “Your house?” I glared at him with pure ice. “Every single piece of furniture and appliance inside these walls was bought with my money. What gave you the right to lock me out?” Daisy immediately shrank behind Sebastian’s back, clutching her pearl necklace like a frightened little bird. “Jennifer, please don’t be so aggressive. Seb was just playing a harmless little joke on you. He just wanted to test your memory.” “Who the hell are you that I need to memorize your birthday?” I fired back without a shred of mercy. Daisy’s eyes instantly welled with dramatic tears as she gripped Sebastian’s sleeve. “Seb, look at how she is treating me.” Sebastian shielded Daisy with his body, looking down his nose at me with utter disgust. “Jennifer, look at the way you are behaving. You look like a hysterical street vendor!” “Daisy was kind enough to take over your heavy workload, and not only are you ungrateful, you are verbally abusing her. And now you are hiring thugs to drill out my locks?” The elevator dinged a second time. Mrs. Wright stormed out in her designer heels, radiating toxic energy. She was clutching a thick stack of legal documents in her hand. “Sebastian, I told you this woman was an ungrateful gold-digger, but you insisted on protecting her!” Mrs. Wright marched right up to me and shoved the documents directly into my face. “Look at this. It is a prenuptial agreement.” “Our family paid the down payment for this property. You do not own a single square inch of it. Even if you paid for the renovations, consider that your entry fee for marrying my son.” “Sign the papers. From now on, this house belongs solely to Sebastian. Do not even dream of getting your name on the deed.” I stared at the thick stack of notarized papers. The memories of my past life wrapped around my throat like a venomous snake. It had been pouring rain that day. I came home ten minutes late because the line at the grocery store was long. Sebastian and his mother locked the door on me. Through the wood, Mrs. Wright had sneered, “Rules are rules. If you have no concept of time, you can stand in the rain until your head clears.” I stood in the freezing downpour for two hours until a pool of blood washed down my legs. My first child died right there on the welcome mat. And when Sebastian finally opened the door, he just frowned at the mess and said, “You stained the porch. That is a twenty-point deduction.” I took a deep, shaky breath, dragging my consciousness back to the present. “Sir,” I said, looking at the locksmith. “Keep drilling. I will pay you double.” The technician hesitated for a split second, but money speaks loudly. He raised his drill again. “You ungrateful little brat!” Mrs. Wright raised her hand, aiming a vicious slap right at my cheek. I caught her wrist in mid-air and violently shoved her arm away. “Keep the damn house. You can pay the mortgage yourselves. As for everything inside, I am hiring a demolition crew to smash it all to pieces by tonight.” I turned my gaze to Sebastian. “The wedding is off.” Hearing my words, Sebastian did not look angry. Instead, he laughed. He adjusted his silk tie, looking at me like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum in a toy aisle. “Jennifer, do you really think you can just throw around words like ‘canceling the wedding’ and I will actually take you seriously?” He took a menacing step forward, trying to suffocate me with his presence. “Did you conveniently forget that your mother is currently lying in a VIP suite at Trinity Medical Center?” My heart dropped like a stone. “What are you implying?” Sebastian let out a cruel, triumphant sneer. “That VIP suite costs fifteen hundred dollars a day. Not to mention the imported targeted therapy drugs she is pumped full of every morning.” “Every single one of those medical channels was secured through my personal connections.” He reached out and flicked an imaginary speck of dust off my collar. “If you actually try to break off this engagement right now, I guarantee you, by tomorrow morning, your mother will be tossed out of that hospital for unpaid bills.” “And it will not stop there. Not a single private clinic in this entire city will dare to take her in.” Mrs. Wright cackled with wicked delight. “Exactly. Without the Wright family, your mother will not even have a clean bed to die in. And you dare to act tough in front of us?” Daisy eagerly stepped forward, hooking her arm through Sebastian’s in a sickeningly sweet display. “Jennifer, just stop being so stubborn. Seb is only doing this for your mother’s sake. Just apologize to him, sign the prenup, and we can all go back to being one big happy family.” I clenched my fists so tightly my manicured nails dug bloody half-moons into my palms. The suffocating helplessness of my past life flooded my veins. This was exactly how he operated. He always found the perfect leverage to force my head down, forcing me to compromise until I became that soulless puppet governed by his spreadsheet. “What is wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Sebastian stared down at me like a god observing an insect, holding out the prenup once more. “Kneel.” He spat the word out with terrifying calmness. “Sign the agreement, and then apologize to Daisy for scaring her with this locksmith stunt. Do that, and I will make sure your mother’s medication continues.” He was absolutely intoxicated by this power trip. He thrived on the high of pushing me to the absolute brink, watching me swallow my pride to survive. The air in the hallway felt completely depleted. Every breath I took felt like crushed glass in my lungs. Just as the suffocating stalemate reached its breaking point, a voice echoed from the corner of the corridor. It was cold, deep, and dripping with an unquestionable, terrifying authority. “I hear someone is trying to cut off my patient’s medication.”

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