Author: Momo Chan

The gloomy, poverty-stricken girl in our class received an anonymous love letter. Everyone whispered that the handwriting belonged to me. I was just about to deny it when floating comments suddenly flashed across my vision. [Here we go! The female lead gets healed by a love letter during her school days, gets into MIT, and eventually becomes the richest tech billionaire in San Francisco.] [It takes her years to find out the male lead wrote it, and she falls madly in love.] [Ugh, why is the annoying side character getting involved? He doesn’t even know how badly he’s going to get destroyed later.] Wait. MIT? I immediately stepped forward and nodded. “That is right. I wrote it. To be honest, I have had a massive crush on you for a long time.” The moment those words left my mouth, the entire classroom went dead silent. Hazel Brooks was known for her dark, unapproachable aura. She always hid behind thick black frames and a heavy, suffocating fringe, isolating herself in the very last row. No one usually dared to speak to her. When people saw her holding the pink envelope, a wave of teasing and jeering had erupted. No one wanted to claim the letter. After all, associating with the social outcast meant you would become an outcast yourself. Just as Hazel was being mocked, with people sneering that the letter was a cruel prank, those weird floating comments had appeared. I did not care about the gibberish they were spouting. I only saw three letters. M. I. T. 1 Hazel stared at me unblinkingly. Her irises were pitch black, the whites of her eyes showing just a bit too much beneath them. When her face lacked expression, she looked genuinely intimidating. Her tone was thick with suspicion. “You wrote this?” “Yeah. That is totally my handwriting.” Whoever actually wrote the letter clearly wanted to stay hidden. They had used rigid, blocky print, every letter perfectly squared off. I took calligraphy classes when I was a kid, so I was used to writing in precise block letters too. [Oh my god, the evil side character is making his move! So shameless, stealing the male lead’s credit.] [Whatever. Once his lies are exposed, the main couple will crush him so hard he will have to flee the state.] I am the evil side character? How evil could I possibly be? I just wanted to get into a good college. Come on. We are talking about MIT here. If this future billionaire could drag my grades up to Ivy League standards, my parents would probably build a statue of me in our hometown square. I propped my chin on my hands, sitting right in front of her desk, my eyes practically sparkling. “So, Hazel. I have liked you for ages. Want to give us a try?” “I am not interested in dating.” She casually slid the letter back across the desk, lowering her head to stare intensely at her AP Calculus worksheet. The classroom erupted in a chorus of mocking “oohs” and laughter. I could not care less. Not interested in dating? That just meant she was not saying a flat out no to me. Yep, us evil side characters are just built with this kind of blind confidence. Since my secret crush angle failed, I decided to go all out. I started delivering breakfast to Hazel’s desk every single morning. Usually, to save money, she only drank a cheap carton of soy milk. I brought her something different every day. Fresh bagels, warm lattes, toasted paninis. She would look at me with helpless frustration, but she hated wasting food too much to throw it away, so she always accepted it. During a passing period, she brushed past me in the hall. “Stop bringing me food. I have nothing to give you in return.” “I do not need anything back. I like you. I just want to treat you right.” “…” She furrowed her brows and walked away quickly. But the tips of her ears were flushed pink, just like a rabbit. After school, I trailed behind Hazel, clutching the love letter I had supposedly written. The floating comments were going wild, cursing me for being a shameless creep harassing the female lead. I pretended I was blind. Pride was not going to get me an acceptance letter. I kept pestering her, asking about her favorite foods, her hobbies, her favorite colors. “Hey Hazel, I wrote you another letter. Want to read it?” She ignored me. Finally, annoyed to her breaking point, she stopped and glared at me. “Rowan Pierce, what exactly do you even like about me?” “I like that you are insanely smart.” She lowered her eyes. The fire left them, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. “My family is broke. My parents are gone. My grandmother is sick. Being with me is nothing but a burden. I do not have the time or energy to play these stupid games with you. Just go home.” “I do not care about any of that. You did not choose your background.” The things you are born with do not define the places you will go. A sudden, sharp light flickered in Hazel’s usually dead eyes. She stayed quiet for a long time. I thought I had pushed too far and made her mad. “Look, if you really hate the idea, that is fine. I will just…” come back and ask tomorrow. Before I could finish the sentence, Hazel snatched the letter right out of my hand. “I will think about it. Stop writing these stupid letters and focus on your grades.” I immediately leaned in closer, grinning like an idiot. “Does that mean you are going to tutor me?” Hazel looked visibly uncomfortable under my intense stare and turned her face away. “Yeah.” Gym class. The volleyball net was set up, but one team was short a player. Hazel stepped onto the court. I rarely saw her participate in anything involving other breathing humans. But once she was in the game, she was fiercely focused, serving three consecutive aces. As she jumped for a spike and landed, the wind caught the hem of her gym shirt, lifting it slightly. I caught a glimpse of her waist. Pale as moonlight. And incredibly narrow. Her team won. I immediately jogged over to hand her an iced water bottle. The guys around us started whistling. The team captain laughed. “Give it a rest, Rowan. She already rejected you. Stop being a simp.” One of the guys smirked. “Hey, persistence breaks down resistance. Let the man work.” Hazel took the water, completely ignoring their noise. Instead, she fixed her dark eyes on me. “Did you finish memorizing the vocabulary list?” “…” 2 Yeah. She had basically become my drill sergeant. She micromanaged everything, from my overall syllabus down to exactly how many practice equations I needed to finish during a five minute break. “Almost. I got a little distracted watching you play.” “I was only on the court for fifteen minutes. Who were you staring at for the other thirty?” Hazel looked down at me, her gaze unblinking and heavy. The pressure radiating from her was intense. I actually had not been looking at anyone. I was just zoning out on the bleachers. But somehow, it felt like she was jealous. “Are you mad?” “No.” She looked down and took a sip of water. I let a smirk tug at the corner of my mouth and deliberately leaned in close to her ear. “Hazel, I found another thing I like about you. Your skin is really soft, and your waist is gorgeous.” “If I break into the top twenty on the next mock exam, can I put my arm around it?” “Cough, cough… You…” she choked on her water. “Going to study my vocab now!” I laughed and bolted toward the shade of the bleachers. When I glanced back, her entire face was burning red. Teasing Hazel was just too easy. When we were studying side by side in the library, if my knee accidentally brushed against her leg under the table, she would blush furiously. When the mock exam results came out, I actually made it into the top twenty of our class. I immediately went to claim my prize. She refused to look at me, her cheeks flushed. “You were not specific enough. I assumed you meant the top twenty in the entire school.” I pouted. Guess I was not getting that hug anytime soon. Hazel was a strict taskmaster. If I did not finish my assignments, she would coldly demand I redo everything from scratch. She constantly calculated the gap between my current GPA and MIT’s admission requirements, pushing me relentlessly. Honestly, she acted like we were already a couple planning to move to Boston together. One night at the library, I stayed up so late I passed out right on the desk. I had a dream. In it, I saw Hazel standing next to another guy. She had found out I was a fraud who stole someone else’s love letter. She was a ruthless, untouchable CEO, using her power to blacklist me from every job in the city. I was driven to total despair. I jolted awake in a cold sweat. Hazel was sitting perfectly straight beside me, meticulously grading my practice test. She had single handedly dragged my math scores from the gutter to the top tier. She finished marking the last page and her frown relaxed slightly. “Not bad. You only messed up one of the long form questions.” “Do I get a reward for that?” I was still shaken by the nightmare and desperately needed some comfort. She suddenly stammered. “W-what kind of reward do you want?” “Something I do not usually get.” Hazel pressed her lips together, glancing nervously around the quiet library, the tips of her ears glowing pink. “There are too many people here.” “Who cares if there are people?” “You…” She hesitated, her fingers nervously hovering over the hem of her shirt. I stood up and started packing my bag. “Since I am improving, my reward is going home early. I have not had a full night of sleep in weeks.” She looked at me, bewildered. “That is the reward you wanted?” “Yeah.” “Oh.” Hazel lowered her head, looking weirdly disappointed. Under Hazel’s iron fist, my grades skyrocketed. The whispers mocking me slowly died out. People were shocked by my academic comeback, but they were even more shocked that the gloomy outcast was actually giving me the time of day. They did not understand the power of bribery. Over the past year, I had spent every single cent of my allowance buying Hazel premium food. Her face was finally losing that sickly, sunken look. When the finals finally hit, I performed completely out of my mind. The night of the senior class graduation dinner, I bought a gift. I wanted to thank her properly for dragging me out of the academic trenches. But I waited until the restaurant closed. Hazel never showed up. I was just about to call her when the floating text exploded across my vision. [Oh wow! The female lead met the true male lead at her summer job! Yes!] [He is so gorgeous. Way better than that annoying side character. Can the side character just vanish already?] [The chemistry is insane! They are going to fall in love while working together!] I slowly locked my screen. I looked down at the gift box in my hands. Inside was a brand new smartphone. Guess she would not be needing it. 3 I had tested the waters with Hazel before, asking her in a half joking tone. “So, Hazel. Have you thought about making it official? When are you going to accept my confession?” Whenever I asked, she would just lower her head and stay perfectly silent. No response is a response. I scrolled through our chat history. Just yesterday, we had been estimating our final test scores together. I typed out one final message. [Hazel, thank you for everything you did for me this year.] Then, I blocked her number. She was never going to like me anyway. As the designated evil side character, it was best I got out of the way before I became a stepping stone. Miraculously, I actually got the acceptance letter from MIT. The day the email arrived, my dad practically threw a parade down our street. The class group chat was blowing up with notifications. Hazel had gotten in too. But she never sent a single message in the chat. She was probably too busy falling for the actual male protagonist. I racked up a ton of cash from relatives over the summer. When fall arrived, I strutted onto campus with a top tier laptop and the latest phone. Freshman Orientation Week. The late summer sun was baking my face, but I spotted Hazel instantly in the crowd of the neighboring group. She was tall, her skin porcelain bright, her features delicate and striking. She was impossible to ignore. She looked so much better than in high school. She must have switched to contact lenses. Without those ugly frames, her cold, beautiful face was fully on display. Her gaze was still intense and slightly dark, like a dangerous heroine from a comic book. I guess meeting the right guy really changes a person. Lunch break. Everyone flooded the dining halls. A tall, incredibly handsome guy walked over to greet Hazel. They chatted and laughed naturally. I noticed they were holding matching water bottles. That had to be him. Liam Crawford. The male lead from the comments. He was undeniably good looking, built like an athlete, and carried himself with effortless confidence. Suddenly, Hazel’s eyes locked onto mine across the quad. I froze, caught off guard, debating whether I should wave or pretend I did not see her. She had already looked away, turning back to Liam as they walked off together. It was like I was a complete stranger. Had she already figured out I lied about the letter? My heart pounded against my ribs, leaving a suffocating, heavy feeling in my chest. That night, the orientation groups merged around a massive bonfire. We all sat in a giant circle facing each other. Just my luck. Hazel was sitting diagonally across from me. We were playing a ruthless game of Truth or Dare. When the bottle pointed at Hazel, she chose Truth. The guys around her instantly started howling, pressuring the group leader to ask the ultimate question. “Do you have a boyfriend?” Hazel stayed quiet for a moment. “Yes.” She said it with absolute certainty. She never even glanced in my direction. A sharp ache pierced my chest, swelling uncomfortably. A collective groan of disappointment echoed from the guys. The dude sitting behind me muttered, “Of course the pretty ones are always taken.” Yeah. She is the literal protagonist of this world. NPCs like us just need to stay in our lanes. The floating comments were screaming again, theorizing that Hazel had secretly fallen for Liam during their summer job and waiting for the grand reveal. Had Liam still not confessed to writing the letter? My stomach churned in panic. Should I just confess and get it over with? Suddenly, the music stopped. I was holding the dreaded hot potato. I had lost. I chose Dare. The challenge: Pick a girl in the circle and make her blush. That was actually pretty easy. I scanned the crowd. I barely knew anyone here. And I definitely could not ask Hazel for help. She would just stare a hole through me. As I debated my options, I caught Hazel quietly looking at me, a strange light flickering in her dark eyes. I pointed randomly in her general direction. “I pick her. Is that cool?” The leader nodded. “Go for it.” Hazel shifted, preparing to stand up, but a senior girl suddenly stepped in front of her. “Rowan, looks like you need an expert.” Linda smiled, leaning in close. She was the very first person I met on campus. She had helped me carry my luggage on move in day. She was aggressively friendly, mostly because she was obsessed with recruiting me for the Debate Team. I had turned her down repeatedly. I could not even win an argument with a wall. Linda stood right in front of me, tilting her head with a challenging smirk. “Let us see what you have got, freshman. Make me blush.” I thought about it. How did I make Hazel blush back then? Right. Her ears were hyper sensitive. I deliberately stepped into Linda’s space, lowering my head so my lips were right next to her ear, and dropped my voice to a whisper. 4 “Linda, I am taller than you. With that loose top, I can see straight down.” The very next second, Linda gasped, slapped a hand over her chest, and her face turned the color of a stop sign. Gotcha. Honestly, the tank top she was wearing was skin tight. Even from a high angle, there was absolutely nothing to see. It was entirely covered. It was just a cheap, slightly sleazy bluff. I felt a little guilty. It was a trashy joke, but she was the one who wouldn’t leave me alone… whatever, I would apologize to her properly later. The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, everyone dying to know what I whispered. I played mysterious and kept my mouth shut. Halfway through the night, I slipped away to use the restroom. The portable toilets near the edge of the athletic field were pitch black and creepy. I finished up as fast as humanly possible. As I stepped out, a shadow detached itself from the trees. “Linda, seriously, could you please stop…” trying to recruit me. Before I could finish, I realized it was Hazel. Her naturally intense face was currently dark as a thunderstorm. I instinctively tried to step around her to escape. Hazel blocked my path, her voice dripping with ice. “Rowan Pierce. Have you decided to move on to your next target?” 5 The night breeze had a sharp bite to it, rustling the leaves in the dark grove next to the field. Hazel stood right in front of me. Even dressed in an oversized orientation t-shirt, she carried an aura of cold, untouchable elegance. She looked up at me, her dark eyes churning with a storm of emotions I could not decipher. My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively took a step back. “Hazel, what are you talking about? I do not get it.” I let out an awkward, dry laugh, trying to play it off. “Next target? We are all just classmates. It was just a game.” “A game?” Hazel took a step forward. Despite her smaller frame, it felt like she was casting a massive, terrifying shadow over me. “Rowan. The second finals ended, you blocked my number on everything. Is this what you meant when you said you had a massive crush on me?” She gritted her teeth, her voice dropping dangerously low, laced with a vulnerability she tried hard to hide. I shifted my eyes guiltily. Taking credit for that letter was a massive jerk move. Now that the real main character, Liam, was in the picture, if I did not back off gracefully, this future billionaire could ruin my life with a snap of her fingers. “Look… Hazel. I just thought I had bothered you enough during senior year. We are in college now. We should start fresh.” I took a deep breath, deciding to rip the bandage off. “Besides, did you not just tell everyone you have a boyfriend? It would be weird if I kept following you around.” Hearing the word “boyfriend,” Hazel froze. The dangerous storm in her eyes slowly dissolved, replaced by a look of sheer, baffled exhaustion. “Rowan, are you actually an idiot?” She raised her hand, looking like she wanted to aggressively poke me in the forehead. But halfway there, she stopped herself, her hand dropping to her side and curling into a tight fist. “When I said I have a boyfriend, I was talking about—” “Hazel!” A bright, cheerful voice sliced through the tension. I turned my head to see Liam jogging toward us, waving a bottle of water. “The orientation leader was looking for you! He needs you to double check the attendance sheet.” Liam stopped beside her. When he noticed me, he paused for a second before flashing a perfect, friendly smile. “Hey man, you must be Rowan, right? Hazel talks about you all the time.” My brain short circuited. Hazel talks about me? What did she say? Did she tell him how a shameless fraud harassed her for an entire year? [Here it comes! The main character and the side character face off!] [The male lead is so sweet and mature. The side character must be sweating bullets right now.] [Hazel was definitely complaining to him about how annoying Rowan is. Lol.] The comments were floating across my vision again. I swallowed hard and forced a stiff smile. “I will let you guys talk. I am going back to the dorm.” Without daring to look at Hazel’s face, I turned and practically sprinted away. That night, I had nightmares until the sun came up. I dreamed of Hazel wearing a sharp, tailored black suit, looking at me with absolute zero warmth, telling her security to throw me out on the street. Liam stood right beside her, smiling his perfect smile. I woke up drenched in cold sweat. MIT is great, but staying alive is better. I made a vow. Starting today, I was staying miles away from Hazel Brooks. My schedule was packed, and since I was actively dodging her, I managed to avoid her completely for days. Until Friday’s massive lecture class. The auditorium was packed. I finally found an empty seat in a dark corner in the back row. The second I sat down, a shadow fell over the empty desk beside me. I turned my head. Hazel was casually taking the seat, completely ignoring the stares of the guys around us. In her hands, she was holding my favorite water bottle. The one I accidentally left in the dining hall that morning.

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1 My husband bought a pair of black-rimmed glasses, claiming they were high-tech. He wore them while cooking, while reading the paper, and he even fumbled to put them on in the dark when he got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. I told him, “You don’t even need glasses, Arthur. Why do you keep wearing those things?” He just smiled, keeping his mouth shut, but when he looked at me, there was a softness in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in years. I wondered if the old man was going through some late-life spring awakening. So, while he was asleep that afternoon, I slipped them off his nightstand and put them on. The world looked exactly the same. Until I walked past the hallway mirror. Standing in the mirror was a young woman. I froze. The girl looking back at me was Vivian. His first love from forty years ago. I pulled the glasses off, and my own sixty-two-year-old face reappeared. I put them back on, and there she was again. Standing before the glass, I took them off, put them on, off, on. Before I knew it, hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. I cried in silence until the middle of the night. Once my chest stopped aching, I quietly placed the glasses back on his nightstand. The next morning, I went about my usual routine of making breakfast. Arthur leaned against the kitchen doorframe, studying me. “Why aren’t you wearing that white silk blouse today?” He asked, those new black-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. My hand holding the spatula froze for a fraction of a second. “It’s too tight, Arthur. It constricts my shoulders when I’m working in here.” “Go put it on,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was incredibly tender, a tone he hadn’t used with me in decades. “You look beautiful in it.” I turned my head to look at him. Behind those dark lenses, his eyes weren’t focusing on the deep crow’s feet framing my eyes, nor were they looking at my soft, aging waistline. His gaze was level, but it felt empty, as if he were looking right through my physical form to see someone else entirely. He was looking at the twenty-two-year-old Vivian. “Fine,” I murmured, turning off the stove and untying my apron. In the bedroom, I reached into the very bottom of the closet to pull out the white lace-trimmed blouse he had insisted on buying for me last week. A sixty-two-year-old woman squeezed into a style meant for a twenty-something girl. The intricate lace collar pressed against my sagging neck, looking entirely ridiculous. I looked in the full-length mirror. A thin, aging woman stared back. But I knew that through Arthur’s high-tech lenses, I was a radiant, ponytail-wearing girl in the prime of her youth. I walked back to the kitchen. He was still leaning by the door, and as my footsteps neared, he spun around. A massive, delighted smile spread across his wrinkled face. “Absolutely beautiful,” he whispered, reaching out to gently smooth the lace on my collar. “Just like when you were twenty.” I stared at the deep lines around his own eyes. “Arthur,” I said softly, testing the waters. “Do you even remember what I looked like at twenty?” He stiffened, his eyes darting away behind the lenses. “Of course I do. You were so bright and full of life back then.” “We didn’t meet until we were twenty-three, Arthur,” I said, my voice completely flat. His hand froze in midair. The kitchen went dead silent. After a tense couple of seconds, he let out a dry cough, withdrew his hand, and adjusted his glasses. “Old age is getting to me, I guess. Mixing up the years. Either way, you’re always young in my heart.” He was lying. Forty years ago, when he was twenty-two, the girl by his side was Vivian. She was his first love, the one who had allegedly drowned in a tragic accident after moving out West for work. I turned back to the stove and lit the burner to fry the eggs. “Arthur, I woke up late and couldn’t get any green onions. I put cilantro in your noodles instead.” Arthur despised cilantro. He always said it tasted like soap and stink bugs. But Vivian loved it; I had learned that years ago from reading his old diaries. “That’s fine,” he said with a chuckle behind me. “Cilantro adds a nice kick. Go ahead and put more in.” I stared at the hot oil sizzling in the pan, a cold shiver running straight up my spine. So that was it. No wonder he hadn’t been picky about his food lately. No wonder he looked at me with that sickeningly sweet adoration. He was using those AR glasses to superimpose a dead woman’s face, body, and habits onto mine. I scooped the noodles into a bowl and brought them to the table. He sat opposite me, greedily slurping down the cilantro-filled broth, even closing his eyes to savor every bite. “Is it good?” I asked. “Incredible,” he replied, looking up and smiling through his lenses. “Honey, your cooking is tasting more and more like the old days.” Whose old days? I didn’t ask. I already knew. I set my fork down, staring at the faint blue glow flickering along the edges of his frames. “Arthur, those frames look heavy. Why don’t you take them off while you eat? You’ll hurt your nose.” “No need,” he said, instantly putting a hand over the frame, his posture stiffening defensively. “I’m used to them. I can’t see right without them.” “You don’t have vision problems.” “They’re blue-light blockers! Everything has radiation these days. You wouldn’t understand.” His voice flared with irritation before he quickly forced a gentle tone, dropping a piece of egg into my bowl. “Eat up. It’ll get cold.” Looking at the egg, my stomach turned violently. “I’m not hungry.” I pushed my chair back and walked out to the balcony. Behind me, the sound of his wet, satisfied chewing echoed through the quiet apartment, filled with a grotesque greed. Forty years of marriage. I had believed that even if the romantic spark had faded, we shared a deep, unbreakable bond of companionship. But now, I saw the truth. I was merely a physical vessel, a convenient prop to keep his house clean and cook his meals while he wrapped me in a digital skin. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from our daughter, Lily: Hey Mom, David and I are coming over this weekend. Dad said he’s going to cook for us! I stared at the screen and typed back: Sounds wonderful. Let me know what you want to eat. Just as I hit send, Arthur’s voice drifted from the balcony door. “Who are you texting?” He had crept up quietly, those black frames still glued to his face. “Lily. She says they’re coming over this weekend.” “Ah,” he nodded, his gaze lingering on my white blouse. “Wear this outfit when they come. Don’t change out of it.” That weekend, Lily and her fiancé, David, arrived carrying bags of groceries and gifts. “Mom, Dad! We’re here!” Arthur poked his head out of the kitchen, wearing my floral apron with those black-rimmed glasses resting firmly on his nose. “Lily, sweetheart! Make yourselves at home. Dinner is almost ready.” David set the bags down and walked over to the kitchen with a warm smile. “Hey, Mr. Cooper, what’s with the glasses? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear them before.” Arthur didn’t stop chopping. “Just getting old, son. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.” I quietly set the table, refusing to call him out. The man could thread a needle without straining his eyes; his vision was perfectly fine. During the meal, Arthur did something completely out of character: he opened a bottle of expensive red wine. He raised his glass, his cheeks flushed with a happy glow. “David, you and Lily are taking the plunge soon. Let me give you a piece of advice from forty years in the game.” David raised his glass respectfully. “I’m all ears, sir. Hit me.” Arthur looked at me through his lenses. “The secret to a long marriage is accommodation.” He took a slow sip, his eyes glazing over with nostalgia. “Take your mother-in-law, for instance. She has a wild streak. Whenever it rains, she loves to run barefoot across the hardwood floors, and I have to chase her down with a pair of slippers.” My hand froze holding my fork. Lily stopped chewing, looking bewildered as she turned to me. “Mom, you have severe arthritis. When have you ever run barefoot on the floor?” Arthur seemed entirely deaf to our daughter’s voice, continuing to drift through his own memories. “And she’s terrified of the dark. We always have to keep a nightlight on, or she’ll wake up sobbing like a little girl.” David let out an awkward laugh, trying to keep the mood light. “Wow, I didn’t know you were such a romantic at heart, Mrs. Cooper.” I set my fork down and stared at my husband. I wasn’t afraid of the dark. In fact, I was an incredibly light sleeper; even a sliver of light would keep me tossing and turning. For forty years, I had insisted on the thickest blackout curtains money could buy. The girl who ran barefoot in the rain and couldn’t sleep without a nightlight was Vivian. Arthur’s glasses hadn’t just replaced my face; they had rewritten his entire memory of our forty years together. Here he was, in front of our future son-in-law, fondly reminiscing about another woman’s quirks while I, his actual wife, sat there like a transparent prop. “Dad,” Lily finally interrupted, her tone sharp. “You’re getting things mixed up. Mom has never used a nightlight. Just last month, you complained that she kept the room too dark after you stubbed your toe in the middle of the night.” The smile vanished from Arthur’s face. It was as if he had been violently yanked out of a dream, his expression momentarily blank. Then, waving his hand dismissively, he snapped, “What do you kids know? I’m talking about back in the day.” “Not back in the day either,” I said, my voice ice-cold. The temperature at the dining table plummeted instantly. David quickly tried to patch things over. “Well, I’m sure Mr. Cooper is just remembering some fond memories from when they were dating. Anyway, this food is delicious! Mrs. Cooper, these baby back ribs are incredible.” “I made those ribs,” Arthur chimed in, a strange note of pride in his voice. He turned to me, practically begging for approval. “Go on, try one. Isn’t it exactly how you like it?” I looked at the sweet-glazed ribs. They were bright red, glistening with a sticky, sugary sauce. I hated sweet meat. More importantly, I had been diagnosed with type-2 diabetes five years ago, and I never used sugar in my cooking. He knew this perfectly well. I picked up my fork, grabbed a rib, and dropped it straight into the trash can beside the table. “Too sweet. It’s practically pure sugar.” Arthur’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He slammed his hand on the table. “What is wrong with you? I spend hours in the kitchen cooking for you, and you throw a tantrum?” “I’ve had diabetes for five years, Arthur,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Did you really make these for me?” His breath caught. His lips parted, but no words came out. Lily scrambled to her feet, rubbing my back. “Mom, please don’t get upset. Dad probably just had a slip of the mind.” “Yeah, Mrs. Cooper, I’m sure he meant well,” David added quietly. He meant well. Those words pierced my ears like needles. For forty years, everyone thought Arthur was the perfect husband. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, handed his paychecks over, and never looked at another woman. Every anniversary, he would bring home a massive bouquet of lilies. Even though I was severely allergic to lily pollen and would sneeze uncontrollably every single time, he would just chuck me under the chin and laugh, saying, “My bad, I’ll remember next time.” And the next year, it would be lilies again. Because lilies were Vivian’s favorite flower. He used the guise of being a loving husband to mourn his first love, while I was painted as ungrateful whenever I showed even a hint of frustration. I stood up, ignoring my daughter’s pleas. “I’m full. Enjoy your dinner.” I walked down the hall, went into our bedroom, and locked the door behind me. Sitting in the dim room, I could hear Arthur’s muffled voice grumbling from the dining area. “I swear, your mother’s going through a late menopause. Her temper gets worse by the day.” “Dad, honestly, you know Mom has diabetes. Why would you make something so sweet?” Lily chided him. “Well, I just… I was…” He stammered, unable to come up with a decent excuse. I leaned against the heavy wooden door, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. After Lily and David left, Arthur pushed the bedroom door open. He looked thoroughly annoyed, those black-rimmed glasses still resting on his nose. “Did you really have to humiliate me like that in front of our daughter and her fiancé?” I sat on the edge of the mattress, my eyes fixed on him. “Arthur, when you wear those glasses, what do you see when you look at me?” He faltered, his gaze shifting nervously. “What do you mean? I see you, of course.” “Is that so?” I stood up and walked right up to him. Suddenly, I reached out and grabbed the edges of his glasses. “Then take them off. Look at my real face and tell me that.” He slapped my hands away, stumbling backward as he clutched the frames like they were his lifeline. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t touch my things!” “What are you so afraid of, Arthur?” I demanded, locking eyes with him. “Are you terrified that if you take them off, you won’t see Vivian anymore?” The room fell into a suffocating silence. His pupils dilated behind the lenses, his face turning ghostly pale. “You… you’re losing your mind.” “I don’t wear white lace blouses, I don’t eat cilantro, and I don’t sleep with a nightlight,” I said, taking step after step toward him. “Look at me. I’m Mary, not Vivian.” “Shut up!” he roared, pointing a trembling finger in my face. “You’re completely hysterical! Who said anything about Vivian? You’re sick, Mary!” Furious, he spun on his heel, stormed out of the bedroom, and slammed the door shut with a deafening bang. I stood alone in the quiet room, staring at the closed door. He was guilty. But I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Over the next few days, a cold war settled over our home. Arthur stopped asking me to wear specific clothes, and that sickeningly sweet smile disappeared from his face. But he never took off those glasses. In fact, things grew worse. He began spending hours locked away in his study, speaking softly into the empty air. “Yes, that little Italian bistro is still there… Of course, I’ll take you there sometime… You look beautiful in that dress today.” Standing outside the locked door, listening to his hushed tones, the blood in my veins turned to ice. If before he was just using the glasses as a visual filter to pretend I was Vivian, who was he talking to now? Was it an AI? Or some pre-programmed virtual girlfriend app? That Tuesday afternoon, Arthur left to play pickleball at the local recreation center. In his rush, he left his phone on the coffee table. For the past month, he hadn’t let that phone out of his sight for a single second. I walked over and picked it up. I tried entering his usual passcode, his birthday. Incorrect. I frowned. After a moment’s thought, I entered Vivian’s birthday. Click. The screen unlocked. I felt as though a heavy fist had punched me in the chest. Forty years of marriage, and he had changed his password to the birthday of a dead woman. Taking a deep breath, I opened the app on his home screen. It was called Mirage AR, the software linked to his high-tech glasses. As soon as it opened, the interface showed the device was connected. I tapped on the user profile and history. I expected to see some kind of AI avatar builder or custom image filter settings. Instead, I found an active online messenger. There was only one contact in the list. The display name read: Vivian. The status indicator said: Offline. My fingers began to tremble. Offline? This wasn’t an offline AI program. This was a real, live user account on an active network. I tapped on the chat history and call logs. There were daily voice calls lasting four to five hours, perfectly matching the exact times he spent locked in his study. I scrolled down. In a message sent a month ago, there was a photo of a street corner in some European city, accompanied by a voice note. I tapped play. A slightly raspy, aging woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Arthur, do you still remember the taste of those lemon lavender scones from the old bakery? I can’t find anything authentic in the shops over here.” It wasn’t a synthesized AI voice. It belonged to a real, breathing, sixty-something woman. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the glass coffee table. Vivian wasn’t dead. The woman who had supposedly drowned forty years ago, whose body was never recovered, was very much alive. She was living her life, and through this Mirage AR social app, she and Arthur had found each other again. Finally, I understood the true purpose of those black-rimmed glasses. It wasn’t just a filter to make me look younger. It was a real-time, interactive augmented reality communication device. When Arthur looked at me with those glasses, he wasn’t just superimposing Vivian’s youthful face onto my body; he was using me as a physical proxy while having a live, intimate roleplay with the real, aging Vivian across the ocean. I was nothing but a physical prop for their long-distance trysts. The front door clicked open. Arthur walked in, his eyes immediately landing on the phone on the coffee table, then on me. His face fell. He lunged forward in three quick strides and snatched the device. “Who gave you permission to touch my phone!” He shoved it into his pocket like a paranoid thief, his chest heaving. Looking at his panic-stricken face, I let out a sudden, mocking laugh. “What are you laughing at!” he barked, his voice cracking with defensive rage. “Arthur, Vivian never drowned forty years ago, did she?” The color drained from his face instantly, making those high-tech glasses look incredibly foolish. “What… what did you see?” he stammered. “I saw how you’ve spent the last forty years treating your wife like an absolute fool,” I said calmly. “Is life not going so well for her abroad? Is that why she suddenly remembered you exist?” He gritted his teeth, his jaw working for a long moment before he managed to spit out, “It’s none of your business.” “It wouldn’t be,” I nodded. “Except you’re using my pension to fund your little long-distance romance. That makes it very much my business.” I had seen the transactions in the app’s billing history. Every month, Arthur converted nearly twelve hundred dollars of our joint pension funds into the app’s tokens to send to her account. For years, he had been the one managing our finances. “That’s my money! I earned it, and I’ll spend it however I damn well please!” He finally ripped off his polite facade, revealing the raw selfishness beneath. “And don’t forget, my name is the only one on the deed of this house! If you don’t like it, you can pack your bags and get out!” He pointed a stiff finger toward the front door, his voice booming. He was absolutely sure I wouldn’t leave. A sixty-two-year-old woman with no independent income and no savings, in his eyes, I was a helpless dependent who had nowhere else to go. I stared at the man I had shared a bed with for four decades. The very last trace of affection I had for him dissolved into nothing but ash. “Fine,” I said quietly. “Just wait right here.” “For what?” he sneered. “If you’re going to apologize, don’t bother. It’s too late.” I walked into the kitchen, picked up the heavy meat cleaver from the chopping block, and walked back out. Arthur’s eyes went wide. He scrambled back two steps, his voice shaking. “Mary! Don’t do anything crazy! Murder is a life sentence!” Ignoring him, I walked over to the coffee table and slammed the cleaver down onto his most prized antique porcelain tea set. With a loud crash, the delicate cups and teapot shattered into a hundred pieces. “You’re insane!” he shrieked. I tossed the cleaver onto the sofa and brushed the dust from my hands. “Arthur, your former department is hosting your retirement gala the day after tomorrow.” I looked him dead in the eyes, speaking with absolute clarity. “I’ll see you at the party.” The day after tomorrow was Arthur’s sixty-fifth birthday, marked by a massive retirement celebration thrown by the engineering institute where he had worked his entire life. He had spent decades building his reputation there; he was a man of high standing, with a massive social circle. The gala was booked at the most luxurious hotel downtown, with over a hundred guests attending. Early that morning, he spent over an hour preening in front of the mirror, even using hair gel for the first time in years. He polished those black-rimmed glasses until they shone and slid them onto his nose. “Hurry up and get dressed,” he called out from the living room. “The Director is going to be there. Put on something decent.” I stepped out of the bedroom. I wasn’t wearing any of the cheap lace dresses he had bought to feed his fantasies, nor the white blouse. I wore a simple charcoal wool coat over a black turtleneck. It was elegant, understated, and perfectly appropriate for a woman of sixty-two. Arthur frowned. “It’s a celebration, Mary. Why are you dressed like you’re going to a funeral?” “If you don’t like it, you can always turn off your glasses,” I replied flatly. He choked on his words, glared at me, and shut his mouth. By the time we arrived at the hotel ballroom, most of the guests had already gathered, old colleagues, relatives, friends, as well as Lily and David. Everyone showered Arthur with compliments on how young he looked and praised us for our long, happy marriage. “Arthur, your greatest achievement in life wasn’t your research awards, it was marrying this wonderful woman!” Director Henderson laughed, patting Arthur on the shoulder. Arthur, wearing his glasses, beamed with pride. “You’re absolutely right, Director. Mary has been my rock through everything. I couldn’t have done any of it without her.” He turned to me, his eyes dripping with a sickening display of affection. I knew exactly what he was seeing through those lenses: a twenty-year-old Vivian in a white dress, smiling back at him. He was using this public tribute to me to declare his love to the dead girl in his eyes. Midway through the dinner, the massive projector screen lowered. This was Arthur’s grand surprise. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, taking the microphone as he walked up to the stage. “Today isn’t just my retirement; it also marks the fortieth anniversary of the day my wife and I first met.” A thunderous round of applause erupted. Lily was filming him excitedly on her phone. I sat at the head table, completely expressionless, watching his performance. “Forty years ago, I had nothing to my name. She stood by me through the hardest times of my life.” The screen began playing a slideshow. It was a series of landscape photos, interspersed with shots of us from behind, cooking, walking in the park. Oddly enough, every photo of me was either taken from the back or heavily blurred. There was only one clear photo of Arthur in his youth, with a long-haired, AI-generated silhouette superimposed beside him. “I know her greatest regret in life was that we never took a proper, beautiful photo together back then,” Arthur’s voice cracked, sounding choked with emotion. “So, with the help of some tech-savvy friends, I used the latest AI technology to recreate her voice and likeness from her youth. Consider this my special gift to her tonight.” The guests swooned, whispering about how romantic he was. My fingers tightened around my water glass. The screen flickered. From the ballroom speakers, a soft, youthful female voice echoed. “Arthur, congratulations on your retirement. You’ve worked so hard these past forty years. I will always love you.” The voice echoed throughout the hall. It was Vivian’s voice. It had been run through an AI filter to remove the age, restoring the bright, melodic tone of a twenty-something girl. Arthur stood on the stage, his eyes red. He closed them, completely lost in the delusion. In front of his family, his lifelong friends, and his colleagues, he was publicly broadcasting his first love’s voice, boldly claiming to everyone that it belonged to me. The room reached a fever pitch of sentimentality. His old buddies began shouting from their tables, “Come on, Arthur! Get your lady up on stage to say a few words!” Arthur opened his eyes and looked at me through those black frames. He extended his hand to me, like a gracious king granting an audience. “Mary, come on up.” I stood up. Every eye in the room followed me as I made my way to the stage. Arthur reached out to take my hand, but I smoothly stepped past him, walking straight to the microphone. The crowd wore warm, expectant smiles, waiting for a tearful response. I scanned the room. I saw the eager look in my daughter’s eyes, the nodding approval of his old boss. Finally, I turned to look my husband in the eye. “That isn’t my voice,” I said clearly into the microphone. The chatter in the grand ballroom died instantly. Arthur froze. The color began to slip from his face, and he muttered under his breath, “Mary, don’t do this now. It’s an AI recreation, of course it sounds a little different…” “It’s not just the voice,” I interrupted, raising my voice to carry over the speakers. “The silhouette on that screen isn’t me, either.” Whispers rippled through the audience. Beads of cold sweat broke out on Arthur’s forehead. He stepped forward, reaching desperately for the microphone. “You’ve had too much wine, dear. Come on, let’s get you sat down.” I shoved his hand away. “Arthur, who is standing on this stage in those high-tech glasses of yours right now?” I pointed a finger directly at his face, my voice as cold as winter stone. “It’s Vivian, isn’t it? The woman who supposedly drowned forty years ago?”

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1 Three years of marriage, and Ava despised any form of romantic gesture. Even buying her a single rose was enough to get me locked out of our home. So, we never celebrated anything. Until I was hospitalized with an acute stomach hemorrhage, only to scroll through her social media. She had rented out the entire Coastal Cove Amusement Park, setting off a million-dollar display of fireworks for her depressed male subordinate. I didn’t lose my temper right then. Instead, at her company’s annual investment summit the next morning, I lit those multi-million-dollar contracts, which I had secretly signed on her behalf, on fire, page by page. “You always did love a grand gesture,” I said. “How does a ten-million-dollar firework look?” She stayed silent, but her subordinate lost it. “Mr. Ashford, you’re just a househusband living off Ava’s hard work. You know nothing. How dare you make a scene here!” “You just ruined everything she worked for. You’ve crossed the line!” I didn’t get angry. “You’re fired.” My wife, who always prided herself on being rational, slammed her glass down and screamed at me. “Jack, what right do you have to fire my people?” I just shook my head. Once a woman stops listening, there is no point in keeping her around. Worst case, I’d just fund another company and build up someone who actually knows how to behave. … At one in the morning, I was curled up on a hospital bed, cold sweat dripping from the agonizing pain in my stomach. The doctor said it was acute stomach bleeding. I needed to be admitted immediately. I called Ava for the fifth time. It went straight to voicemail again. The nurse adjusting my IV sighed, her brow furrowing. “Where is your family? You shouldn’t be handling this alone.” “She’s busy,” I managed a weak smile. “Extremely busy.” The nurse shook her head and walked out. Staring at the sterile white ceiling, my mind drifted back to our wedding day. Standing outside the courthouse, Ava had grabbed my sleeve and said, “Jack, I absolutely despise useless, superficial gestures. Don’t buy me flowers, don’t plan anniversaries, and don’t do surprises. That’s garbage only brainless, show-off rich people care about.” I believed her. For three years, I didn’t even dare buy her a birthday cake. Last Valentine’s Day, I made the mistake of bringing home a bouquet of roses. She didn’t even let me in, her voice cold through the door: “Leave them outside. The petals will mess up my clean floors.” The next morning, those roses were in the trash. I genuinely thought I had married a career-driven, low-maintenance woman. Until, out of sheer boredom, I opened my phone. The top post on my feed was from Ava, posted thirty minutes ago. A grid of nine photos, filled with brilliant fireworks exploding over the city’s largest amusement park, Coastal Cove. The caption read: May the rest of your life be free of shadows, burning as bright as these fireworks. I tapped the first photo. Ava was laughing like a carefree teenager, her arm wrapped around a slender, pale young man. He had delicate, almost fragile features, looking up at the sky with a melancholic, sickly beauty. Tristan. Her new executive assistant, hired barely a month ago. Just a few days back, Ava had casually mentioned him to me: “The kid suffers from severe depression. Be patient with him.” The comment section was already flooded. “Wow, Ava is so generous to Tristan! Rented out the entire Coastal Cove!” “A half-hour firework show… how much did that even cost?” Someone in the comments posted the exact figure: rental fee plus custom fireworks, three point eight million dollars. Staring at those numbers, the burning in my stomach suddenly vanished. Instead, my chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. I scrolled through my chat history with Ava over the last three years. Me: Let’s have dinner together tonight. Her: Busy. Me: Want to catch a movie this weekend? Her: No time. Stop wasting energy on pointless things. Me: It’s our anniversary today. Her: Jack, how many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing up these useless dates? And yet, here she was, spending three point eight million dollars on fireworks for an assistant she had known for less than a month. Just to make him “burn bright.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips, sending another sharp spasm through my gut. The nurse rushed back in, holding me down. “What are you doing? Don’t move!” I ignored her, my eyes glued to the photo. “It’s fine,” I muttered. “I’m just done being the perfect, supportive husband.” The nurse stared at me, thoroughly confused. I ignored her and dialed my best friend, Justin. He picked up after two rings. “Jack? Man, it’s the middle of the night…” “Justin, first thing tomorrow morning, bring all the original investment contracts Ashford Group holds in Aura Financial to the International Convention Center.” A long silence stretched over the line. “Jack… you’re finally waking up?” “Yeah,” I said, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve played the part for three years. I’m done.” “Also, have the market research team look for new targets. Within three months, I want a company that can completely replace Aura Financial.” “Understood.” I hung up and closed my eyes. Ava, did you enjoy the fireworks? Tomorrow, I’ll show you a much bigger show. 2 The next morning, I discharged myself against medical advice, signing the waiver form before the doctor could protest further. Today was Aura Financial’s annual investment summit, an event Ava had spent over six months preparing for. The biggest players in the financial sector would all be there. And the highly praised “star projects” Aura had secured over the past two years, totaling nearly thirty million dollars in investments, were actually funded by me through the Ashford Group, channeled through seven layers of offshore shell companies. She had no idea. She genuinely believed she had married an average guy who relied on her for financial support. At last year’s company gala, she had raised her glass and joked to the crowd, “My husband’s greatest talent is knowing how to cook.” The room had erupted in laughter. I had sat there in the audience, smiling and clapping for her. What a pathetic fool I was. At the International Convention Center, crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant glow over flowing champagne. The staff at the registration desk recognized me instantly. As the CEO’s husband and the punchline of last year’s gala, I was let in without a single question. Ava stood on the stage in a sharp red blazer, looking radiant and confident. Standing right beside her was Tristan, the delicate young man from last night’s post. Tristan, dressed in a tailored suit, was eagerly handing her documents, occasionally leaning in to whisper in her ear. The crowd murmured in approval. Holding a glass of champagne, I walked up the side stairs and onto the stage. Every eye in the room immediately locked onto me. Ava’s face darkened instantly. “Jack, what are you doing here? Who let you up?” “I brought you a gift.” I signaled to Justin. He immediately stepped up and handed me a thick stack of original contracts. With the entire audience watching, I pulled a silver lighter from my pocket. The click of the ignition echoed as a flame flickered to life. I lit the first contract. “Jack! Are you insane?!” Ava’s voice cracked, her composure shattering. “Those are company contracts! The originals!” Ignoring her, I set the second one on fire. “Didn’t you say you hated superficial gestures?” The third one caught fire. “Didn’t you say only brainless, show-off rich people throw money away?” The fourth one turned to ash. “Does a three point eight million dollar firework show count as brainless?” The flickering flames illuminated Ava’s face, turning it incredibly pale. I spoke directly into the microphone, my voice so calm it even surprised me. “Tell me, Ava. Was the multi-million-dollar show beautiful?” The room fell into a dead silence. The contracts burned to ashes, fluttering down onto the crimson carpet. Ava’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She was a businesswoman first and knew she couldn’t lose her temper in public. But Tristan couldn’t help himself. His eyes welled with tears. He pushed past Ava and rushed in front of me, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “Mr. Ashford, who do you think you are?” “You’re just a kept man living off Ava’s hard work! What do you know about investments? What do you know about business?” “Ava poured six months of her life into this! This is the livelihood of hundreds of employees! Can you even begin to pay for the damage you’ve caused?!” “You are incredibly out of line!” His spit practically flew in my face. I tilted my head, looking down at him coldly. “And who are you? Did I speak to you? Know your place.” Tristan froze. I turned my gaze back to Ava. “By the way, your beloved assistant is fired.” Tristan’s face flushed red. “Fired by you?! You think you have the authority? Who do you think…” A sharp crash cut him off. Ava slammed her crystal glass onto the stage, sending shards flying everywhere. She marched over, shielding Tristan behind her, her eyes icy as she glared at me. “Jack.” “What right do you have to fire my people?” 3 I stared at her. This was the woman I had protected and cherished for three years, the woman whose favorite shampoo brand I still memorized. And here she was, in front of the city’s most prominent investors, smashing a glass to defend an assistant who had been with her for less than a month. A soft chuckle escaped me. “Ava, are you sure you want to make a scene here?” “You started this!” she hissed, her teeth clenched. “You will apologize to Tristan. Right now, in front of everyone!” An apology. While I was lying in a hospital bed with internal bleeding, she was setting off fireworks for him. And now, she wanted me to apologize. “Ava, you are the one who needs to apologize today.” “Me?” Ava let out a mocking laugh. “Jack, you just burned thirty million dollars worth of contracts and ruined a summit I prepared for six months. And you expect me to apologize?” She looked me up and down, as if examining an ungrateful stranger. Tristan immediately put on a display of fragile vulnerability, tugging gently at Ava’s sleeve. “Ava, it’s fine… it’s my fault. Mr. Ashford, I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry.” He kept his head low, his shoulders trembling slightly as tears pooled in his eyes. “Quite the actor, aren’t you, Tristan?” I said. Tristan snapped his head up, his expression instantly shifting to wounded innocence. “Mr. Ashford, I’m a diagnosed depression patient who has been with this company for barely a month. Your constant targeting… I really can’t take much more of this.” As he spoke, real tears began to stream down his cheeks. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. “Ava’s husband has a terrible temper.” “I heard the assistant is sick… why is he bullying him like that?” “Well, that’s what happens when a guy lives off his wife for too long. He gets insecure.” I didn’t look at them. I kept my eyes on Ava. “Ava, do you hear that? Everyone thinks I’m the one picking on your little assistant.” Ava’s lips curled into a cold, contemptuous sneer. “Jack, you aren’t just insecure from living off me. You’ve gotten so used to it that you actually think you’re someone important.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word felt like a blade. The crowd chuckled in agreement. Despite the sharp pain in my stomach, I smiled. “Good.” I gestured to Justin, who handed me another document. I slammed the paper onto the podium. “Tristan, you are fired.” Tristan let out a sharp laugh. “Mr. Ashford, you’re firing me? You don’t have the authority.” “Whether I do or don’t,” I looked at Ava, “is up to her.” Every eye in the room turned to Ava. She stared back at me, her eyes locking onto mine for three long seconds. Then, under the watchful gaze of the entire room, she slowly reached out, picked up the paper, and tore it in half. The shredded pieces drifted to the floor. “Jack,” her voice was like ice. “Tristan’s employment is none of your business. In this company, I make the decisions.” “Who are you? You’re just my husband.” A mocking smile touched her lips. “I let you come today out of respect. Don’t push your luck.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. Tristan kept his head lowered, his shoulders shaking, but I caught the smug, victorious grin stretching across his face. Looking at this woman who had just publicly stripped away the last shred of my dignity, the pain in my stomach intensified, yet my smile only widened. “Excellent, Ava. Very well.” Without another word, I turned and walked off the stage. Behind me, Ava was already smoothly explaining to the investors, “Apologies for the distraction, everyone. Just a minor domestic dispute. The summit will proceed as planned.” Her tone shifted back to professional efficiency so quickly, as if the entire incident had been nothing more than a minor, irritating blip. And I was barely even that. As I reached the corridor outside, the frantic click of high heels sounded behind me. Ava caught up, grabbing my arm with a tight grip. “Jack, have you had your fun today? Just tell me what you want. Name your price.” Name your price. She wasn’t trying to resolve things. She was dismissing me like a pet throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want your money, Ava. I want a divorce.” Ava froze for a split second. Then, she laughed. It was a laugh of disbelief, mockery, and ultimately, relief. “A divorce? Are you serious, Jack?” “Completely.” “Fine.” She let go of my arm, shaking me off as if I were a piece of dirty laundry. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for a long time.” She pulled out her phone and dialed her lawyer right in front of me. “Robert, draft a divorce agreement and have it delivered to my place tonight.” “Yes, Jack leaves with nothing. No house, no car, no savings. If he refuses to sign, we’ll see him in court.” She hung up and looked down at me coldly. “Jack, don’t think for a second that today’s stunt will make me regret this. If anything, you’ve saved me a payout and a very awkward conversation.” “I can’t wait to get you out of my life.” “Oh, and make sure your things are out of my house by tonight.” With that, she took Tristan’s arm and walked away without looking back. 4 I didn’t go back to the house we shared. Justin drove me to my private penthouse in Riverview, owned by the Ashford Group. No one had lived here for three years, but a cleaning service maintained it weekly. The mahogany floors were polished to a mirror shine. After a hot shower, I walked into the living room, where Justin had already laid out a file on the coffee table. “Jack, I ran the background check you wanted on Tristan.” His expression was deeply unsettled. “You might want to sit down for this.” I picked up the file and flipped it open. Page one: Tristan’s resume. Flawless, with a master’s degree from a prestigious European university. Page two: Family background. His mother was Ava’s high school classmate; the two families had been close for decades. Page three. My fingers froze. Tristan and Ava had been legally married three years ago. They had divorced exactly one month before Ava and I were set up on our blind date. “Are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “Absolutely,” Justin said quietly. “I pulled the records directly from the city archives myself.” “Also, that luxury riverfront condo Ava bought two years ago? The deed is in her name, but Tristan has been living there the entire time. Ava pays for everything; utility bills, HOA fees, even Tristan’s personal training sessions.” I closed my eyes. Three years. Every time she claimed she was working late, every business trip, every client dinner. It turned out that every single time she said she wasn’t coming home, she was with her ex-husband. And while I was lying in a hospital bed with acute internal bleeding, she was throwing him a three point eight million dollar firework show. Me, the heir of the massive Ashford Group, spent three years playing the doting, domestic husband, only to be a placeholder for her ex-husband’s transition period. A dry, mocking laugh escaped me, triggering another spasm in my stomach. What a joke. My phone vibrated. An unknown number. It was a screenshot of a wire transfer: fifty thousand dollars. A message followed. “Mr. Ashford, Ava asked me to send you this. She said you worked hard these past three years, and this fifty thousand should help you get by. Please don’t harass her anymore, and don’t try to interfere with the company.” Sender: Tristan. A second message popped up almost immediately. “Let me be frank with you, Mr. Ashford. Ava looked into the funding of those contracts. They came from the Ashford Group.” “She doesn’t know what low-level job you have there; running errands or pouring coffee, but you’d better know your place.” “The real owners of a conglomerate like Ashford could crush you with a single finger.” “You used your position to embezzle Ashford funds to get back at Ava. If this gets out, you’ll be the first one they throw under the bus.” “Out of pity for your time together, Ava gave you fifty thousand dollars to run. She expects you to be smart, show up at the courthouse tomorrow to sign the papers, and leave quietly.” “As for your threat to fire me today? Ava told me to tell you: an outsider trying to play these petty games is just pathetic.” I stared at the screen, completely dumbfounded for three seconds. Then, a loud laugh burst from my chest, causing my stomach to ache all over again. So, in Ava’s mind, the mysterious investor behind her success couldn’t possibly be me. She had traced the funds to the Ashford Group and assumed I was just some low-level employee who had embezzled company money to make his wife look good. A useless husband trying to play savior. And she had generously had her little lover send me fifty thousand dollars as a pittance to skip town. I typed back two simple words. “Sounds good.” I tossed the phone onto the sofa and walked into the study. I spun the dial on the safe, and the heavy door clicked open. Inside lay a single document: the true ownership structure of Aura Financial, controlled by the Ashford Group. Fifty-one percent of Aura Financial’s shares, held through seven layers of offshore companies, ultimately belonged to one name. Jack Ashford. Which meant that the CEO seat Ava had occupied for three years belonged to me. The entire company belonged to me. And that three point eight million dollar firework show was paid for with my money, thrown for her ex-husband. I picked up the file, a slow smile spreading across my face. Ava, you want me to sign the divorce papers tomorrow? Fine, I’ll show up. But the man signing those papers won’t be your penniless, useless husband. It will be the actual owner of Aura Financial.

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I was the Harrington family’s designated bride. But at eighteen, forced to choose between the brothers, I was paralyzed. Christian was ice-cold; Ashton was pure wildfire. Ready to flip a coin, glowing text suddenly invaded my vision: [Why is this annoying side character hesitating? Both brothers despise her.] [She only throws her weight around because of that ‘chosen bride’ title. Nothing like our sweet female lead.] [The main trio would be perfect without this stupid side character ruining it.] [At least she dies in childbirth. Main characters get their happy ending. Otherwise, I’d puke.] Gasping, I looked up at my childhood friends. Beneath their calm masks, I saw it—faint, repressed disgust. Aunt Beatrice urged me gently. Chaos reigned in my mind until new text appeared: [Forget the brothers! Look at the incubus uncle!] [He hides his feelings because of the age gap.] [Pick him, and you skip the tragic death. You’ll be living your best life in his bed!] Panicked, I glanced toward the quiet corner. There sat the man with hawk-like eyes, staring intently right at me. 1 “Sisi, Christian and Ashton both grew up with you. Their feelings for you are unquestionable.” “But this is about your lifelong happiness. Who do you want as your future partner?” Aunt Beatrice’s gentle voice cut through the silence, and instantly, everyone’s eyes locked onto me. They were holding their breath, waiting for my decision. Because this decision would determine the future heir of the Harrington empire. I was originally the daughter of the Harringtons’ housekeeper. When I was five, my mother died saving Aunt Beatrice’s life. On her deathbed, her weak, sorrowful gaze had lingered on me. “Ma’am, I don’t regret saving you,” she had whispered, struggling to speak. “I just… I can’t bear to leave my little girl behind.” Aunt Beatrice had immediately clasped her hands, tears streaming down her face as she promised: “Do not worry. From this day on, Sisi is my own daughter. She will be my future daughter-in-law.” “The Harrington family will cherish and protect her for the rest of her life.” With those words, my mother closed her eyes in peace. And just as Aunt Beatrice had promised, I became the jewel of the Harrington household. From that day on, I lived a life of luxury, showered with affection. Aunt Beatrice’s twin sons willingly became my knights, shielding me from the world. The three of us were inseparable childhood friends. But now, I had to choose one of them to be my partner for life. Choosing one meant hurting the other. It was an impossible choice. I hesitated, my gaze shifting between the two brothers. Just as I was about to suggest a round of rock-paper-scissors to let fate decide, dense rows of glowing comments erupted before my eyes. 2 [Wait, why does this annoying girl look so conflicted? Is she seriously picking between them?] [Does she actually think the male leads are head over heels for her? If Mrs. Harrington hadn’t forced them into this, they wouldn’t have pretended to tolerate her for so many years.] [Exactly. She’s been acting like she owns the place just because of her mom’s sacrifice. She’s not half as cute or endearing as our female lead.] [I’ve been waiting forever to see the relationship between the three main characters, and she’s ruining it.] [Thank goodness she dies during childbirth in the end. Otherwise, I would have lost my mind!] The floating comments were vicious and biting, filled with nothing but hatred and contempt for me. I pinched my arm hard. It stung. This wasn’t an illusion. If this was real, then according to these comments, I was merely the villainous side character in a reverse-harem romance novel. A girl who used her mother’s sacrifice to force an engagement on one of the male leads. A girl who, after marriage, would be neglected by her husband, eventually dying a miserable death on the operating table during childbirth. Nothing but a tragic stepping stone in the sweeping romance of the main characters. I couldn’t believe it; my tragic end, and the revelation that my two childhood friends actually loved someone else. We had spent over a decade together. I had felt their genuine care and protection. How could it all be a lie? But when I turned to look at the brothers, my confidence shattered. 3 The older brother, Christian. The younger brother, Ashton. They shared identical, striking features, yet their vibes were entirely different. Christian was cold and reserved; Ashton was wild and untamed. But right now, without exception, both of their dark eyes held a deeply buried flicker of annoyance. Yes, it was disgust. A cold chill washed over me. Seeing my prolonged silence, Aunt Beatrice couldn’t help but urge me again: “Sisi? Have you made up your mind?” [Oh my god, the dark moment is finally here!] [Who is this annoying girl going to choose? Don’t tell me she wants both of them?] [She’ll probably choose the older brother. That’s what happened in the original story.] [And then Christian completely ignored her after the wedding. She kept lying to herself, thinking he was just being considerate because of her weak health, while he was actually hooking up with the female lead behind her back.] [Hahaha, talk about a clown!] Staring at the glowing words, my eyes widened in shock. In my memory, Christian was always steady and calm, rarely showing extreme emotions. Was he really that wild with the so-called female lead in private? And what about Ashton? [As for the younger brother? With Christian taking one for the team, Ashton was free to be with the female lead.] [But the female lead missed Christian so much she kept waking up from nightmares. To comfort her, Ashton actually agreed to act as Christian’s stand-in, letting his brother slip in to meet her.] The details in the comments grew more bizarre and shocking by the second. Ashton was incredibly proud, and he had hated being compared to his brother since we were kids. Yet, for his beloved, he was willing to become his brother’s body double. 4 “Sisi?” Aunt Beatrice’s gentle voice called me back to reality. I shook off the shock, looking at the brothers one by one. The moment Ashton met my gaze, he quickly looked away. He was terrified of being chosen. Christian was more subtle. He simply lowered his eyes without a word. But his complete, quiet rejection stung my heart. So, our engagement was nothing but a burden to them. I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the bitter ache in my chest. I turned to Aunt Beatrice, biting my lip as I spoke hesitantly: “Aunt Beatrice… can I… choose neither?” Aunt Beatrice froze. “Why, sweetheart?” Then, seeing the conflict and struggle in my eyes, she seemed to have a sudden realization and lightly tapped her own forehead. “Oh, how silly of me. I should have realized.” “The three of you grew up together. You care for both of them equally. Forcing you to choose one over the other must be so difficult.” “In that case, let’s leave it to fate.” “Butler, bring the drawing straws!” Throughout my life, Aunt Beatrice had perfectly filled the role of my mother. Even now, she was trying to find a way to spare my feelings. But vicious comments began to flood my vision: [Is this girl for real? She can’t even make a choice, so she’s forcing Mrs. Harrington to play the bad guy?] [No matter who draws the short straw, they’re going to resent their mother for it.] [Seriously, the girl’s mom was just as annoying. Saving a life is fine, but using it to guilt-trip a wealthy family for generations is just cheap.] [If her mom hadn’t dumped this burden on them on her deathbed, the brothers wouldn’t be in this miserable position.] They weren’t just insulting me anymore; they were dragging my late mother into it. That crossed the line. 5 I swallowed the tears threatening to spill over and raised my voice: “Aunt Beatrice, there’s no need!” “Actually, I don’t love Christian or Ashton. I’m already in love with someone else!” My words were like a sudden thunderclap, shocking everyone in the room. But to my surprise, the strongest reaction came from the twins. Ashton snapped his head toward me, his eyes locking onto mine as he snarled: “You’re lying!” “You spend every single day with us. You don’t even have the chance to meet outsiders.” “How could you possibly be in love with someone else?” Ashton’s presence was always intense, and his current fury genuinely startled me. I shrank back slightly, my voice trembling with a hint of tears. “I… the person I like… is also a Harrington…” Hearing this, the harshness in Ashton’s eyes softened into a mocking sneer. “A Harrington, huh?” “I’d love to hear who this is.” “Who could possibly have more charm than my brother and me to make your heart flutter like this?” His eyes were filled with amusement, completely convinced I was making it up. Even Christian, who had remained silent, slowly raised his eyes to stare at me, demanding: “Who is it?” Suddenly, the pressure in the room felt suffocating. I clenched my hands tightly, my eyes darting around the room as I desperately searched for a suitable candidate. 6 The Harrington family was an absolute empire, controlling a massive portion of the country’s business landscape. But because of the immense wealth, the different branches of the family fought viciously behind closed doors. As a result, the younger generation had been competing since childhood. They didn’t dare target Christian or Ashton, so they chose me, the easy target, to bully. Almost every cousin in my age group, boy or girl, had secretly mistreated me at some point. Because I was timid, I never said a word. Eventually, the twins discovered the bruises on my arms and, defying family rules, fought back on my behalf. From then on, everyone knew one absolute truth: the quiet daughter of the housekeeper was the twins’ red line. Cross it, and you pay. So Ashton knew I would never be foolish enough to fall for any of the cousins who had bullied me. But now… [What is she doing? Playing hard to get? Is she trying to use this pathetic method to get the twins’ attention?] [Using such a cheap trick to make them jealous? How pathetic.] [Can the person above shut up? I’ve tolerated you for so long. If she chooses a male lead, you complain. If she doesn’t, you still complain.] [Wait, does she really not like the twins anymore? Then look at our gorgeous incubus uncle!] [He heard her say she likes someone else, and now he’s practically dying to confess to her!] [Oh my god, he’s actually been in love with her for years, but he was too insecure because of the age gap, and because she was supposed to be his nephews’ girl, he never dared to say a word.] [If she picks him, she won’t end up on an operating table; she’ll be thoroughly spoiled in his bed.] As the side character, even doing nothing was considered a crime. I expected another round of insults from the comments. Instead, a few strange comments defending me popped up. But the direction of these comments was getting incredibly wild. The seductive uncle was in love with me? Spoiled in his bed? Each comment was more scandalous than the last. And the only person in the family who fit the description of “uncle” was Gideon Harrington, my grandfather’s youngest son. He liked me? Was that even possible? Highly skeptical, I turned my head toward the corner. There, sitting elegantly on the sofa, was the refined and handsome man. His dark, intense eyes were fixed on me like a hawk. Deep within those dark depths, a storm of repressed, burning passion was swirling, threatening to break free. 7 [This is the burning, silent love of our incubus uncle.] The floating comment summarized it perfectly. In an instant, my heart skipped a beat. It was as if I could actually see the molten lava of his love rushing toward me from his deep eyes. Unable to handle the intensity, I hurriedly looked away. Meanwhile, Christian pressed on, his voice dripping with cold authority: “Sisi, tell me. Who is it?” I didn’t understand. Since he and Ashton already loved someone else, wasn’t it a good thing that I didn’t want to marry them? Why were they pushing me so hard? Seeing my hesitation, Aunt Beatrice spoke with deep concern: “Sisi, did someone threaten you? Just tell me, and I promise I’ll handle it.” As she spoke, she swept a warning, dangerous gaze over the cousins from the other branches of the family. I quickly shook my head. “No! Aunt Beatrice, it’s not that.” “I was just… too afraid to say it because the person I like is far above me in both age and family rank!” I clenched my teeth, throwing caution to the wind. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the worst, too terrified to see anyone’s reaction. In the dead silence that followed, a sweet, innocent voice suddenly shattered the quiet: “Oh my goodness! Sisi, you don’t mean… you’re in love with Mr. Harrington, are you?” I opened my eyes. A slender, beautiful girl was standing at the entrance of the villa. She looked utterly shocked, as if she had just stumbled upon a scandalous secret, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.

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After a drunken night with my best friend’s older brother, I became his secret, off-the-books girlfriend. For eight long years, I lived in the shadows. Finally, my family handed down a harsh ultimatum: I had to marry this year, or they would arrange a match for me. “Austin,” I told him, as we lay in the quiet dark of our bedroom. “My parents gave me an ultimatum. I need to get married this year.” He paused, his body tensing, before he pressed a soft, distracting kiss to my forehead. He gave me the same old line he always did. “Just wait a little longer.” But the very next day, I opened my social media and saw a post from our new office intern, Lily. It was a photo of her and Austin holding up a fresh marriage license outside the city courthouse. Her caption read: Got the handsome CEO locked down. Eight years of begging for a crumb of commitment, and she got the whole damn loaf in three months. Swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, I tapped the heart icon. Then, I left a comment: Congratulations! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness. Within the hour, I called my mother and accepted the match they had arranged for me. My phone rang almost immediately. For the first time in eight years, Austin’s voice sounded panicked. “Sydney, don’t get the wrong idea. It was just a stupid dare. I lost a bet with the guys, and Lily and I went to the courthouse as a joke…” I cut him off. “Austin, I’m getting married.” 1 There was a sudden, heavy silence on the line. Then, Austin’s voice returned, laced with his usual irritation. In the background, I could hear a girl’s soft, playful giggles. “Here you go again,” he sighed. “Are you really that desperate to walk down the aisle? The company’s cash flow is practically dry right now, Sydney. Can you please stop making a mess of things?” I stood on my balcony, watching the city lights flicker in the cool evening wind. My voice was flat, empty of the warmth I used to give him. “I’m not making a mess. I’m actually getting married.” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh, as if I had just told the most ridiculous joke. “You don’t even have a guy in your life. Who are you marrying? The wind?” I opened my mouth to say Nate’s name, but he was already in a hurry to end the call. “Look, I have to take this. I’m telling you, the license was just a stupid dare at a party. Don’t overthink it.” The line went dead, replaced by the cold drone of the dial tone. Eight years. He had spent eight years telling me to “don’t overthink it” while I quietly withered away in his shadow. The next morning, I walked into the office carrying two boxes of luxury, imported wedding chocolates. The open-plan office was buzzing with noise. A crowd of colleagues had gathered around Lily’s desk, and her face was flushed a deep, self-satisfied pink. “Lily, you are unbelievable! Austin is always so cold, and you managed to lock him down in three months?” “Does this mean we have to start calling you the boss’s wife? You have to look out for us now!” Lily covered her face with her hands, giggling. Her voice was just loud enough to carry across the entire room. “Oh, stop it, guys! It’s not like that. We just got hitched on a silly dare during a game. Please don’t spread it around.” I felt a cold sneer tugging at my lips. She had already broadcasted the marriage license to her entire social network, yet she wanted people to “not spread it around”? Her sharp eyes caught sight of the chocolate boxes in my hands. She practically bounded over in her designer heels, wrapping her arm tightly around mine. “Sydney! Are these the wedding chocolates Austin asked you to prepare for us? Thank you so much for the hard work!” Before I could open my mouth to correct her, she snatched the boxes right out of my grip. She tore open the expensive gold packaging and began stuffing the truffles into our coworkers’ hands. “Everyone, try some! Austin went out of his way to get these imported chocolates for the celebration!” The office erupted into cheers, praising Austin for being a romantic, attentive husband. Right on cue, Austin stepped out of the elevator. The crowd immediately started chanting, “Thanks for the wedding chocolates, Boss!” Lily looked up at him, her eyes wide and glittering with girlish adoration. Austin froze for a fraction of a second. Then, his lips curved into a smooth, easy smile. “I’m glad you all like them.” “The chocolates are mine,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. The entire office fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Every single pair of eyes pinned themselves to my face. Austin’s expression darkened instantly, a flicker of panic darting through his eyes. “Sydney, this is a place of business,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a harsh warning. “Don’t start acting out here.” “I’m not acting out,” I replied, looking him straight in the eye. “I bought those chocolates. I am getting married next Saturday.” His face turned so dark it looked like a thundercloud. He took a predatory step toward me, his voice a low, furious hiss. “Do you really have to push me like this?” Beside him, one of the junior marketers scoffed under her breath. “Honestly, Sydney, we’ve never even seen you with a guy. Who are you marrying? Are you just so jealous of Lily that you’re losing your mind?” Lily’s eyes welled with tears on command. She bit her lower lip, looking incredibly wronged. “Sydney, I know you used to have feelings for Austin. But he never felt that way about you. He even cleared up those rumors privately, telling us that you two were strictly professional colleagues.” The moment those words left her mouth, the collective gaze of the office shifted. They were looking at me like I was a desperate, pathetic side-piece who had tried and failed to home-wreck her way to the top. I looked at Austin. He turned his head away, staring out the window, refusing to offer a single word of defense. During our eight years in the shadows, I had ruined my liver drinking with clients to secure his contracts. I had pulled his company back from the brink of bankruptcy more times than I could count. When people whispered that I was desperately throwing myself at him, he had stayed silent. And now, he wouldn’t even grant me the dignity of the truth. “Seriously, Sydney,” another coworker chimed in, eager to please the new boss’s wife. “Austin and Lily are legally married now. If you keep throwing yourself at him, you’re just a homewrecker. If clients hear about this, it ruins our reputation.” “Exactly. Trying to steal your own intern’s husband? Have some self-respect.” I looked at these people, most of whom I had personally trained and mentored. A bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. I had originally planned to invite them to my wedding, but now I realized they didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as my fiancé. I squeezed my phone in my hand and swept a cold glance over the room. “Since everyone is so desperately curious, I suppose I should introduce my fiancé.” I tapped my screen, preparing to pull up the photo of Nate and me. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my wrist. Austin snatched the phone out of my hand, his face pale and twisted with rage. “Everyone, get back to work!” he roared. He gripped my arm tightly, dragging me toward his private office. Behind us, I could hear the team instantly whispering comfort to Lily, paired with the disgust they threw at my back. 2 He slammed the office door shut, aggressively loosening his tie as if he were suffocating. “I told you the courthouse was a stupid game!” he snapped. “Do you really have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?” “If it was just a game,” I said, staring at him with eyes as cold as stone, “why didn’t you clear the air? Why did you let them brand me a homewrecker?” He choked on his words, his jaw tightening. When he spoke, his tone carried that familiar, infuriating entitlement. “Lily is a young girl. She’s sensitive. I couldn’t just humiliate her in front of the entire company, could I?” So her feelings were precious, but my dignity was fair game to be dragged through the mud. I reached out, snatched my phone back from his grip, and turned toward the door. With my hand on the brass handle, I paused. I didn’t turn around. “My wedding is next Saturday. You and Lily are more than welcome to attend.” I walked down to the parking garage, my heels clicking sharply against the concrete. Before I could unlock my car, my phone buzzed. It was the executive recruiter who had been trying to poach me for months. “Sydney, about that director position at the multinational firm we discussed. They are willing to bump the starting salary by another twenty percent. Will you please reconsider?” The offered figure was at the absolute ceiling of the industry standard. “I accept,” I said, my voice steady. “Furthermore, I will be bringing a ten-million-dollar account with me. I expect the standard commission structure to apply.” The recruiter sounded like she was about to scream with joy. “Absolutely! I will have the contracts drafted immediately!” After hanging up, I sat in the driver’s seat. My thumb hovered over Nate’s name on my contact list. I sent him a quick text: Hold off on signing the contract. Wait for my word. Austin had complained about how hard things were for the company, telling me not to add to his stress. But for eight years, which of his crises hadn’t I personally resolved? This multi-million-dollar deal with Vanguard Group was something I had secured by swallowing my pride and pleading with Nate three separate times. It was the very lifeline Austin’s company needed to survive. As I drove out of the dark garage, the city blurred past my window. It felt like a metaphor for the last eight years of my life, a fast-forward reel of wasted youth. I met Austin outside my college dorm. He was Brooke’s older brother, arriving in a crisp white shirt to pick her up for summer break. He had stood under the shade of an oak tree, smiling, a tiny mole catching the light near the corner of his eye. My heart had skipped a beat. Later, at a graduation party, we both drank too much and ended up in bed. It felt natural to join his startup, beginning at the very bottom as a low-paid intern. At first, he said we couldn’t go public because he didn’t want people thinking I got promoted through favoritism. I believed him, so I waited. Once I became the top-performing manager in the marketing department, he said he was worried it would ruin my friendship with Brooke. I believed him again, so I waited. I foolishly believed that if I just kept quiet and worked hard, he would eventually give me a ring. It wasn’t until I saw Lily’s post that the fantasy shattered. He didn’t hate the idea of marriage. He just hated the idea of marrying me. 3 I drove back to the apartment we had shared for the last five years. My resignation would take a few days to process, but I wanted my personal belongings out of his space immediately. I dragged my suitcase out of the closet and opened the wardrobe. His clothes occupied more than two-thirds of the rack. In the past, I had complained that his style was too stiff and corporate. I had bought him bright, casual hoodies, but he had always shoved them to the back, claiming a CEO needed to look serious. Yet, hanging in the most prominent spot of the wardrobe were several brand-new, expensive designer hoodies in vibrant colors. He wasn’t incapable of changing. He just hadn’t wanted to change for me. I began folding my dresses into the suitcase. The sound of the front door unlocking cut through the quiet apartment. Austin walked in. Seeing the open suitcase and the bare hangers, his brow furrowed. “Sydney, there is absolutely nothing going on between Lily and me. Can you please stop throwing a tantrum?” He walked over, reaching out to grasp my hand. “The marriage license was a mistake. I’ll take her to the courthouse to file for divorce this afternoon.” “Once the Vanguard contract is signed and the company is stable, we can go public. Okay?” I parted my lips to say We are over, but he cut me off, scanning the room. “By the way, where did you put the keys to the Maple Heights townhouse?” I paused. “In the bottom drawer of the nightstand.” I looked at him. “Are you selling it to cover the company’s debts?” He blinked, then offered a casual, dismissive shrug. “Why would I sell it? It’s just sitting empty. Lily’s lease is up, so I told her she could stay there for a bit.” My chest tightened, a dull, throbbing ache spreading through my ribs. He had bought the Maple Heights house last year on my birthday, whispering in my ear that it would be our future home. And now, he was handing the keys to another woman. Before I could process the sting, he continued, entirely oblivious to my pale face. “Also, once you finish up the Vanguard contract, transfer the account details over to Lily. Her probation period is ending, and this deal will secure her permanent position. Don’t worry, I’ll still make sure you get the full commission.” My phone remained silent as his began to ring. He glanced at the screen and answered immediately, his voice instantly softening into a tone I hadn’t heard in years. “Yeah, sweetie. I’ll text you the address. Just have the movers head straight over…” He walked out toward the balcony to finish the call, never once looking back to see the expression on my face. The heavy thud of the glass door closing echoed in the quiet room. I stood in the center of the apartment and let out a soft, humorless laugh. Eight years of my youth, my sweat, and my devotion. In his eyes, it wasn’t even worth more than a three-month intern. I zipped my suitcase and walked out, never once looking back. I went straight to my parents’ house. Ever since I had agreed to the marriage with Nate, my mother hadn’t stopped smiling. The moment I walked through the door, she rushed to take my bag. “I always knew Nate was the one,” she beamed. “We watched that boy grow up. He’s decent, polite, and his family is wonderful. Your father and I can finally sleep easy.” Nate and I had been inseparable since childhood. Our mothers were best friends, and they used to joke about arranging our marriage when we were still in diapers. If I hadn’t met Austin in college, I probably would have married Nate years ago. I knew he loved me. He had always loved me. When Austin’s company was bleeding cash and on the verge of ruin, I had swallowed my pride to beg Nate for a lifeline. He had stayed silent for a long time before finally agreeing to the deal. Now, I realized just how incredibly foolish I had been. After dinner, I retreated to the study to organize my client files. My phone vibrated. A text from Austin: I’ll be late tonight. Don’t wait up. I stared at the screen for a moment, then deleted the chat thread entirely. By the time I finished organizing my files, it was past ten. I lay in bed, aimlessly scrolling through my social feed. The very first post on my timeline was from Lily, posted thirty minutes prior. The photo showed the living room of the Maple Heights townhouse. Austin was laughing, his arm slung over a friend’s shoulder as they played a drinking game, surrounded by empty beer bottles. Her caption read: He called me ‘kiddo’ in front of all his bros. Does he think I’m too childish? The comment section was filled with squeals and teasing, everyone gushing about how sweet and protective Austin was. I stared at the screen, then closed the app. There was no anger left, no tears. Whatever love I had carried for him for eight years had been burned to ashes the moment he let his employees call me a homewrecker. A new message popped up. It was from Nate. Are you free tomorrow? The bridal shop finished the alterations on your dress. Want to go try it on? I typed back a single word: Yes. The next morning, Nate arrived early to pick me up. My mother sent us off with a warm smile, stuffing two boxes of his favorite pastries into his hands. As we drove, I cleared my throat, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Nate, about that Vanguard contract… could you hold off on signing it? I’m moving to a new firm, and I’d like to use that account to make a strong first impression.” He glanced at me, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Why don’t you just come work for Vanguard?” “I think it’s better if we keep our professional and personal lives separate,” I replied, smiling back. At the bridal boutique, the consultant welcomed us warmly, presenting a stunning, elegant mermaid-cut gown. “Mr. Nathaniel insisted on having the measurements adjusted three times to ensure it fits you perfectly, ma’am,” she said. When I stepped out of the dressing room and looked at myself in the mirror, I froze. Years ago, whenever Austin and I passed a bridal shop and I lingered at the window, he would pull me away, promising he would hire a world-class designer to make me a one-of-a-kind gown when the time was right. I waited eight years for that promise. Instead, I was standing in a custom gown Nate had quietly prepared for me. “Do you want to take a photo and post it?” Nate asked, standing behind me, his eyes full of warmth. I nodded and handed my phone to the consultant. “Could you take a photo of us, please?” Nate seemed slightly taken aback, but a brilliant, genuine smile quickly spread across his face. He stepped up beside me, gently placing his hand near his waist without fully touching, a gesture of pure respect. The photo was breathtaking. I uploaded it to my social media with a caption: Next Saturday, at the Apex Hotel. We would love for you to join us as Nathaniel and I celebrate our wedding. Within a minute, the comment section exploded. Oh my god! Is that the Nathaniel from Vanguard Group? Sydney, you’ve been holding out on us! And people actually thought she was chasing after Austin? Talk about a reality check! Nate makes Austin look like a boy playing dress-up! While I was scrolling through the comments, my phone rang. It was Austin. I picked up, and his voice came through, thick with alcohol and dripping with bitter sarcasm. “Nice move, Sydney. Dragging Nate into your little game just to force my hand? You really are desperate for a ring, aren’t you?” Before I could answer, Nate reached out, took the phone from my hand, and pressed the speaker button. His voice was calm, steady, and filled with an undeniable authority that echoed through the room. “Austin, we are actually getting married.” “She waited for you for eight years. I have been waiting for her for twelve.” “Thank you for letting her go.”

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My husband always told me he loved me enough to buy me a one-carat diamond ring. But whenever our family actually needed money, his love came with a discount. When our son started preschool, the tuition was $4,800. He only transferred me $3,000. When the $3,500 rent was due at the end of the month, he sent $2,500. I put up with it until the night our three-year-old son spiked a massive fever and went into convulsions. The emergency room demanded a $5,000 deposit before they would admit him to the pediatric ICU. Like clockwork, my husband only transferred $3,000. “Figure out the rest yourself,” he told me. I broke down, begging him over the phone. All I got in return was a cold sigh. “Sarah, you are being completely unreasonable.” The line went dead. There was no further response. He left me alone in the sterile hospital corridor, holding my burning, seizing child, drowning in absolute despair. 1 “Ma’am! If you don’t pay the deposit right now, I have to take him off the monitors!” The nurse’s voice echoed down the empty, fluorescent-lit hallway. I looked down at little Noah in my arms. His lips had faded from a terrifying purple to a sickly, ashen gray. His tiny fingers weren’t even gripping my shirt anymore, and his seizures had grown weaker. That weakness was far more terrifying than the violent shaking. Instinctively, I glanced down at my left ring finger. That one-carat diamond caught the harsh hospital lights, glittering blindingly. He always said this was the absolute best thing he could ever give me. I ripped the ring off my finger, hoisted my son higher against my chest, and sprinted out the sliding doors of the ER. Two blocks east of the hospital, the neon sign of a 24-hour pawn and jewelry exchange was still buzzing. I crashed through the doors, holding my fever-hot boy. The owner barely looked up from his phone. “Please, how much can I get for this ring? It’s an emergency.” He took it, screwed a jeweler’s loupe into his eye, flipped it over for maybe five seconds, and tossed it onto the glass counter. “Look, lady. This isn’t a diamond.” I froze. “That’s impossible. It’s a full carat. My husband paid ten thousand dollars for it.” “It’s moissanite,” the owner said flatly. “Synthetic. Wholesale price is about thirty bucks. Factor in the cheap 18-karat gold-plated band, and the whole thing is worth maybe fifty dollars on a good day. You don’t believe me, take it to any appraiser in town.” I stood perfectly still in front of that counter. My baby was burning up with a 105-degree fever against my chest, and I just stared at the ring. Fifty dollars. He said he loved me. He said he spared no expense for my ring. A thirty-dollar piece of wholesale glass. Even his grandest gesture of love was heavily discounted. “Hey, lady? You okay? Your kid’s color looks really bad.” The owner’s voice snapped me back to reality. I shoved the useless metal into my pocket, turned around, and ran back into the night. By the time I reached the ER lobby, my legs were giving out. It wasn’t physical exhaustion. It was the feeling of being hollowed out, completely scraped clean from the inside. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. “Mom, can you please Zelle me two thousand dollars? Noah is having febrile seizures. We’re in the ER and I’m short on the deposit.” A two-second pause on the line. “Where’s Carter?” “He sent three thousand. It’s not enough.” “Sarah, your husband makes a great living. He bought you that huge diamond, and you’re telling me you don’t have enough money?” “Mom, please…” “Your brother’s wife has been married for three years and hasn’t asked us for a single dime. Look at you. Calling me in the middle of the night just to beg for cash.” “Mom, Noah is convulsing! I’m not making this up!” “Every kid shakes a little when they get a fever. When you were little and got a fever, I gave you some Tylenol and chicken soup and you were fine. You mothers today are just too dramatic.” I hung up on her. The plastic chairs in the ER waiting room were mostly empty. In the corner sat a woman in her early thirties, holding a sleeping boy about four years old. She was using a wet cotton swab to moisten her son’s cracked lips. She had been watching me the entire time. I ignored her and opened my contacts. I scrolled from A to Z, making three calls. The first went straight to voicemail. The second friend said things were tight this month. The third listened to me panic, muttered that two grand wasn’t exactly pocket change, and made an excuse to hang up. “Excuse me. Are you short two thousand for the deposit?” I looked up. It was the woman from the corner. “I… I don’t even know you.” “My name is Rachel,” she said softly. “Give me your Venmo. I’ll send it right now.” “I can’t take your money.” “If you waste time being polite, your kid might not make it.” Right on cue, Noah’s tiny body seized against mine again. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, and pulled up my app. Two thousand dollars hit my account three seconds later. I rushed the billing window, slamming down my debit card to pay the exact five-thousand-dollar deposit. Three thousand from a husband I had known for years, and two thousand from a stranger I had known for ten minutes. The nurses immediately swarmed Noah, rushing him through the double doors into the pediatric intensive care unit. Before the doors swung shut, one nurse looked back at me. “A few minutes later and there would have been brain damage.” The doors locked with a heavy click. I stood at the glass window, watching them hook my baby up to a maze of tubes. The green line on the EKG monitor spiked and dipped. In my pocket, that fifty-dollar piece of fake jewelry dug into my thigh. Rachel appeared beside me quietly. She crouched down slightly to meet my eye level and handed me a bottle of cold water. “Thank you,” I whispered, my hands shaking as I took it. “I will pay you back as soon as humanly possible.” She waved off the promise, staring intently into my eyes. Then she asked a question that made my blood run cold. “Your husband… does he always give you a discount whenever he sends you money?” 2 “How could you possibly know that?” Rachel didn’t answer immediately. She stood up, brushed the dust off her jeans, and glanced through the glass at Noah. “Let them stabilize him. Keep your phone charged. If you need anything, call me.” She pressed a business card into my palm, scooped up her own sleeping child, and walked toward the exit. I looked down at the card. Rachel Dawson, Administrative Assistant at Bennett Legal Group. On the back, written in blue ink, was a single sentence: You are not alone. Before I could even process what that meant, my phone vibrated in my hand. It was the family group chat. Carter had just posted a message, accompanied by a selfie of him standing outside the hospital entrance. He had put on a grim, concerned expression. The caption read: Got the terrifying call at 1 AM. Dropped everything and rushed to the ER for my boy. A father’s heart is breaking right now. Please pray for Noah’s speedy recovery. The replies flooded in instantly, full of sympathy. His mother was first. My poor Carter. Working so hard to provide, and now you have to deal with this exhaustion. His aunt chimed in. Where is Sarah? How does a mother let a child get that sick before going to the doctor? His mother replied to the aunt. Exactly. Some people just don’t know how to be mothers. I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, my fingernails digging sharp crescents into my palms. Then, Carter’s reply popped up. Don’t blame Sarah. It’s hard for her to manage him alone. I’m already here at the hospital handling things. Don’t worry, everyone. He said he was already at the hospital. I looked up and down the desolate, echoing corridor. It was 3:30 in the morning. He was nowhere to be seen. That photo… I remembered taking that picture of him outside this very hospital last month when we brought Noah in for his vaccines. He had just slapped a dark, moody filter on it. Twenty minutes later, he finally showed up. He was wearing a rumpled t-shirt, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “How is he?” But those weren’t his first words. Instead of asking about his son, he glanced toward the ICU window, pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture through the glass. I watched him adjust the lighting, type out a caption, and post it to his Instagram story. The whole performance took less than thirty seconds. Only after sliding the phone back into his pocket did he finally look at me. “Did you figure out the money?” “I did.” “How?” “I pawned the ring.” All the color drained from his face instantly. “Where did you pawn it? Which shop?” “The gold exchange two blocks down.” “How much did they give you?” I stared dead into his eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. “Take a guess.” “Sarah, don’t play games with me. That ring… you need to go buy it back right now.” “Why?” “That is the symbol of our marriage! You just pawned it like it meant nothing? Do you have any sentimental value in your bones at all?” He completely avoided the topic of the price. He didn’t ask what they appraised it at. He went straight for the emotional guilt trip. A dry, bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. “I couldn’t pawn it.” “They wouldn’t take it?” His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Why not?” “The owner said…” I paused, ultimately deciding to swallow the truth for a moment. “He said it was too late and the appraiser wasn’t in until tomorrow.” Carter visibly deflated, his tense shoulders dropping two inches. “Okay. Good. Don’t go back tomorrow. I’ll take it to the boutique this weekend to get it professionally cleaned and polished instead.” He had never once mentioned getting it cleaned. I had worn it for three years straight without him bringing it up. Tonight, he was suddenly terrified. Because he knew an appraiser would expose him. “What did the doctor say about Noah?” he asked, changing the subject. “They need to keep him under observation for at least three days.” “Three days? How much is a day in the ICU?” “About two thousand dollars a day.” “Two grand? So three days is six thousand? Plus the deposit… that’s over ten grand!” “Carter, he almost died tonight.” “I know, but look at him, he’s sleeping peacefully now! Kids bounce back fast. There’s no reason to bleed money staying in a hospital when he can rest at home.” He let out a loud yawn, slumped onto the vinyl waiting room bench, and pulled out his phone to start scrolling. I stood by the glass door, watching Noah’s little chest rise and fall faintly. My phone lit up. It was Carter’s mother. “Sarah, Carter told me the baby was admitted?” “Yes, Maggie. He had severe febrile seizures.” “I’ve told you before, you coddle him too much. If a kid has a fever, you put them in a lukewarm bath. Why do you insist on running to the hospital and burning through Carter’s hard-earned money?” “Maggie, his temperature was a hundred and five. He was convulsing.” “Don’t exaggerate. Carter ran a fever of a hundred and four when he was a toddler. I gave him some ice water and Motrin, and he was running around the next day. Look at how much stress you’re putting on my son. Dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night when he has to work tomorrow.” Carter was sitting five feet away. He heard every single word echoing from my phone speaker. He didn’t say a syllable to defend me. “Next time the boy gets the sniffles, just watch him at home. Carter is under a lot of financial pressure. You need to be a more supportive wife.” “Okay,” I said quietly, and ended the call. When I turned around, Carter had already fallen asleep on the bench. His phone screen was still illuminated, showing a lock screen photo of him and Noah. A stack of unread notifications piled up at the bottom. I didn’t snoop. Not because I trusted him, but because I was terrified of what else I might not be able to handle tonight. But Rachel’s question kept looping in my mind like a broken record. Does your husband always give you a discount? How could she possibly know our private financial dynamic? I reached out toward his glowing phone, then pulled my hand back. On the other end of the bench, Carter shifted in his sleep and mumbled something into his jacket collar. “Seventy percent… is enough.” 3 “What did you say?” I leaned over, bringing my ear close to his face. Carter just let out a muffled groan and rolled over. His phone slid off his chest and fell into the crack between the cushions. I left it there. At 7:00 AM, the attending physician did his rounds. He told us Noah’s inflammatory markers were dangerously high and he needed a heavy course of IV antibiotics for three full days. The moment Carter heard “three days,” he started nervously rubbing his fingers together. “Doc, can’t you just write a prescription for some oral antibiotics we can take home? It’s the same stuff, right?” The doctor shot him a look of absolute disgust, ignored him entirely, and turned to me. “Mom, the child had three consecutive severe seizures last night. I highly advise we keep him monitored until his bloodwork clears. As parents, you cannot put a price tag on your child’s life.” “You’re right, doctor. We will do whatever you recommend.” As soon as the doctor walked away, Carter’s face darkened. “Three days of IV meds is going to be another four grand easily. Plus the bed fees, the nursing fees… we’re looking at fifteen thousand dollars out of pocket.” I said nothing. “Sarah, how much money do you actually have left in your checking?” “Nothing.” “What about the money from your Etsy store?” “I spent the last of it covering the rest of Noah’s preschool tuition.” He stood up and began pacing the small corridor. “Well, you need to figure something out. You’re resourceful, right? You figured out the deposit last night.” I gripped Noah’s medical chart so hard my fingernails nearly pierced the plastic cover. Carter left for work at 8:00 AM. Before he walked out, he transferred me $1,500, claiming it was for the three days of hospital food and miscellaneous expenses. I did the math in my head. Three days of three meals from the overpriced hospital cafeteria, plus Noah’s liquid diet, was at least $120 a day. That’s $360. Diapers, baby wipes, and a change of clothes from the gift shop would be another two or three hundred. The remaining thousand was a drop in the bucket against the medical bills. Even with this, he was applying his discount. At 10:00 AM, Rachel walked through the sliding doors. She was holding a basket of fresh fruit. She sat quietly next to me on the vinyl chairs, studying the EKG numbers through the glass. “Has his fever broken?” “It’s down to a hundred. A little better than last night.” “You haven’t slept a wink, have you? Your eyes are completely bloodshot.” I shook my head. I stared at the floor for a long time before finally finding the courage to speak. “Rachel… that question you asked me last night. How did you know my husband always discounts the money he gives me?” She paused, the small pairing knife halting mid-air as she peeled an apple. “Because my ex-husband did the exact same thing.” “He…?” “Everything was discounted. Rent money, grocery money, pediatrician copays. He always gave me exactly seventy percent. He forced me to figure out the remaining thirty percent on my own.” She handed me a slice of apple. “I was a stay-at-home mom with no income. Every single time a bill came, I had to swallow my pride and beg him to cover the gap. I thought he was just struggling at work. I lived like a monk for three years, feeling guilty buying myself a five-dollar coffee. Until one day…” She stopped and looked at me. “Until what?” I asked. “I was doing laundry. A receipt fell out of his jeans pocket. It was an annual subscription fee for a private online community. Two thousand, nine hundred and eighty dollars.” “He lectured me over buying a twenty-dollar bottle of face wash, but dropped three grand on an online course.” “What kind of course?” Rachel put down the knife, unlocked her phone, and scrolled through her photos. She handed it to me. It was a screenshot of a Discord community landing page. The background image was a man in a tailored suit holding a heavy bag of cash. Bold letters across the top read: The 70% Principle: Mastering Financial Dominance in Your Marriage. The subheadline beneath it made my stomach churn: Give her seventy percent. Keep your leverage. Control the household. I stared at the glowing screen for what felt like hours. “What exactly does this group teach?” “It teaches husbands how to strictly cap their household contributions at seventy percent. If preschool is $4,800, give her $3,000. If rent is $3,500, give her $2,500. No matter what the wife asks for, multiply it by 0.7. Then, feed her a generic excuse: the economy is bad, work bonuses got cut, business expenses are too high.” “The goal is to condition the wife. Make her used to scrambling to cover the difference. Make her afraid to ask for money. Make her feel ashamed for being a financial burden.” My fingertips started to go numb. “How many men are in this group?” “When my ex was in it, there were over a hundred. That was two years ago. There are probably way more now.” She swiped to the next photo, showing the community’s ‘About’ section. “Look closely at the profile picture of the founder.” The avatar was a photo taken from behind. A man in a dark blue button-down shirt, standing in front of floor-to-ceiling office windows. He had a slight slouch in his shoulders, his head tilted just a fraction to the right, his left hand shoved casually into his pocket. I knew that posture. I knew that shirt. I bought it for him. It was Carter. “This guy…” Rachel said softly, “goes by the handle Mr. Markdown. He posts a new module every week, and it’s always based on a real-life case study. How he applied the 70% rule, how his wife reacted, and how she eventually panicked and solved the deficit herself.” “He repackages your misery into a curriculum and sells it to hundreds of men. The yearly fee is $2,980. The lifetime VIP membership is $9,800.” I heard my own voice trembling. “Are you saying… I am his course material?” Rachel didn’t nod or shake her head. She just pocketed her phone, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “Sarah, I think you need to read it for yourself. See if his ‘case studies’ match your life.” 4 “Can you send me the link to that community?” She sent it immediately. Sitting in the echoing hospital corridor, I pulled out an old burner phone I kept in Noah’s diaper bag for emergencies. I created a fake email, registered a new profile, and paid the $2,980 entry fee using money Rachel advanced me. My hands shook as the loading wheel spun. The pinned post at the very top of the forum read: Mandatory Reading for New Members: The Core Philosophy of the 70% Principle. The Harder She Works, The Easier Your Life Gets. I scrolled down. The posts were arranged chronologically, dating back three years. The founder, Mr. Markdown, had a gold verified badge next to his name. His bio read: Married, father of one. The pioneer and preacher of the 70% lifestyle. I clicked on his very first post. Gentlemen, a quick tip for you today. The Engagement Ring Hack. The wife wanted a one-carat diamond. Market rate starts around ten grand. I found a wholesaler online, bought a fake moissanite stone, slapped it on a cheap gold-plated band. Total cost: under a hundred bucks. Looks identical to the naked eye. She’s been wearing it for three years, bragging to all her friends about how much I spoiled her. Boys, this is the power of information asymmetry. Below it were hundreds of replies. “Legendary.” “Bro, teach me your ways! My girl wants two carats, what do I do?” Mr. Markdown had replied: “A two-carat moissanite is literally forty dollars. Be bold, brother.” I swallowed the bile in my throat and scrolled down to the second post. Preschool Tuition Execution. Wife told me the kid’s preschool was $4,800. I transferred $3,000. My excuse: ‘The company missed its quarterly targets.’ She went silent for three minutes and didn’t push it. When I went to bed, her phone was still glowing under the covers. I peeked. She was on Etsy, looking up how to sell handmade bracelets… Gentlemen, are you taking notes? This is the essence of the 70% Principle: You give her a number that is just out of reach, and she will pave the rest of the road herself. Comments: “Brilliant! My wife started walking dogs on Rover yesterday. Made four hundred bucks this month.” Mr. Markdown replied: “A woman’s true potential is unlocked by desperation. If you provide 100%, she becomes lazy and useless.” I kept scrolling. Third post: The Rent Stress Test. Rent is $3,500. I sent $2,500. The excuse this time: ‘Client dinners ate up my budget.’ When she asked what we were going to do about the missing thousand, I didn’t answer directly. I just hit her with, ‘What do you think we should do?’ She shut down completely. The next day, she came home from the grocery store with nothing but discount ramen and wilted spinach. Boys, when your wife starts actively starving herself to save your money, the conditioning is working. My fingernails dug into the cheap plastic case of the burner phone. I scrolled to the very top of the feed. The newest post. Published twelve hours ago. It had a bright red tag that read: ULTIMATE STRESS TEST. Gentlemen, we hit a milestone tonight. At 1 AM, my son spiked a massive fever and had severe convulsions. Wife was in the ER panicking, needed a $5,000 deposit. As always, I stayed disciplined to the 70% rule. I transferred $3,000. First came the begging. Then the crying. Then the accusations. Finally, the submission. The whole cycle took about forty minutes. After I hung up on her, she didn’t call back. When I casually rolled into the hospital this morning, the deposit was miraculously paid. What does this prove, brothers? It proves the 70% Principle holds up even in life-or-death scenarios. A woman’s breaking point is always much lower than you think. You assume she’ll shatter, but she won’t. She will find a way. Because you’ve trained her to believe she has no other choice. The comment section was exploding. “All hail the master!” “Dude, you held the line while your kid was in the ER? That’s ice cold. I don’t think I have it in me.” Mr. Markdown’s response was pinned right beneath that comment. If you can’t do it, it’s because you’re weak. Remember this: Empathy is the enemy of financial dominance. If you show weakness and pay the difference today, tomorrow she’ll ask for more. You have to be ruthless. Was I worried about my kid seizing in the ER? Of course I was. But you never break the rules of the system. I slowly lowered the phone to my lap. People were talking in the hallway. Doctors were walking by. The machines in the ICU were beeping rhythmically. But I couldn’t hear any of it. Everything had gone completely, utterly silent.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459937”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Before the summer break, I decided to surprise Neil at his university. Instead, I walked in to find his undergrad lab assistant pestering him, demanding to know who was prettier between her and me. Neil let out a careless, lazy laugh. “Olivia, obviously. She’s way prettier than you.” The freshman girl instantly pouted, her lower lip trembling. I pushed the door open, only to see Neil resting his hand gently on the top of her head. “Are you going to cry over that? Olivia isn’t just pretty, she’s fiercely independent.” He chuckled. “Unlike you. Without me, you’re just a helpless little disaster.” 1 The girl’s whiny, flirtatious voice echoed through the empty lab. “You only ever bully me! I am not a disaster!” Neil laughed softly. But as he lifted his head, he caught sight of me standing frozen in the back doorway. “Liv?” When he said my name, his hand was still resting in her hair. He quickly closed the distance between us. “What are you doing here? Are your finals already over?” “I guess I shouldn’t have come,” I said flatly. He smiled, completely missing the ice in my tone. “What are you talking about?” He turned back and waved at the girl in the room. “I’m heading out. You handle the rest of the data. My girl is here.” The room was silent. Neil wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me into the hallway. “Who was that?” I asked. “Oh, that’s Lily. Just a freshman in our program.” My footsteps hitched. I knew that name. For the past year, that name had been slipping into our conversations with alarming frequency. Even though I had never met her, she was always there as a shadow in my relationship. “Do you like her?” He looked at me like I had grown a second head and let out a laugh. “What? How is that even possible? She’s literally a kid.” He stared at me, highly amused. “Are you actually jealous? God, Liv, you’re always overthinking things.” “Neil…” “Let me text the guys. We’re taking you out to dinner tonight to celebrate you being here,” he interrupted, staring down at his phone. He typed furiously, then looked back up at me. “Let me look at you. Did you lose weight again? Have you been secretly dieting? I told you your weight was perfect. Are you trying to turn into a stick figure so I can use you as a cane?” I took a deep, shaky breath. “Right now, I’d really love to take a cane and beat you half to death with it.” He burst out laughing and pulled me in, leaning down for a kiss. Right at that moment, a sickeningly sweet voice echoed from behind us. “Senior.” 2 Neil and I turned our heads simultaneously. Lily was standing there, holding a lightweight jacket in her hands. “You left your windbreaker at my workstation again,” she pouted, her eyes wide and innocent. “You’re always forgetting your stuff.” “Oh. Thanks,” Neil said, taking the jacket. “And who is this?” She turned her gaze to me, blinking dramatically as her eyes raked up and down my outfit. “You don’t know how to greet my girlfriend?” Neil teased, lightly tapping her on the head with the rolled-up notebook in his hand. “Ouch! Why are you always hitting me?! You’re so violent!” she whined, rubbing her head playfully. “I honestly thought she was an upperclassman from our campus. The science building doesn’t allow students from other universities inside. Did you secretly make her a spare key, Senior? I’m totally telling the professor on you!” Neil seemed to finally realize the logistics. He looked at me, confused. “Wait, how did you actually get into the building?” “I tailgated a guy through the side door,” I replied evenly. I locked eyes with him. “I texted you half an hour ago asking where you were. You didn’t reply. You didn’t answer my calls either.” “Huh?” Neil looked genuinely baffled. “I am so sorry!” Lily chimed in, flashing an apologetic, guilt-ridden smile. “Senior and I were at a super critical point in our data calculation, so he probably just missed it. Please don’t be mad at him over this. The professor has been putting so much pressure on us lately…” “That’s weird.” Neil pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping the screen. “Wait. Why is my phone on Do Not Disturb?” He muttered to himself as he changed the settings. “Must have hit it by accident in my pocket.” “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go.” I turned around. But the moment I turned my back, I heard Lily’s hushed, murmuring voice behind me. “She’s honestly so average. It’s literally all just makeup…” 3 My boots planted firmly on the tile. I stopped and turned back around. Neil looked confused. “What’s wrong?” I stared directly into Lily’s eyes. “I am not deaf. First of all, whether I look good or not, you don’t have the right or the pedigree to talk trash behind my back. Second, any girl with an ounce of self-respect knows better than to compare her looks to another guy’s girlfriend right to her face.” Lily froze. Instantly, her eyes welled up with tears, and she looked at Neil with absolute, trembling devastation. Neil let out a heavy sigh. “Liv, what is this about? I didn’t see your messages. If you want to pick a fight with me, then fight with me. Don’t bully the poor girl.” I slowly turned to look at him. “Oh. Look how fast you jump to her defense. It really makes me look like the unreasonable villain here, doesn’t it? I’m not a saint, Neil. I don’t have the bandwidth to smile and nod while my boyfriend ignores his phone to entertain another girl, leaving me standing outside in a hundred-degree heatwave for half an hour. I don’t care about the precious security of your lab, and I won’t ever step foot in here again. And we both know Do Not Disturb doesn’t just turn on by ‘accident’.” Neil’s face stiffened. “What is that supposed to mean? I have no idea how the setting got flipped. Do you actually think I muted you on purpose?” “Are you misunderstanding something?” Lily cried softly, looking the picture of pathetic innocence. “Drop the act,” I told her, my voice eerily calm. “Whether I’m misunderstanding or not, you know exactly what you did.” The hallway fell dead silent. “Seriously, why are you escalating this?” Neil reached out, grabbing my waist to pull me against him, playing the weary peacemaker. “Lily couldn’t figure out the equation earlier, so she borrowed my phone to listen to some music while she worked. But there’s no way she put you on Do Not Disturb. You can’t just be paranoid and blame her for everything. It was probably just a glitch…” “Neil, let’s break up.” I heard my own voice say the words. It sounded incredibly steady. Neil froze. His arm went slack around my waist. “Are you kidding me? You flew all the way across the country to see me, and just because I missed a text message, you’re dumping me?” He let out a scoff of absolute disbelief, like he was dealing with a toddler. “You touched her hair.” “That’s it?” His eyes went wide. “Yes.” I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. “It makes me feel dirty. Is that not enough?” 4 I didn’t go to the welcome dinner that night. After I told Neil we were done, I turned on my heel and walked away. He didn’t chase after me. Because Lily had started sobbing, her shoulders shaking in that fragile, pitiful way that demanded immediate rescue. Neil was actually incredibly good at coaxing people. He knew exactly how to make someone feel safe. When he wanted to. My high school best friend, Harper, attended the same university as Neil. I dropped my luggage off at her dorm. When she heard I hadn’t eaten a thing all day, she dragged me out to a trendy new restaurant near campus. Harper went to the restroom while I sat on the bench by the entrance, staring blankly at the menu. Of course, the universe had a sick sense of humor. Neil had booked a table at the exact same place. A group of guys from his program came strolling past me. “Hey man, I thought your girl was flying in? Where is she?” “She’s throwing a tantrum. She’s not coming,” Neil’s voice drifted over, laced with exhaustion. “Damn, what happened?” “She’s pissed because I didn’t reply to a text fast enough.” “Just over that?” The guy laughed loudly. “Women are exhausting, bro. Good thing you’re long-distance. If you had to deal with that every single day, you’d lose your mind.” “They’re all like that. They just want you to grovel,” another guy chimed in. “Just get on your knees and coax her a bit, she’ll fold.” “Coax her? Why don’t you go coax her?” Neil smacked the guy playfully with a closed umbrella he was holding. “Let her cool off on her own. Over the last three years, her temper has gotten way out of hand.” I looked up. The umbrella in his hand was small, pink, and adorned with little cartoon strawberries. It was absolutely not something Neil would ever buy for himself. Trailing right behind him, her hands completely empty, was Lily. She was skipping lightly. “Honestly, I don’t think you did anything wrong. If you’re not wrong, why should you apologize first? It’s not like the person who gets angry automatically wins the argument.” I stood up. Harper had just walked back over. “Is our table ready?” I shook my head. “Almost. But Neil is inside.” “Oh.” Harper hesitated. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” “No need.” The restaurant was open to the public. There was no universe where his presence meant I had to run away and hide. Five minutes later, the hostess called our names. Harper and I were walking down the main aisle of the restaurant. Just as we passed the self-serve draft beer station, a frantic voice screeched through the noise. “Oh my god, I can’t hold them! Move out of the way!” Before my brain could even process the words, Lily, carrying two massive glasses of draft beer, charged straight into me. The heavy mugs collided with my chest. Golden beer and foam cascaded down my neck, soaking my dress entirely. 5 The commotion was loud enough to pull the guys out of their private dining booth. By the time Neil stepped out, Lily’s tears were already falling in perfect, fat drops. “I swear I didn’t do it on purpose! The floor by the kegs was so slippery, I couldn’t stop myself! I already said I was sorry!” “You didn’t do it on purpose?” Harper exploded, her face red with fury. “There is ten feet of open space in this aisle! You carried those heavy glasses and made a beeline straight for Olivia! She couldn’t have dodged you if she tried! Do you think we’re blind?!” “What’s going on?” Neil pushed through the crowd. He saw me, dripping wet, and froze. “What are you doing here?” My clothes were sticking to my skin. The smell of cheap yeast was overwhelming, and I was entirely out of patience. “Why? Did you buy out the restaurant, Mr. VIP? Am I banned from eating in the same zip code as you?” His brow furrowed. “Why are you firing off like a machine gun? I never said you couldn’t be here.” He stepped closer. “Why are you completely soaked?” Harper let out a venomous laugh. “Why don’t you ask your precious little lab assistant?” “Senior, I swear it was an accident! My foot slipped!” Lily cried, burying her face in her hands. “I had no idea she was even walking down this aisle. She just appeared out of nowhere…” Neil exhaled a long, suffering sigh. “I told you that you couldn’t carry both glasses. Why do you always try to prove how strong you are? You should have just let me carry the drinks.” “Are you actually shameless?” Harper screamed at Lily. “Appeared out of nowhere? We were walking in a straight line! You deliberately rammed into her!” “Harper, watch your mouth,” Neil snapped, his voice dropping into a cold warning. “What the hell does that mean?” My own temper finally snapped. “Harper is defending me. Lily knows exactly whether she did it on purpose or not. You didn’t even ask what happened, and you immediately take her side? Have you completely lost your grip on reality?” “How am I taking her side? I’m trying to be reasonable!” he pleaded, throwing his hands up. “Liv, if you want to take your anger out on me, fine. But she didn’t mean it. Could you please just stop finding every little excuse to make her life miserable?” I stared quietly at the man standing in front of me. We had met in high school. We had known each other for six years. We had survived three years of grueling long-distance in college. In just one more year, I was supposed to get an early admission fellowship to his university for grad school. We had talked about marriage. We had mapped out our future. We had even joked about what our kids would look like. And now, he was standing in a crowded restaurant, looking at me—his girlfriend, dripping wet with beer, humiliated in public—and begging me to stop making things difficult for another girl. “I’m not making her life miserable,” I said, my voice dead and hollow. “This dress is ruined. It wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t designer either. It was four hundred dollars. Compensate me for the dress, and we’re done here.” Lily gasped, her eyes going wide with manufactured terror. “Four hundred dollars? That’s… that’s two months of my grocery money.” Her eyes instantly darted to Neil, rimmed with red. “Senior, my dad is going to kill me…” “Hey, it’s fine, it’s fine,” one of Neil’s friends jumped in, puffing out his chest. “Don’t panic. We can pool some cash together to cover it. It’s just four hundred bucks.” “Yeah, if we all pitch in forty bucks, it’s covered. Don’t cry, okay?” Neil’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Liv, Lily’s family isn’t exactly wealthy. Four hundred dollars is a massive amount of money to her. It’s just a dress. Let it go. I’ll buy you a new one later, okay?” I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “If she knows four hundred dollars is a lot of money, she should have watched where she was going. It’s my property. I have every legal and moral right to ask for compensation.” “It’s not even your dress,” Neil said suddenly. I froze. “Liv, if I remember correctly, I bought that dress for you.” His voice was quiet, but every single syllable felt like a serrated knife dragging across my chest. “Gifts exchanged during a relationship can be legally and morally revoked.” He paused, staring down at me, as if offering me one final chance to repent for my sins. “If you really want to be ruthless about this… take the dress off and give it back to me.” 6 I stared at him in absolute silence. A second later, I turned around, grabbed Harper’s wrist before she could physically attack him, and walked out the door. “Liv, how could you just walk away!” Harper was hyperventilating with rage the entire walk back to her dorm. “Did a horse kick him in the head?! Forget the fact that he didn’t care you were drenched, how could he say something that disgusting to you?!” My footsteps suddenly stopped. “Liv?” Harper looked at me, her anger melting into panic. “If you need to cry, just cry…” I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I went to her dorm, took a blistering hot shower, and changed into spare clothes. I took the beer-soaked dress, stuffed it into a plastic bag, and dropped it off at the front desk of Neil’s dorm building. Then, I went straight to the bus station. Flights were too expensive last minute, and the express trains were sold out. I bought a cheap ticket for an overnight Greyhound bus back to my city. The bus was chaotic and loud. A baby screamed two rows up, someone was arguing on their phone, and the whole cabin smelled faintly of stale coffee and cheap fast food. Neil’s texts started rolling in right around midnight. What kind of tantrum is this? Did you really think I wanted the dress back? I just felt like you were being way too aggressive. There were so many guys from my program there. I can’t just blindly side with my girlfriend when she’s being unreasonable. It makes me look bad. I bought the exact same dress online. It’s being delivered to Harper’s dorm tomorrow. Just go down and get it. He sent a few more texts, but the screen was starting to blur. Water droplets were hitting the glass of my phone. My eyes were swimming in tears. I couldn’t read them. I didn’t want to read them. I tapped his contact name, hit settings, and dragged him to the blocked list. When I woke up, it was 2:00 AM. My eyes burned, and my head was pounding. The streetlights flashed through the dirty bus window, casting rhythmic shadows across the quiet cabin. Looking at the empty seat next to me, I suddenly remembered the last time I took a cheap overnight trip like this. I was with Neil. It was sophomore year of high school. We had traveled out of state for an academic decathlon. Getting return tickets was a nightmare. The chaperone teacher managed to get two early tickets and told Neil and me to head back first. I had drifted off to sleep that night on the bus. When I woke up, I realized my head had been resting squarely on his shoulder for hours. I was mortified. I scrambled back and stammered out an apology. He just looked at me, a soft, teasing smile on his lips. “Having good dreams?” I shook my head furiously. “Well, I was,” he laughed quietly. “It was a really good dream. If you keep leaning on me, I might be able to finish it.” After that trip, we grew incredibly close. He was handsome, outgoing, and the star of the basketball team. Every time he played, a crowd of girls would rush the court to hand him Gatorade. I would go watch him sometimes, but I always stood in the back row, hidden in the bleachers. Until one day, as I was turning to leave, I heard a voice boom across the gym. “Olivia!” I froze and looked back. Neil was jumping up above the crowd of cheerleaders, waving his arms with a massive grin. “Look at me!” He caught the inbound pass, drove the lane, and sank a flawless three-pointer. The crowd erupted. After the game, he asked me why I never stayed until the end. “There are too many people. I can never see over the crowd.” “That’s an easy fix,” he said. “I’ll have the guys reserve a front-row seat for you.” The next game, I was escorted to the very first row by one of his teammates. “Neil specifically saved this for you,” the guy winked. At halftime, a swarm of girls rushed the bench with sports drinks. Neil waved them all off, grabbed a towel, and walked straight toward me. “Where’s my water?” “Huh?” I blinked. He sighed dramatically, resting his large, sweaty hand on top of my head. “Miss Olivia, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. You’ve been admiring my athletic prowess for an hour and you didn’t even buy me a water? I am heartbroken.” Before long, handing him water turned into us studying together. On the day we submitted our college applications, he cornered me by the back door of the classroom. “What are you thinking?” he asked. “About what?” He let out a frustrated laugh. “Do you think I have a neck problem from always turning around to look at you? Olivia, even the ants on the sidewalk know how I feel about you.” My face burned hot. “But we’re going to colleges in different cities…” “Wow. Are you really going to hit me with that heartless rejection?” He pulled me into a sudden, tight hug, burying his face in my hair. “Distance is just geography. I only need you to answer one question. Do you like me or not?” The setting sun poured through the classroom windows, casting a golden glow over our faces. I nodded, my cheeks flushed. When his lips pressed gently against mine that afternoon, I genuinely believed I was the luckiest girl in the world. 7 I arrived home at 6:00 AM. My parents picked me up from the bus terminal, wincing at my appearance. “Those overnight buses are pure torture. Look how red your eyes are,” my dad sighed. I forced a smile. “I just need to catch up on some sleep.” “Why didn’t Neil come back with you this time?” my mom asked. “His finals aren’t over yet.” “You two work so hard,” she said affectionately. “Just hold out until next year. Once you get your grad school fellowship to his university, it’ll all be fine. He’s guaranteed a spot in their master’s program, right?” I stayed silent for a long moment. “Mom, I think I’m going to apply for the fellowship at my current university.” My mom looked surprised. “Really? But Neil’s university has a better overall ranking.” “Mine is top three in the country for my specific major. The faculty is incredible, and the job placement rate is higher.” “Oh? Is he going to transfer to your city then? Otherwise, won’t you guys still be long-distance?” I stared out the car window, unsure if I was ready to say the words ‘we broke up’ out loud. I spent the next week resting at home. Neil remained firmly on my blocked list. He didn’t find another way to reach out, and I didn’t reach out to him. My mom grew increasingly worried. “Why are your eyes swollen every single morning? Do you have an infection?” I shook my head. “I’m fine. Just a little stressed. It’ll pass.” That weekend, my high school class organized a reunion. Harper called me. “The class president said Neil couldn’t make it,” she reported. Then she sent me a screenshot of Lily’s Instagram story. “Are you guys officially done? My roommate sent me this and asked if the golden boy had a new girlfriend.” The picture showed Neil and Lily throwing peace signs in the campus laboratory. The caption read: Who else is stuck doing lab work as a freshman?! T_T Science is torture! So grateful to my knight in shining armor, Neil, for helping me finish my summer project early. As a good lab assistant, I bought my senior his train ticket home! Hehe. I texted Harper back: It’s good he’s not coming. I really wanted to go see our old teachers without the drama. The reunion was held at a nice banquet hall near our old high school. All the teachers knew Neil and I were high school sweethearts. Every time I ran into one, they naturally asked about our future plans. The words “we broke up” were right on the tip of my tongue, when a painfully familiar voice drifted over my shoulder. “She’s prepping for the grad school entrance interviews next semester. She’s coming to my university.” I turned around. Neil, who supposedly wasn’t coming, was standing right there.

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1 After I was framed and thrown into prison, Keean came to see me every single day. He would hold my hand through the glass, whispering promises that he believed in my innocence. But five years later, on the day of my release, he looked me in the eye and confessed the truth. “Actually, I was the lawyer who built the case against you.” “I was the one who framed your brother for harassing Johanna, ruining his reputation until he jumped from that rooftop.” “And I was the lead surgeon who took your mother’s kidney to give to Johanna.” He stared at the thick, jagged scars crisscrossing my wrists, his voice entirely devoid of remorse. “Johanna accidentally killed someone in a hit-and-run. She is too fragile to survive prison. I am her only brother, her protector, so I needed you to take the fall.” “As for your brother, he brought it on himself. He dared to try and take Johanna away from me.” “Your mother’s surgery? Johanna complained of back pain around that time and didn’t want to wait on the transplant list.” I stood frozen, the blood in my veins turning to ice. “Why?” Keean spared me a cold, indifferent glance. “You always targeted Johanna. I only wanted to teach you a lesson, to make you grow up. If you can’t accept it, we can get a divorce.” The metallic taste of blood welled up in my throat, and in my mind, a long-silent, robotic voice chimed. Host, do you wish to abandon the mission and withdraw from this world? The sudden reappearance of the system, dormant for so many years, left me dazed. I looked at Keean’s calm, handsome face, and a sharp, blinding pain pierced my chest. Five years ago, he called me, claiming he had been in a horrific car accident on his way to celebrate my birthday. Terrified out of my mind, I sped through a shortcut to find him. The moment I stepped out of my car, police surrounded me. They claimed I had run someone over and killed them. I was sentenced to five years. During those five years, I was locked in solitary confinement every single night and beaten. My body was covered in bruises that never had a chance to heal. Yet, every time the pain became unbearable, the thought of Keean kept me going. And now? The mastermind who destroyed my life, drove my brother to suicide, and left my mother hospitalized was Keean, all to shield Johanna. Tears spilled over as a violent, trembling hatred consumed me. “I want to leave.” Request received. The departure countdown is now seventy-two hours. Seeing the tears on my face, Keean instinctively reached out to wipe them away, his voice suddenly softening to that familiar, gentle tone. “You don’t have to divorce me if you don’t want to. But Johanna has suffered enough. You are not allowed to lay a finger on her again. She still has nightmares about the slap you gave her.” I once carried Keean’s child. Four months into the pregnancy, I drank a bowl of porridge Johanna brought me and suffered a miscarriage. In a fit of grief and rage, I slapped her. At the time, Keean held me tight, whispering soothing words of comfort. But the very next day, reporters smeared my brother’s name with false accusations of sexually harassing Johanna, driving him to leap to his death. Grief-stricken by the loss of both my child and my brother, I had been too broken to see the truth. I never suspected that Keean had engineered all of it just to avenge Johanna. My chest felt like it was being ripped open, every breath a stab of agony. “If you were going to lie to me, why didn’t you just keep lying for the rest of my life?” He stared at me for a long time, letting out a soft sigh. “You are my wife, Cassie. I only wanted you to learn your lesson so we could protect her together. Besides, Johanna’s other kidney is failing now. She needs another transplant. If you agree to save her, I will let the past go and make it up to you.” A profound, freezing numbness washed over me. Unable to contain myself, I swung my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Never!” “You destroyed my brother, threw me into a living hell, and left my mother rotting in a hospital bed! How dare you ask for my kidney?” His head turned from the blow. Seeing the raw hatred burning in my eyes, his expression darkened instantly. “Cassie! I thought five years in prison would teach you some humility. It seems you haven’t changed at all! Men, take her to the hospital for a match test!” His bodyguards swarmed me, trying to drag me into the car. I fought with everything I had, breaking free and running blindly toward the street. A heavy truck roared around the corner. Tires screeched violently, and the next instant, I was thrown through the air, crashing hard onto the asphalt. Blood pooled around me, blurring my vision. Through the haze, I heard Keean’s terrified, desperate scream. “Cassie!” When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed. Every bone in my body ached, and even breathing felt like swallowing glass. A nurse stepped forward to examine my injuries, but Keean cut her off, his voice tight with anxious urgency. “Do the kidney match test first! Johanna is waiting!” Despite knowing his cruelty, a wave of absolute despair washed over me. The old Keean would never have treated me this way. Years ago, when he was a homeless teenager begging on the streets, I had defied my parents and brother to bring him into our home. I gave him the warmth and care he had never known. Before my father passed away, Keean had knelt by his bed and sworn an oath: “I will protect Cassie for the rest of my life. I will never let her suffer.” After we married, he worked himself to the bone to prove he was worthy of me, eventually becoming a titan of the business world. Everyone in Emerald Bay knew he treasured me above all else. I thought I would be happy forever. That was why I chose to stay in this world. Until he brought Johanna home. He had held me and pleaded, “Cassie, Johanna is the daughter of my father’s late comrade. I can’t leave her on the streets. I promise she’ll just have a roof over her head. She will never take your place.” Looking at the frail, pitiful girl, my heart softened. But she became my living nightmare. She would spill hot soup on herself whenever Keean walked down the stairs, kneeling before me in tears: “I’m sorry, Cassie. It was an accident.” She would push me aside after I had stayed up all night nursing a feverish Keean, wrapping her arms around him the moment he opened his eyes, sobbing, “Keean, you’re finally awake! I didn’t sleep a wink watching over you!” She would steal the business proposals I spent all night drafting and present them to Keean as her own: “I stayed up three nights straight to write this for you, Keean.” Despite her constant framing, Keean never blamed me. He would always hold my hand and whisper, “I believe you, Cassie.” Back then, I was so blinded by his sweet words that I failed to notice the growing coldness in his eyes when he looked at me, or the deepening tenderness when he looked at Johanna. Until the day I lost my baby, slapped Johanna, and triggered five years of pure torment in prison, my brother’s wrongful death, and my mother’s illness. My vision blurred again, and I drifted back into darkness. When I woke up next, the countdown had reached forty-eight hours. Keean was sitting by my bedside, looking like he hadn’t slept all night. Seeing my eyes open, a flash of relief crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual cold indifference. “You’re awake,” he said, tossing a medical consent form onto my lap. “The match is a success. Your kidney is a perfect fit for Johanna, just like your mother’s was. Sign this, save Johanna, and I will pretend none of this ever happened. I’ll get the best doctors for your mother’s recovery, and we can go back to how we were.” I shook with rage, finding his words utterly laughable. I grabbed the consent form and tore it into shreds. “You destroyed my entire family. How do you have the audacity to ask for my kidney? There is no future for us, Keean. I want a divorce.” The sharp crash of breaking glass shattered the silence. Johanna stood at the door, her eyes red, a spilled bowl of chicken soup puddling at her feet. “I heard about your accident, Cassie. I spent hours making this soup for you,” she sobbed, rushing forward to grab my arm. “I don’t want your kidney anymore. It’s all my fault. I’ll leave. Please, don’t fight with Keean because of me.” Her voice was sweet and pleading, but her eyes gleamed with malice. As her hand gripped my injured arm, her sharp nails dug viciously into my raw wounds. White-hot pain flared through my body. Instinctively, I shoved her away. “Ah!” she shrieked, tumbling backward onto the broken glass. Keean’s breath hitched. In an instant, he swept her into his arms. Seeing the blood on her palms, his face contorted with fury. A harsh, stinging slap delivered with brutal force caught me across the face. My cheek went numb, and the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. “You knew how weak Johanna is, yet you still pushed her!” Keean snarled. “You’re even more vicious than you were five years ago! You want a divorce? Fine. But first, you will apologize to Johanna, and you will give her your kidney!” The wounds on my arm throbbed. I glared at Keean, pointing a trembling finger at the security camera in the corner. “She pinched my wounds first! If you don’t believe me, check the cameras!” Keean froze, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes. But before he could speak, Johanna gasped and went limp in his arms. “Johanna!” Turning pale with panic, Keean didn’t spare me another look. He scooped her up and rushed out to find a doctor. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. Dragging my battered body out of bed, I tried to leave the hospital, only to be cornered by Johanna in the stairwell. The frail, fainting act was gone. She sneered at me, her face twisted in mockery. “All these years as a task-host and you still failed. What a useless waste. You should just give up.” I froze, staring at her in sheer shock. “You… you’re a host too?” She laughed, her voice dripping with disdain. “I’m nothing like you. You spent years failing to secure him, while it only took me five years to take everything. If you know what’s good for you, step down. I am the one Keean loves. I will be the only Mrs. Lockwood.” “Oh, by the way, your brother didn’t commit suicide. I pushed him.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. She smiled, a wicked, sadistic curve of her lips. “I lured him to the rooftop, promising I would help clear his name. The idiot actually believed me. I can still see the look of absolute shock on his face as he went over the edge.” My hand flew across her face, my entire body shaking with violent rage. She held her bruised cheek, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure venom. “Johanna…” Keean’s voice echoed from down the hallway. Johanna flashed me a terrifying, twisted grin. “Actually, I don’t even have kidney disease. Your mother’s kidney? I had it carved up and fed to the dogs. Now tell me, who do you think Keean will believe? You, or me?” Before I could react, she grabbed my hands, forced them against her shoulders, and threw herself backward down the stairs. By the time Keean reached the stairwell, Johanna was sprawled in a pool of blood at the bottom, looking up at me with tearful, fluttering eyes. “Keean… please don’t hate Cassie. She didn’t mean to push me…” My face went white. I shook my head frantically. “No, I didn’t do it…” Before I could finish, a furious Keean charged up and kicked me squarely in the chest, sending me tumbling down the stairs. A sickening crack echoed as my leg snapped. I screamed in agony, but Keean didn’t even look at me. He scooped Johanna up and ran, throwing a final, freezing threat over his shoulder. “If anything happens to Johanna, I will make you pay with your life!” I lay in the stairwell, drowning in agony, until a passing nurse finally found me. But before they could wheel me into the operating room, Keean’s bodyguards intercepted the gurney and pushed me straight into Johanna’s room. Keean stood over me, his eyes burning with absolute disgust. “Johanna is suffering from acute renal failure because of your push. Are you satisfied now? You caused this, and you will give her your kidney to pay for it!” I stared at him, my eyes bloodshot. “Never!” His face remained entirely cold, treating me like a mortal enemy. “You can refuse. But don’t forget, your mother is still in my hands.” A bodyguard held up a tablet. On the screen, my mother lay helpless in a hospital bed, her oxygen mask ripped away. Her face was blue as she thrashed in agonizing suffocation. My sanity shattered in an instant. I screamed, completely broken. “No! Stop! I’ll do it! I’ll give her the kidney! Just put the oxygen back on her, please!” Keean threw a consent form onto my chest. “Sign it. The moment the surgery is finished is the moment she gets her oxygen back.” With my mother’s painful gasps echoing from the tablet, my hand shook violently as I signed my name. As the anesthetic took hold, I drifted into darkness, consumed by absolute despair. When I woke up, a fresh, raw scar throbbed violently on my abdomen. Ignoring the excruciating pain, I dragged myself out of bed to find my mother. In the hallway, I saw two nurses wheeling a gurney covered in a white sheet. “That poor old lady. Someone pulled her oxygen plug. By the time anyone noticed, she was already gone.” A pale arm slipped out from beneath the sheet, wearing a bright green jade bracelet. The very bracelet I had bought my mother for her birthday five years ago. My blood froze. I stumbled forward, screaming. “Mom! Mom!” Before I could reach her, Keean blocked my path, shielding Johanna behind him. “Johanna just got out of surgery. Stop making a scene. Go back to your room, or I’ll have your mother suffer more.” Tears poured down my face as I thrashed wildly. “Let go of me! That’s my mother! She’s dead! She’s dead!” Keean grabbed my wrists, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean she’s dead? What nonsense are you talking about?” Suddenly, a middle-aged man charged into the hallway, wielding a long kitchen knife. “You bitch! You killed my son! I’m going to make you pay!” Keean’s pupils dilated. Instinctively, he stepped back, pulling Johanna behind him, shielding her completely. Leaving me entirely exposed. A cold blade plunged deep into my chest. White-hot pain flared, and I collapsed into a pool of my own blood. Keean turned, his face suddenly twisting in sheer horror. “Cassie!” Watching my mother’s gurney disappear down the hall, I slowly closed my eyes. “Dad, Mom, Gavin… I’m coming to join you.” Mission failed. Initiating world departure…

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The client dinner cost eight hundred dollars, but the company only approved a two-hundred-dollar reimbursement. “What about the other six hundred?” I asked. Brenda from accounting tossed my expense report back across her desk like a piece of garbage. She did not even bother to look up from her phone. “What do you mean? You cover it yourself.” My brain buzzed as if a live wire had snapped inside my skull. I stood frozen on the cheap carpet. “This was a mandatory business dinner. Why on earth am I paying for it out of my own pocket?” Brenda shot me a dirty look, clearly annoyed that I was interrupting her scrolling. “You went over the budget limit. That’s why.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, forcing myself to swallow the anger rising in my throat. 1 “The company allowance is fifty bucks a head. You spent eight hundred dollars on four people?” Brenda rolled her eyes. “I’m already doing you a massive favor by not reporting you to management for a penalty.” “If word gets out that you’re dropping this kind of cash, all our other clients are going to expect the same treatment. Do you have any idea what kind of headache you’re causing the company?” Fifty bucks a head? We were trying to close a deal in downtown Manhattan. You could barely get a decent appetizer and a cocktail for fifty bucks, let alone host a corporate dinner. I could feel the blood pounding behind my eyes, but I kept my voice steady. “Brenda, this was for Ryder Corp. I spent six grueling months just getting Apex Marketing a foot in the door with them. We were at the finish line. After last night’s dinner, they practically shook on giving us the contract.” “We can’t trip at the finish line over a single dinner bill, right?” Brenda clicked her tongue, thoroughly out of patience. “Connecting with clients and closing contracts is your job. My job is enforcing corporate policy. Apex does not allow employees to use company time to fund their luxury dining habits. Save the sob story, I am not buying it.” With that, she picked up her phone and went right back to watching TikTok videos. I stood there in front of her desk like a statue for a long time. The rage burning in my chest had absolutely nowhere to go. “Why are you still standing there? Your long face is ruining my mood,” Brenda snapped, waving a manicured hand toward the door. “If you have time to stand around slacking off, go back to your desk and do actual work.” She was kicking me out. I didn’t explode. Instead, I turned on my heel and marched straight up to the boss’s office. I had been with Apex for three years, right from its messy startup phase to its current stability. Rick and I had history. We had fought in the trenches together. I knocked and walked into his office. Just last night, when I texted him the good news about the dinner, he had spammed me with thumbs-up emojis. Audrey, you are the absolute backbone of this company! Once the ink is dry on this deal, I’m getting you that promotion! But now, sitting behind his mahogany desk with his legs crossed, he listened to my reimbursement issue and put on a painfully exaggerated face of sympathy. “Audrey, listen. You really can’t blame accounting for this. Policies are policies. Even as the owner, I have to play by the rules, right? Otherwise, how can I keep the team in line?” “You’re putting me in a really tough spot here…” I blinked, totally blindsided. I never expected him to throw me to the wolves like this. Overnight, he had completely changed his tune. “Rick, you literally texted me yesterday to spare no expense to land Ryder Corp. The text messages are right here.” I pulled out my phone, loaded the chat, and held it out across his desk. His eyebrows pulled together in a tight frown. He waved my phone away. “Spare no expense means within the limits of our defined costs. Fifty dollars a head is the cost. You clearly went rogue.” “Besides, once we secure this million-dollar contract, your end-of-year bonus is going to be massive. Why are you nickel and diming me over six hundred bucks? Can’t you just view it as a contribution to the company?” His voice was terrifyingly casual. The words slipped into my ears like ice-cold needles, making my chest tighten. Contribution? I worked unpaid overtime, pulled back-to-back all-nighters, and smiled until my cheeks ached just to bring in new leads. Was that not enough of a contribution? The executives at Ryder Corp were sleazy, middle-aged creeps who couldn’t keep their eyes off women in their twenties. For six months, I had been on constant high alert, expertly dodging their wandering hands without offending them, forcing myself to smile through the disgust just to land this deal. And it still wasn’t enough? A layer of frost settled over my heart, but I was still naive enough to try explaining, hoping he would see my side. “Rick, my take-home pay is barely four grand a month. Six hundred dollars is a huge chunk of my rent money. And rent is due next week.” 2 Rick’s tone suddenly shifted. “Audrey, you’ve been with us since day one, right? Three years now?” I nodded, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. I thought he was finally remembering our shared history. “I’ll authorize a special exception for you this time…” I had spent half the morning fighting over this reimbursement and I was mentally exhausted. Before he even finished his sentence, I let out a massive breath of relief and thanked him profusely. “Thank you, Rick. Really, thank you.” I felt the weight lift off my chest, but when I looked up, his face was colder than before. “Who said I was authorizing it? I said, if I authorize a special exception for you this time, what happens next time? If everyone starts running to my office begging for special treatment, how am I supposed to run a business?” My breath caught in my throat. The oxygen in the room suddenly felt incredibly thin. “But if I don’t get this money back, I won’t be able to buy groceries next month…” My throat tightened. The realization that I was actually about to lose six hundred dollars of my own hard-earned cash made the corners of my eyes sting with frustrated tears. Rick tapped his pen aggressively against his desk, clearly losing his patience. “That sounds like a personal problem.” He stared at me, his eyes dark and hostile. The fire in my chest surged straight to my throat. I couldn’t control my emotions anymore. My hands started to shake. “Rick, are you seriously going to screw me over for six hundred dollars? This deal brings in over a million dollars in profit for the agency, and you want me to pay out of pocket to work here? Do you think that is remotely fair?” Rick slammed his hand flat onto the desk. The polite facade completely vanished. “Excuse me? You’re the one who broke protocol. You don’t know how to control a budget, and now you have the nerve to blame your boss?” I was the one getting robbed, but he was breathing heavily, acting like the victim. “How was I supposed to control the budget? The Ryder director ordered a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine the second he sat down! By your logic, I should have taken a million-dollar client to a diner for some scrambled eggs?” I fought back my tears, feeling the blood in my veins turn to ice. “Audrey. Rules are what keep us from falling apart. If you can’t adapt to the corporate culture here, then you can hand in your resignation.” He had backed me into a corner. I turned around and walked right out of his office. I clutched the restaurant receipt in my hand and looked around the bullpen. This was the place I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for three years. There was a brief twinge of sadness, but mostly, I just felt a deep, sickening betrayal. If they wouldn’t cover the full amount, I was at least getting my two hundred dollars back. I marched back down to the accounting office. Brenda raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly disgusted by my presence. “Why are you back?” I slapped the receipt down on her desk. “Process it for the two hundred.” A smug, victorious smirk spread across Brenda’s face. “See? That wasn’t so hard. If you had just followed standard operating procedure from the start, that two hundred bucks would already be processing.” She picked up the receipt, glanced at it, and her smile instantly vanished into a cold scowl. “Can’t process it.” Three words. They pushed the simmering rage in my gut right past the boiling point. “Why not?” Her voice was light, almost mocking. “Did you not read the updated employee handbook? Reimbursements require an itemized corporate tax invoice, not a standard credit card receipt.” My ears started ringing. “Brenda, why didn’t you tell me I needed a corporate invoice the first time I came in?” “We hadn’t gotten to that stage of the process yet, had we?” She slid the receipt back across the desk. “Go back to the restaurant and get the right paperwork.” My chest heaved. I wanted to scream, but I knew arguing with her was completely pointless. Solving the problem was the only way I was getting my money. I was being bounced around like a ping-pong ball. Just as I turned toward the door to leave, Brenda casually dropped another bomb. 3 “Just a friendly reminder. The new policy states today is the absolute final day for monthly reimbursements. I clock out at four sharp. If you don’t make it back in time, you’ll just have to eat the cost.” My eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “What? The restaurant is a private dining club an hour outside the city. In this traffic, there is no physical way I can get there and back by four!” Brenda blinked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “That sounds like a personal problem.” From morning until afternoon, those were the exact words the agency used to completely destroy me. I was a twenty-something girl who had chugged glass after glass of expensive liquor just to keep the clients entertained. I had locked myself in the restaurant bathroom to force myself to throw up, just so I could stay sober enough to dodge their creepy advances. I had exhausted every ounce of my physical and mental energy. And this was my reward. At that exact moment, the illusion shattered. There was no loyalty in the corporate world. You were just meat in the grinder. Since Apex was perfectly willing to steal six hundred dollars from me, perfectly willing to scrape the very last ounce of flesh from my bones, I had absolutely nothing left to lose. “Fine. I won’t expense it.” The second I conceded, Brenda’s entire demeanor brightened. She looked at me with a sickeningly sweet smile. “See? That’s the spirit! You account managers make plenty of commission anyway. No need to waste time stressing over pocket change.” I kept my face deadpan. I didn’t say a single word. As I walked out of the accounting office, I paused in the hallway. I heard Brenda recording a voice memo on her phone. “Who knew working in accounting came with a commission? Hey honey, I just successfully blocked another reimbursement request. Rick gives me a fifty-buck bonus for every one I deny. Let’s go try that new Korean BBQ spot tonight.” I didn’t turn around. I didn’t storm back in to tear Brenda apart. Instead, I walked down the block to a discount electronics store, bought a bright red, battery-powered megaphone, and took an Uber straight to Ryder Corp headquarters. I stood on the sidewalk in front of their towering glass skyscraper, cranked the volume dial to maximum, and pressed the trigger. “Marcus! I am Audrey from Apex Marketing! My company refuses to reimburse your dinner from last night! Do me a favor, come downstairs right now and Venmo me your half of the bill!”

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When my mom was five months pregnant, she made me move into the barn to “ward off misfortune” for my unborn brother. That was the first time I didn’t argue with her. I just said yes. Because she’s an artist with words. She can always say one thing and mean two. “My daughter is so sensitive — one little comment and she’ll hold onto it for ten years.” “Let her be. Kids having opinions is a good thing. We have to respect that.” For eighteen years, I’d become exactly the daughter she described to everyone else — “difficult,” “ungrateful.” When I was brought back home and forced to eat on my knees like an animal, while my brother rode on my back 。 Everyone praised my mom for being a saint. For never giving up on me. I didn’t argue. Because they didn’t know I was counting down the days. Getting ready to give her a gift she’d never forget — in front of every single relative and friend she cared about. **1** The barn door shut behind me. I heard Mom sigh on the other side. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Just three months. Once your brother is born, I’ll come get you.” Her voice was as soft and warm as always. Mrs. Henderson from next door happened to walk by. “Oh my — why is your daughter staying in there?” My mom’s voice filled with what sounded like heartache. “She asked to. Said she wanted the experience.” “I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how kids are these days. So headstrong.” Mrs. Henderson told her she was such an open-minded parent. I crouched beside the cow and said nothing. Through the wall, I heard Dad say: “Isn’t this a bit much? She’s still our daughter.” “What do you know? This is an old tradition — a frail baby needs someone to take on the bad luck.” “She’s tough. And besides, she didn’t even object.” That’s right. I didn’t object. Because I knew it wouldn’t matter. If I said I didn’t want to stay here, she’d cry to the neighbors. And then everyone would call me an ungrateful, selfish daughter. So I saved my energy. At least this way I’d walk away with the one good reputation I’d never had — the compliant one. The barn was harder than I’d imagined. In winter, cold wind poured through the gaps. In summer, mosquitoes left welts all over my skin. Mom came once a day with food. She’d stand at the door and call out softly, “Sweetheart, dinner’s ready.” The neighbors who saw her said she had such a kind heart. “She’s bringing real food to the barn — if my kid pulled something like this, I’d let them go hungry until they learned.” What was actually in the thermos container was usually leftover rice that was almost spoiled. I’d crouch beside the cow to eat. Sometimes it would wander over and sniff at my bowl, then sneeze and turn back to its hay. The day my brother was born, I heard firecrackers going off next door. The cow gently bumped its head against my side. “You think it’s funny too?” I rested my hand on its neck. “I’ve never even seen his face, and I’m already out here taking the hit for him.” It blinked its big dark eyes. Three months became six. Six months became a year. Every time, Mom would say: “Soon. Just until your brother gets a little stronger, then I’ll bring you home.” Year after year. In the spring of the fifth year, the barn door finally opened. Mom stood there with the same gentle expression. “Sweetheart, you’ve worked so hard. Your brother is healthy now. Mom’s here to bring you home.” The cow followed me to the doorway and pressed its nose against my hand. “It doesn’t want to let you go,” Mom said with a smile. “Even animals have a sense of these things.” It sounded like she was complimenting the cow. But I knew what she meant. She was saying I was only capable of bonding with animals. The house had changed a lot. The living room was full of toys. The walls were covered in my brother’s drawings. A five-year-old boy came running over and stared at me with wide eyes. “This is your sister,” Mom said, lifting him up. “Say hi.” My brother wrinkled his nose and shrank back. “Ew! She stinks! Cow poop witch!” I sniffed myself out of habit. “I don’t smell.” He pinched his nose shut. Mom patted his back gently. “We don’t say things like that about your sister.” She turned to me. “Don’t take it to heart, sweetheart. He’s little. Good nose on him.” “Mom noticed too, honestly.” She smiled. “But it’s fine. After a while you just… stop noticing the smell.” “And we’ve all had our shots, so nothing to worry about.” — **2** I stood in the middle of the living room, wanting to say something back, but not finding the words. “You’ll take the guest room for now.” “We turned your old room into a playroom for your brother.” Mom pointed to the small room at the end of the hall. “Once he gets a little older, we’ll clear the toys out.” “Your blankets are out on the balcony. Go grab them.” She carried my brother toward the kitchen. “Mom needs to warm up his milk. It’s naptime.” I went to the balcony and found my blankets covered in mold. It was obvious no one had touched them in years. That evening, our neighbor Aunt Carol stopped by with sweets to celebrate — her son had just gotten into college. Mom invited her to stay for dinner, sounding genuinely envious. “That’s wonderful. You must be so proud.” “Mine, now — she got in too, but threw a fit and refused to go. Insisted on going to live on a farm for the experience.” I was sitting at the table. My hand froze in midair. I didn’t know which hand to pick up a fork with. For the past five years in the barn, Mom never gave me utensils. I ate crouched on the ground, hunched over my bowl. My brother noticed and burst out laughing. “Mommy, look! She doesn’t know which hand to use!” Mom said gently, “Don’t laugh at your sister. She’s just… gotten used to a different way.” She held out a fork for me. I took it and tried to pick up some food. My fingers wouldn’t cooperate. The food fell back onto the table. “That’s okay. Take your time.” She ladled some soup into my bowl. “Start with the soup.” Her voice was as warm and patient as ever. But I saw her lean down and whisper something in my brother’s ear. He laughed even harder and ran over to me, shoved me off my chair, and climbed onto my back. “Giddyup! Ride the cow! Ride the cow!” Mom smiled warmly. “Look, sweetie — your brother is doing exposure therapy with you.” “Only family would care enough to do this. If you weren’t his sister, he wouldn’t even bother playing with you.” My brother started kicking my ribs. “Giddyup! Move!” I didn’t move. He kicked harder. I shot up. He tumbled to the floor and started wailing. “I am not a cow.” “I am NOT a cow!” I shouted. “I’m a person! I’m an adult!” Aunt Carol flinched. “Good lord. Why is she being so rough with him? She spent all that time on the farm and she’s still got that temper.” Mom gave a tired smile. “I know. I worry about her. No matter how much I do for her, she always feels like we owe her something.” “Mom,” I cut in, “I don’t feel like you owe me anything.” She blinked. “Okay. I’m sorry. Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.” That kind of line. It always sounded so sincere. Aunt Carol took the bait right on cue. “See how good your mom is? She’s actually apologizing to you.” “You’re old enough to know better.” Mom shifted my brother in her arms. “She’s always been a hair trigger.” “I have to be so careful with what I say. I’m always afraid of setting her off.” Aunt Carol patted her hand. “I hear you. It’s not easy being her mom.” I opened my mouth. Wanted to say something else. But suddenly I was just exhausted. All these years of fighting, and I’d never once won. She’d turned me into the family villain. I got down on the floor. Went back down on my hands and knees. My brother sniffled and climbed back onto my back. Mom immediately brightened. “There we go. Siblings don’t stay mad.” “We all just want what’s best for you.” Aunt Carol sighed. “That temper of yours really does need work.” “Good thing your mom is so patient. In my house, I’d have sorted that out a long time ago.” As I crawled along the floor, I thought of the cow back in the barn. So thin its ribs pressed through its skin. I used to wrap my arms around its neck for warmth. It never moved. Now I understood. It probably wanted to die back then too. It just couldn’t say so. — **3** That night, lying in a real bed for the first time in years, I heard Mom’s voice drifting from the master bedroom. “Sending her to that barn back then — honestly, best decision I ever made.” I couldn’t hear the other side of the call. Mom laughed. “Ward off misfortune? That was just something to say.” “Otherwise the neighbors would’ve talked — called me sexist, called me a bad mother. How awful would that look.” “If she broke down out there, ran off or lost her mind, that’s on her. Nothing to do with us.” “I honestly didn’t think she’d make it five years. She’s tougher than I gave her credit for.” So that was it. There was no superstition. No warding off anything. She just didn’t want me. But she didn’t want the reputation that came with throwing away a daughter, either. So she put me in the barn and waited for me to disappear on my own. I didn’t. I lasted too long. So bringing me back at least made me useful — a toy for my brother. Make the most of every resource. Once I understood that clearly, something in me went quiet. In a few days, it would be my brother’s birthday party. Mom said she wanted to go all out. Every relative, every family friend would be there. She planned to announce that day, in front of everyone, that I was home. To tell them she never gave up on me. I sat up, bit into my finger, and wrote in blood on a torn page. Then I reached under the bed for the old backpack I’d hidden there. Inside were everything I’d written over the years. Every day. Every word she had ever said to me. The soft ones. The ones that cut like ice. The ones that sounded so perfectly kind. Mom — if that’s how it is, I’ll keep being your obedient cow. I’ll go quietly. And I’ll make sure your perfect life stops on that day. Forever. Late that night, I dreamed I was back in the barn. The cow was chewing hay in the dark. It looked at me. As if to say: *Hold on a little longer. It’s almost over.* — The next morning, my brother was sprawled on the floor playing with toy cars. He looked up at me and grinned. “Make a cow sound, sissy!” I didn’t move. “Come on, come on!” He scrambled up and grabbed at my leg. “Mommy said you lived with the cow forever — you definitely know how!” Mom watched from across the room with a smile. “Don’t tease her. For her sake — let’s not talk about cows.” “She’ll get worked up again.” But she stood right there without pulling him away. Just watching. My brother started to cry. “I want to hear the cow sound! I WANT TO!” Mom crouched down to soothe him. “Baby, don’t cry…” She looked up at me and gave me that perfect smile. I knew what it meant. She was waiting for me to handle it myself. I opened my mouth and let out a low moo. My brother stopped crying instantly, clapping and shrieking with delight. “She did it! A real cow sound!” Mom laughed and ruffled his hair. “There you go. Happy now? Let’s go downstairs.” I stood up and walked to the window. In the garden below, my brother was chasing a balloon. Mom trailed behind him, arms half-raised, ready to catch him if he stumbled. The sunlight fell across her face. Soft. Beautiful. Anyone who saw her would say she was a perfect mother. — That afternoon, I went to the kitchen for water and stopped in front of the dispenser for three seconds. Then I crouched down, leaned toward the spout, and stuck out my tongue. The water hit my tongue before I caught what I was doing. For five years in the barn, that’s how I drank. Crouched over the trough, lapping like an animal. My brother came running in and saw. He clapped his hands and screamed laughing. “Mommy! Sissy is drinking like a cow!” Mom came over and crouched next to me, voice soft. “Sweetheart — for your own sake, let’s use a cup.” She held out a plastic cup. “Some habits take time to unlearn after being away so long. Mom understands.” My brother was beside himself. Mom was laughing too, eyes curving into gentle crescents. “Look at you — you made him laugh again.” I took the cup and brought it to my mouth. Some of the water spilled and ran down my chin. “Slow down,” Mom said. “No one’s taking it from you.” My brother leaned in and pointed at my face. “Mommy! Her mouth is leaking! Just like a cow!” Mom dabbed at my chin with a paper towel. Gentle hands. “Good job. You used a cup today.” I ran back to my room. My hands were still shaking. Not from anger. Because just now, when I was drinking — I almost stuck out my tongue again. The body remembers more honestly than the mind. — **4** That night I didn’t want to come out for dinner. Mom pulled me out of my room anyway. “Sweetheart, you have to eat something. Your body isn’t yours to neglect. When you don’t eat, it hurts us too.” She sighed and said into her phone, “Let me call you back, sis. I’m trying to get her to eat… Kids get harder when they grow up.” My brother appeared from somewhere holding a fistful of grass and set it on the table. “Cow eats grass!” Mom let out a soft laugh. “See? Your brother loves you.” “He knows you got used to eating fresh things out there. The cooked stuff probably doesn’t sit right.” I stared at the grass. My stomach lurched. “Eat it! Eat it!” My brother grabbed the grass and shoved it at my mouth. I gagged and bolted to the bathroom, where I threw up. My brother froze for a second — then burst into laughter. “The cow puked! The cow is ruminating!” I snapped around. Ruminating. A five-year-old knew that word. I gripped the edge of the sink and finally understood. Mom taught him that. She had been teaching him how to humiliate me. One lesson at a time. In her mind, I wasn’t her daughter. I was livestock. A cow that might wander off at any moment. Dad put down his fork. “That’s enough.” Mom wiped the table with a napkin, movements unhurried. “The kids are just playing. Don’t be so serious.” She looked up with a smile. “It’s sibling bonding.” I came out of the bathroom holding my stomach. Mom reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bag. “Oh, right — for your brother’s birthday party, wear this.” She shook out what was inside. A cow mascot costume. Brown fur, black hooves, and a hood with two curved horns. “Think of it as your present to him. You’ll be adorable in it.” Her eyes were bright and full of expectation. Like any ordinary mother waiting for her child to do something sweet. I nodded. She smiled and hugged me. “I knew you’d come through.” “Oh — that cow. It’s gone.” My hand stopped. “Froze to death,” she said, as casually as if she were talking about the weather. “I found it stiff one morning and had the neighbor come take it away.” I didn’t say anything. “Don’t be sad about it. It was just an animal. That’s life.” She paused. When I still didn’t react, she kept going. “The neighbor said its eyes were still open when they found it.” “Silly thing. What did it have to be so reluctant about?” She smiled. “Try the costume on.” I felt nothing. I pulled off my jacket and stepped into the costume, then pulled the hood over my head. She adjusted it so I could see out through the eye holes. “Perfect fit.” She stepped back and looked me over. “Your brother will want to introduce you. ‘This is my sister.’” She paused. “The most soulful one in the family.” She walked away. I went back to my room and closed the door. I pulled the tiebacks off the curtains and stretched them between my hands. There was a crossbeam above the door frame. I dragged a chair over, stepped up, and tied a knot. Mom was laughing in the living room. The sound drifted in, muffled. I lay down and looked at the rope. The height was just right. She’d push the door open tomorrow and it would be the first thing she saw. My gift to her. — The day of my brother’s birthday party, the house filled up. Relatives everywhere. Laughter pouring from the living room. My brother ran around in a tiny suit, collecting red envelopes from every guest. Mom’s voice was even softer than usual. “You really didn’t have to bring anything.” My door stayed shut. No one came to get me. Close to noon, Mom said through the door, “Get ready, sweetheart.” I didn’t answer. She waited a moment, then left. I got up. Put on the cow costume. Covered the walls with the blood letter and the diary pages. Then I stepped onto the chair. The costume was bulky and awkward. I adjusted my position, settled the rope around my neck, and kicked the chair away. The costume weighed me down. I dropped fast. The moment the rope pulled tight, I heard Mom’s voice in the hallway: “We actually have some wonderful news today — my older daughter is back home after some time away in the country…” Applause from the guests. “If she comes out and she’s crouching, or acting a little strange, please don’t laugh…” “Just think of it as giving her a chance to start over.” “I know that with the love of this family, she’ll be okay.” Louder applause. The door handle turned. The door swung open. Mom stood in the doorway, her perfect smile in place. Then she looked past it and saw me. Saw my arms and legs hanging limp inside the costume, swaying gently. The smile froze on her face.

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