Author: Momo Chan

Today is my twenty-eighth birthday. My husband went out of his way to buy my favorite mango cake. At the restaurant, a little boy from the next table was egged on by his mother to come over and ask for a slice. I was reluctant, but out of basic courtesy, I gave him a piece. The result was a severe allergic reaction. The boy went into anaphylactic shock and died in the emergency room. His grieving father stormed into my house and stabbed me to death in a fit of absolute rage. Then I opened my eyes, waking up exactly in the moment before I handed that cake over. … 1 The rich, savory scent of sizzling beef and hot oil hit my face in thick waves of steam. The off-key melody of a birthday song scraped against my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, making me wince. My grip on my chopsticks tightened until my knuckles turned white. This scene was entirely too familiar. A little boy wearing a bear-patterned vest stood right by our table, singing “Happy Birthday” in a sickeningly sweet, childish voice. Behind him stood a heavily made-up young woman holding her phone. The camera was pointed dead at us. A calculated, artificial smile stretched across her face. “You sang so beautifully, baby. Hurry up and say thank you to the nice lady.” In my previous life, this was the exact moment my heart melted. I had smiled, cut a generous slice of the mango cream cake, and handed it to him. But mere seconds later, the boy broke out in severe hives. He collapsed on the floor, gasping for air, and never made it out of the resuscitation room. I can still vividly remember his father charging into my house with bloodshot eyes. As the fruit knife plunged into my chest, I could hear my husband, Carter, panicking in the background, yelling that it was an accident. I bled out on my living room floor, and the boy’s father was sentenced to death for first-degree murder. “Lady, can I please have a piece of your cake…” The boy looked no older than five or six. He reached out with filthy, greasy hands, his eyes glued greedily to the frosting in front of me. His mother immediately chimed in. “Come on, miss. Look how adorable he is. Just give him a slice. It is not like it is a luxury item. My son is a lucky charm, sharing with him will bring you good fortune.” I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing down the phantom taste of blood rising in my throat. I pulled my lips into a freezing smile. “No.” The air around our table instantly completely froze. The little boy’s hand stopped mid-air. A second later, a deafening, ear-piercing shriek erupted from his lungs. “I want cake! I want the cake!” He threw a massive tantrum, flailing his arms and slamming his hands on our table. The loud clatter of plates and bowls made the customers at the neighboring booths turn their heads in shock. His mother’s face dropped. She lowered her phone and instantly went on the offensive. “What is your problem? It is just a piece of cake. Do you really need to be this petty with a child? You have zero compassion, but I didn’t expect you to be this vicious.” “Vicious?” I thought about my gruesome death, remembering how this exact woman had stood by and gloated while I bled out. I put down my chopsticks and leaned forward slightly. “Number one: I bought this cake with my own money. Giving it away is my privilege, not an obligation.” “Number two: Your kid tries to snatch things he wants. Instead of parenting him, you attack a stranger. Who is the one lacking basic manners here?” “Number three: If I were truly vicious, I would smash this entire cake right into your face right now, just so you could taste what it feels like to be forced into something.” Whispers began rippling through the restaurant. A few people pulled out their phones to record. The woman’s face flushed a deep, humiliating red. Unable to gracefully back down, she literally dropped to the floor and raised her voice to a hysterical pitch. “Everyone, look at this! A grown woman bullying a child on her birthday! She won’t even spare a single slice of cake. She is a total child-hater! A woman this bitter is destined to curse her husband and ruin her own family!” “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, watching her throw a pathetic fit on the floor. “Since you are so good at predicting the future, how come you didn’t predict your son almost knocking over a boiling grill pan just now? If he had severely burned someone, could you afford the medical bills? Or did you intentionally let your kid cause a scene just to extort money out of me?” “What the hell are you talking about!” The woman panicked. She scrambled to her feet and lunged forward, trying to shove me. I glanced at my husband, Carter. He was sitting there like a complete bystander, casually watching the drama unfold. A fierce fire ignited in my chest, and I stood up abruptly. I have always been tall, and fueled by pure adrenaline, my towering presence instantly intimidated her. She yanked her outstretched hand back, opting to stand her ground and glare at me with venomous eyes. By this time, a waiter had rushed over to our table. Seeing the staff arrive, the woman seemed to find her courage again. She immediately started crying to the waiter, claiming I was aggressive and unreasonable. She whined about how I bullied them, had no respect for kids, and refused to share a simple slice of cake. She demanded they kick us out of the restaurant. The waiter listened to her dramatic sob story and gave me an awkward look. Seeing the cold fury in my eyes, he turned back to the woman, trying to deescalate the situation. “Ma’am, please calm down. Giving away the cake is entirely up to this customer. We cannot force her to share it, and we certainly have no right to kick a paying customer out.” Hearing the waiter’s verdict, the woman started wailing even louder. “You are all in on this together! You are just bullying us because my husband isn’t here! You are picking on a helpless mother and child!” While she screamed, the little boy stealthily crept closer. He suddenly reached out, grabbing a massive handful of cake, and shoved his hand toward his mouth. I spotted him instantly. I slapped his hand away hard, knocking the cake onto the floor, and grabbed a napkin to ruthlessly scrub his fingers clean until not a single speck of frosting remained. Seeing his prize ruined, he burst into fresh tears and yelled, “You ugly bitch!” “What the hell is going on here!” A tall, broad-shouldered man suddenly charged over, glaring at us. The boy saw him and immediately ran to hug his leg. The moment I saw his face, a phantom ache flared up in my chest where the knife had pierced me. This was Griffin, the boy’s father. He glared at me, cracking his knuckles threateningly. “You dare bully my wife and kid? Believe me, I will knock you out right now!” 2 “What? You think hitting a woman makes you a tough guy?” I did not take a single step back, staring directly into his furious eyes. “Where were you when your son was throwing a tantrum and trying to steal from a stranger’s table? Now you show up to play the big hero? Instead of flexing your muscles, why don’t you teach your son some basic manners and teach your wife how to respect boundaries.” Hearing the word “steal,” Griffin froze. He looked down at the little boy, who immediately lowered his head in guilt. Griffin turned to his wife and asked what really happened. The woman stammered, refusing to give a straight answer. It seemed this man was actually capable of reason. In my previous life, it was highly likely that his wife’s malicious instigation, combined with the blinding grief of losing his son, had driven him to murder. The situation was finally deescalating, but my husband Carter suddenly opened his mouth with a horribly snide remark. “Is your family starving so badly that your son has to beg my wife for scraps?” That single sentence instantly reignited Griffin’s rage. “You son of a bitch, you’re asking for it!” Griffin raised his fist, ready to swing at Carter. “Sir! Please do not fight!” Several waiters rushed over to physically hold him back. The shift manager ran over clutching a menu, plastering a massive, apologetic smile on his face. “I am so incredibly sorry. Your meal is entirely on the house today. Please cool off. Let’s not get violent in front of the child, it sets a bad example.” The couple looked like they wanted to keep arguing, but the manager secretly slipped them a hefty discount voucher and gave them a pointed look. Griffin shot me one last vicious glare before grabbing his wife and kid, walking away while muttering curses under his breath. Once the family was gone, the manager turned to me, bowing apologetically. “I am so sorry, Ms. Song. You are a regular here, and this is the first time something like this has happened. I am comping your table today to make up for the trouble.” Carter and I frequented this place, The Sizzling Grill. The food and service were usually top-notch. I knew this wasn’t their fault, so I nodded at the manager. He thanked me profusely and hurried away. The surrounding customers finally went back to their own meals. My tightly strung nerves slowly relaxed. That brat didn’t eat the cake, which meant he wouldn’t die. I had successfully dodged my gruesome fate. Just as I let out a sigh of relief, Carter’s face darkened, and he started lecturing me. “You went way overboard just now. It is just a piece of cake. What is the big deal about giving it to a kid? Now everyone in the restaurant is treating us like a joke.” I stared at him in disbelief, my heart feeling like it had been pierced by an icicle. “Did you not see how they treated me? If I gave him the cake and something happened to that child, would you take responsibility?” “What could possibly happen? It is just dessert.” Carter waved his hand impatiently. “You are making a mountain out of a molehill. You have absolutely no empathy. I never knew you were this kind of person.” “Empathy?” I laughed, almost letting a tear slip. “Carter, in my past life, I was literally…” I swallowed the rest of the sentence. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. He would probably just think I had lost my mind. “What are you laughing at?” Carter frowned deeply. “I am being serious. What you did today was incredibly ugly. Do me a favor and don’t tell people you are my wife.” His bystander attitude during the fight and his sudden, deliberate provocation of the boy’s father had already filled me with deep suspicion. I didn’t argue. I silently grabbed my purse and stood up. “I am not going home tonight. I am staying at my parents’ house for a few days. You need to take a good look in the mirror.” The moment I mentioned going to my parents, Carter’s tone shifted from arrogant to impatient. “Harper, can you stop being so dramatic? What are your parents going to think if you run home crying? They are going to assume I am abusing you.” I looked at Carter, a wave of profound disappointment washing over me. In a moment like this, he didn’t care about my feelings at all. He only cared about how my parents viewed him! He walked over and wrapped his arms around me. “Baby, please stop making a fuss. I admit I went a little too far with my words today. Just come home with me. There is a huge promotion opening up at my company, and I really need your dad to put in a good word for me.” So that was his real agenda. Carter and I met at work, and his direct superior was my father. Back when he was intensely pursuing me, my friends warned me that he was only after my family’s money and connections. I refused to believe them back then. But looking at his performance today, I had no choice but to reconsider their warnings. I couldn’t let Carter know I was doubting his motives for marrying me. I forced my posture to relax, pretending my anger had faded. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to my parents about what happened. I just haven’t been home in a while, and it is my birthday. I want to see them. I will conveniently bring up your promotion to my dad while I am there.” Hearing my promise, Carter kissed the back of my hand. “Thank you, baby. I knew I had the most forgiving wife in the world.” I fought back the urge to vomit and discreetly wiped my hand on my jeans. When I arrived at my parents’ house and pushed the front door open, they were sitting on the couch flipping through my old childhood photo albums. Their faces lit up with pure joy the second they saw me. They hurried over and grabbed my hands. Noticing my silence, my mom asked softly, “Harper, sweetheart, what brings you home so late?” Seeing their loving, concerned eyes broke whatever dam was left inside me. I threw myself into my mother’s arms and sobbed uncontrollably. My mom gently patted my back while my dad paced nervously beside us, rubbing his hands together. “What happened? Did Carter do something to you?” Choking back my tears, I gave them a filtered version of the restaurant incident, completely omitting the rebirth part. I simply told them Carter failed to support me. Hearing this, my parents instantly took my side. “You did the right thing, sweetheart! You cannot let people walk all over you! And what is wrong with Carter? Why on earth wouldn’t he stand up for his own wife?” Parents will always be your strongest shield. I remembered when I first announced I was marrying Carter, they strongly opposed it. They felt he wasn’t grounded and had too many hidden motives. But they couldn’t win against my stubbornness and eventually compromised. History proves that if your family warns you not to marry someone, you really shouldn’t. 3 I was the absolute princess of my family growing up. My dad would move mountains to give me whatever I wanted. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how shattered they must have been when they received the news of my brutal murder in my past life. To cheer me up, my parents suggested we go out for dinner at my favorite spot, The Heritage Steakhouse. I am an absolute fanatic for a good vintage grill. Before I got married, this was my go-to place. I brought Carter here a few times after our wedding, but he claimed he hated the smoky atmosphere, so I eventually stopped going. From then on, we only ever ate at The Sizzling Grill near our apartment. Once we got a booth, I pulled out my phone to scan the QR code for the menu. By pure muscle memory, I accidentally logged into Carter’s loyalty account. We shared the same phone number for log-ins, and for convenience, we never bothered changing the password. I didn’t think much of it since using either account to order food made no difference. After ordering, I wanted to treat my parents, so I sneaked away to the front counter to pay the bill in advance. While the cashier was ringing me up, she smiled warmly. “Ma’am, your account currently has enough loyalty points to redeem a cash voucher. Would you like to apply it to tonight’s bill?” I felt a twinge of confusion. The last time I came here was during the holidays months ago. Do points really take this long to expire? I tested the waters and asked, “How much is the voucher worth?” The cashier checked her screen. “You can redeem a two-hundred-dollar voucher. If you apply it, your total tonight will only be one hundred and thirteen dollars.” Her words exploded in my brain like a bomb. Earning a two-hundred-dollar voucher required at least four thousand loyalty points. There was absolutely no way I had spent that much money here. That meant Carter was the one spending it. Panic rising in my chest, I quickly pulled up the account’s transaction history. The moment the records loaded, my blood ran entirely cold. Over the past three months, Carter had dined at this steakhouse fifteen times. Every single receipt was for a romantic dinner for two. The timestamps were mostly on weekend afternoons. Those were the exact times he explicitly told me he was stuck at the office doing mandatory overtime. My fingers trembled as I scrolled down. The most recent transaction was from just two days ago at noon. There was even a custom note attached to the reservation: Celebrating our seventh dating anniversary, please prepare table decorations. Seventh anniversary. Carter and I had only been married for five years. It felt like an invisible, icy hand had clamped down on my heart, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. Was he having an affair this whole time? Who was she? What were they plotting? “Sweetheart, is everything okay?” My mom noticed something was off and reached out to touch my hand. “Why are your fingers freezing?” “I am fine, Mom.” I shoved the phone deep into my pocket, forcing a composed smile. “The AC in here is just a bit strong. Let’s go eat.” My parents could tell I looked pale, so they spent the whole dinner trying to comfort me. But the premium steak tasted like absolute ash in my mouth. My mind was completely consumed by horrifying images of Carter and a faceless woman. When it was time to settle the bill, I paid the full price out of my own pocket, refusing to use Carter’s account to avoid alerting him. Back in my childhood bedroom, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a notification. It was a video link sent by a friend, accompanied by a viral caption: Watch this heartless woman at The Sizzling Grill! She bullies a child, curses at the mother, and the staff actually takes her side! Who knows who she is sleeping with to get that kind of treatment! Internet, do your thing! Help this poor mother and son get justice! People like her need to be canceled! The video was exactly the altercation from yesterday. The camera angle proved it was filmed by that woman’s phone. It intentionally captured me looking furious and intimidating, while framing her and her bratty kid as pathetic, helpless victims. My friend asked what was going on. She had seen it on her local feed and immediately forwarded it to me, suspecting I was being framed. I briefly explained the truth to my friend, then clicked directly into the woman’s social media profile. I angrily opened the comment section, fully prepared to defend myself against a tidal wave of hate. To my surprise, the top comments were actually incredibly rational: This mom is acting way too fake. Her kid tries to steal food, and she acts like she owns the place? If I were that girl, I wouldn’t give up my cake either. Stop morally kidnapping people. Did you guys see the dad cracking his knuckles? The girl is lucky she didn’t get assaulted, and now the mom is trying to cyberbully her? The restaurant and the girl in the video should file a police report. This is straight-up defamation! Of course, there was still a massive horde of brainless trolls hurling abuse at me. Even if I posted a detailed explanation right now, without hard evidence, no one would believe me. Right then, my phone chimed with a text message from the manager of The Sizzling Grill. Ms. Song, our restaurant does not tolerate malicious slander that harms our reputation. We have high-definition security footage of the entire argument from multiple angles. If you need it, I can send you a copy immediately. I thanked him profusely and saved the video files to my phone. I needed to use this evidence as a lethal weapon when the time was right. Just as I was about to lock my screen, a brilliant thought struck me. The Sizzling Grill had security cameras. That meant The Heritage Steakhouse definitely had them too. If I went to the steakhouse tomorrow and asked to see their footage, I could absolutely identify the woman Carter was having an affair with. First thing the next morning, I rushed to The Heritage Steakhouse and found the floor manager. “Hi, I had dinner here a few days ago, and I think I dropped a very expensive necklace. Is there any way I could check the security cameras to see if it fell near my table?” The manager asked for the date and table number. I recited the exact details from Carter’s transaction history. He immediately escorted me into the security room. The moment the surveillance footage played on the monitor, my vision went completely black. In the video, Carter was sitting at a romantic window booth. And the woman sitting across from him was Toby’s mother.

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1 Five years of recovery, five years cloistered away, and the moment I was discharged, I pulled every string, twisted every arm, to marry James Osmond—the man I’d secretly adored for years. On our wedding night, his voice was a whip-crack, cold and cutting: “I’m in love with someone else. Don’t expect anything from me.” “This marriage is a business deal, pure and simple. Don’t cross the line.” But one night, he was drowning in liquor, and in his drunken haze, he mistook me for his dearly departed love, Minnie. His eyes, bloodshot and brimming, pressed me against the wall, kissing me with a feverish intensity that stole my breath. We were entangled all night. The morning after, he was nearly throttling me. “Trying to mimic her while I’m drunk? You’re not worthy!” Later, my old illness flared up, and I was wheeled into his private hospital room. The walls were covered in paintings, every single one his work. The woman in the portraits was me, during my sickness. Back then, my hormones were out of whack, my body bloated, my face marred by angry red splotches. A world away from the carefully maintained, slimmer, more attractive woman I am now. … “How could you be so cruel? Not even letting me see you one last time?” James’s hot breath, thick with the scent of whiskey, whispered those words into my ear. And I knew, with a sickening lurch, that I was once again shamelessly stealing the tenderness meant for someone else. James’s chiseled features softened, inch by inch, his gaze burning with an intensity that startled me. My body, held gently by him, stiffened. A chill ran through me, as if I’d plunged into an icy abyss. Yet my heart hammered a frantic rhythm. “I’m not…” I shook my head, a frantic, helpless gesture. But as I tried to pull away, my knee gave a sudden, agonizing jolt. The familiar, searing pain shot through me, tearing a jagged rift in the fragile illusion of warmth. My face went pale, and I instinctively bit my lower lip. He, however, seemed utterly heartbroken, his voice tinged with a mournful whine. “I finally dreamed of you, and you’re pushing me away?” And as if terrified I might confirm it, he pleaded, his voice hoarse with desperation. “I’m not mad anymore, just don’t leave me.” His nostrils flared, and his eyes, glistening with unshed tears, glowed in the dim light, fixed on me with a pitiful, vulnerable plea. My heart clenched, a bitter ache spreading through me. I knew his gaze saw through me to another, yet I, despicable as I was, felt a traitorous flutter. A deluge of kisses, wet with tears, rained down on me, scorching and desperate. Every inch of his invasion, coupled with the pain in my leg, left me helpless yet consumed, clinging tightly to his shoulders. As if only through this fleeting fantasy could I brave the certain chill of tomorrow. The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, I was jolted awake by a familiar, searing ache. Every joint in my body felt like it had been wrenched apart by the previous night’s tempestuous encounter, now screaming with retaliatory agony. My hand trembled as I fumbled under the bed, searching for the hidden compartment where I kept my hormone medication. The coldness of the bottle made my fingertips twitch, nearly dropping the pills. This morning tremor, this weakness, was the permanent mark Lupus had etched into my being. Seven years. This incurable, chronic autoimmune disease was like my emotions: only suppressed and controlled, never truly free. I swallowed the pills dry, pressing my hand fiercely against the worst of the throbbing in my knee. Only when the excruciating pain subsided into a tolerable dull ache did I finally breathe a sigh of relief, cautiously curling back into his embrace. My eyes greedily traced his brow, his nose, to his slightly reddened lips. Four years. It had been four long years since I could look at him like this again. Those four years hadn’t etched a single line on his face; instead, they’d refined the breathtaking softness of his youth, transforming it into a potent, mature intensity. The sliver of stolen tenderness was now laced with an overwhelming sadness. Tears welled up, unbidden, and I quickly wiped them away, terrified of shattering this fragile dream. “Had enough looking?” His voice, crisp and cool, held a hint of annoyance. My heart leaped. I instinctively clapped a hand over my nose, then, realizing the red blotches that once plagued it had long vanished, I sheepishly lowered my hand. The next second, his hand clamped down on mine, viciously, so tightly my wrist began to ache. I looked up, only to fall into the frigid depths of his eyes, seething with anger. “Trying to mimic her while I’m drunk? You’re not worthy!” “Spending so much effort to climb into my bed – you don’t feel ashamed? I find it disgusting.” He flung my hand away in disgust, and I stumbled, losing my balance, crashing into the bedside table. A jolt of pain shot through my left shoulder, leaving it numb. My eyes, betraying me, welled up. He stood, dressing, then looked down at me, his voice sharp and unyielding. “Make an appointment to get checked. You’re not fit to carry my child.” “If this happens again, I won’t hesitate to bankrupt your family and send them to prison.” The door slammed shut with a bang. 2 The tender warmth of last night’s drunken embrace was shattered by his contempt. His words, iced and sharp, felt like countless tiny ice picks, piercing deep into my joints, triggering waves of throbbing pain that threatened to dismember me. After he left, I curled up on the floor alone, taking a long time to slowly regain the strength to support my body. I struggled to the wall, leaning against it, holding my breath as I stepped onto the scale. In the weak morning light, I felt the slightly slack skin around my waist. In the mirror, I pressed hard against my cheeks. As if, with enough pressure, I could peel back the smooth skin and glimpse the ugly red blotches from years ago. A shift in the light, and the faint redness in the mirror vanished. I was so much thinner, so much prettier than back then, yet still, I couldn’t catch his eye. I blinked, forcing back the burning in my eyes, and irritably tossed the hormone medicine bottle back into the depths beneath the bed. James hadn’t come home for days. I stared at the steaming dishes on the table, watching the heat slowly dissipate, a hollow ache spreading in my chest. “Mr. Osmond is busy with a new medical acquisition, Mrs. Osmond. Perhaps you shouldn’t wait up?” Liam, his secretary, came to pick up some documents. Seeing me lost in thought at the dining table, he finally couldn’t help but offer a word of advice. I slowly turned my head, habitually clasping my left wrist, my voice a little shaky. “She… did she pass away from illness?” Liam looked uncomfortable. “Please don’t put me in a difficult position, Mrs. Osmond.” I lowered my head, not pressing further. His deceased beloved was his biggest taboo—unquestionable, unexplorable. Ever since James’s marriage to me, with the help of the Sterling family, he had completely shifted the group’s focus to medical equipment and biopharmaceuticals. Even if he didn’t say it, anyone could see his obsession and guilt regarding his lost love. “I’ve been simmering this chicken soup for ages. I’ll come to the office with you.” Years ago, whenever he visited me at the hospital, he would bring a bowl of chicken soup if he had time. Made with ginseng and astragalus, it was a little bitter. Now that I was making it myself, I realized how much effort it took. The chicken had to be plucked, gutted, blanched to remove impurities, then simmered over low heat for two or three hours, never leaving its side. I wondered how he managed to do all that while attending classes. Now that I could get up and cook, I wanted him to taste it. I also just wanted to see him. Liam hesitated several times, but eventually let me into the car. At the office, Liam swiped me into the elevator, then rushed off to the conference room, clutching his documents. The moment the elevator doors opened, a bright, captivating figure seared my vision. The woman wore a perfectly tailored red strapless gown, her skin like snow, her figure graceful, as she spoke softly to someone nearby, a smile playing on her lips. Hearing the movement, she turned her head slightly and our eyes met. My breath hitched. It was Scarlett Rivers. I would never mistake her. Years ago, when James volunteered at the hospital, she would always follow him, wearing pretty dresses, her laughter clear and bright. Her affection was radiant and bold, her pursuit uninhibited and frank. A stark contrast to me, then, swollen with hormones due to my severe illness, my face covered in red blotches, lying in bed, feeling utterly mortified. “Hello? Are you looking for Mr. Osmond?” She smiled gently, her gaze sweeping over my slightly oversized top and dull, yellowish hair, her tone still perfectly polite. I stood frozen, my fingers unconsciously curling, tightening around the handle of the insulated container. “I… came to drop something off.” “Oh, I see.” She nodded understandingly, her voice still soft, but with a natural, almost proprietorial air. “Mr. Osmond is still in a meeting. You might have to wait a while.” Her gaze returned to my face, as if she suddenly remembered something, and the corners of her lips curved into a perfectly appropriate smile. “Oh, forgive me, I got carried away talking.” “There’s a gala tonight, and Mr. Osmond has high standards for his date. We couldn’t find anyone more suitable on such short notice, so I’m stepping in as a temporary replacement. This outfit is also just put on; I hope it’s not too inappropriate.” Date. High standards. Temporary replacement. These words, like tiny needles, pricked at the most vulnerable spot in my heart. 3 A familiar, dull ache, triggered by emotional turmoil, spread from deep within my knee. I instinctively took half a step back, my spine pressing against the cold wall just to stay upright. The moment I averted my gaze, I suddenly caught my reflection in the nearby floor-to-ceiling window. My face was pale, my oversized top barely concealing my slightly rounded stomach, a result of the hormones. My hair was loosely tied back, dry and yellowish. It was a laughable, tragic contrast to the radiant Scarlett Rivers before me. In that instant, my indignation deflated, and my sense of grievance lost its foundation. Yes, of course. Wasn’t it only natural that he would choose to bring her? What right did I have to feel wronged? I stared blankly out the window as night fell, the streetlights a blur of endless traffic. A car emerged from the distant darkness, then gradually disappeared into the deeper night. The world seemed muted, pressed into silence, leaving only the blurry reflection on the glass, an expression I hadn’t even realized was there – a blankness, a fragile intensity born of pain. When I looked back, James had appeared, standing not far away. He watched me, his eyes swirling with an emotion I couldn’t decipher, a profound sadness. But the moment I looked back, bewildered, a startled shock flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by icy anger. His probing gaze locked onto me again, his eyes as cold and deep as a dark pool. “Is Sterling Enterprises so powerful that you even investigated her habits and expressions?” “Or do you think climbing into my bed changed your status?” I panicked, suddenly straightening up, the sharp pain in my knee causing me to stumble for a moment. I hurriedly clutched the chicken soup, stammering an explanation: “No, no, I didn’t investigate.” “I just cooked some chicken soup for you, wanted to bring it for you to taste.” “It simmered for two hours…” Under his cold, disdainful stare, my voice trembled, eventually trailing off into a meek silence. He sneered, his tone laced with ice. “Hah, chicken soup?” “Then why, of all things, did you choose to bring me chicken soup?” “I’m sorry, I, I didn’t know you and her, I just, I just…” I was flustered, words stuck in my throat. Just what? That I’m thinner and prettier now, so I want to pursue you again? But even with my illness controlled, I was only better-looking than before. Could I ever compare to the woman who held his heart? I silently closed my mouth, lowering my eyes, not daring to look at him. He strode closer, the silent pressure instantly filling the air around us. His nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, his voice suddenly dropping, laced with an incredulous, furious rage: “You even found out the exact brand of shower gel she liked?!” “I didn’t! I don’t know…” I was frantic and incoherent, my left wrist starting to throb and tremble with nerves. “The one at home ran out, I just bought whatever was handy…” “Silence!” He almost roared, his jawline taut, his eyes swirling with extreme sorrow and pain. “You are not worthy to speak of her!” “And you are not to investigate her!” “And you are certainly not to imitate her!” “I told you, what we have is just a transaction!” “You’re to discreetly uphold the title of ‘Mrs. Osmond,’ who gave you the audacity to desecrate her like this?!” I’d been married to him for two years, and though he disliked me, he’d always been distant and polite. His furious reprimand felt like the final straw, breaking my already taut nerves. My heart felt as if it had been seized, a violent pain exploding and spreading. My left wrist suddenly gave way, unable to hold the insulated container. The scalding chicken soup splashed onto the floor, splattering my calves, stinging with a searing burn. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I knelt awkwardly, my right hand pressing fiercely against my uncontrollably trembling left wrist. Tears streamed down my face, silently, like a broken dam. Apologizing for repeatedly intruding on his raw, bleeding wound. Apologizing even more for this infatuation and insistence that was destined to be futile. My voice caught in a sob, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “I’ll clean it up.” He looked at my huddled, trembling figure, a flicker of something complex in his eyes, but it was quickly masked by an even deeper coldness. He bent down, stopping me from reaching for the spilled container. His eyes held a mix of weariness and disgust. “What exactly are you doing now, looking like this?” His voice had regained its calm, but it was even more cutting. “Trying to win my sympathy?” I bit down hard on my lower lip, shaking my head desperately, but choked too much to make a sound. “You better not be.” 4 Scarlett quietly approached, her face a picture of perfectly calibrated concern with a hint of awkwardness: “Mr. Osmond, we need to leave for the gala.” He flung my hand away, coldly dropping a command: “Have Liam take her home.” “And from now on, don’t let her up here without my permission.” “Understood.” Scarlett replied respectfully, her gaze at me filled with a hint of mockery and taunt. In the news conferences that followed in the next few days, Osmond Industries once again successfully expanded its footprint in the medical field. And always behind him, you could see that dazzling figure. Scarlett Rivers, smiling brightly, her demeanor poised, handled every challenging question from the media. A bold reporter pushed to the front, asking sharply: “Rumor has it you’ve been married to the Sterling heiress for years, yet recently you’ve been attending galas with your assistant. Does this confirm the rumors of your marital discord?” Scarlett tried to intervene, but James raised a hand to stop her. His eyes darkened slightly, his cold gaze fixed on the camera: “It’s true that the Sterling heiress and I are incompatible. We’ve decided to divorce.” His tone was calm and resolute, yet every word was a knife plunging into my heart. The knitting needles for the scarf in my hands tangled, and a needle sharply pricked my fingertip. A bead of blood instantly welled up, staining the yarn. But I was lost in a daze, staring at the screen. Not until the night swallowed the last ray of twilight did I quietly put away my knitting. Silently waiting for him to come home, for the final declaration. That wait stretched for three months. Initially, I just felt unusually tired and drowsy, often falling asleep on the sofa without warning. My body became alternately hot and cold, and my limbs and cheeks began to swell, leaving deep indentations when pressed. What terrified me most was the reappearance of the familiar, butterfly-shaped red rash on my face, growing more vivid by the day. The appearance I had so painstakingly maintained was visibly crumbling, reverting to my most mortifying state from years ago. I frantically rummaged under the bed for my pills, attempting to belatedly control it. But my body felt out of control, plummeting towards an abyss. My joints became unbearably swollen and painful; I couldn’t even hold a water glass. Until one morning, a wave of nausea struck without warning. I rushed to the bathroom, vomiting until I was dizzy, seeing stars. The nausea and dry heaving became more frequent. I often spent entire nights hunched over the toilet. Not from vomiting, but because my joints were so severely swollen and painful that I couldn’t find the strength to even lean against the wall. It wasn’t until my abdomen visibly rounded and my period was long overdue that I belatedly realized. I might be… pregnant. A tidal wave of panic overwhelmed me. This child was coming at the worst possible time. And I couldn’t bear another round of pain and humiliation. I realized that for the sake of the baby, I had to escape! I gritted my teeth, enduring the pain as I packed my luggage. I staggered as I pushed open the door, only to come face to face with James, who had finally returned from his business trip. He looked travel-worn, his eyes pausing, a flicker of confusion. Then those probing eyes sharpened, locking onto mine. I flinched, my heart threatening to leap from my chest, but I quickly calmed myself. I was two sizes larger than three months ago, bloated and almost back to my former state. My face was also wrapped in a thick scarf, revealing only my eyes, so he shouldn’t recognize me. I lowered my head, silently quickening my pace, trying to slip past him. But he suddenly grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. His usually stern voice was now hoarse and broken, even tinged with an unbelievable euphoria and a careful, pleading tone: “Is that you? Violet?” “You’re not dead, are you? You’ve finally come to find me?”

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The instant my husband left for his business trip, water began to seep from the bathroom ceiling again. A familiar dread, mixed with a growing suspicion, twisted in my gut. It had been this way since we moved into this new complex: every time he was away, the upstairs neighbors’ pipes would start acting up. The first few times, he’d flat-out refused to let me go up and confront them, claiming they were unreasonable and he didn’t want me getting upset. After he’d “talked to them,” the leak would indeed stop for a few days. But the moment he was gone again, the dripping would resume. This time, I still called him first. “Babe, the bathroom’s leaking again.” Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I thought I heard the distinct sound of running water on his end before his voice came through. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone dismissive. “I’ll deal with it when I get back. Those upstairs folks are a handful; definitely don’t go up there yourself.” Like always, I mumbled an agreement, but my feet were already carrying me out the front door. I was determined to see just how “difficult” these neighbors really were. 1 Pressing the button for the floor above, a mix of nerves and curiosity churned within me. My husband, Robert, always claimed the upstairs residents were ill-tempered, yet every time he spoke to them, the issue would “magically resolve” for a few days. It was just too strange. The elevator doors opened, and I took a deep breath, heading towards their apartment. As I approached, I could faintly hear the sound of water, accompanied by a woman’s light laughter. I raised my hand and knocked. The sounds abruptly ceased. I waited for what felt like an eternity, but no one answered. I knocked again, harder this time, raising my voice. “Hello, I’m your downstairs neighbor. My bathroom ceiling is leaking again, and I’d like to discuss it.” Still no response. The water sounds remained silent. A faint, sweet scent wafted from beneath the door – a fragrance I’d never bought myself, yet it struck me as oddly familiar. My mind a jumble of unease, I waited patiently for several more minutes. When no one appeared, I finally gave up and headed back downstairs. Back in my apartment, I opened the building’s resident chat, hoping to find contact information for the upstairs unit, but after scrolling for ages, I found nothing. The growing sense that something was off prompted me to call building management, but even they knew little about that particular apartment. I walked out onto my balcony, thinking I might try to call out to them. The moment I peered over, I saw a familiar flash of gray. Wasn’t that Robert’s favorite gray jacket? I strained to see more clearly, but after squatting there for half an hour, no one else appeared on the balcony. Had I just imagined it? I shook my head, convincing myself I was simply overthinking things, conjuring illusions out of stress. Just then, my front door lock clicked. I jumped. Robert was away; who else had a key to my place? Could the upstairs neighbor have been provoked and now decided to retaliate? I grabbed the broom leaning nearby, hid behind the door, and waited, heart pounding, for the door to open. It slowly swung inward. A figure stepped inside, a bouquet of roses in hand. I froze, the broom clattering to the floor. “Robert? You’re supposed to be on a business trip! What are you doing back?” He looked equally startled to see me, then smiled and walked over. “The company had a last-minute change of plans for the project. And when you told me about the leak, I just couldn’t rest easy. Thought I’d come home to check on you and surprise you.” He reached out to hug me, but I instinctively stepped back. “I just went up to talk to them. Someone was definitely inside, but they wouldn’t open the door.” Robert’s eyes flickered, and he quickly changed the subject. “I told you they were difficult. I’ll go talk to them tomorrow; you just stay out of it.” He offered me the roses, then leaned in to kiss me. In that instant, I caught the same familiar scent I’d noticed upstairs, and my stomach tightened. The strong fragrance of the roses had initially masked it. But as he drew closer, I also noticed the hair at the back of his neck was damp. I reached out and touched it. “Why is your hair wet?” His body stiffened for a fraction of a second, then he chuckled. “Didn’t you notice it’s raining outside? Got caught in a downpour when I stopped to buy you flowers.” I pulled back the curtains. Indeed, a light rain had started at some point. Robert’s explanation sounded perfectly plausible, but my suspicions didn’t diminish in the slightest. I kept my poker face, though, taking the flowers with a happy smile. “Thanks, babe. You should go take a hot shower; you don’t want to catch a cold.” He seemed to let out a sigh of relief, heading straight for the bathroom without another word. Lying in bed that night, my mind replayed the day’s events: the persistent leak when Robert was away, the suspicious running water, the scent, the fleeting glimpse of a familiar jacket, and his sudden, convenient return. All these details didn’t quite add up. Tomorrow, I vowed, I would accompany Robert to meet that neighbor. 2 The next morning, as I placed breakfast on the table, Robert came over, pecked me on the cheek, and said casually, “Hey, babe, I tried contacting the upstairs residents. They said they’d have someone come fix it again today.” My hand, holding the milk carton, paused. I looked up at him. “You have their contact info? Can you give it to me? That way, if you’re ever away and there’s a problem, I can just deal with it myself.” But Robert shook his head, a playful glint in his eye. “The upstairs tenant is a guy, and he looked kinda creepy. My wife’s too pretty; I don’t want him bothering you. Besides, once this leak is fixed, we won’t have any reason to interact with him again.” I didn’t reply, just stirred my oatmeal, a fresh wave of doubt washing over me. Yesterday, I distinctly heard a woman’s voice. Why was Robert telling me it was a man? Were they a couple living up there? The next two days, I had to go out of town for work. But I was distracted, my mind consumed by the lingering questions. Finally, with my work done, I decided to head home early. I put my key in the lock, but for some reason, the door was double-locked from the inside. About two minutes later, Robert finally opened it. “Babe, what are you doing back? Aren’t you supposed to be home tomorrow?” I saw the panic in his eyes, but forced a smile. “Missed you, so I came back early. What were you doing? Why was the door double-locked?” Robert gestured to the apron he was wearing. “I was just cooking. Probably just locked it out of habit when I came in. Perfect timing, actually; go wash up and we can eat.” He then turned back to the kitchen, bustling about. Since marrying him, I’d barely set foot in the kitchen whenever he was home. Everyone said I’d snagged a good one. He was also big on holidays, always showering me with gifts, big and small. Watching his busy figure, a sudden wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe I was just being overly sensitive. It was probably just a coincidence. How could I even suspect him of cheating? I nodded cheerfully and walked over to look at the dishes, but then I spotted something that shouldn’t have been on the table. My heart sank. “Why did you make braised prawns? We’re both allergic to shellfish, remember?” The storm clouds of suspicion, which I’d momentarily suppressed, now rolled back in with full force. Robert seemed to suddenly remember, hastily dumping the prawns into the trash. “Oh, right! My subordinate said these were home-grown, so I just took them. Good thing you’re home, babe, otherwise I’d be suffering.” He then put an arm around me, coaxing. “Forget it, let’s go out for a nice dinner tonight; we won’t eat at home.” He hugged me sweetly, then humbly massaged my back and shoulders. Once we arrived at the restaurant, he handed me his phone. “Order whatever you want, don’t try to save money for me, okay? All my earnings are for my precious wife.” As I took the phone to order, my finger accidentally brushed the search icon. The next second, a pink 26-key keyboard popped up. My heart plummeted. I stared blankly at the glaring keyboard. I’d been with Robert for three years, married for two; I knew his typing habits better than anyone. We both preferred the 9-key layout, finding the 26-key too cumbersome. Even if it was an accidental tap, what about the pink cat-themed keyboard skin? Robert always used his phone’s default keyboard. This had to be something someone had deliberately set up. At that moment, I knew for sure: Robert was cheating. That woman loved rose-scented shower gel, enjoyed braised prawns, and used a 26-key keyboard. But I wouldn’t confront him directly. I would catch them myself. 3 In the days that followed, to make Robert lower his guard, I never brought up the upstairs apartment again. And indeed, after he said the upstairs residents had called someone to fix it, there hadn’t been any more leaks. Less than a week later, whether his mistress couldn’t wait or Robert was just eager, he went on another “business trip.” This time, half a day after he left, there were no leaks from upstairs. Had it actually been fixed? Just then, a knock echoed at the door, followed by the delivery driver’s voice. I paused, confused. I hadn’t ordered anything; why was there a delivery? I opened the door and took the package. The moment I saw what was inside, my heart started pounding frantically. The recipient was Robert, the address was our apartment number, and the phone number was my secondary line. But inside the bag were a bottle of shower gel, a box of condoms, and a bottle of lubricant. My heart constricted, the items in my hand suddenly weighing a ton. Just as I suspected, twisting open the shower gel released that familiar scent, instantly assaulting my senses. And I was allergic to lubricant; in all our time together, we had never used such a thing. The truth was now glaringly obvious: Robert was with that woman right now. He had ordered these items but hadn’t paid attention to the delivery address, so they ended up here. The delivery app not automatically switching addresses also suggested his second home was likely somewhere nearby in the complex. If I wasn’t mistaken, the upstairs apartment had to be his little bird’s hideout! That day when I came back early from my business trip, he was cooking for her! But whether she hadn’t arrived yet, or had left early because she knew I was coming back, I still couldn’t figure out. I was so angry I could barely breathe, tears welling up in my eyes. But quickly, I wiped them away and carried the items out the door. Upstairs, I knocked hard. In less than ten minutes, the door opened. “What the hell do you want, banging on my door in the middle of the night?!” Staring at the hulking man in front of me, I was utterly unprepared and froze. What was going on? Had I been imagining things all along?! Before I could react, the man roughly yanked my hair, sending me crashing against the door frame. “I’ve had enough of you! Your man keeps bothering me, and now I’ve fixed the leak, and you’re still causing trouble? I’m going to beat you senseless!” His fist, like a brick, slammed into my body. I cried out in pain, begging him to stop. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hit me!” Just as I was about to pass out, the man finally stopped. “I’m warning you, if you ever come up here to bother me again, I will kill you!” I lay curled on the floor, too sore to speak. The man slammed the door shut. After about ten agonizing minutes, I slowly managed to get up and stagger back to my apartment. Near collapse, I video-called Robert. When he saw my face, he immediately looked frantic. “Babe, what happened to your face?! Who hurt you?” Ignoring his question, I held up the bag of items. “Robert, how do you explain these?” He looked genuinely surprised, then angry. “This has to be that upstairs tenant’s doing! That day I went up to get him to fix the leak, he got really annoyed and demanded I pay for the repairs. When I refused, he tried to hit me. I told him I’d call the cops before he finally let me go. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you. This is definitely his revenge. I’m coming back right now!” The throbbing pain in my body made it impossible to discern the truth from his words. About three hours later, Robert returned, looking disheveled and wind-blown. 4 The moment Robert stepped through the door, his eyes reddened at the sight of the bruises on my face. He rushed over, gently stroking my injuries, his voice a mix of urgency and tenderness. “I’m going up there right now to settle this with him! He’s going to pay!” Robert immediately grabbed my arm and dragged me upstairs, pounding on the neighbor’s door with such force my heart nearly leaped from my chest. “Open up! Get out here!” There was no sound from inside, so he hammered on the door several more times. Finally, the door opened. It was the same man, looking thoroughly annoyed. “What do you two want now? Looking for another beating, are we?!” Robert instantly pulled me behind him, pointing a finger at the man’s nose. “How dare you say that? You bought all that garbage for my wife and laid hands on her! Today, it’s either you or me!” The man scoffed, completely unfazed. “So what if I bought them? If you won’t give me peace, I won’t give you peace!” Both Robert and I were stunned, completely unprepared for such a blunt admission. I felt a pang of guilt for having doubted Robert and couldn’t help but ask, “Why would you do this? Just because we asked you to fix the leak?” The man leaned against the doorframe, his eyes full of malice. “Yeah, I was sick and tired of you two bugging me! I was annoyed!” He pointed a finger at us. “I’m warning you, if you ever dare to knock on this door again, I will seriously kill someone!” Robert was fuming, about to charge forward, but I held him back. “Forget it. There’s no point talking to this kind of person. Let’s call the police!” But at the mention of the police, the two men exchanged a quick glance, a hint of panic in their eyes. Robert’s anger suddenly deflated. He pulled me close, trying to dissuade me. “Babe, we just moved here. If we make too big a fuss, the neighbors will start talking.” Then the man’s demeanor abruptly changed too. He said in a deep voice, “Hitting you was wrong, but you guys pushed me too far! Your husband came up here how many times? Anyone would get annoyed!” He paused. “Look, how much money do you want? I’ll compensate you and apologize. Just drop it.” Considering how much we’d invested in this apartment, and wanting to avoid further trouble, I decided to let it go. Life returned to normal, and my suspicions evaporated. Until, that is, I was rummaging through a drawer for a bank card and stumbled upon a few old property fee statements. I looked closely at them. The address was the upstairs apartment’s! My hand, holding the papers, trembled uncontrollably. My heart sank completely. Not only that, but I also discovered a new key on Robert’s keyring. I secretly took it off and had an identical copy made. The next time he went on a “business trip,” I opened the tracking app I’d secretly installed on his phone. Sure enough, he was still in the complex. Holding the copied key, I took a deep breath and walked upstairs. My hand trembled as I stood before the door, but I inserted the key, turned it, and the door opened. The next second, a woman’s scream pierced the air: “Who are you?! Why are you in my apartment?!” Ignoring her, I frantically searched the apartment, almost insane with desperation, but there was no sign of Robert. Why? Why? I scanned everything, on the verge of collapse. On the sofa lay a gray jacket that I recognized instantly. On the bedside table was a razor, his preferred brand. Everything screamed one truth: Robert was cheating! But I still couldn’t prove it! Amidst the woman’s furious shouts, I returned home. Pushing open my own door, I froze. Robert was standing there, holding his phone, looking at me with a puzzled expression. “Babe, where did you go just now? I left and then remembered I’d forgotten my phone, so I came back to get it.” I stood in the doorway, staring at him, utterly speechless. My mind, however, was screaming: What in the world is going on?!

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1 My son, Fred, was with me at the hospital, getting an IV drip, when a little girl nearby started wailing, absolutely refusing to get her shot. I was watching, a frown creasing my brow, when suddenly a male nurse grabbed Fred and pulled him away. “Be a good boy, sweetie, I’ll give him the shot first. He can show you how it’s done, okay?” I immediately protested. Not for any other reason than Fred was severely allergic to many medications. A random injection could be disastrous. But before I could even finish my sentence, a stinging slap landed across my face. “My daughter is a princess of the McKay family! Letting your little brat take a shot with her is an honor! Don’t be so ungrateful!” I had no idea Aurora McKay had a daughter… … “I’m not doing it! No!” In the infusion room, the screams and cries of a child were incessant. Occasionally, tweezers, alcohol swabs, or needles would fly through the air, threatening to hit someone. Several patients, unable to bear it, had already dragged their ailing bodies out of the room. Fred clung to me, his face pale. He’d been frail since birth; my wife, Aurora McKay, and I had coddled him for years to help him function like any other child. Seeing him like this, my heart ached. I regretted giving in to his pleas to accompany me for my IV. This was a McKay-owned hospital; I could easily voice my concerns to the chief of staff. But it was a holiday weekend, and the patient flow was immense; I didn’t want to waste medical resources over a trivial matter. It was strange, though. Despite the crowded infusion room, and those who had fled, not a single person dared to speak up. They just endured it, some silently adjusting their IV drip rates, desperate to finish and leave. Frowning, I raised my voice. “Excuse me, this is a public space, and everyone here is a patient who needs rest. Could you please ask your child to quiet down?” I added, “My child isn’t feeling well, and loud noises upset his heart. Please try to be considerate. Thank you.” The male nurse, who had been trying to pacify the little girl, stopped and turned to look at me. He scowled, his tone self-righteous. “No one else here has a problem, only you. Don’t you know what ‘minority abides by the majority’ means?” He then scanned the room. Wherever his gaze fell, people quickly lowered their heads. Satisfied, he nodded. Then, as if bestowing a favor, he addressed me. “Guess it’s my bad luck today, running into two worthless commoners, big and small, who think everyone should cater to them in a public place. Whatever, I need to take care of my daughter, too lazy to bother with you.” Before turning away, he glanced dismissively at Fred, his eyes practically dripping with scorn. “Knows he’s a sickly kid and still runs around all the time. At such a young age, trying to flirt with rich ladies, like some kind of frail little gold digger?” He paused. “Doesn’t look like it’s working, though. So many people here, and no one’s standing up for you.” He leaned in, his voice dropping slightly. “Know why?” He chuckled darkly. “Let me give you a piece of advice: Do you even know who I am…?” The nurse’s taunts had begun to fuel my anger, but I didn’t want to scare Fred, so I forced myself to be patient and reasonable. “I don’t care who you are. This is a public place!” I insisted. “People should have some common decency!” The nurse stared at me for a long moment, as if he’d discovered something new, then suddenly let out a laugh. He leaned down and whispered something to his daughter, pointing at Fred as he spoke. Although I disliked his finger-pointing, at least his persuasion seemed to quiet the girl down. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I noticed Fred struggling to breathe, his heart clearly in distress. Frantically patting my pockets, I realized I hadn’t brought his medicine. Panicked, I asked a kind-looking gentleman nearby to keep an eye on Fred, then grabbed my IV bag and rushed out. My phone vibrated; a quick glance showed a message from Aurora. “Sweetheart, when will you be done? I’ll come pick you both up. I already sent Liam over with the herbal soup I personally prepared for you. Waaah, honey, why won’t you let me skip work to be with you?” My mind was a mess; I had no time to reply. Thankfully, I always kept emergency medicine in the car, so I wouldn’t be completely helpless. I sped up, finally feeling a wave of relief once I had the medicine in hand. Still a ways from the infusion room, I saw a shadowy figure lurking behind Fred. A smirk of revenge twisted on his face. By the time I realized what he intended to do, it was too late. 2 “Boo!” The man suddenly jumped out from behind Fred. Several people nearby were startled, ready to curse, but swallowed their words the moment they recognized him. Fred let out a small gasp, convulsing as he clutched his chest and collapsed to the floor. “The little brat’s quite the actor, isn’t he?” I immediately ran over. “What are you doing?!” At the same time, the little girl in the opposite seat suddenly shrieked and, mimicking Fred, slumped in her chair. The man ignored me, rushing towards the girl. “Pearl! My sweet girl! What’s wrong with you?!” He cried. “Pearl! Wake up—” He dabbed at a few nonexistent tears, then wailed dramatically in the infusion room for a few moments before the girl slowly came to. She huddled in the man’s arms, clutching her chest, looking utterly miserable. “Oh, Daddy, I’m scared, my heart hurts so much.” The man’s expression hardened. “Pearl, tell Daddy, who scared you?” The girl pointed a finger at Fred. “It was him—” I found it utterly ridiculous. My heart pounded furiously with anger. I held Fred close, comforting him, ignoring the dislodged IV needle, and sharply reprimanded the man. “That’s absurd!” I snapped. “Fred barely made a sound when he was scared, quieter even than your outburst or the startled gasps of those other gentlemen. Unless you were listening carefully, you wouldn’t have heard it. How could he possibly have scared her?!” But the man ignored me, rushing over and brutally yanking Fred from my arms. I was already weak from my illness and completely unable to resist him. The man grabbed Fred by the hair, holding him up as he addressed the other patients. “Folks, I trust your eyes are sharp. Tell me, whose voice truly scared my daughter?” I looked hopefully at the older gentlemen and ladies. How could any clear-sighted person not see whose fault it truly was? But they avoided my gaze. “I, I saw it clearly. Miss McKay was scared only after that little boy made a sound…” “I saw it too! It was that little boy who scared Miss McKay!” “Poor Miss McKay, she’s ill and still being blamed and picked on everywhere. Mr. Florrick, you’re a generous man to let it go, but these two actually tried to scare Miss McKay! How can there be such a black-hearted father and son in this world!” “Disgusting!” I stared in disbelief at the crowd, who were now vehemently condemning Fred and me. They were indignant, as if Fred and I were truly the most heinous criminals. My vision blurred. After being shoved down by the man, I had remained on the floor, too weak to get up. There were many people around. No one dared to help me up. Most of them were echoing the man, vilifying Fred and me. But Fred was still in his hands. I could only grit my teeth, struggling to get back on my feet. A passing nurse, unable to bear it any longer, bit her lip and helped me up. She quickly whispered in my ear, “I advise you to play along with him, don’t confront him anymore. Just let him vent, and it’ll pass.” She continued, “He’s basically just loafing around the hospital, always throwing his weight around, never doing any actual work, and nobody dares to do anything about him.” I clenched my jaw, asking, “Why is someone like that allowed to stay in this hospital, wasting such good resources?!” The nurse gave me an odd look. “You really don’t know who he is? He’s Florrick Adrian, the husband of Aurora McKay, the head of the McKay family, the wealthiest in the city. His son is truly a McKay princess; it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say his family has a throne to inherit.” She leaned in again. “Do you think these people haven’t tried to stop him before? They’ve all been taught a lesson already. Trust me, he won’t go as far as causing a fatality. Just bear with it; it’ll be over soon.” The nurse’s words left me stunned. If I hadn’t misheard, the wealthiest family in the city, the head of the McKay family, was my wife, Aurora McKay. But when did Aurora McKay get such a grown-up daughter? And how did her husband become Florrick Adrian? My mind flashed back to the sweet message she’d just sent. Before I could ponder it further, Florrick Adrian sighed dramatically. “I really didn’t want to make a big deal out of this,” he declared. “But this lady and her son keep harassing my son and me, again and again.” He continued, “My wife loves me to death. I can’t imagine what the consequences would be if she found out.” He paused for effect. “My wife isn’t like me; she’s not one to be reasoned with. If she found out, I’m afraid everyone here would be in trouble.” He added, “After all, it’s because of your negligence that my son and I have been harmed.” He then pulled out his phone, a sinister smile on his face. “What to do? She just sent me a message saying she’s coming to see me and our son right away.” He concluded, “That’s how much she loves us. During work hours, she heard our son was unwell and is rushing right over.” 3 Such unreasonable remarks, yet everyone’s resentment could only be swallowed. Their primary fear now was the unknown retaliation from the rumored head of the McKay family. These were ordinary people, keenly aware that a single finger from someone with that background could crush them. They dared not blame the irrational Florrick Adrian. Thus, all their anger was redirected towards Fred and me. Between the McKay family and seemingly unremarkable Fred and me, anyone could grasp who held more weight. Someone, anxious to appease, immediately proposed, “Mr. Florrick, please don’t be upset. We’ll all bear witness here. Let’s teach this reckless father and son a lesson, and you can calm down, okay?” Just then, Florrick Adrian, seemingly tired, casually tossed Fred onto the floor. I tried to rush forward, but suddenly several large men from behind me pinned me to the ground. Someone slapped me, the blow making my entire head ring. “Stay put!” “You shameless brat, it’s all your fault for angering Mr. Florrick! Do you want to drag us down with you now?!” Some of the accompanying family members also immediately got up, ready to act. One of them rummaged through a trash can and pulled out a discarded needle. Gritting his teeth, he straddled Fred. “It’s your rotten mouth! Why did you have to speak up and scare Miss Pearl?!” He snarled, “I’ll sew it shut right now! Let’s see if you can still speak up and harm people after this!” Several others, quick to anticipate, immediately rushed over and held down Fred’s limbs, preventing him from struggling. The moment the needle pierced Fred’s lower lip, I erupted with astonishing strength, roaring as I broke free from the men’s grasp and lunged towards Fred. “Get off him! Get away!” I trembled, holding Fred close. The needle was already through his lower lip; I didn’t dare move, unsure what to do. I knelt, crying, begging the nurses nearby for help. “Please, I’m begging you, I’m kowtowing to you. Save my son, he’s really not well…” But no one responded. They watched with cold eyes, no one daring to get involved. Florrick Adrian suddenly began to cry as well. “Is not being well an excuse to harm people?!” He wailed, “Did I say anything when my daughter was scared like that? Why is it now making it look like we’re bullying you?” He added, “If only my wife were here…” Florrick Adrian’s sorrowful cries terrified the crowd even more. Now that he was only crying and not speaking, the others, at a loss, could only bow and scrape before his daughter. Pearl stretched, then announced loudly, “Giving shots is so much fun, Daddy, teach me! I want to give this little brat a shot too—” Someone quick-witted immediately seized the opportunity to flatter Pearl. “Miss Pearl is so kind and generous! She knows he’s unwell and still wants to learn how to give him shots to cure him—” Another chimed in, “You two little wretches should be kneeling and bowing to Miss Pearl and Mr. Florrick!” Florrick Adrian was quite pleased with this suggestion. “Good girl, Pearl! How about Daddy gives him a shot first, shows you how it’s done, and then you can give him one, okay?” My only thought was that I absolutely couldn’t let them take Fred from my arms again. Fred was allergic to many medications; any random drug injected into his body without medical supervision could be fatal. I wanted to escape this place. But the doorway was blocked by several burly men. “You wretch, we gave you a chance to atone, and you refuse! Do you want to drag us all to hell with you?!” Someone tried to snatch the nearly unconscious Fred from my arms. The force was so great I feared Fred’s arm might be torn off. In that brief moment of loosening my grip, Fred was immediately pulled away. Over there, many needles and vials of liquid were already prepared. No. Absolutely not! I could only grit my teeth and lunge at Pearl. In a move no one expected, I snatched a needle and held it to her neck. Extreme rage made my whole body tremble. “Let go of my son.” I warned, my voice tight. “I am Aurora McKay’s husband. If you touch my son again, I swear I won’t let any of you get away with it!” Florrick Adrian shrieked, tears instantly flooding his eyes. “Wife!” Just as he screamed, I suddenly felt a heavy blow to the back of my head with a wooden stick. “How dare you touch my daughter? Do you have a death wish?” Florrick Adrian was overjoyed. “Wife!” The searing pain at the back of my head almost made me collapse. Hearing him say “wife,” I froze. Had Aurora McKay arrived?

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1 During the holiday weekend, my mother-in-law and I went to visit the city aquarium. The crowds were shoulder to shoulder, and amidst the pushing, an immaculately dressed woman suddenly lashed out. “Do you have eyes in your heads?! You’re crushing my bag! This is a limited edition! If you ruin it, can you two poor beggars even afford to pay for it?!” I looked at her calmly. “This is a public space, not your private living room. If you’re so terrified of someone brushing against your bag, why don’t you build your own private aquarium to look at the fish?” The woman’s face twisted with humiliated rage. “My husband actually did build this aquarium! I make the rules here! I am ordering you to get the hell out right now! Stop polluting my space!” My mother-in-law and I both froze. This aquarium was built by Sebastian Sinclair. Since when did he become her husband? When the realization finally hit me, my entire body began to tremble. Sebastian was keeping a mistress. My mother-in-law was shaking with fury too. She pointed a finger right at the woman’s nose. “Where did this crazy woman come from?! Sebastian is my son! His legally wedded wife is standing right here! Who the hell do you think you are, barking orders in this place?!” Instead of panicking at the harsh scolding, the woman threw her head back and laughed like she had just heard the greatest joke in the world. “You two poor beggars have the nerve to pretend to be Mrs. Sinclair and her daughter-in-law? That is hilarious!” My mother-in-law had specifically dressed down today to avoid drawing attention and have a quiet, normal experience. Who would have thought her low profile would lead to her identity being questioned? “Whether you believe it or not, I don’t care. I never liked using my status to bully people, but this is Sinclair territory. The only one rolling out of here is you!” my mother-in-law snapped sharply. A mocking smirk tugged at the corners of the woman’s lips. Her eyes scanned my mother-in-law’s plain canvas tote bag like a barcode reader. “Right.” She scoffed through her nose. “You put on a decent act. But everyone knows the elder Mrs. Sinclair is a complete recluse. And the younger Mrs. Sinclair is always by the CEO’s side at high-end galas. They would never dress like absolute trash and squeeze into a crowded, sweaty public aquarium. Who are you trying to fool?” People had already stopped walking, forming a circle around us. The curious stares and hushed whispers felt like tiny needles piercing my skin. My mother-in-law’s face went from flushed red to a sickly pale, her breathing growing ragged. I quickly grabbed her arm to support her, terrified she might pass out from the anger. “What? Cat got your tongue?” Seeing our silence, the woman’s arrogance swelled. She pulled out her phone, swiping the screen with exaggerated, dramatic motions. “Do you want me to call Sebastian right now and have him expose you two frauds in person? Oh, wait. He’s incredibly busy making money right now. He doesn’t have the time to entertain a couple of nobodies.” My mother-in-law’s lips were turning purple. I squeezed her hand tightly, feeling the tremors wracking her frame. I took a deep breath, forcing the violent storm inside my chest to settle. Getting into a screaming match with this kind of woman in public would only lower us to her level. That was exactly what she wanted. “Call him.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable, freezing authority. “Call Sebastian right now. Put it on speaker. Let us all hear how he has absolutely no time for his legally wedded wife and the mother who gave birth to him.” My sheer composure clearly caught her off guard. She paused for a second, but her aggressive facade quickly snapped back into place. “Wow, you are really committed to this bit, aren’t you? You won’t cry until you see the coffin.” She let out a harsh sneer and shoved her phone screen right in our faces. The contact pulled up was Sebastian’s private, unlisted number. “See this? His private line! Do you think a couple of cheap frauds would have access to this?” It felt like a hand made of solid ice had reached into my chest and crushed my heart. The pain was so suffocating I couldn’t breathe. Sebastian… he had actually given this woman his private number. 2 All those nights he claimed he was working late, those business dinners that dragged into the early hours of the morning, those faint whiffs of unfamiliar perfume lingering on his collar. They all rushed into my mind like a violent tide, turning into sharp blades tearing through my chest. The crowd of onlookers was growing thicker, and the whispers were turning into loud murmurs. The woman shrieked at us to take out our phones and show Sebastian’s number. But we had left in such a hurry this morning that neither of us had brought our phones. Seeing that we couldn’t produce any proof, the doubtful looks from the crowd slowly shifted into judgmental sneers. They were completely enjoying the show. She lifted her chin triumphantly, looking exactly like a peacock displaying its feathers. “I knew you two beggars were lying! You’re just making a fool of yourselves!” My mother-in-law’s body shook violently. It wasn’t fear. It was pure, unadulterated rage. She had lived her entire life with grace and dignity. Never once had she been subjected to this kind of public humiliation. Let alone by a woman of such trashy character pointing a finger in her face and questioning her very existence. “You… you…” Her voice trembled so badly she couldn’t even string a complete sentence together. Seeing this, the woman only sneered louder, pouring gasoline on the fire. “Me what? You can’t keep the act up anymore? I highly suggest you take the hint and get lost right now. Don’t wait until I call security to drag you out. That is going to be incredibly ugly for you.” Right as the tension hit a breaking point, a man in a crisp manager’s suit shoved his way through the tight crowd. “What’s going on here? Please keep the peace, everyone…” His authoritative tone completely evaporated the second his eyes landed on the polished woman. An incredibly flattering, almost sickeningly sweet smile took over his face. “Miss… Miss Vanessa! What are you doing here? Is someone giving you trouble?” Vanessa looked at the manager like he was a loyal servant. Her chin tilted even higher. “Manager Davis, perfect timing. These two crazy hags are causing a scene, and they even had the nerve to impersonate Mr. Sinclair’s wife and mother! Get them out of here immediately! Looking at them makes my eyes hurt!” Davis’s expression instantly hardened. He turned to us, his eyes sharp and completely devoid of patience. “Ladies, please leave the premises immediately. Do not cause trouble here and ruin the experience for our other guests. If you refuse, I will have security escort you out by force.” My mother-in-law shook with fury, pointing a trembling finger right at the manager. “You! You are the manager of this facility, and you blindly listen to a one-sided story from her without even asking what happened? Do you have any idea who I am?!” A fleeting look of contempt crossed Davis’s face. “Ma’am. I haven’t had the honor of meeting the elder Mrs. Sinclair many times, but I know for a fact she wouldn’t be dressed like you. Miss Vanessa is a VIP guest, personally entrusted to us by Mr. Sinclair himself. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” VIP. I caught the keyword, and the chill in my heart turned to absolute freezing dread. Sebastian had blatantly announced the existence of his mistress to his subordinates? I gently pressed down on my mother-in-law’s shaking arm and took a step forward. My cold gaze swept over both the manager and Vanessa. “Manager Davis, is it? You call her a VIP, which means whatever falls out of her mouth is the absolute truth, and whatever we say is just nonsense. Is that how the Sinclair enterprise treats its guests?” My voice was crystal clear and completely calm, carrying an oppressive weight that demanded answers. Davis clearly hadn’t expected me to question him with such ice-cold composure. He was momentarily stunned into silence. But Vanessa was losing her patience. “Stop wasting your breath on them! Manager Davis, call security right now!” “I would love to see who dares!” My mother-in-law, who had been suppressing her blinding rage this entire time, finally erupted with the true, terrifying authority of the Sinclair family matriarch. 3 She stopped looking at Vanessa entirely, dismissing her like a clown. She locked eyes with the manager and spoke with slow, precise hostility. “You will call Sebastian Sinclair right now. Put it on speaker. I want to ask him personally when some random, shady woman got the right to bark orders in his facilities! I want to ask him if his own mother and his legally wedded wife are supposed to be thrown out of a Sinclair enterprise just because this trash said so!” Her aura was absolutely suffocating. Davis was visibly rattled, a flash of genuine panic crossing his face. Seeing his hesitation, Vanessa threw a furious fit. “Call him! Sebastian is in a board meeting right now! Do you really think I’m scared of you two? Call him, Davis! Let these two frauds accept their pathetic reality!” Under the watchful eyes of dozens of people, Davis pulled out his phone with a trembling hand and dialed the number saved as ‘Boss’. After a few long rings, a cold, automated voice echoed from the speaker. “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…” Davis froze. He quickly dialed again, but got the exact same result. “Mr. Sinclair might be in a meeting…” he tried to explain weakly. But Vanessa whipped out her own phone, looking incredibly smug. “Let me do it. Sebastian told me that whenever I call, no matter how busy he is, he will always pick up.” The call connected almost instantly. The triumphant smile on Vanessa’s face grew wildly arrogant. She even raised an eyebrow at us in blatant provocation. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Sebastian’s deeply familiar voice poured out of the speaker. Her tone immediately shifted into something sickeningly sweet and whiny, playing the role of the spoiled, helpless damsel flawlessly. “Sebastian, I ran into two crazy old women at the aquarium! They’re bullying me! Come back me up!” “What? That is ridiculous. Wait right there, baby. I’m dropping this meeting and heading over right now. How dare anyone touch my girl…” The utter devotion and protective anger in his response felt like a dagger dipped in lethal poison, plunging straight into my chest. My blood froze solid in my veins. My mother-in-law gripped my hand with a deathly tight hold. She had lived her entire life with unparalleled dignity. She had never suffered such a grotesque humiliation. And the worst part was that this humiliation was handed to her by the very son she had raised. Pushed past the absolute limit of her endurance, she lunged forward and slapped Vanessa across the face. “A dirty mistress acting this arrogant in broad daylight!” The slap was incredibly loud and crisp. It carried every ounce of suppressed rage and humiliation, landing squarely on Vanessa’s delicate cheek. Time seemed to freeze. Vanessa’s head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint blossomed across her skin. She covered her cheek, her eyes blown wide in sheer disbelief. The shock in her gaze rapidly morphed into something utterly venomous and unhinged. “Okay. Good.” She gently rubbed her swollen cheek, looking at my mother-in-law and me like we were livestock waiting to be slaughtered. “You ancient bitch. You dare hit me? Impersonating the Sinclair matriarch and laying hands on me? Today, I am going to show you exactly what happens when you cross Vanessa.” She whipped around to look at the terrified manager, her voice sharp and vicious. “Manager Davis! What the hell are you standing there for?! Grab this crazy old hag!” Davis, remembering how fiercely Sebastian had just defended her on the phone, quickly weighed the risks and made his choice. “Grab the old woman!” The second the words left his mouth, two security guards flanked my mother-in-law, grabbing her arms violently. “Let go of her!” My eyes went bloodshot. I fought like a madwoman, scratching and kicking, but another guard easily overpowered me, pinning me back. Vanessa watched the scene with deep satisfaction. She rubbed her cheek again, her eyes darting around the facility before locking onto the massive, deeply illuminated shark tank at the center of the hall. The dark, eerie blue water reflected against the thick glass. Several massive silhouettes were slowly circling in the depths. A completely wicked plan formed in her mind. She let out a chilling laugh and pointed at the guards. “String this old bitch up over the shark tank.” 4 All the color drained from the manager’s face. “Miss… Miss Vanessa, that is incredibly dangerous!” “Shut your mouth!” she screamed, cutting him off entirely. “Do exactly as I say! Or I am calling Sebastian back, and you can kiss your career goodbye!” He swallowed hard, trembling, and finally gave the security guards a defeated wave of his hand. “No! You can’t do this!” I screamed in absolute terror. My mother-in-law finally realized the horrific danger she was in. She struggled violently. “You venomous snake! What are you doing?!” Vanessa completely ignored our desperate screams. She directed the guards to drag my mother-in-law to the service catwalk directly above the deepest, most active section of the shark enclosure. “Vanessa! Stop this! Let her go! Sebastian will never forgive you for this!” I cried out until my voice cracked, thrashing wildly. My nails dug into the guard’s arm, drawing blood, but I still couldn’t break his iron grip. My mother-in-law’s hands were tied behind her back. The mechanical winch slowly lifted her, leaving her dangling helplessly in the air above the massive tank. “How does it feel, old hag? Enjoying the view from up there?” I fought with everything I had, tears entirely blurring my vision. “Vanessa! What do you want from us?! Let her down! Take it out on me!” “Take it out on you?” Vanessa tilted her head as if she had just heard something fascinating. “Sure. You want me to let this old trash go? It’s very simple.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the cold, hard tile floor. “You. Right now. Get on your knees. Kowtow to me eighteen times. And with every single hit to the floor, you will yell, ‘I was wrong, I shouldn’t have offended Miss Vanessa.’ Once you finish, I might consider pulling her back up.” “Don’t you dare!” my mother-in-law screamed from the air. “Audrey, do not kneel! This venomous snake isn’t worth it!” My whole body was shaking. I looked up at the woman who raised my husband, dangling over the jaws of death. I saw the terrifying dark shadows lurking beneath the water’s surface. Dignity meant absolutely nothing compared to her life. “I’ll kneel!” My forehead slammed into the floor with a heavy, sickening thud. “Audrey! Get up! Don’t kneel to her!” my mother-in-law sobbed from above. I didn’t get up. I slammed my head down a second time. “I was wrong… I shouldn’t have offended Miss Vanessa.” Vanessa let out a delighted, ringing laugh, watching me like I was the main event at a circus. By the time I finished the eighteenth kowtow, my forehead was a bruised, split mess. Warm blood trickled down my skin, blurring my vision and coating my face. “Now. Let her go.” Vanessa clapped her hands, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! I had no idea you two had such a touching bond!” She walked over to the edge of the railing, placing her hand right over the release latch for the winch rope. But she didn’t press it. “However…” She dragged the word out. “I changed my mind.” A cruel, totally twisted smile stretched across her face. “You ruined my mood today. Just banging your head on the floor isn’t nearly enough to make up for it. I need to give you a lesson… that you will never, ever forget!” “No!” I let out a blood-curdling scream, lunging forward with everything I had. But I was too late. Vanessa ruthlessly hit the release, severing the cord that held my mother-in-law’s life. “Ah!” A short, terrified gasp escaped my mother-in-law’s lips as she plummeted straight into the shark tank below. A massive splash echoed through the hall. The water churned violently as the dark silhouettes of the predators darted forward with terrifying speed. The pristine blue water was instantly tainted with a horrifying cloud of red. The world turned entirely crimson before my eyes. My scream lodged in my throat, choking me into absolute silence. She was gone. Right in front of my eyes, the mistress my husband pampered had sent his own mother into the jaws of death. Just then, a voice rang out from the crowd. “Mr. Sinclair is here!”

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For seven years, I was with Julian Rubinstein, and for seven years, I was never truly in his heart. His heart belonged to his ‘first love’, Kate Charleson. I was merely a placeholder when he and Kate broke up, a convenient Plan B. For seven years, they broke up and got back together, over and over, and I stayed by his side through it all. Finally, one time, they split for good, and I thought my wait was over. But just as he rolled off me, a satisfied smile still lingering on his face, he told me he wanted to break up. Kate was back. He said he knew I’d waited for him for years, but when it came to Kate, I would always be Plan B. I nodded, understanding. From the very first day we were together, I knew we’d break up eventually. I agreed to the split, then turned around to find my next conquest. But Julian, his eyes red with anger, chased after me, demanding to know how I could change my heart so quickly after waiting seven years. I tilted my head, looking at him. Quick? What was seven years for him? I’d waited eight years for the Crown Prince of the London elite, four years for the dashing playboy of the Manchester scene, and six years for the stoic, ethereal academic. I had a lot on my plate, actually. … “Let’s break up.” Julian said those words just as we finished a passionate encounter. The flush hadn’t even faded from my face, my mind still delightfully blank. I instinctively asked, “What did you say?” Julian’s brows furrowed. “Chloe, don’t play games. It’s unappealing.” “Since you heard me, there’s no need to drag it out. We were always going to break up.” He lit a cigarette, then tossed a card my way. The card slid off the duvet and onto the floor. “These past few months, thank you for taking care of my… needs.” “This is compensation.” Julian was always generous. I quickly got up, picked up the card, carefully brushed off the dust, and slipped it into my bag, smiling. “Thank you, Mr. Rubinstein.” Julian, however, seemed displeased with my reaction, and his brows furrowed again. “You’re not angry at all?” Truly, a high-maintenance character. I quickly tried to smooth things over, my smile extra sweet. “Not at all.” “Julian, I was already happy you agreed to be with me for this time.” “How could I ever be angry with you?” Julian narrowed his eyes in satisfaction, scratching my chin like he would a cat. “Good girl.” He dressed quickly and left in a hurry. I watched his retreating back and sighed. How could I be angry? If he hadn’t brought up breaking up, I would have been racking my brain on how to initiate it myself. After all, if I brought it up, it would be a blow to a man’s ego. Not having him fly into a rage was already a win. Let alone ending it peacefully with a generous severance package like today. Now this was perfect. I could happily and without worry move on to my next target. 2 I’m a serial dater, a heartbreaker. But over the years, I’ve cultivated a reputation for being deeply devoted. I’ve always made sure the men I ‘collect’ never cross paths. So each of them believes they’re my one exception. Take Alexander Sterling, for instance, convinced I’ve waited eight years for him. The aloof academic from London, exasperated by my six years of unwavering patience. Luke Hayes, the charming rebel from Manchester, often boasts about my four years of devoted waiting, making it a regular topic of conversation. The newer ones, not yet ranked, we won’t even mention for now. In short, Julian was just another ordinary page in my collection. But what did I do wrong? I’m just a woman who appreciates all things beautiful in this world, wanting to collect every handsome and attractive man. After all, who can resist a cunning and outwardly reserved CEO, a brilliant and calm academic, a wild and rebellious heir, an aloof and obsessive enigma, a sweet and loyal younger man who’s secretly a powerhouse, and so on? Of course, I’m very sensible. I absolutely never go after men who already have girlfriends. I only strike when they’re single. This creates the illusion that I’ve been waiting for each of them for many years. I put on a red, fitted mini-dress, grabbed my bag, and left the penthouse suite. As I walked out, a tall figure approached. I narrowed my eyes. He was a handsome man. Tall, long-legged, impeccably dressed in a suit with obsidian cufflinks on his pristine sleeves. A few strands of hair fell across his forehead, but couldn’t hide his sharp brows and piercing eyes. His nose was prominent, his lips thin and sensual. I let out an inward gasp. As I passed him, my fingers, light and fleeting, brushed against his. Then I feigned an exaggerated gasp. The man stopped, looking at me, his eyes unreadable. I smiled charmingly, batting my eyelashes: “Excuse me, handsome, in need of a girlfriend?” The handsome man looked quite mature, but his voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly boyish and a little naive: “Miss, can I help you?” My expression stiffened, and I let out a dry laugh. “You… you’re not underage, are you?” “My apologies then.” I awkwardly turned to leave, but the next moment, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back. I stumbled into the man’s embrace. His hot body pressed tightly against mine, the scent of expensive cologne swirling around my nose, making me feel dizzy. He leaned down, his deliberately lowered, magnetic voice falling into my ear, his breath scorching: “Sister, I’m eighteen.” … At the Rubinstein family estate. Julian entered with Kate Charleson. Kate’s gaze swept across the living room, then darkened. The roses on the table, the new slippers by the entrance, all declared the presence of another woman. Julian pulled her into his arms, but just as he was about to kiss her, Kate pushed him away. She grabbed his shirt collar. A lipstick mark was clearly visible. “Julian,” she said coldly, “What is this?” Julian paused, then, with a playful grin, explained: “Business dinner, you know, sometimes you have to play the part.” “Kate, let’s not talk about this right now, okay?” “Business dinner?” Kate curled her lip, then turned and pulled a torn pair of black stockings from the corner of the sofa. She shoved them in Julian’s face: “Is this also a business dinner? Julian, do business dinners require you to take off stockings? Were you having a ‘business dinner’ in bed?” “Kate—” Julian’s face darkened. He didn’t like being scrutinized by women. Besides, they had been broken up at that time. Was it a crime to see other women? Kate saw his annoyed expression, and her eyes began to redden. She silently threw down the stockings, grabbed her bag, and turned to leave. But Julian caught her arm. His voice softened as he called her: “Kate.” Tears immediately welled up in Kate’s eyes. Julian pulled her into a tight hug, resting his chin on her head, and gently coaxed: “Hubby was wrong, okay?” “I missed you too much, and I was drunk, so I mistook another woman for you.” “Kate, you know you’re the only one in my heart.” Kate cried out, her eyes red: “You men are all scoundrels, eating from the bowl while eyeing the pot!” “Breaking up and immediately looking for the next one.” Julian patted her back, soothing her for a long time. His words were full of endearments, calling her his dearest love and his only one, but his mind was elsewhere. He suddenly found himself missing Chloe’s good qualities. Chloe was so sensible; she never demanded to be coaxed, she was incredibly well-behaved. If he said one, she would never argue two. When he flirted outside, Chloe never questioned him. Unlike Kate, Kate was so delicate. She had to make a huge scene, then force him to humble himself and coax her. Julian suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Chloe’s obedience. She hadn’t argued or made a fuss when he dumped her, hadn’t dared to ask a single question. No temper at all. He wondered if she was secretly crying in her bed after he left. 3 I was indeed crying. Crying tears of pure bliss. Brent’s body, it hadn’t stopped moving since. I had to admit, an eighteen-year-old young wolf was something else. His technique might be green, but his stamina was first-rate. After just a couple of adjustments, I was already struggling to keep up. Another round ended. I was utterly spent, collapsing into the bedding, completely motionless. Brent climbed on top of me again, biting my earlobe, his voice suggestive: “Sister… I want more.” I let out a long sigh, for the first time feeling like I wanted to surrender. … I didn’t expect to run into Julian again. That day, I went to a specialty lingerie shop I frequented. Lingerie, like men, should be changed often, kept fresh. Just like now, I’m into Brent, the young wolf, so I’m wearing black lace, sexy lingerie. Before, when it was Julian, who preferred Kate’s fiery personality, I would wear light green, fresh, girlish sets. I picked out a few styles, and as the sales assistant was packing them, I turned my head and came face to face with Julian. I froze for a moment, then realized. He must be with Kate Charleson. After all, in the three months we were together, he had never accompanied me to a place like a lingerie store. Julian saw me, and for a moment, his eyes showed surprise. I couldn’t tell if it was delight or nervousness. He walked towards me, his hand naturally finding my waist. He smirked: “What, missing me? You actually followed me to a place like this.” I immediately realized he misunderstood, and uncomfortably pulled away: “Mr. Rubinstein, I’m sorry, I just came to buy some essentials.” “You’re mistaken.” But his eyes grew more intrigued: “Chloe, a few days apart, and you’ve learned to play hard to get? But I really have been thinking about you.” His gaze dropped to the lingerie bag the assistant had packed for me, and he smirked: “Black is nice. A change of style now and then, I quite like it.” He leaned in close to my ear: “Be a good girl, I’ll come find you soon.” A shiver of disgust ran down my spine. I don’t have a habit of being the other woman, nor do I like men who juggle two relationships. Julian was crossing a line. I was about to speak when the fitting room door opened, and Kate Charleson emerged. Seeing Julian and me, her face immediately changed. She strode over. Without a word, she slapped me across the face. I was caught off guard, my mind reeling. Kate’s chest heaved violently, and she pointed a finger at my nose, screaming: “You’re the other woman, aren’t you? Shameless hussy, taking advantage of me being away to seduce my boyfriend!” Everyone’s eyes turned, converging on me, whispering and pointing. Blood rushed to my head. No matter how good my temper was, I wasn’t going to take that slap for nothing. I immediately raised my arm, ready to strike back. Before I could touch her, my arm was grabbed. It was Julian. His gaze became suddenly cold and disgusted. He shoved me hard, and I crashed into the corner of a display cabinet. A sharp pain shot through my lower back, making me gasp. Julian said coldly: “What do you think you’re doing? You dare to lay a hand on my girlfriend right in front of me? Chloe, you’ve gotten bold.” Kate was pleased with his reaction. But she wasn’t done with me. “Julian, who exactly is this woman? Why is she following you here? What is your relationship with her?!” Julian didn’t even glance at me: “Just some trashy girl, clung to me after one night out, climbed into my bed. She wouldn’t give up after I dumped her, kept tracking me down. We were just messing around.” “Kate, you know, you’re the only one in my heart.” I scoffed: “Julian, are you out of your mind? You just open your mouth and start spreading rumors about me, do you?” “And you,” I turned to Kate, “Please use your brain before you speak.” “Being the other woman means stealing a man, and he’s, at most, a second-hand item I picked up for a bit of fun. That’s all.” “Miss Charleson.” I looked at her coldly. “Spreading rumors carries legal consequences, you know.” “Also,” I pointed to the security camera, “I’ll be reserving my right to sue for that slap you gave me today. I hope you’ll act accordingly.” With that, I grabbed my things and walked out. Less than a minute later, my phone lit up with a text message. I opened it. It was from Julian.

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There was a silent secret in my marriage to Daryl Pierce: he was deathly allergic to human hair. For him, I shaved my head for three years. I was once a principal dancer, yet I spent my days bald, scrubbing floors and managing his home. Until yesterday. I walked into his study and saw him tenderly pluck a gray hair from the scalp of his brother’s widow, Bella. The pure love in his eyes turned all my sacrifices into a humiliating joke. The next evening, Daryl hosted a dinner to celebrate his upcoming promotion to CEO. I didn’t cry or scream. I walked into the kitchen, grabbed three live chickens, and slammed them onto the dining table. “Since you love plucking so much, have a field day tonight.” I stared into his eyes. “If you have a reaction, I’ll drive you to the ER. If not, our marriage is over.” Before Daryl could speak, Bella rushed forward, tears in her eyes. “He’s about to be CEO! How could you, a housewife, make him pluck chickens in front of colleagues? Are you trying to humiliate him?” I laughed. “Do you hurt for him that much? Then grab a bird and help.” Bella’s face flushed purple. She bit her lip and ran out sobbing. Instinctively, Daryl shoved his chair back and chased after her without a glance at me. I stood still in the dining room, a bitter smile on my lips. It seemed I had completely lost that three-year bet with my father. 1 The guests exchanged incredibly awkward glances before quietly excusing themselves one by one. Daryl finally paused near the doorway, suddenly remembering I still existed. He turned around. Seeing my bloodshot eyes, he let out a soft sigh and walked over, gently picking a stray chicken feather off my shoulder. “Alright, stop throwing a tantrum.” I instinctively recoiled from his touch. My gaze shifted to the full-length mirror in the hallway. Just because he frowned on our wedding night and whispered that he had a severe follicle allergy. I was the star of my dance company. And I turned myself into this bald, pathetic shell of a woman for him. “Why?” I heard my own voice trembling violently. Daryl sat down on the sofa, not even blinking. “Bella was deeply insecure. You had that beautiful, flowing hair, and she was already finding grey strands. She actually threatened to end her own life over it.” “I had no choice but to invent an allergy to coax you into shaving your head.” “Besides, it’s not like I find you ugly. Why do you care so much about such a trivial detail?” “Be a good girl, Cici. I just care for Bella the way any man would care for family.” As he spoke, he casually grabbed the loose chickens and tossed them back into their cages. A harsh, breathless laugh ripped from my throat. I reached behind my back, pulled out a small vintage tin box, and hurled it forcefully at his chest. “Family? You collect and lock away her plucked grey hairs like they are precious diamonds. Is that how you treat family?!” Daryl’s face drained of color. He crouched on the floor, picking up the scattered hairs, his eyes flashing with intense irritation as he looked up at me. “Who gave you permission to go into my private safe?” His knuckles turned stark white. “Every single grey hair on Bella’s head is a testament to what she sacrificed for this family!” The sheer guilt masking his anger felt like a physical knife twisting in my chest. Suddenly, Daryl let out a cruel scoff. “I definitely made the right choice giving the baby to Bella. If I had left him with you? You would have ruined him.” I froze completely. It felt like someone had poured cement down my throat. “What baby?” Two years ago, my first child died from asphyxiation during a premature labor. I cried until the blood vessels in my eyes burst. It was Daryl who held me in the hospital bed, whispering over and over that we were still young and we would try again. But right now, sitting casually on our living room sofa, he dropped a bomb that shattered my reality. “Bella’s posthumous baby died hours after birth. I was terrified the grief would kill her. So I paid the doctor to slip you a labor-inducing drug. When your son was born premature, I handed him straight to Bella to raise.” “She has been raising your flesh and blood for years. You should be down on your knees thanking her.” Thanking her? Thanking them for practically blinding me with grief? When my hand swung down and slapped him across the face, he didn’t even try to dodge. He just rolled his jaw, reached out, and rested his hand against my pregnant belly. “Got it out of your system?” “If you hate it that much, I’ll burn the tin box later. You are about to be a mother again, you really need to control your temper.” “I was the one who gave the boy to her. If you want to hate someone, hate me.” I grabbed a heavy glass water tumbler from the table and smashed it directly against his forehead. “So is this pregnancy supposed to be my sick compensation?!” Blood immediately trickled down his temple, but he just calmly wiped away a tear that had fallen down my cheek. “No,” he said softly. Before my racing heart could even process that, he delivered the final blow with absolute entitlement. “Bella decided she wants a little girl.” Dead silence swallowed the room. The only sound was my own ragged, hyperventilating gasps. I pointed a shaking finger at the front door. “Get out!” Daryl casually wiped the blood from his brow and let out a dark chuckle. “Cici, you cut ties with your wealthy family years ago.” “You have absolutely nowhere to go. Be a good girl, play your part, and you will always hold the title of Mrs. Pierce.” “I promise you, when this baby is born, I’ll let you be her godmother.” He leaned over, picked up the silk shawl Bella had left behind, making sure not to get a single drop of his blood on it. He walked out the door without looking back. I stood barefoot among the scattered chicken feathers, laughing hysterically as tears poured down my face. I picked up my phone and dialed the number of my father, the notorious casino tycoon I hadn’t spoken to in three years. “Dad. I lost the three-year bet.” “I’m ready to come home.” The second I hung up, my phone vibrated in my palm. Daryl’s voice came through the speaker, dripping with suppressed rage. “Cici, look at what you’ve done! Bella passed out from the stress you caused. Get over here right now!” My hands were violently shaking when I pushed open the door to Bella’s residence. It was the house my biological son had lived in for five years. This was the very first time Daryl had ever allowed me inside. The moment my hand left the doorknob, a blinding, excruciating pain ripped across my scalp. My five-year-old son, Liam, stood right in front of me. He was gripping the wig I had worn specifically so I wouldn’t scare him, laughing so hard he was doubling over. “Look at the bald freak! That’s what you get for bullying my mommy!” My fingertips trembled as I reached out to touch his cheek. This was the boy I carried for nine months. The boy who was stolen from me before I could even hold him. “But… I am your real mother.” He froze for a fraction of a second, then shoved me backward with all his might. “You? Your hands smell like bleach and toilet water. I would rather die than have you as a mom!” Every single word he spat felt like a rusty nail driven straight into my heart. “You’re just a dirty maid! Don’t you ever call me your son!” I turned my head, looking at Daryl as he walked out of the bedroom with one final, desperate plea in my eyes. He didn’t even blink. For three years, I had completely abandoned my stage career to take care of his paralyzed mother. I wiped her down, fed her, turned her in bed to prevent sores. My hands were permanently stained with the harsh smell of medical disinfectants. I gave up the spotlight. I gave up the applause. And he refused to say a single word in my defense in front of my own flesh and blood. Bella walked out of the bedroom, clutching a pair of sharp scissors, pressing the blades against her long, flowing hair. Large, dramatic tears spilled onto the hardwood floor as her voice wavered. “Cici, I will cut my hair right now to keep you company! I am so sorry! Just please, I beg you, stop hurting my child!” She made a massive, theatrical sweeping motion, but the scissors didn’t snip a single strand of hair. I pushed myself up from the floor, a deeply cynical smirk pulling at my lips. “Don’t know how to use them?” “Let me help you.” Before the words fully left my mouth, a heavy slap cracked across my cheek. The sharp metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Daryl stared at me, his eyes radiating pure ice. “That is enough! Are you insane? How could you try to force her to take a blade to her own hair! Look at you. No wonder Liam hates your guts.” “We are going to the boutique to pick out her birthday present. You stay here and reflect on your disgusting behavior.” Bella crouched down and gently slipped Liam’s designer shoes onto his feet, her movements practiced and tender. Daryl grabbed his tailored coat and naturally reached out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Bella’s ear. The two of them moved perfectly in sync, like they had done this a million times before. The living room fell dead silent. The nanny stood in the corner, holding a mop. She picked up my wig and tossed it straight into the trash can. “Mr. Pierce treats his brother’s widow like absolute royalty. He pays me top dollar to look after them. You are so lucky to have a husband who values family loyalty so much, ma’am.” I leaned heavily against the wall, forcing myself to stand up straight. Daryl had claimed it was love at first sight when he saw me dance at a charity gala. But my father, a ruthless billionaire, saw right through him. He forced me into a bet. “If your marriage survives three years without a hitch, I will throw the full weight of my empire behind him.” “If not, you come back to New York and marry the man I choose.” The nanny’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Mr. Pierce told me to relay a message. Tomorrow is Bella’s birthday banquet. He expects you to show up and publicly apologize.” “If you do, he will graciously allow you to be the godmother of the baby you’re carrying.” I let out a dark chuckle. I was just about to tell her to go to hell when my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Bella. Her voice dripped with a sickeningly sweet, breathless tone. “Cici, we are officially even.” “What?” “You threw a fit because he plucked my grey hairs. So I returned the favor and gave him a full wax down there.” She paused, lowering her voice into a filthy whisper. “I even had him tattoo my name right above it. Think of it as my little gift to you.” “Every time he gets excited, it is quite the thrill.” “We owe each other nothing now.” My hands shook violently. I pulled the phone away from my ear just as a text message popped up from my father. “My private jet will be there in three days.” “Tie up your loose ends.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at the nanny. “Fine. Tell him I’ll be there.” “And tell him I’m bringing a very special gift.” The night of the birthday banquet arrived. When I walked into the grand ballroom, the socialites immediately judged my faded, outdated dress. Then their eyes drifted to Bella, who was glowing in a custom emerald-green gown. “Bella is so incredibly blessed. Her husband died, but she has a fiercely loyal brother-in-law to protect her.” “She is a saint, really. Cici is just a barren, ugly housewife. Bella practically carries that entire family on her back.” Daryl suddenly materialized beside me, his brow deeply furrowed. He reached out to grab my arm. “Don’t listen to their gossip.” I smoothly slipped my arm out of his grasp, looking down to unfold the piece of paper he had aggressively shoved into my palm. [My pregnancy hormones have been making me unstable. I was completely out of line to disrespect Bella. I am deeply sorry.] I ripped the paper into tiny pieces and let out a loud, piercing laugh. “Why on earth would I apologize to a homewrecker?” The entire ballroom went dead silent. Dozens of eyes snapped toward us. I reached into my purse and pulled out the vintage tin box. Daryl’s face morphed into absolute panic. “My husband tenderly plucks grey hairs from Bella’s head and locks them in his private safe!” “She stole my biological son, she sleeps with my husband, and she expects me to apologize?!” The ballroom exploded into chaotic whispers. “What is going on? Is he keeping a harem under one roof?” “Is he sleeping with his dead brother’s wife?!” Bella froze for a fraction of a second before a strange, calculated smile crept onto her lips. The side doors of the banquet hall suddenly swung open. My paralyzed mother-in-law was pushed out in her wheelchair, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. “Cici, how could you pluck my hair to frame poor Bella! Do you have no conscience at all?!” I stared at her, completely blindsided. “Mom, what are you talking about? You know exactly who I am!” The old woman trembling rolled up her sleeves, revealing dark, ugly bruises all over her frail arms. “Ever since this vicious woman lost her first baby, she has been wildly jealous of Bella! She has spent years trying to drive Bella out of this family!” She gasped for air, crying hysterically. “Last week, she forced me to let her pluck my white hairs! She told me I only got half a bowl of rice for every hair she pulled!” I stood rooted to the spot, my mind completely blank. Bella stepped forward, her voice breaking with practiced sorrow. “Cici, I am just a grieving widow. Why must you torture us like this? We are a respectable family. How is Daryl supposed to show his face in the corporate world after this?” “I will pack my bags and leave with my son tonight. I will sell my own blood if I have to, but I will raise my boy on my own!” Daryl raised his hands, desperately wanting to pull her into a hug, but forced himself to hold back in front of the crowd. He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked. “Bella, this is your home. Absolutely no one is kicking you out.” The old woman in the wheelchair wailed loudly. “Exactly! Bella will control the family finances from now on!” My fingernails dug so hard into my palms that blood began to drip onto the marble floor. My voice was raw and hoarse. “Mom. Why are you doing this to me?” Bella leaned in close, her lips brushing against my ear. “Because, you stupid bitch—Daryl’s real mother died a decade ago!” “The paralyzed old hag you’ve been wiping down for three years is MY biological mother!” The room spun. It felt like someone had shattered my spine. Daryl grabbed my arm to keep me from collapsing, a fleeting look of guilt crossing his eyes. “I couldn’t trust a nurse to care for her. You did an excellent job these past few years. I appreciate your hard work.” Suddenly, a glass of red wine shattered against my shoulder, the dark liquid soaking my clothes like blood. Someone in the crowd yelled. “No wonder she looks so ugly! Her outside matches her rotten inside!” “What kind of monster abuses a paralyzed old woman and a helpless widow?!” Daryl opened his mouth, but Bella suddenly clutched her chest and let out a weak gasp. “My heart… it’s palpitating.” Daryl looked at me, hesitating for only a second. “Stay here and learn some grace.” “My promotion to CEO is already in motion. Consider this your lesson in humility.” “I’ll have my driver pick you up later.” He turned his back on me, gently wrapping his arm around Bella while pushing the wheelchair out of the hall. He left me alone to face the furious, judging crowd. I don’t know how long I was pushed and shoved. A heavy, warm cramp gripped my lower stomach. I felt a horrifying rush of fluid soaking my inner thighs. By the time I dragged myself out of a taxi and stumbled into the emergency room, I still hadn’t received a single text from Daryl. The line at the registration desk was massive. I leaned heavily against the tiled wall, dragging my feet forward inch by inch. I desperately grabbed a passing nurse, shoving my marriage certificate into her hands, my lips trembling violently. “Please… I am Daryl Pierce’s wife… please, you have to help me…” Before I could finish, another agonizing cramp hit, and more fluid rushed down my legs. Seeing my deathly pale face, the young nurse quickly helped me into a plastic chair. “Hold on, ma’am. I’ll get you registered right now.” I leaned my head back, gasping for air. No matter how evil Daryl was, the baby inside me was completely innocent. But a second later, someone violently yanked me out of the chair by my arm. “This is a respectable hospital! We don’t treat lying trash!” The young nurse was glaring at me with absolute disgust. In her hand, my marriage certificate was ripped perfectly in half. Another nurse sneered from behind the desk. “God knows whose bastard she’s carrying. She literally brought a forged marriage certificate to skip the line and pretend to be Mr. Pierce’s family!” My blood ran completely cold. The marriage certificate was a fake. Daryl had lied to me about the very legal foundation of our relationship. I lowered my head, the humiliation burning my throat. “Then… I’ll just pay normally.” I handed over my debit card. The nurse snatched it, swiped it through the machine, and let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Are you kidding me? The card is declined. You don’t have a single dollar to your name, and you’re trying to give birth in a private hospital? Maybe think about that before you open your legs.” That was the card Daryl used to transfer my monthly household allowance. How could it be empty? My throat seized. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was Daryl. “From now on, every single dollar you spend requires Bella’s written approval.” “Consider this your punishment.” I started shaking uncontrollably. “But the baby…” He hung up. The younger nurse finally looked at me with a shred of pity. “Did your sugar daddy cut you off? Check your purse, maybe you have something worth selling.” My eyes landed on the designer handbag Daryl had bought me for our first anniversary. “This… this is a limited edition imported bag. It has to be worth something.” The nurse took it, inspected the leather, and smirked. “Lady, are you blind? The paint is peeling off the corners. It’s a cheap knockoff.” I laughed until I tasted blood. I wasn’t just blind. I was completely, utterly braindead. A crushing, world-ending pain ripped through my abdomen. I lay on the cold hospital floor, feeling the life of my child slowly slipping away into nothingness. When I finally dragged my broken body back to the house in the dead of night, the living room lights were blinding. Daryl walked over and handed me a steaming bowl of chicken broth. “I was just about to send the driver for you. Glad you made it back.” “Bella specifically brewed this to help you recover. Drink it.” I stared at the oily broth. A violent wave of nausea hit me. I violently retched, vomiting stomach acid all over Daryl’s expensive shoes. His face instantly darkened into a scowl. “Forget about being the godmother. When this baby is born, I am handing it straight to Bella.” Bella quickly walked over, gripping my arm tightly to support me. “Cici, please don’t be like this. Daryl is just looking out for you. I stood over the stove for hours making this broth. Just take one sip—” Where Daryl couldn’t see, her manicured nails dug viciously into the bruised flesh of my arm. The pain made me gasp. Bella leaned in, lowering her voice to a venomous whisper. “You better make sure this baby survives. You know why your son is so frail? It’s not because he was premature. It’s because I’ve been slipping low-dose poison into his food for years.” “He isn’t going to live much longer. So you better push out a healthy little girl for me to play with.” “Why should my husband die while you get to play happy family? Why am I infertile while you get to breed?!” I shook violently, raising my hand. I had only one thought in my mind. I was going to rip this woman’s throat out. But before my hand could fall, a sudden, brutal force slammed into my stomach. I crashed onto the hardwood floor, screaming in agony. Liam stood over me, clutching a heavy, sharp-edged bronze bookend. He looked up at Bella, practically begging for praise. “Mommy, I smashed the bald freak in the stomach! I got revenge for you!” “I promised Uncle Daryl I would protect you with my life!” Daryl lunged forward, grabbing his son to pull him back, then turned and delivered a brutal kick to my ribs, sending me crashing against the sharp corner of the glass coffee table. I curled into a tight ball, paralyzed by the blinding pain. “You absolute lunatic! You are tearing this house apart!” He turned to his assistant hovering by the door. “Throw her in the psychiatric ward. Tell them to sedate her so she can cool off.” “I’ve been way too soft on her. She is about to be the wife of a CEO, she needs to learn how to behave!” I lay on the floor, bleeding out, watching their perfect little family of three stand together. I laughed until bloody tears stained the floor. Later that night, Daryl sat in his pristine study, feeling a strange, creeping sense of anxiety. He picked up his phone to order his assistant to add some extra amenities to my hospital room. Before he could dial, his phone rang. It was Arthur, the Head of HR for the corporate group. “Daryl, the board just finalized your transfer orders.” Daryl sat up straight. “Which regional branch am I taking over?” “I’ll need to arrange for a medical transport for Cici. She’s pregnant, she’ll need to travel comfortably.” Arthur stammered awkwardly. “It’s… it’s a new position.” Arthur took a deep breath. “You’re being transferred to the agricultural subsidiary…” “You start tomorrow at the poultry processing plant. Plucking chickens.”

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I sat in a forgotten corner of the room, cradling a bowl of soup, a silent observer to the symphony of laughter that filled the air. They were all chattering away in fluent French, toasting to Isabelle and Jasper’s future wedding. No one even glanced at me, her actual boyfriend, hidden in the shadows. I’d secretly poured years into mastering four languages, all for this—to finally fit in. But it was a fool’s errand. The PhDs and art scholars, all back from their stints abroad, looked at me with the barely-veiled condescension they reserved for someone with a community college education. Isabelle, ever the picture of grace, just smiled. She neither confirmed nor denied the talk of wedding dates, accepting their blessings with a placid elegance. I set my bowl down, the soup untouched. Standing up, I walked out of the room and pulled out my phone. “Anna,” I said when she picked up. “Set me up on one of those blind dates back home. I’m done.” 1 After ending the call with my sister, I booked a red-eye flight back to Paris. It was two a.m. and the apartment was dark. Isabelle still wasn’t home. A news alert lit up my phone screen. The renowned philanthropist Arthur Lockwood Sr. had passed away, with half of his massive estate being donated to charity. The comments section was flooded with messages of grief for the business mogul who had given so much back. My father. A lump formed in my throat, my vision blurring with tears as I remembered the last time I saw him. I’d been too late. By the time I rushed to the hospital, he was gone. “His heart was always weak, you know that,” my sister Anna had told me, her own eyes red-rimmed with a grief laced with guilt. “But he was too proud. He hid it from everyone.” She choked back a sob. “He was so disappointed… that he didn’t get to see you one last time. That he never saw you settle down.” I hung my head, a tidal wave of shame and regret crashing over me. “Luke,” she said softly, “I know this is hard, but it’s the Lockwood legacy. Dad always said you were the most gifted of us all. He was heartbroken when you left for Paris, but now… you’re the only one who can…” Her voice trailed off. “Just think about it, Luke. Please.” My father had two final wishes: for me to take the reins of the family empire, and to see me build a family of my own. I had begged Isabelle to come home with me, just once, so my father could pass on with peace of mind. “Isabelle, please, just this once…” But she had already been pulling on her coat, her expression cold. “Luke, there’s a time and place for your drama! Jasper is drunk and it’s freezing outside. He’s all alone!” She ripped her hand from my grasp and slammed the door behind her. But Jasper wasn’t alone. He had Cassie, their mutual best friend of many years, right there with him. Later that night, I saw Cassie’s new post. A picture of Jasper, looking wistfully into the distance. The caption read: Some loves will cross any distance. Makes a single girl like me so incredibly jealous! In that moment, the last of my denial crumbled. I was done making excuses for her. I was done, period. I booked my return flight and started packing. The click of the lock broke the silence. Isabelle stepped inside, elegant as ever in a black trench coat. “You’re back?” she asked, a little surprised. “Why are you still up?” Her eyes narrowed, taking in the boxes around me. “Just packing up some extra stuff to ship home,” I lied smoothly. She nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Well, it’s late. You should get some rest. I can finish this last bit.” No interrogation. No suspicion. My quiet compliance was so out of character that a small frown creased her brow. Just then, her phone shattered the quiet. Jasper’s drunken, sobbing voice crackled through the speaker. “Isabelle… can you come? Please… I don’t think… I don’t think I can make it through the night.” Her voice instantly softened into a gentle, soothing tone I had rarely heard directed at me. “You just stay put, okay? I’m always here for you. Don’t be scared.” She hung up and turned to me, her expression a mask of apology. “It’s his depression, Luke. He’s been drinking…” “You know how it is when an episode hits,” she continued, her voice heavy with meaning. “Someone has to be there, or else…” “I know,” I cut her off, my voice flat. Isabelle flinched, instinctively tugging down the sleeve of her coat to cover the faint, silvery scars on her wrist. Oh, yes. How could I forget? When her own depression had pulled her into the abyss, I was the one who held her, who weathered the storms, who painstakingly guided her back to the light. “You know,” she began, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, “you asked me about coming home with you. After my competition abroad, I should have some free time.” She looked at my calm face, and a strange sense of panic seemed to well up inside her. “And… I’m ready to tell my friends about us. To make it official.” I just nodded. I had waited years to hear those words, for her to finally acknowledge me. And now, they came only when I was already walking out the door. This whole mess needed a clean ending. This could be it—a final, formal farewell to the years we’d spent in this limbo. “Luke… why are you dressed like that?” “Is there a problem?” I asked, my gaze level. “No… it’s just… that coat looks incredible on you.” She seemed dazed. In front of her friends, I had always worn stiff, formal suits, earning me their snide remarks about looking like an insurance salesman. Perhaps from staying up all night with Jasper, Isabelle looked exhausted, and a deep, genuine apology was etched on her face. “That brand… it really suits you,” she said. “We should buy you a few more when we get back.” “Sure,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. Something about me had changed, and she could feel it, even if she couldn’t name it. Jasper and his friends were already waiting by the door to the private room, their faces wreathed in smiles for Isabelle. Once we were all seated, the conversation took off, a whirlwind of artistic theory, cultural critiques, and emotional expression. Inevitably, it circled back to Isabelle and Jasper. “Jasper has waited so many years for you,” Cassie said, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she looked at Isabelle. “You two were always the golden couple in our eyes.” “A true match made in heaven,” another chimed in. Jasper sighed dramatically. “Isabelle… already has a boyfriend. It seems I was too late.” “Not at all!” Cassie jumped in. “We all know who she really cares about.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, loud enough for the table to hear. “The guy she’s with is just a cheap knock-off. He’s not one of us.” “Cassie, isn’t that a bit harsh?” someone cautioned. “It’s the truth!” she retorted. “Everyone knows Isabelle was crazy about Jasper. She would have done anything for him… If Luke hadn’t swooped in when she was vulnerable, they’d be back together by now. She’s never forgotten Jasper. Luke is just a placeholder, a substitute.” She leaned in, her eyes gleaming. “You’ll see. He’s a total copycat. He even dresses like Jasper, pretends to like the same things.” But when I walked in, a hush fell over the room. The man standing before them was not the awkward imitation they’d imagined. He was composed, handsome, with a quiet confidence that was the polar opposite of Jasper’s curated, brooding artist persona. The atmosphere thickened with an awkward silence. I simply smiled at the stunned faces and offered a polite greeting. Someone muttered under their breath, “He looks nothing like him.” Jasper recovered first, his smile fixed as he walked to Isabelle’s side. “Isabelle, congratulations on winning the Top Artist prize again. Won’t you tell us about your masterpiece?” He pointedly ignored me, drawing Isabelle and the others into a lively discussion. She spoke of her inspiration, of her journey over the years, and with every word, Jasper was there to build on her thoughts, to finish her sentences. They were a perfect duet, a symphony of shared understanding. A true power couple. Then, Cassie switched to French. “So, when’s the wedding?” All eyes turned to me, a sea of knowing smirks. The conversation continued, a fluid stream of French that was meant to exclude me. Jasper graciously accepted their congratulations, and when I glanced at Isabelle, she said nothing to correct them. She let them believe it. I sighed and quietly excused myself from the table. Cassie shot me a look of pure contempt. The community college guy wouldn’t understand a word of French, she thought. But she didn’t know. To break into her world, to understand the woman I loved, I had taught myself four languages. This wasn’t a challenge. It was a confirmation. Listening to the renewed burst of laughter from inside the private room, I dialed the number in my phone. “Anna, I’m in. I’ll come back and take over everything.” This is a premium chapter. Unlock to continue reading. The joy in my sister’s voice was unmistakable. “Luke, I’m so glad to hear you say that. Mom and I have been hoping… you were always Dad’s pride and joy, you know.” Her voice softened. “Whatever happens, we just want you to be happy.” At last, her wandering brother had found his way home. “I’ll need a month, though,” I said. “I have to wrap things up here.” “And your girlfriend?” Anna asked, a note of caution in her voice. “Is she coming with you?” The mention of Isabelle sent a pang through my chest. “Anna,” I said, my voice heavy. “We’re breaking up.” “I’m going to take Dad’s legacy and build it into something even greater. I won’t let it die with our generation.” My sister sighed on the other end of the line. “Luke, she wouldn’t even come home with you to see Dad one last time. A woman like that… you’re better off without her. When you get back, we’ll find you someone worthy of you.” Her voice was fierce with love. “If you’re hurting, you come home. You’ll always be a Morgan, kid.” “Thanks, Anna.” I fought back the tears. No matter what, my family would always be my anchor. Back at the table, Isabelle’s eyes kept darting to my empty chair. A strange anxiety began to gnaw at her. What was wrong with Luke? Ever since he’d come back from his trip, he hadn’t clung to her, hadn’t argued with her. His silence, his easy-going nature… it was more unsettling than his most demanding tantrums. Agitated, Isabelle started drinking, downing one glass of wine after another. When I returned to the room, she was completely drunk. I moved to help her up, but she shoved me away with surprising strength. “I don’t wanna go home!” she slurred, her eyes finding Jasper across the room. “Jasper… why did you leave me? Don’t go, Jasper… don’t leave me again.” She clung to him like a lost child, her eyes glistening with tears. The rest of the table suddenly found their shoes very interesting, a collective wave of awkwardness washing over them. Jasper shot me a look of triumphant pity. “Mr. Lockwood, my apologies,” he said, his voice oozing false concern. “Isabelle seems to be in a state… I’m afraid…” “Then I’ll leave her in your care, Mr. Chambers,” I said, my tone perfectly even as I stepped back. “Luke, are you even a man?” Cassie spat, her eyes blazing with fury. “You’re her best friend, aren’t you?” I replied coolly, my gaze falling on Isabelle, who was still clinging to Jasper for dear life. Without another word, I turned and walked away. The farewell dinner was over. Back at the apartment, I moved with cold efficiency, erasing every trace of our life together. After a moment’s hesitation, I opened the door to her studio. The room was filled with stacks of sketches, countless studies of a woman’s silhouette. With a heavy sigh, I sat down at the easel and dug out a faded, time-worn sketch from the bottom of a portfolio. It was the one I had drawn the day I first met Isabelle, a quick impression I’d accidentally dropped as I left. She had found it, kept it. It had become the wellspring of her inspiration. I picked up a piece of charcoal, and with a final, steady stroke, I finished the drawing, adding the depth and color it had lacked for all these years.

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1 The week my phone nearly vibrated itself into oblivion, I was at a competitor’s office, getting up to speed on their operations. This whole mess started with my company’s absurd new policy. They took six years of my work data—every client interaction, every successful pitch, every closed deal—and fed it to an AI to create my “digital twin.” From that day on, my digital twin handled all online tasks. I, the original, was relegated to offline schmoozing, wining and dining clients. Last month, I closed a massive seven-figure deal. Under the old system, my commission should have been at least ten thousand dollars. But when I got my pay stub, the number made my head spin: $960. I stormed into the finance department, convinced there had been a mistake. The finance director didn’t even bother to look up. She glanced at the paper, tossed it back at me, and said in a voice as cold as ice, “There’s no mistake. New company policy. Your digital twin closed the deal online. It gets ninety percent of the commission. You get ten.” She then added, with a syrupy, condescending smile, “You just have a few drinks with clients every now and then. Pulling in almost a grand a month for that? What’s there to be unhappy about?” I was the one who had brought in over seventy percent of the company’s revenue. And she had the audacity to call me lazy. I quit on the spot. And I took the two-million-dollar deal that was on the verge of being signed with me. My next stop was their biggest competitor. … I’d been chasing that million-dollar contract with Apex Corp. for half a year. I remembered sitting at the dinner table with their CEO, Mr. Carter, when he clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Sophie, if it were anyone else handling this, I wouldn’t sign.” But just because the final contract link was sent by my digital twin, it got ninety percent of the credit? My $10,000 commission shrank to a pathetic $960? “What, you think that’s too little?” Seeing my dissatisfaction, Vivian, the finance director, scowled. “I just explained it to you, didn’t I?” she snapped. “From the initial contact and needs assessment to the final contract negotiation, your digital twin handled everything. All you did was meet Mr. Carter a few times and treat him to a few meals on the company’s dime. You should be grateful you’re getting nine hundred bucks at all!” Vivian was the CEO Mark’s sister-in-law, parachuted into the company as CFO three months ago. Her first order of business was a brutal cost-cutting and efficiency initiative, which led to the rollout of the AI digital twins. It started small. They fed all the code written by a few of their programmers into an AI, creating digital versions of them. Then, they “optimized” the human programmers—by firing them—and had the AI write the code. When that proved successful, saving them a few salaries, the floodgates opened. Now, most of the company’s backend developers and customer service reps were gone. All that remained were a few fresh-faced college grads to handle basic maintenance. The once-bustling office floor was now a ghost town of empty desks. My former colleagues were gone, but their digital twins remained, tirelessly working for the company. As a frontline sales rep, I was feeling the pain most acutely. I had spent years building a rapport with our tech team. I could give them a vague description, and they’d instantly grasp what I needed. Now, I was dealing with AI counterparts that couldn’t understand plain English. The demos they produced for clients weren’t just a little off; they were completely irrelevant. My workload skyrocketed. I was spending every waking moment micromanaging these digital morons, constantly correcting their work. I complained to Mark. He just smiled his usual placid smile. “Sophie, AI is the future. As a tech company, we have to be on the cutting edge. There are always going to be some growing pains. You’ll get used to it.” He even tried to reassure me. “Don’t worry, we’re monitoring the situation. The issues you’ve raised will be resolved soon.” I never imagined his solution would be to distill me into a digital twin and have it interface with the tech twins. 2 Now the problem started at the source. On top of my usual client management, I spent every remaining second of my day chasing down project updates and cleaning up the messes made by the digital twins. But in Vivian’s eyes, I was just slacking off, enjoying lavish meals on the company’s dime and still expecting a $960 cut. As if I’d won the lottery. “What, am I wrong?!” she sneered. “The company invested money and resources to build you this digital twin to handle client communication. Do you have any idea how much work that saves you? And instead of being grateful for the company’s investment, you have the nerve to complain that we’re not paying you enough! You think we owe you something?” She was warming up now. “Go on, ask around. Find me one other salesperson who makes nearly a grand a month just for having a few dinners. You’re just pulling rank because you’ve been here a while.” Her voice rose with every word. “Honestly, clients sign with us because of the strength of our products. You really think it’s all because of you? Anyone could do what you do now. I could hire a fresh college grad—prettier, younger, more obedient, and a hell of a lot cheaper. Take the money or get out!” Six years. I had given six years of my life to CloudForge. I was the top seller for four consecutive years. Many of my clients were people I had cultivated since my very first day. If Vivian had ever spent a single day in sales, she would never have said something so ignorant. She thought our products were so good that clients would just line up to sign? She never stopped to consider why, among dozens of similar companies, they chose CloudForge. My clients weren’t loyal to the product; they were loyal to me, Sophie. She had no idea the lengths I went to for them. It wasn’t just about being on call 24/7 for project updates. It was about helping them when their parents were sick, picking up their kids from school, giving them advice on home renovations, even feeding their pets when they were out of town. If they called, I was there, no questions asked. Holidays, birthdays, weddings, funerals—I showed up for all of it. My clients were my friends. Our relationship went far beyond a simple business transaction. But in Vivian’s world, none of that mattered. Honestly, I had been thinking about leaving ever since they “optimized” the tech team. I only stayed out of a sense of loyalty. But if she really thought anyone could do my job, then fine. Let her try. “So, the company is firing me?” Seeing that I understood, Vivian nodded without hesitation. “That’s right. We have no place for ungrateful employees who have no sense of discipline and can’t even be bothered to clock in.” 3 I laughed to myself. I’m in sales. If I sat in the office clocking in and out every day, where the hell did she think all their contracts came from? “Fine. Then please provide me with a written termination notice. According to labor laws, since the company is terminating my employment, you’re required to pay N+1 severance. I’ve been here for six years. I’ll leave as soon as the payment is processed.” “Severance?” Vivian took a long, noisy sip of her bubble tea and looked at me as if I were a joke. “Why should you get severance? You’re the one who wants to quit. What does that have to do with the company? We did you a favor by reducing your workload with a digital twin, and now you have the gall to ask me for money?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it. You’re not getting a single cent. And if you push this, I’ll make sure everyone in this industry knows what kind of person you are. Let’s see who’ll be brave enough to hire you then.” With that, she shooed me away. I was about to argue further when my phone rang. It was Mr. Carter. He said communicating with “me” online was confusing and he wanted to meet in person. No doubt, my digital twin was screwing things up again. Even though I was quitting, I couldn’t just walk away from Mr. Carter after he’d just signed the deal. It wasn’t right. I arranged a time to meet him and went back to my desk to pack my things. As I did, I heard Vivian’s venomous voice behind me. “A real thankless snake. All she cares about is money.” I ignored her and walked back to my desk. My apprentice, Emily, looked at me with worried eyes. “Sophie, what did Vivian say? Was the pay stub a mistake?” I shook my head and told her everything Vivian had said. Not just Emily, but several other salespeople overheard and gathered around my desk, their faces a mixture of shock and outrage. “What? That’s insane! A ninety-ten split with no warning? You can’t run a business like that!” “Are they going to make a digital twin of me next? If so, I’m out of here.” “Seriously. Our base salary is nothing. We live on commission. Who’s going to be motivated to close deals with a policy like this?” As they were talking, the sharp click-clack of high heels approached from behind. It was Vivian. The faces of my colleagues instantly paled. They scrambled back to their desks, heads down. Vivian barked at them, “What do you all think you’re doing? It’s work hours! Stop gossiping and get back to it!” Then her glare landed on me. “Sophie, let me warn you. Don’t think you’re hot stuff just because you’ve closed a few deals. I can’t stand old dogs like you who think they own the place. I’m docking five hundred from your salary this month. And if I catch you spreading rumors in this office again, you’re fired!” 4 I looked at her, my face a mask of calm. “What did I say that wasn’t true? The company did it, but I’m not allowed to talk about it? What right do you have to dock my pay? If you can’t stand the sight of me, just pay my severance, and I’ll be gone in a heartbeat.” “You really think I can’t touch you!” she shrieked, slamming her hand on my desk. I was done arguing. I grabbed my bag and walked out. I wasn’t afraid of her. But facing Mr. Carter, I felt a pang of guilt. I had promised him I would personally oversee his project, and now, I was leaving. “Mr. Carter, I’m afraid I won’t be able to continue managing your project,” I began. “But don’t worry, I’ll entrust it to my most capable colleague. And if you run into any communication issues, you can still contact me anytime.” I added, “The contract also clearly states that if you’re not satisfied with the first version the company delivers, you can cancel the contract at any time.” To my surprise, Mr. Carter was less interested in the project and more interested in my resignation. “Sophie, you’re really quitting?” His voice was filled with excitement. “Then come work for me! Be my sales director. You know how many times I’ve tried to poach you.” I laughed, feeling a little overwhelmed. I told him I’d think about it and headed back to the office. When I walked in, I found my desk completely empty. “Where are my things?” I asked Emily. She pointed, her face flushed with indignation. “Vivian said your presence was bad for team morale. She moved all your stuff… over there.” I turned. A new desk had been set up right next to the restrooms. All my belongings were haphazardly thrown into a cardboard box on top of it. Vivian emerged from her office, arms crossed, leaning against a partition with a smug look on her face. “So, how does our sales champion like her new office? You’re the one who said salespeople have flexible hours and are rarely in the office. I figured you wouldn’t mind where you sat.” I gave the desk a single glance and walked straight to Mark’s office. Mark was an alum from my university. When he was starting his company, he begged me to join him. Out of loyalty to our shared alma mater, I turned down several better offers to join his tiny startup, operating out of a cramped residential apartment. For six long years, I helped him build the company to where it was today: a full floor in a prime commercial skyscraper. I needed to know if this was all Vivian’s doing, or if she was acting with his approval. 5 After I explained the situation, Mark leaned back in his plush leather chair, his expression a mask of friendly concern. “Sophie, it hasn’t been easy getting the company to this point. You know how tough the market is this year. When Vivian proposed the cost-cutting measures, I’ll admit, I thought it was a good idea.” He continued, his tone patient and patronizing. “You’re a veteran employee. You should be setting an example, supporting the company’s decisions. This is just a temporary difficulty. The change in commission structure is mainly for our long-term clients. If you work harder and bring in new clients, the commission rates will be the same as before.” Then he delivered the final blow. “To be frank, you’ve been slacking a bit lately. You haven’t been aggressive enough in developing new business. You can’t just rest on your laurels and live off the company’s existing resources.” Vivian walked in and sat down next to him, rolling her eyes at me. “Exactly. These old clients are company assets. You got a commission when you first signed them; you can’t expect to get paid every time they renew. You’re just a parasite, sucking the company dry and acting like you’re entitled to it.” I looked at Mark. He said nothing, but his expression was one of clear agreement. I’m in sales. Reading people is my specialty. And in that moment, I knew. This was all his idea. Vivian was just his hatchet man. He wanted me gone, and the reason was simple. The company was stable now, with a steady client base. I was no longer the hungry go-getter bringing in new business. In his eyes, my usefulness had expired. It was time to put me out to pasture. My salary was the highest outside of the management team, which made me target number one. But he was being incredibly naive. “Sophie, let’s not use such harsh words,” Mark said, his smile never wavering. “Look, this is the company’s policy now. If you really can’t accept it and choose to resign, there’s nothing I can do. For old times’ sake, I can give you an extra two months’ salary. A personal gesture from me. How does that sound?” Vivian sneered from the side. “Tsk, tsk. Look at you, managing to squeeze even more out of him. The company invests so much in you, and all you think about is money. It’s only because my brother-in-law is so soft-hearted. Any other company would have fired an old leech like you ages ago.” One played good cop, the other bad cop. My heart had already turned to ice. For the past month, coordinating projects and cleaning up after those digital twins, I had been running on less than six hours of sleep a night. Since they were so confident in their AI, fine. Let them try. But as a final courtesy, I offered one last piece of advice. “The work produced by the communication between those AI twins is completely different from what the clients actually want. When two AIs interface directly, the margin of error is huge. You need a human to constantly monitor and adjust.” Vivian burst out laughing. “Sophie, you’re on your way out the door. Why are you still trying to make yourself seem important? So, the high-tech, big-data system we built is useless, but you running to the tech department and causing trouble is useful? The clients haven’t complained. Stop trying to make yourself out to be some kind of hero.” Mark wasn’t listening either. He just waved his hand dismissively. “Alright, Sophie. The company will take your concerns into consideration. Just sign the papers. Finance will process your payment. That’s all. Just make sure you hand over your work properly.” Listen or not, my conscience was clear. I could already picture the clients’ fury when they saw the final product. The Apex Corp. project would have already gone off the rails if I hadn’t been watching it like a hawk. Honestly, I was morbidly curious to see what kind of monstrosity the digital twins would create without my constant intervention. The Apex contract had a specific clause: if the project was not delivered on time due to the contractor’s fault, the penalty would be ten times the contract amount. The contract was for one million dollars. The delivery date was less than half a month away. If they failed, they would be facing a ten-million-dollar penalty. I completed my resignation paperwork. The moment I signed, a look of immense relief washed over Mark’s face. He stood up and clapped me on the shoulder, a little too cheerfully. “Great. No hard feelings. We’ll still be friends. Feel free to stop by anytime.” I forced a smile and said, “Sure.” Knowing Mark and Vivian, I knew my warnings would be completely ignored. After packing up my things, I left the office and bought myself a plane ticket to the Maldives. After years of grinding at CloudForge, I was exhausted. I deserved a real vacation. I spent three glorious days soaking up the sun. Then, Vivian’s call came. She didn’t even say hello, just launched into a tirade. “Sophie! What the hell did you promise Mr. Gunn from Apex? Our tech team has been sending him drafts for days, and he’s rejected every single one!” Her voice was a shrill shriek. “Where are you? Get back here right now! You signed this contract; you need to come back and fix this until he’s satisfied!” I lounged on my beach chair, pushing my sunglasses up onto my head. “Sorry, Vivian. I’ve resigned. I’m on vacation in the Maldives. I don’t think I can make it back.” Her voice was so sharp it could have shattered glass. “Vacation! You haven’t even completed your handover! Who gave you permission to go on vacation? I’m telling you, if this contract defaults because of you, you will be held fully responsible!” So noisy. “I warned you that the project needed human oversight,” I said coldly. “You chose not to listen. That’s on you. I’ve already left. Your little manipulation tactics won’t work on me anymore.” With that, I turned off my phone. I enjoyed three more days of blissful silence. When I finally turned it back on, the phone vibrated so violently it nearly jumped out of my hand. 999+ missed calls. My chat apps had exploded. Most were from Mark and Vivian. There were also a few messages from Emily. [Sophie, Mark and Vivian have been looking for you like crazy.] [Mr. Gunn from Apex came to the office and went ballistic. He said if we can’t deliver something satisfactory, he’s suing us for the ten-million-dollar penalty.] A second later, Mark’s call came through.

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My housekeeper’s son came to stay every weekend. Considering Mrs. Davis had been with my family for years, I never made a fuss about it. But that day, I came home to find my key code wouldn’t work. I looked closer and saw a piece of paper taped to the door. Scrawled on it were the words: “NO LEECHES ALLOWED.” I ripped the note off and knocked. When the door opened, I asked the housekeeper what was going on. Her son, Kevin, was sprawled on my sofa, legs crossed, and he shot me a nasty look. “Can’t you read?” he snarled. “You live in our house for free, day in and day out. Have you no shame? If you don’t have a place to live, go sleep on the street. I can’t stand parasites like you!” I was completely bewildered. Mrs. Davis rushed over, whispering, “I’m so sorry, sir. I… I didn’t tell my son I was the housekeeper. He has a bit of a temper… he doesn’t like strangers staying in the house.” She then added, “Oh, and don’t you have that other house out in the suburbs? From now on, when my son is here for the weekend, you should probably just go stay there.” Before I could respond, she shut the door in my face. I stood there for a moment in stunned silence, then calmly pulled out my phone and dialed the police. “Hello, I’d like to report a home invasion. Someone is illegally occupying my property.” 1 I never thought that I, the son of one of the wealthiest men in the country, would ever be called a freeloader. Especially not in my own damn house. Twenty minutes after my call, a police cruiser pulled up to the villa. Before the two officers could even get out and ask for details, the front door flew open and our housekeeper, Mrs. Davis, came scurrying out. She ran up to me, her face pale with panic. “Mr. Vance, what’s all this? Why did you call the police?” I just looked at her, saying nothing. One of the officers sized her up. “Are you the individual Mr. Vance reported for trespassing and illegally occupying his residence?” At the word “trespassing,” Mrs. Davis went into a full-blown panic. “No, no, officer, it’s all a misunderstanding! I’m Mr. Vance’s housekeeper. I take care of him. My son is just on break from school, staying for a couple of days. The keypad was broken, and when the repairman came, he changed the code. There’s no occupation, I swear.” She pointed to the front door, forcing a smile. “See? I came to open the door for him right away.” The officers glanced from me to her. “Mr. Vance, do you still wish to press charges?” I was about to speak when Mrs. Davis leaned in, her voice a desperate, pleading whisper in my ear. “Sir, Kevin’s father passed away when he was young. It hasn’t been easy raising him alone. He’s just started college, you know how it is… full of pride. And growing up without a father… he can be a bit extreme. If he found out I was just a housekeeper, he’d be crushed.” “I only did it to make him feel better about himself,” she pleaded. “For the sake of the twelve years I served your parents, please, just let this one go.” The mention of my parents made my resolve waver. Mrs. Davis had been with us for twelve years. My mother had been frail, and Mrs. Davis had been her constant companion, attending to her every need with unwavering devotion. The day my mother passed, Mrs. Davis had cried harder than anyone, kneeling by the bedside, clutching my mother’s hand and promising she would take care of me. And she had. After Mom was gone, she ran the household flawlessly, treating me like her own son. Every holiday, I’d give her a generous bonus, and she would always refuse it several times before finally accepting. Three months ago, her son Kevin got into the same university as me. Mrs. Davis was ecstatic but also worried. She was proud of his achievement but knew she couldn’t afford the steep tuition. I understood how hard it was for a single mother, so I offered to cover his entire four-year tuition. She had burst into tears, gripping my hands and thanking me over and over, promising she would repay my kindness. But last month, things started to change. I came home one day to find Kevin in my living room. Puzzled, I looked to Mrs. Davis, who pulled me aside. “Sir, my son has the weekend off and nowhere to go. I haven’t seen him in so long, so I asked him to stay for a couple of days.” I nodded. It was no big deal. The house had plenty of space, and it was nice for them to have a reunion. But soon, I started to feel like something was very wrong. 2 “A couple of days” turned into a fixed, non-negotiable weekend ritual. Every Friday evening, Kevin would appear. Every Monday morning, he would leave. At first, he just took pictures in the living room to post on social media, showing off to his friends that he was living in a mansion. I could understand that. Everyone wants to look good. What I couldn’t understand was the look of pure disgust he gave me every time our eyes met, as if I owed him a million dollars. A few times, while I was watching TV on the sofa, he’d pointedly pinch his nose and complain loudly, “Ugh, why does this amazing villa always smell so… poor?” Thinking he actually smelled something, I asked Mrs. Davis to give the house a thorough cleaning. But Kevin’s behavior only got more bizarre. He started spraying disinfectant on any spot where I had been sitting. He even placed a disposable plastic sheet on the sofa and told me to sit on it. I once caught him throwing away a mug I had used, his face twisted in disgust. When I questioned Mrs. Davis, she would just give me a meek, apologetic explanation. “Kevin is just very particular about hygiene, sir. He’s worried about your health and safety.” I didn’t think much of it. Between my classes and managing affairs for my family’s corporation, I was swamped. I didn’t have the energy to argue. Until this afternoon. Seeing that note on my door, it all clicked into place. Kevin thought I was the freeloader. I had been ready to teach them both a lesson. But now, with Mrs. Davis begging and pleading, my anger began to cool. “Sir, I promise, it will never happen again,” she whimpered. “I’ll tell Kevin the truth today, and he’ll never come back. Please, for all the years I served your parents, just forgive me this once.” Looking at her crumpled, desperate face, I sighed. “Fine. I’m dropping the charges.” After the police left, Mrs. Davis let out a long, shuddering breath of relief, thanking me profusely. Her demeanor was impeccable. True to her word, Kevin never showed up again. Mrs. Davis continued her duties with her usual diligence, keeping the house spotless. The only issue was that things started to go missing. One day it was a bottle of vintage wine. The next, a set of silverware. Then, one of my designer suits. Every time I asked, she had an excuse. “Oh, sir, I am so sorry. I broke that bottle of wine while cleaning.” “Sir, that dinnerware was so old, I noticed a crack in it while washing. I was afraid you’d cut yourself, so I threw it away.” “Sir, I took that suit to the dry cleaner, and they lost it.” The excuses were flimsy, but her attitude was so apologetic that I let it slide. I thought that was the end of it. Then came the day of my parents’ memorial. After paying my respects, I decided to drive out to the suburban villa where they had lived for most of their lives. It was their favorite place. The garden was filled with my mother’s prize-winning roses, and the house was a museum of souvenirs my father had collected from his travels around the world. Before my mother passed, she held my hand and told me that the villa was their life’s work, and I had to take care of it. I cherished that house. Even though it was painful to be there, I made a point to go every few months to personally dust every piece of furniture and tend to the garden. But this time, as I pulled up, I froze. The gate, which was always locked, was wide open. From inside, I could hear the thumping bass of loud music and a cacophony of laughter. I strode forward and pushed open the door. The scene inside made my blood run cold. 3 The living room was a disaster zone. Empty bottles, snack wrappers, fruit peels, and cigarette butts littered the coffee table, the sofa, and the floor. The custom leather sofa, worth a fortune, was pockmarked with burn holes. My mother’s beloved Persian rug was covered in muddy footprints and stained with spilled wine. The artifacts on the walls had been taken down, used as props for photos, or simply smashed and left in a corner. My fists clenched at my sides. This was the house my parents had built, piece by piece. Every item had been chosen with love. I walked carefully here, terrified of breaking something. And now, it had been desecrated. My eyes scanned the room and landed on Kevin, lounging on the main sofa like a king. He was surrounded by a group of my classmates from the university. “Kev, man, your family is loaded!” one of them said. “Even your suburban place is this insane.” “Yeah, I just looked it up. That painting on the wall is worth millions!” “Dude, your mom is a powerhouse. A multi-billionaire tycoon!” “Hey, when you inherit the family business, think you can hook us up with jobs?” Kevin’s lips curled into a smug grin. “No problem. Stick with me, and you guys will be set for life.” The group erupted in cheers, showering him with praise. Just then, Kevin saw me standing in the doorway. His smile vanished. He swaggered over to me, his expression arrogant. CRACK. Without a word, he punched me square in the face. “You fucking leech,” he snarled. “Did you follow me all the way out here?” The sudden blow left me stunned. My classmates stared, wide-eyed. “Kevin, what’s going on?” Kevin pointed a trembling finger at me, his voice dripping with contempt. “This is Conrad. He’s the freeloader I was telling you guys about! Squatting in my city house wasn’t enough, now he’s trying to move into the new villa my mom just bought me!” I stared at him in disbelief. “Who told you your mom bought this house?” Kevin scoffed. “My mom did, obviously. You’re just a loser who’s trying to leech off my mom because she’s a CEO. You think I don’t see you, always trying to get her attention? It’s not enough that you squat in our home, trying to get her alone, now you want to defile my personal villa?” “Let me tell you something,” he sneered, jabbing a finger into my chest. “My mom said she only lets you stay with us because she feels sorry for you, you pathetic orphan. Don’t push your luck and think you can take my place.” So that’s what Mrs. Davis had told him. No wonder he hated me. In his mind, his mother was the billionaire owner of the mansion, and I was just a charity case she had taken in. He thought I was the one mooching off his family, trying to usurp his position as the rightful heir. How utterly absurd. Kevin turned to his friends. “You guys have no idea how shameless this guy is. He lives in our house and refuses to leave. I even left him a note, telling him to get out, and you know what he did? He called the cops on my mom! My mom was worried he’d make a scene and hurt the company’s reputation, so she just bought me this place to get away from him.” He was on a roll now. “I don’t get it. I’m her actual son, the real heir, and I still live in the dorms most of the time. But this parasite acts like our house is his! It’s so bad that if I want to wear my own clothes or drink my own wine, my mom has to sneak it out of the city house for me, because she’s afraid he’ll throw a fit and say we’re mistreating him. I’ve never met such a pathetic, shameless loser in my life!” My eyes widened. So that’s where my missing things had gone. Mrs. Davis had been stealing them for her son. So be it. If she wanted to play me for a fool, then I was done being gracious. 4 I pulled out my phone and dialed my legal department. “Get a team to my parents’ suburban villa immediately—” Before I could finish, Kevin snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it on the floor. “You piece of trash, still trying to put on an act? ‘Your parents’ villa’? This is my mother’s villa!” My classmates joined in the jeering. “No wonder he never stays in the dorms. We all thought he was busy with something important, but he was just being a parasite at Kevin’s house, trying to steal his mom. Disgusting.” “Yeah, his own parents are dead, so he goes after someone else’s rich mom. If his parents knew what a shameless loser he turned out to be, they’d be rolling in their graves.” “Some people are just like that. The second they see money, they start scheming. Trying to find a sugar mama to climb the social ladder.” “Kevin, you’re too nice. If someone tried to steal my parents, I’d rip them apart!” I ignored them and looked straight at Kevin. “I suggest you call your mother,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “and ask her who this villa really belongs to.” Kevin’s face darkened. He grabbed the collar of my shirt. “You loser, you want me to call my mom? I know your game. You’re just trying to trick her into coming here so you can manipulate her again!” Suddenly, his eyes fixed on my neck. His gaze sharpened. “That jade pendant looks expensive. I bet you guilt-tripped my mom into buying that for you too, didn’t you?” Before I could react, he yanked the chain, ripping the pendant from my neck. It happened so fast, I was powerless to stop him. My blood ran cold. “Give it back,” I snarled. Seeing my sudden panic, a cruel smile spread across Kevin’s face. “So tense? Did this cost my mom a lot of money?” “It was my mother’s,” I said, my voice tight with urgency. “It’s not valuable, but it’s important to me. Give it back.” I lunged for it. That pendant was a talisman my mother had nearly died to get for me. I had been a sickly child, and at ten, I fell into a coma. The doctors told my parents to prepare for the worst. My mother, refusing to give up, went to a remote mountain temple to pray for me. To show her sincerity, in the blistering summer heat, she knelt and kowtowed every single step from the base of the mountain to the summit. Her knees were raw and bleeding, her forehead bruised and battered. By the time she reached the top, she was barely conscious, but the monks, moved by her devotion, gave her the pendant. Miraculously, I woke up from my coma. But the ordeal had broken my mother’s health. She never fully recovered. Before she died, she placed the pendant in my hand and made me promise to always keep it safe. It was more than an heirloom. It was the last piece of her I had left. It was a line no one was allowed to cross. “The more you want it,” Kevin sneered, “the more I want to destroy it.” He threw the pendant to the ground with all his might. There was a sharp, sickening crack. The jade shattered into a dozen pieces, scattering across the floor. “No!” A strangled cry escaped my lips. Seeing the one thing my mother had given her life for destroyed… I couldn’t breathe. The world went red. “You’re an animal,” I choked out, and with a guttural roar, I drove my fist into his face. “You piece of trash! You dare to hit me?” Kevin shrieked, clutching his bleeding nose. “Get him! Teach this loser a lesson! Whoever does the best job, I’ll have my mom give you a million bucks!” That was all it took. My classmates’ eyes lit up, and they descended on me like a pack of wolves, kicking and punching. “You hit Kevin? His mom is the richest woman in the city! Who the hell do you think you are?” “Yeah, you’re just a freeloader! That necklace was probably a handout from Kevin’s mom anyway. He can break his own stuff if he wants!” “Shameless trash! Trying to steal someone’s mom is one thing, but hitting the real heir? You’re asking for it.” “You have the nerve to mention your own mom? No wonder your parents died young, leaving a disgrace like you behind!” I was on the ground, shaking with a rage so profound it felt like it would tear me apart. “You’re all going to regret this,” I gritted out through a mouthful of blood. They roared with laughter. “Regret it? Kevin’s mom is a billionaire! What are you, a nobody, going to do to us?” “You’re just a pathetic orphan who lives by leeching off people. Who are you trying to threaten?” “All you can do is rage like a powerless little worm.” They held me down, mocking me, their faces twisted with contempt. Kevin, surrounded by his cheering friends, grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Regret it?” he spat. “I’ve never regretted anything in my life. I can’t wait to see how a lowlife like you is going to make me.” Just as the words left his mouth, the sound of screeching tires filled the air. A fleet of black luxury sedans had pulled up to the villa, their engines purring like predators.

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