Author: Momo Chan

I was a classic girl with a killer figure. When I was down with a fever, my boyfriend, Liam, who was supposed to be looking after me, suggested getting intimate. I turned him down, and he moped for three whole days. My best friend, Charlotte, told me that grown-up desires were normal, and I was just being old-fashioned. So, one evening, after I saw him pull into the driveway from my window, I took a deep breath, gathered all my courage, and slipped into some lacy lingerie. The moment the door swung open, I closed my eyes and practically launched myself at him. “Honey, you’re home!” His reaction was immediate, a palpable heat pressing against me. Just as I was about to arch my back and lean into him, a deep, raspy voice rumbled from above me. It belonged to Liam’s best friend, and Charlotte’s fiancé, Sebastian. “It’s me. You’ve got the wrong guy.” 1 Hearing his voice, I froze, utterly bewildered. I scrambled out of his arms, my cheeks burning, not knowing where to put my hands. The sudden exposure of my skin felt scorching hot with embarrassment. I quickly grabbed my jacket from the nearby chair and threw it on. “Mr. Hayes? What are you doing here?” Sebastian Hayes averted his gaze, his profile sharp and elegant, an air of cool sophistication about him. In the dim candlelight, I swore his ears were flushed crimson. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I came to drop something off for Charlotte.” Sure enough, in his hand was an exquisitely wrapped box. A Cartier watch. My mind whispered, That’s expensive! But I knew Charlotte never wore watches. Charlotte and I had been friends since college. She was the campus queen, and my closest confidante. Even after graduation, we ended up in apartments right across the hall from each other. Sebastian, she talked about him daily—her fiancé. He was also the stoic CEO of the company where I worked. The realization sent another wave of panic and embarrassment through me. But then I glanced down, and my eyes snagged on the undeniable bulge beneath his tailored trousers. The memory of that forceful pressure against my stomach just moments ago came flooding back, making my face flush even hotter. Sebastian noticed my gaze. He stiffened, then turned his back to me. “Just thought I’d let you know, I passed your desk on my way out earlier. Your computer’s power cable looked like it was unplugged.” He cleared his throat. “…Nothing else. I’ll be going now.” The door clicked shut, and I exhaled in a rush of relief. Then his words belatedly registered. My computer! If the power was out, what about my rendering? I quickly pulled out my phone to check the remote access. To my surprise, the rendering was still running. Had Sebastian been mistaken? Well, that was a relief, a false alarm. I pressed my shirt against my burning cheeks, wishing I could slap myself. How was I ever going to face him and Charlotte again? 2 Just as I started to relax, I realized the door hadn’t been fully closed. Through the crack, I saw Charlotte open her door for Sebastian. Her face lit up with surprise as she linked her arm through his, playfully chiding him. “You came? I thought you said you were too busy with work! You were just planning a surprise for me, weren’t you?” She gestured to the gift. “Is this for me? Thank you!” Sebastian let her hold his arm, then lifted the box slightly. “It was a sponsor gift from a client. Just thought I’d pass it along.” He was always like that, a total workaholic and, as Charlotte often said, completely clueless about romance. She’d told me they’d known each other since childhood, a classic childhood sweetheart story from two families of similar social standing. Charlotte had pursued him for years, but they’d only gotten engaged three months ago. Their parents had even met and dined together. Though Sebastian’s assistant usually sent gifts and flowers for holidays, he was never one for grand gestures. He always claimed to be too busy for dates, Valentine’s Day included. The fact that he’d actually shown up in person to deliver a gift felt like a small victory for Charlotte. As she’d always put it, even the coldest ice would eventually melt. So, despite Sebastian’s stiff delivery and the fact that it was something she didn’t even like, Charlotte was thrilled. She batted her bright eyes, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she invited him inside. But Sebastian merely waited until she’d taken the box, then gently disengaged his hand. “No, I can’t. I have business to discuss tonight.” Charlotte deflated, biting her lip as she leaned closer. “We’re engaged, Sebastian. On Valentine’s night, all you want to do is work?” Her voice dropped, soft and thin, her eyes glistening. “You weren’t like this before. In college, you even wanted to skip studying abroad for me, and you made me a declaration of love using code. But ever since you came back from England, you’ve been so distant.” She looked up at him, a tremor in her voice. “Now you won’t even kiss me.” Their voices, though muffled, were perfectly clear through the crack in the door. I clenched my fists, feeling a surge of indignation on Charlotte’s behalf. What kind of boyfriend was that? Sebastian remained silent, his expression unreadable. He simply said, “It’s getting late. I should go.” As he stepped into the elevator, he glanced towards my door, startling me into quickly shutting it tight. 3 Back inside, I curled up on the sofa, waiting for Liam to come home. But it was Charlotte who arrived first. Seeing her, a fresh wave of guilt and unease washed over me. My parents had divorced early, and I’d been raised by my aunt and uncle. They were good to me, but the feeling of being an outsider and the emotional void never quite left. In my freshman year of college, my aunt sent me some homemade sausages. My roommates wrinkled their noses, calling them ugly and making fun of me for being a country bumpkin. It was Charlotte who stood up for me. “What, you think the food you eat isn’t grown by farmers? Don’t be so pretentious.” She sniffed the sausages, smiling warmly at me. “They smell amazing! If they don’t want them, give them all to me. I want to take them home this weekend!” Charlotte always defended me, opening her heart to me. Even though I dressed plainly, I somehow always had guys pursuing me. She was always on guard, making sure I didn’t get hurt by players, jerks, or shady characters. Thanks to her, I avoided a lot of bad news. If a girl suddenly acted friendly, she’d warn me, saying she’d heard them badmouthing me. For all four years of college, we were inseparable. A true friendship, I thought, was worth more than countless fake ones, and I never felt alone. The more I thought about it, the deeper my guilt became. I felt terrible, I’d betrayed her. I swore I’d take what happened tonight to my grave and forget it completely. Charlotte bounced in, grinning as she flaunted the watch on her wrist. “Sebastian gave it to me himself. It’s a designer watch, over ten thousand dollars! Isn’t it pretty?” I nodded vigorously. “It’s beautiful.” She smirked. “Sebastian and I are childhood sweethearts. No one knows him better than I do. He adores me. He might seem distant on the surface, but he’s incredibly passionate in private.” “The only reason he doesn’t want to live together is because he respects me.” That was Charlotte’s usual line. She always told me how good Sebastian was to her, how much he loved her. I’d always believed her. Maybe Sebastian just wasn’t good at showing affection. I hugged her arm, playfully whining, “Yes, yes, you two are perfect for each other. When you get married, you’ll be Mrs. CEO. You’ll give me a promotion then, right?” Charlotte tapped my forehead. “Don’t worry, you’re my ride-or-die. I’ll take care of you.” As she spoke, her sharp eyes caught a glimpse of my lingerie beneath my coat, and then the elaborate dinner spread on the living room table. She gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh my goodness, I just casually suggested it! You’re really going all out to win Liam back, aren’t you?” My face flushed crimson, and I wrung my hands awkwardly. 4 Liam was someone Charlotte had introduced me to. She’d assured me he was different from the others, a truly wonderful guy. He pursued me passionately, and eventually, I relented. Three months ago, we started dating. He was a gentleman, attentive—the epitome of a perfect boyfriend. Normally, adult intimacy was perfectly normal. But on our first night, I was burning up with a fever after working late. I asked him to get me some medicine and a thermometer. Instead, he came back with a box of condoms, leaning close to my ear, his voice dripping with suggestive laughter. “They say a high temperature adds a certain spice to things. Shall we try it?” I pushed him away, gagging, and ever since, I’d been uncomfortable with his touch. Liam apologized profusely the next day, full of remorse. I accepted his apology. But lately, he’d been saying that accommodating my feelings was exhausting, and he wanted to break up. I was terrified. Besides work, my life revolved around him and Charlotte. I couldn’t bear to lose either of them. So, when Charlotte casually suggested using a honey trap, I actually took her seriously. “You look stunning. Liam’s a lucky guy, having a girlfriend who can cook so well and still be so adventurous.” Charlotte’s words pulled me from my thoughts. “If you’d done this sooner, he’d be wrapped around your finger, never dream of neglecting you.” I shyly pressed my lips together. “But my figure isn’t that great. I’m a bit… curvy.” A knowing glint flickered in Charlotte’s eyes. She led me to the mirror. It reflected both me and her, petite and exquisite. “So what? Even if your figure is average, and your looks are ordinary, in the eyes of someone who loves you, you’re the best.” Charlotte always offered such understanding comfort. “Alright, I won’t interrupt your sweet reunion.” “Liam’s a top-notch boyfriend. I’ve known him for years, inside and out. Don’t worry, he’s crazy about you.” I mumbled an embarrassed “Mm-hmm.” 5 The house fell silent, and then something clicked. Liam’s car had been in the parking lot for ages. Why wasn’t he up here yet? I called him. His voice on the other end sounded slightly annoyed. “The car’s AC filter is clogged. I’m just changing it. Sorry for the wait, you go ahead and eat.” “It’s fine, I’ll wait for you.” I hung up and double-checked the dining table for anything I might have missed. It looked like I’d forgotten contraception. I quickly dressed and headed to the convenience store. On my way back, to save time, I braved the dark parking lot shortcut. Passing a charging station, two figures locked in an embrace snagged my attention. Just as I was steeling myself to walk past, the driver’s side door of a car swung open. Someone grabbed my wrist, pulling me inside. My startled cry was stifled, caught in my throat by a hand. It was Sebastian Hayes! He hadn’t left yet! His pull was so sudden that I tumbled sideways, landing squarely in his lap. In the dim light, his features seemed even more intense. My heart hammered. I was about to struggle when his right hand suddenly gripped the back of my neck, pulling me closer. Caught off guard, I instinctively braced my hands against his chest, looking up in confusion. He gently lowered his head, resting his chin on my left shoulder, his voice a low, seductive whisper. “Don’t move. Look over there.” 6 The couple outside was leaning right against this car door. The woman’s gasps of pleasure punctuated the air. “…Mr. Davies, aren’t you going up yet? Your girlfriend made a whole dinner and is waiting for you to shower her with affection in her… flimsy lingerie.” Charlotte’s voice, laced with malice, exploded in my mind like a thunderclap. Liam scoffed. “Her? She’s so plain and rustic. She couldn’t hold a candle to even a single strand of your hair, no matter what she wears.” “You know I only have eyes for you.” “If you hadn’t wanted to spice things up with a little illicit thrill, why would I ever have bothered with her?” Charlotte drew circles on his chest. “Really? But I thought her skin was quite fair, and her figure rather plump. She looked quite tempting in that outfit, didn’t she?” Liam’s hand roamed, his voice teasing. “Sweetheart, you’re the only one who gets me going.” They kissed for a while longer, then straightened their clothes. “I’ll go up now, I promise I won’t touch her. Once she’s asleep, I’ll come find you.” “Tsk, as if I care.” “What if she finds out?” “A poor little orphan nobody, just throw her a bone and she’ll be begging for more. Who cares if she finds out? She’ll cry for a few days and then come crawling back, begging to make up, haha.” 7 The footsteps faded. My blood felt like ice, my breath caught in my throat, each gasp tearing at my lungs. Fury and sorrow crashed over me. Why? Why would they do this to me? Was I just a plaything for their twisted games, all for a cheap thrill? And those vile words… they came from them. The people who were supposed to be the most important in my life! Sebastian had lifted his head at some point. His fingers brushed my lips, his eyes, gleaming faintly, fixed on me. His tone held a hint of almost imperceptible pity. “Poor thing. Don’t bite your lip so hard, you’ll break the skin.” “I understand that feeling. Back then, I was with her for only a few days when I caught her being intimate with a junior student.” “That’s why I chose to break up and study abroad.” I was trembling, tears streaming down my face. “…Mr. Hayes, do you hate her?” He was silent for a moment, then gently squeezed the back of my neck, his gaze flickering. “Will you be with me? Even if it’s just for revenge, for now.” My hand, shaking slightly, retrieved the small packet from my coat pocket. I fought back the tears welling in my eyes. “Is an illicit affair really that exciting? I want to try it too.” His face darkened. I felt it again—the unmistakable pressure below me. This time, I didn’t flinch. Instead, I forced a smile. “Looks like I’m quite appealing to Charlotte’s fiancé too.” 8 Sebastian took me back to his place. It was the upscale villa Charlotte had always dreamed of living in. Even with all her pretense, I could tell she’d only been allowed here once. A storm of grief and the intoxicating rush of revenge surged through me. I worked tirelessly to ignite a fire in Sebastian, saying things I would never normally utter. “Mr. Hayes, don’t you want it? Why are you holding back?” “You had a reaction the first moment you saw me tonight, didn’t you?” Sebastian, clearly struggling, only kissed me again and again. He grasped my waist, pulling me off him. His eyes were flushed at the corners, but he buttoned his shirt with controlled restraint, still appearing the unapproachable, stoic CEO. “I’m going to shower. The first door on the left on the second floor is where you’ll be staying tonight.” Oh, Charlotte had mentioned it. Mr. Hayes was a clean freak. He must have been in agony being close to me just now. We were both working so hard for revenge against Charlotte. I self-mockingly wiped a damp hand across my face and walked over to the wall of expensive wines. Charlotte had once fantasized that when she married Sebastian and moved in, she’d drink the finest Lafite out of crystal glasses on the terrace, overlooking the breathtaking views of the city. “As for you,” she’d added, “you’ll be my maid, of course. You just look so suited for it, haha.” At the time, I thought she was joking. It turned out the truth was always hidden in her casual remarks. I opened the wine cabinet, not daring to touch the unaffordable bottles, and picked out the brandy from the furthest corner. She was so obsessed with this lifestyle, I simply had to try it for her. 9 By the time Sebastian emerged from the bathroom, I was utterly plastered. His dark eyelashes were still damp, even his pupils seemed misted over. “You’ve had too much to drink.” He pushed aside my hand as I tried to pour more, then inverted the glass. He frowned, assessing. “Even if you’re composed and sharp at work, you lose all reason when you’re drunk.” I propped my chin on my hand, completely unfazed, and hooked my arms around his neck. “Can we go to bed now?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re drunk.” I wasn’t listening. My left hand worked at his clothes, my right at mine. He truly couldn’t resist. He took a pair of silver handcuffs from a drawer and clasped them around my wrists. I mumbled, “An illicit affair and a little bondage play? Interesting.” But Sebastian, poker-faced, led me straight into the bathroom, giving me a bath without a single sidelong glance. Then, his face flushed, he carried me to bed. No matter how much I tried to tempt him, he remained as hard as rock, but unmoving. As he turned off the light and closed the door, he left me with a final instruction: “Get some rest. I’ll wake you up in the morning.” “…”

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After I went broke, a possessive, dark-haired guy started harassing me. “Sweetheart, I found the boba tea you threw away. There’s still lipstick on the straw. I really want to kiss it…” Me: “Spot me for the tea, it was $12.” “Sweetheart, I stole your jacket. It smells like you. I love it so much…” Me: “That one was $300. I can sell you my perfume secondhand.” The dark-haired guy was bewildered: “Sweetheart, aren’t you scared of me? Does it mean anyone with money can pursue you?” I received a transfer of $52,000 from him. I replied without hesitation: “Husband.” Dark-haired guy: “?” 1 Messages from the dark-haired guy kept popping up. “Sweetheart, wrong person? “Are you dating? Was it that guy who chatted you up at the convenience store yesterday? “Why does he get to be your husband^^, I’m going to beat him black and blue…” I typed a confused question mark. And replied, all business: “Spend enough and you get a bonus. That ‘husband’ is on the house. “You transferred me so much money, you earned it.” My family went bankrupt. I’d gone from a “rich socialite” to a “broke socialite.” Old business rivals were targeting me, and I couldn’t find any decent jobs. To pay off debts, I was working three shady jobs a day. Sure, this guy’s messages were a little… clingy. And a tiny bit creepy. But for money, what was a little dignity? The dark-haired guy didn’t seem pleased: “If I find out you call anyone else ‘husband’ for money, I’ll kiss you till your lips are numb.” I thought for a moment, then replied: “Kissing comes with a separate price.” He sent a string of ellipses. “You’d be scared if you saw me. I’m ugly, not good enough for you. So, don’t say things like that to tempt me, sweetheart.” Just then, the door opened. A man in a perfectly tailored bespoke suit walked in. His sophisticated aura felt completely out of place in the dingy convenience store. He asked for a pack of cigarettes. I scanned the barcode, my voice flat. “That’ll be a hundred bucks.” He pulled a bill from his wallet. As I reached for it, he caught my hand in mid-air. Liam traced the palm of my hand with an almost desperate tenderness. He chuckled softly, his voice thick with a possessive obsession. “Finally, I have you.” 2 A wave of disgust washed over me. I yanked my hand back. Liam didn’t seem bothered. He glanced around the messy store, as if amused. “Halley, you’ve been avoiding me, and this is where you end up working?” He then added with a decisive tone. “Come back with me. You can still have your old life. I’ll give you money, I’ll give you love. Isn’t that better?” I felt sick to my stomach. It reminded me of that saying in our circles: you don’t call them girlfriends, you “keep” them. What was this? Become my ex-fiancé’s trophy? I spoke coldly. “My family may be broke, but I haven’t fallen so far that you can just insult me. The item’s purchased, can you leave now?” Liam opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say more. But someone tapped his shoulder from behind. A guy wearing a mask, his bangs falling over his forehead, couldn’t quite hide his beautiful brown eyes. Despite his clean, crisp white shirt, there was an indescribable gloom about him. He spoke softly. “Excuse me, I need to check out.” I’d been working at the convenience store for half a month and had seen him many times. He always bought the same thing: a bag of lemon-flavored gummy bears. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful for his intervention, and gave him a smile. “All set. See you next time.” When I turned back, Liam was gone. He’d left a note under a condom. “Think it over, then come find me.” 3 After work, I couldn’t hold back my anger. I angrily kicked a soda can down the street. Was Liam crazy? Think it over my ass! It truly felt like a tiger fallen to the plains, bullied by dogs. Not only did I have to endure the mockery of my old rivals, but now this humiliation from my ex-fiancé. I would rather die broke than be his trophy! My phone screen flashed. The dark-haired guy had sent me another message. It was a candid photo, taken from a hidden angle, of Liam buying cigarettes at the convenience store. “Sweetheart, who is he? He dared to touch you, should I break his hand? “I’ll make all the bad men around you disappear. You belong only to me.” Oh, so he wasn’t just sending me creepy messages. He was also stalking me in real life. Well, that was… Fantastic! I promptly sent him all of Liam’s social media accounts, personal information, and phone numbers. I even added, thoughtfully: “Honey, if you want more info on him, you can dig up his whole file. Oh, and one broken hand isn’t enough, you absolutely have to break both!” The dark-haired guy was silent for a moment. Then he replied: “…Okay, I understand. “Why didn’t you listen to me and called me ‘husband’ again?” I replied with starry eyes: “Because you protect me. It feels so safe.” He sent a helpless emoji. “I told you, you’d be scared if you met me in person.” I blinked, casually saying: “Then let’s meet.” A few minutes later, the doorbell rang sharply. My heart leaped. The dark-haired guy sent two short words: “Open up.” 4 I wrestled with myself internally. Of course, I was scared. But curiosity won out over fear. I had to see who this dark-haired guy really was. The moment I cracked the door open, a hand with distinct knuckles pressed against the frame. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me forcefully into his embrace. My rundown apartment. The hallway lights were out. And being trapped in his arms plunged my vision into complete darkness. Even with a voice changer, his tone was chilling and somber. “Sweetheart… Even after I do this to you, do you still feel safe? Why don’t you ever listen to me, why are you always so careless?” My mind was blank. My face was buried in the space between his pectoral muscles. The fresh scent of lemon fabric softener clung to him, and it felt strangely familiar. I instinctively blurted out. “I actually feel pretty safe. You’ve got big pecs.” Dark-haired guy: “?” He whispered in my ear, a hint of gritted teeth in his voice. “Sweetheart, do you even realize how much I want to kiss your lips swollen right now?” 5 The dark-haired guy chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. His voice then took on a profound sadness, laced with self-consciousness. “Why are you so unguarded? Why do you keep making me fall for you again and again? I knew we weren’t a good match, but I still gravitated towards you like a moth to a flame. Don’t you… aren’t you scared of me at all?” But he hadn’t actually done anything to hurt me, had he? Just some verbal harassment. And he constantly “dropped coins.” He even offered to beat up Liam for me. What wasn’t to like? I replied candidly. “Not really scared. I think you’re actually a pretty good person.” He paused. Then he took my hand and guided it to his face. My breath caught—a raised, uneven scar. Even without seeing it, I could tell it was quite disfiguring, marring his otherwise smooth skin. He took a deep breath, his voice hoarse. “…And now?” Before I could answer, he suddenly pushed me away. He thrust several shopping bags into my hands. His voice trembled. “See, I knew this would happen. You can use the things I bought for you. I’m leaving now.” His footsteps were unusually hurried as he left. I stood there for a long time. When I returned to my room and turned on the light, I saw it was a boba tea and a pile of new clothes. Jasmine milk tea, three-quarters sweet, light ice. Just like the one he’d picked up that day. The jacket he’d stolen, he’d bought a new one to replace it. Why hadn’t he let me finish speaking? I flexed my fingers, remembering the touch. What I really wanted to ask was: “It must have hurt a lot when you got that injury, didn’t it?” 6 I changed jobs. I started working at a bar. The environment was a bit noisy, but the pay was excellent. Someone sat down at the bar. I asked professionally. “What can I get for you?” “Whiskey Sour.” Hearing that familiar, cool voice, I instantly looked up. It was the customer who often bought gummy bears at the convenience store. Still dressed the same: long bangs, a mask, a white shirt. But he seemed even more melancholic. I smiled at him. “What a coincidence.” He lowered his gaze, giving a soft “Mmm.” After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke. “Why aren’t you at the convenience store anymore?” I sighed. “Because I didn’t want to be found… so I changed jobs.” His eyelashes fluttered, and a flicker of hurt and disappointment, almost imperceptible, crossed his face. I handed him the Whiskey Sour and a bag of lemon-flavored gummy bears. “The gummies are on me. I saw you always bought them, so I tried them myself and they’re pretty good.” He stared absently at the glass. I was a little curious. “Are you very introverted? You’re at a bar but still wearing a mask, how do you drink like that?” He remained silent for a long time. Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer, he suddenly looked up at me, his eyes swirling with an indescribable emotion. He spoke softly. “I have a scar on my face. …I’m afraid I’ll scare you if I take it off, sis.” 7 My heart pounded. The dark-haired guy also had a scar on his face. I gazed at him, about to speak, when my phone suddenly buzzed. The dark-haired guy had disappeared for days but had finally sent a message: “Sweetheart, there are so many bad men around you. I want to lock you up at home, so you’ll only have me. Even if we go out, I’ll put a leash on your wrist. To keep you securely by my side, so no other man will ever covet you…” He’d even sent a candid photo of me smiling and handing him the Whiskey Sour. My breath hitched. I instinctively scanned the area, but the crowd was too dense to find him. “I’m sorry, should I not have been so direct? Are you very scared?” His cool voice, tinged with self-mockery, brought me back. The person in front of me seemed very insecure, his head bowed even lower. Ah, he was still worried about his scar scaring me… I put a straw in his Whiskey Sour and smiled at him. “No, not at all. I have a friend who also got hurt on their face. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re a really good person. Use the straw, you can drink even with your mask on.” He murmured softly. “…A friend?” He paused, then asked. “Can we be friends?” His brown eyes truly were beautiful. Exceptionally clear and bright, reflecting little points of light like stars. “Sure, I’m Halley. Nice to meet you.” He seemed shy, his earlobes turning a little red. “Sawyer.” I had a vague feeling that name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it right away. Sawyer looked up at me, then seemed to drop his gaze in disappointment. My thoughts were interrupted again by another message. “Now he wants to be friends with you, next he’ll want to be your boyfriend, right? Why does he get your tenderness? Hmm… I broke the other guy’s left hand last time, how about this one gets his right hand?” This was endless. After Sawyer left, I finally had a moment to myself. I replied to the dark-haired guy with a blank expression. “Don’t you dare hurt him. Stop hiding, come out. I’m off work, you’re allowed to walk me home.” 8 Stepping out of the bar, I saw a black Kawasaki motorcycle parked outside. The dim streetlamp cast a yellow halo around a man’s tall silhouette. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, great physique. He was wearing a helmet, so I couldn’t see his face. I climbed onto the back seat. The wind howled; neither of us spoke the whole way. I was still angry, so I gripped the dark-haired guy’s waist, provocatively squeezing a few times. His abs were so well-defined, wasn’t it all just to tempt me? Hmph, a bad, muscle-bound man with no self-control! The motorcycle slowly stopped. His voice, distorted by the voice changer, was exceptionally deep. “We’re home. You should go up.” I scoffed coldly. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” He seemed puzzled, tilting his head sluggishly. I angrily got off the bike. Finally, I let out what had been building up inside me for a long time. “Why did you run away that day without letting me finish? Why did you block me without a word? You leave when you want, come back when you want, and now you’re stalking and harassing me again. I really don’t understand you, what do you even want?” The dark-haired guy’s head drooped. His hands tightened on the handlebars. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice dry. “It’s my fault.” He continued slowly. “After that day, you changed jobs. I thought my face scared you. I thought about it for a long time and decided I shouldn’t bother you anymore. I tried to stay away, but I found I couldn’t. The moment I saw another man near you, I couldn’t control my jealousy. So… mmm, I sent you those messages again. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I almost laughed in exasperation. Hey, you talk a big game, but at least be consistent! All this time, the trash I left outside magically disappeared by morning. My accidentally lost work badge was quietly found and put back in my pocket. And several of my dresses hanging on the balcony had gone missing. These were designer clothes I bought before I went broke, and they were expensive! Why didn’t he pay for them (T.T)!! Several times I tried to message the dark-haired guy, only to see a red exclamation mark. I was at my wit’s end. I said honestly. “Why are you overthinking things? I don’t dislike your scar. And I’m not scared.” The dark-haired guy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He seemed a little taken aback. I stroked my chin. “But your recent performance hasn’t been great. I really need to punish you.” Hearing the word “punishment,” I felt like he got even more excited… His voice was trembling. “What kind of punishment?” I calculated the money for the dresses he’d stolen. Righteously, I said: “I’ll fine you $52,000, just like last time. Oh, and remember to mark it as a voluntary gift. Also, I’ll punish you by making you bury me.” The dark-haired guy said blankly. “Huh?” I couldn’t be bothered to explain further. I just buried my face in his chest. Ugh, soft and still so big. Even if I suffocated, it would be a blessed death! All the subtle hints of death from a day’s work vanished. Daddy, we love you~ We were so close. The scent of him hadn’t changed, still lemon. He sighed softly, his voice softening. “…Hey, how is this a punishment for me? It’s clearly a reward, isn’t it?”

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It was a game show, a quiz. The host asked my mom: “What’s one plus one?” My mom didn’t hesitate. “Three.” Everyone froze. To afford my astronomical surgery fees, my family had entered this show. Ten correct answers meant a five-million-dollar prize. After a grueling nine correct answers, the host, out of pity, asked a softball question. This prize money was my lifeline. But my mom, a math Ph.D., deliberately got it wrong. … I shot up from the hospital bed, a sharp pain in my chest. The host quickly recovered, forcing a cheerful smile. “Professor Eleanor Miller is a math Ph.D. Perhaps in an undeveloped field of mathematics, one plus one could equal three.” “However, the question I just asked was very simple. You just need to think like a first-grader!” But my mom blinked, her voice firm. “One plus one, is three.” The host’s face fell. My older brother, Ben, held up two fingers, frantically waving them in front of Mom. “Mom! Just one more correct answer and we’ll get the prize money for Lily’s surgery!” “This is no time for jokes!” My dad, Richard, was also sweating profusely. “Honey, did you mishear the question? Or just accidentally say the wrong answer?” But no matter how much Dad and Ben pleaded, Mom stubbornly insisted: “One plus one equals three.” The audience erupted: “Is this mother crazy?” “It has to be a script! What mother in the world would want her own child to die?” Each question had only ten minutes to answer. As the countdown neared its end, I begged the doctor to help me make a video call to the show. The production team quickly connected. My pale, weak face appeared on the big screen. A collective gasp rose from the audience; the host’s eyes even welled up with sympathy. At sixteen, I had been suddenly diagnosed with a malignant heart tumor, my life in danger every moment. The only hope for my survival was the show’s prize money. The host was on pins and needles. “There are only three minutes left.” “If you answer incorrectly, all your efforts will be for nothing!” To participate in this show, my entire family had crammed for three months, pulling all-nighters through the question bank. After finally answering nine questions correctly, Mom was spouting nonsense on the tenth. I spoke carefully. “Mom, the prize money is five million. My treatment only costs three million.” “I won’t take a single penny of the remaining money!” “And when I recover, I promise to work hard, and all my salary will go to you, to honor you!” A wave of sympathy washed over the audience. My mom’s eyes also welled up. With ten seconds left on the countdown, Mom raised her hand, signaling she wanted to change her answer. I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Mom was just joking around. “My apologies, I misspoke earlier.” “One plus one, should equal…” I held my breath. Mom scanned the entire studio, then suddenly smiled. “One plus one, equals one!” The countdown ended. The five million dollars on the big screen instantly zeroed out! Then Mom leisurely added, “My bad, I was just careless earlier. One plus one, should equal two.” But the countdown had already ended. My surgery fees were gone. A sharp pain shot through my chest, and my vision blurred. Ben roared, out of control. “Mom! What in the world are you doing?!” “Lily is going to die!” Mom simply pointed calmly at the screen. “Look, isn’t Lily in so much pain?” “You knew she was in pain and you still deliberately answered wrong?!” Ben’s eyes were bloodshot. “You clearly knew that a correct answer would save her life!” “It’s all your fault…” Mom suddenly raised her voice. “My fault? I didn’t do it on purpose!” “Of course I know one plus one equals two, but I just answered carelessly!” Careless? My eyes widened. How could anyone carelessly get one plus one wrong? Mom clearly knew that if we didn’t get the prize money for the surgery, I would die immediately. Why would she… Amidst everyone’s confusion and anger, Mom raised an eyebrow, then turned to Ben. “Ben, do you remember? In your middle school entrance exam, you lost five whole points because you wrote one plus one equals three.” “Because of those five points, you couldn’t get into that top middle school.” “I criticized you back then, and you dared to talk back, saying you were just careless and would pay attention next time.” “Today, I’m going to show you what huge consequences a moment of carelessness can lead to!” Mom pointed at the big screen. “You watch carefully, and remember how Lily is now, sweating in pain.” “This is the consequence of carelessness!” “Today, I’m going to use your sister’s suffering to teach you a lesson!” Everyone exploded. My eyes widened in disbelief. Ben was already a junior in college this year! Mom was still holding a grudge over his middle school entrance exam! Dad was furious. “Do you know Lily is going to die any minute? If you want to teach Ben a lesson, can’t you do it at another time?!” Mom grumbled impatiently. “Doctors always exaggerate. Lily is so young, she’ll definitely last longer than others.” “Ben’s careless habit needed to be fixed ages ago! If the gentle approach doesn’t work, then I’ll give him a lesson that’ll be carved into his bones, so he learns to remember!” I could barely breathe. The nurse held my hands tightly, her eyes full of pity. Dad roared, threatening to fight Mom. Mom held up a hand, blocking him. “What’s the rush?” “Didn’t the show still have a sudden death round?” “If we answer the next question correctly, even if we don’t get five million, we’ll still get three million dollars!” “That’s enough for Lily’s surgery!” Under the host’s soothing, Dad and Ben finally calmed down. Mom looked at the big screen, her eyes gentle. “Lily, just hold on a little longer.” “Mom just wanted to use this opportunity to teach your brother a lesson.” “Next question, Mom will definitely answer correctly!” I bit my lip fiercely, holding back tears. “Mom, I know you love me very much, but for the next question… can Dad or Ben answer?” Mom’s expression stiffened. Dad and Ben, terrified Mom would pull another stunt, strongly agreed with my suggestion. But unfortunately, they had already used up their answering opportunities in the previous rounds. So, Mom had to go up again. The final question, concerning my life. The entire studio was eerily silent. The host, sweating profusely, frantically flipped through the question bank, finally choosing the simplest question possible. “Professor Eleanor Miller, what is your birthday?” “Solar or lunar calendar, just pick one.” I breathed a sigh of relief, my gaze filled with gratitude towards the host. Mom pressed the answer button without hesitation. But then she said, “Host, I request to use the lifeline: Ask the Audience!” The whole place erupted in murmurs. How could someone not remember their own birthday? A wave of panic swept over me. Since I’d fallen ill, Mom’s white hairs had increased. I’d heard that if middle-aged people experience prolonged stress, they can easily develop dementia. Could Mom’s health have deteriorated to this extent? Tears blurred my vision. My hands trembled. Mom chose Dad as her lifeline. Dad looked exasperated. “Your Gregorian birthday is January 8th.” Mom nodded, pressing the answer button again. But she was suddenly stopped by a nervous Ben. “Mom, did you hear clearly? What’s the date? Repeat it!” At Ben’s strong insistence, Mom repeated “January 8th” three times before being allowed to press the answer button. But Mom delayed, not speaking. I sensed her tension and, fighting a sharp chest pain, offered comfort. “Mom, don’t be scared. Just answer this one question, and everything will be over.” Mom smiled at me. The answer she gave, however, sent a chill through me. “My birthday is January 9th!” The air instantly solidified. The host quickly tried to smooth things over. “Your husband said your birthday is January 8th.” “Professor Miller must have misspoken. Please say it again!” But Mom’s gaze was firm. “I didn’t misspeak. I deliberately answered incorrectly.” The audience immediately exploded. My heart ached so much I couldn’t straighten my back. The nurse wanted to end the video call, but I stopped her. “Mom… why did you deliberately answer wrong again?” My voice trembled with pain. Mom’s eyes were filled with tears, but her tone was incredibly wronged. “It’s all your dad’s fault!” Not only was Dad stunned, everyone present was stunned. Dad had kindly told her the correct answer, what had Dad done wrong? Under the host’s questioning, Mom wiped away tears as she revealed the truth. “A few weeks ago, it was our twentieth wedding anniversary, and also my birthday.” “But my husband, Richard, actually got it wrong!” “Richard! Didn’t you say my birthday was January 9th? Well, now I’m making it come true!” Dad’s veins bulged with anger. “I did accidentally get your birthday wrong.” “But those days, I was pulling all-nighters for three straight days to earn money for Lily’s medical expenses! I was completely out of it, that’s why I got it wrong.” “I apologized to you afterward, and then worked three more weeks doing late-night deliveries, saving up to buy you a gold bracelet as compensation. Aren’t you satisfied yet?!” Mom didn’t say a word, just lowered her head and wiped away tears. The countdown continued to tick down. The pain in my chest had become a searing agony, and cold sweat practically drenched the entire bed. Dad desperately pleaded with Mom, urging her to quickly give the correct answer and get the prize money to get me into surgery. But Mom remained unmoved. I completely lost hope. It turned out my life was just a tool for Mom to teach her family lessons. Three minutes left on the countdown. Using all my strength, I personally ended the live broadcast. The doctors and nurses in the room all had red eyes. My voice was as faint as a wisp of smoke, yet incredibly firm. “Doctor, I want to sign the organ donation agreement.” “Furthermore, after I die, I demand that my mother watches the entire process of my organ removal!” Mom, don’t you love to teach others lessons? Then today, I will teach you one!

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After going broke, I found a cash-giveaway livestream while job hunting for a trip home. A girl in a silk robe lounged before a villa, complaining about her sugar daddy’s excessive gifts. “Help me spend it,” she said. “My sugar daddy says my tear mole looks just like his girlfriend’s. How unlucky to share a mole with a pauper.” My hand shook—I have the same tear mole. When commenters asked how his girlfriend could be poor, she smirked, reapplying makeup: “He tricked her into thinking he’s millions in debt. She’s working multiple jobs to pay it off.” My heart sank—my boyfriend also claims massive debt. “The best part,” she added, “after three days together, he said if he told her he’d been hauling steel, that fool would deliver food all night out of pity.” Another red envelope completed our ticket money. My phone rang—Elias, sounding weary: “Halley, we’re short on train fare… I made a few hundred hauling steel. I’ll be home soon.” 1 It was one in the morning, and I nearly dropped my phone. The “sugar daddy” the livestream was talking about… was Elias? Sensing my lack of response, Elias’s tone sharpened slightly. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you not feeling well?” My throat felt dry. “Which construction site, that kept you busy so late?” “Just… near the old district.” His words sped up. “I’ll be home soon, I’ll transfer the money to you first.” The call ended, the livestream continued. “My sugar daddy just transferred me another million, asking me to buy the latest lingerie.” “This man has no concept of money. This set of lingerie is twenty thousand at most… Ugh, so annoying, another eight hundred thousand. It’s all for you guys.” Huge red envelopes kept appearing, one after another. I felt numb, clicking on each one. My balance went from five hundred to twenty-five hundred, then three thousand, then four thousand. After I started dating Elias, all our salaries and side job earnings were saved by me. Every time I saved two thousand, I’d tell him to pay off his debts, only keeping enough for food and rent. Four thousand in spare cash was a number I couldn’t even dream of. My phone vibrated. Elias transferred me $212, with a note saying “work money.” My hand trembled, and I pressed the screen off. The screen immediately reflected my pale face. The light brown mole under my right eye stood out like a bloodstain on a white wall. Half an hour later, Elias returned. He was wearing the same gray work clothes from three days ago, his pant legs splattered with mud. He pulled a bag from his jacket. “Halley, I saved $8 and bought you a roasted sweet potato. Eat it while it’s hot.” I took it silently, the warm touch radiating through the bag into my palm. Ever since we started dating, he’d find ways to earn extra money in winter to buy me my favorite roasted sweet potatoes. I felt bad about the money, and bad for him, so we’d share the sweet potato while discussing where to find better part-time jobs or cheaper groceries. Roasted sweet potatoes were the most comforting food in our difficult life. But today, I took a bite and felt it lodge in my throat, impossible to swallow. Was it Elias? Was it a coincidence? It couldn’t be him. “I wanted to buy it for you when I got back from my business trip yesterday, but a friend said they needed steel haulers at the construction site, so I rushed over to work.” “They paid me tonight, and I ran through several streets looking for a place. Luckily, the night market was closing late, and your favorite stall was still open.” Elias’s story was plausible, even explaining why he hadn’t been home for three days. He leaned in, smiling, asking me to feed him. But I didn’t move. I just asked him: “Is the construction site far? Next time, I’ll go with you.” His smile vanished. He turned and headed to the bathroom. “It’s dirty and messy, and there are a lot of men. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you there. I’m going to take a shower now, I’m covered in dust.” A shower. Before the streamer ended her broadcast, her last words were: “We agreed to video chat when he showers. I’ll share my sugar daddy’s abs with you guys later!” Less than five minutes later, she updated. Water droplets clung to a man’s impressive abs; his face wasn’t shown, but the tiles behind him were exactly like our bathroom’s, and the storage basket held the cheap shampoo and soap I’d bought. It was Elias. At this very moment, in our small rented apartment, he was showering and video calling his kept woman. The sound of running water never stopped. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to tell myself not to panic, to calmly analyze the situation. But the facts were laid bare; no analysis was needed. Opening my eyes again, I saw the streamer, Anya, replied to a popular comment: “A kept woman flaunting her relationship, but he has a girlfriend. No matter what you say, you’re still the mistress.” She replied: “My sugar daddy keeps the pauper as a pet, just for fun. She has a title, but he loves me. Believe it or not, one message from me, and he’ll instantly leave his girlfriend’s house to come to me?” The next second, the bathroom door opened. Elias, in his loungewear, rushed out. “Halley, something urgent came up at the company, I need to go.” My nerves instantly tensed. I grabbed his hand sharply. “Elias, can I go with you?” 2 His back stiffened, then he gently pushed my hand away. “No, it’s really cold outside.” I refused to give up and grabbed him again, staring at the red mark on his collarbone, asking with a trembling voice: “What’s this?” He looked down, his eye twitching violently. “Must have rubbed against the steel bars, I guess. I have to go now, get some rest.” I felt all my strength drain away. In the livestream, a comment asked if the streamer’s diamond necklace was a gift from her sugar daddy. She giggled coquettishly, very proud. “No, it wasn’t. Some big bad wolf got too excited and snapped my old necklace, so he replaced it.” “But I didn’t let him off the hook either. I gave him a hickey right here, used all my strength, too.” She pointed to her collarbone. Elias left. Leaving me standing in the entryway, rubbing my fingertips hard, as if trying to wear away a layer of skin. After all this time, I was only just realizing it. His fingers were long and slender, with distinct knuckles, and not a single callus. How could they be the hands of someone who constantly hauled steel? At 3 AM, Anya updated. “See? I told you my sugar daddy loves me!” In the photo, she was nestled intimately in the man’s arms, her cheeks flushed. The man’s head was covered by an emoji, but the loungewear was mine, and I had seen him wear it out. I bit my lip hard, zooming in on the photo, and saw Anya wearing an oversized men’s white shirt. The letters “SY” were embroidered on the chest of the shirt—a birthday gift I had painstakingly sewn for Elias, stitch by stitch, last year. He had cherished it, insisting he would only wear it on the day we got our marriage certificate. Instead, he gave it to someone else. That night, I stayed awake until dawn, then went to work like a zombie. After work, I dutifully went to my bubble tea job. When I got home at 11 PM, Elias was already back. Two bento boxes sat on the table. He had changed into loungewear. “The construction site had a few extra bento boxes. I begged the foreman for them. The others are in the fridge. This way, we can save two days’ worth of food money and still eat well.” I silently walked to the dining table, looking at the two greasy construction site bento boxes. But in my mind, Anya was flaunting the “ordinary lunch” that Elias had brought a French chef to the villa to cook for her that day. A bitter taste rose in my stomach. I went straight to my room. “I’m tired. You eat.” Soon after lying down, Elias embraced me from behind, his voice low. “Halley, I’m sorry. Because of my debts, you’ve suffered so much.” I mumbled a vague “Mmm.” He continued, “New Year’s Eve is the day after tomorrow. We don’t have enough for two train tickets. You go home. I’ll wait for you here.” I opened my eyes and clicked on the ticket booking app. “Yesterday, I went into a cash-giveaway livestream. I collected enough money, so we can go home together.” Through the phone’s glow, his brow furrowed, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. He hadn’t expected me to gather the money. After all, I had given him all my savings for his debts early yesterday morning, so I should only have had the $212 he gave me last night from hauling steel. But the annoyance was fleeting. He hugged me tighter, burying his face in my neck. “That’s great, we can go home together again. Halley, thank you.” He still wasn’t telling the truth. I pressed the lock screen, and the bedroom plunged into darkness. His fingers found my tear mole, gently caressing it. Like stroking a pet. 3 The day before New Year’s Eve, I took a day off, but I didn’t tell him. Anya posted that she was complaining about being bored cooped up in the villa, so her sugar daddy, to appease her, was taking her shopping. When I arrived at the mall, a Maybach just pulled up to the entrance. The chauffeur respectfully opened the back door, and Elias stepped out. He wasn’t wearing his faded gray work clothes, but a well-tailored cashmere coat over a suit. I never would have imagined that my impoverished boyfriend, who had grumbled about going to haul steel at a construction site this morning, was actually Elias Healy, the only son of the famous Healy family, a real estate mogul in Beijing’s elite circle. While I was still in a daze, he personally opened the other car door, and Anya practically flung herself into his arms. “You’re taking me shopping? Aren’t you afraid your girlfriend will see?” Elias leaned down and bit her luscious red lips in public. I stood behind a nearby tree, watching my boyfriend passionately kiss another woman, unable to separate. After a long moment, he finally let go, but couldn’t resist pecking her lips twice more. “What’s there to be afraid of? She has to work today; I personally watched her get on the bus.” “But what if she saw you?” “If she saw me…” Elias narrowed his eyes slightly, dismissively. “Worst case, I’d just give her back the little money she earned.” Anya laughed flamboyantly, hugging him as they both entered the mall. I should have followed them in. I should have grabbed his clothes, demanded to know why he deceived me, why he betrayed me. But in just two days, my heart had become numb. My legs simply wouldn’t move. I just stood far away, watching Anya post updates one after another. “This French restaurant is just okay, can’t compare to the French chef my sugar daddy hired for me.” “My sugar daddy took me for a beauty treatment! He said he wants me to look pretty for the New Year. He just transferred me another million. I’ll be live at 10 PM sharp, giving away cash to you all!” Someone in the comments asked her: “So high-profile, aren’t you afraid of the sugar daddy’s girlfriend catching you?” “I’d rather she came and caught us. My sugar daddy said if she found out, he’d just give her back the little money she earned over the years. Such a loser, only earned six hundred fifty thousand and three thousand in five years.” Six hundred fifty thousand. So that’s how much I’d earned these past five years. I found it laughable, but when I tried to pull a smile, none came. Two hours later, Anya posted her day’s earnings: “Girls, my daily wage is one point two million!” I don’t know how I got back. By the time I regained my senses, I was sitting on the sofa. Elias had just walked in, having changed back into his gray work clothes, his hair disheveled. “Halley, haven’t you had dinner yet?” He rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll go warm up the bento boxes in the fridge, it’ll be ready in no time.” His tone was as usual, still gentle, still considerate. During dinner, he even specifically gave me the bento with the fried chicken strips, eating the vegetarian one himself. I held my chopsticks, my heart full of unspoken words. I wanted to ask him why he lied to me, saying we were from the same hometown, poor kids from a small county in Suzhou, with millions in family debt. I’d been with him from freshman year through graduation, and then navigating the hustle of Beijing. I’d scrimped and saved, working one full-time job and three part-time jobs, giving him all the money I earned, just wanting him to pay off his debts sooner so we could get married without a care. But in reality, he was a second-generation rich kid from Beijing’s elite, casually spending millions, dating me openly while secretly keeping another woman in luxury. Did he ever truly love me all these years, or did he just keep me as a pet for amusement? Across from me, he took two bites and stopped, a barely concealed look of disdain in his eyes. I stared into his eyes and asked: “Elias, how much debt does your family still have?”

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The TV hit, adapted from my love story with movie star Everett Black, soared in popularity—until a young actress posted a late-night tribute detailing her sweet daily life with him. Her closing line: “For six months on set, he prepared a gift for me every day.” Everett smiled fondly in an interview: “She’s my leading lady. I’m happy to do it.” The internet erupted. “The heroine in the show is so pitiful—almost assaulted, even betrayed by her father. It breaks my heart!” “The male lead saves her on screen, and the actor dotes on his co-star off screen too!” No one knew the heroine’s suffering mirrored my own past. The year Everett saved me from assault, he held me tight and vowed, “From now on, I will protect you.”Now, those words were just scripted lines replayed by fans, and my once-savior had become someone else’s leading man. Staring at the screen, my heart felt torn open. When my mother called, I swallowed a sob. “Mom,” I said, “I agree to the arranged marriage.” Seven years of waiting—I finally let it go. 1 The video went viral, and even people from the film crew jumped into the comments: “I’m a crew member, and Everett knows exactly what Joanna likes. They’re sickeningly sweet!” “Everett’s rumored girlfriend, who else could it be but her?” Just then, the time on my phone screen ticked to midnight, and my alarm went off. Yesterday was my birthday. Everett had smiled at me a week ago, saying: “I’ll definitely finish work early this time and come back to celebrate your birthday with you.” But he forgot again. The sound of a key turning in the lock came from outside the door—Everett was back. My gaze involuntarily drifted towards the entryway. He tossed his jacket onto the hanger. When his eyes swept over the cake on the table, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “I was very busy today. Birthdays come every year; it’s fine to miss one.” That tiny spark of expectation in my heart was shattered by his words. I still couldn’t help but ask: “Then what about my birthday gift? You clearly said you’d prepare it for me in advance.” Everett clicked his tongue in annoyance, pulled out his phone, and tapped a few times casually. “I transferred you five thousand. Buy whatever you want. It’s just a birthday, I don’t have that much time.” A wave of bitterness washed over me, and my eyes welled up. It was that line again. Yet, yesterday’s entertainment headlines still read: Everett Black loses millions in endorsements just to make time for dinner with Joanna Meng. In the past, I would have already argued with him. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm. “There’s really no need for a birthday. And there’s no need for us to be together anymore.” Everett froze for half a second, as if he hadn’t registered it, and instinctively asked: “What do you mean?” He showed no concern that I might actually break up with him, but rather irritation, as if I were being unreasonable. The last ripple of feeling I had for him completely dissipated at that moment. His brow furrowed, his voice turning cold. “Just because I forgot to buy you a gift? Didn’t I give you money? Can’t you buy it yourself? Fine, if you insist on making a scene, go ahead. Don’t expect me to come looking for you this time.” A bitter laugh escaped me. When had he ever humbled himself first? Every time we argued because of Joanna, I was always the one who gave in. But not this time. I stood up, casually tossing the cake into the trash, and turned to go back to my room. From outside, I heard Everett on the phone. “Is anyone suspecting Joanna and me? Then let’s announce publicly that she’s my rumored girlfriend. Don’t worry, she won’t make a fuss.” “She” referred to me. Tears involuntarily slid down, bitter when they reached my lips. He used to say: “You are my only girlfriend. One day, I will stand before everyone and firmly take your hand.” But now, he was making an official announcement about another girl. I messaged my mother: “The arranged marriage you mentioned last time, I agree.” 2 The next morning, I dragged my suitcase and slid out the door. Everett saw the suitcase in my hand, his brows furrowing sharply. “Where are you going?” I didn’t look at him, just replied calmly: “I’m staying at a hotel for two days.” Everett stared at me, as if trying to see through me, then suddenly scoffed. “Selene, you’re just jealous because you saw Joanna and me filming together. I already told you Joanna is just a colleague; you’re my girlfriend. Stop overthinking things.” He slowly stood up, reaching out to pull me, but I subtly shifted to avoid him. His hand hung in mid-air, his face instantly darkening. “Getting bold now, are we? If you step one foot out that door today, don’t even think about coming back.” I ignored him, unlocked the door, and walked straight out with my suitcase. A loud crash echoed from behind, like a glass breaking on the floor. I didn’t stop. Taking a taxi, booking a hotel, checking in – by the time everything was arranged, it was already afternoon. My phone vibrated. It was a message from the director. Tonight was the celebration party for the show topping the charts, and he invited me, the original author, to attend. He was a good friend of my mother’s, so I couldn’t refuse. As I reached the private room door, I heard cheers from inside. “Everett and Joanna have been together since college, they were each other’s first loves!” My hand, about to push open the door, froze. Everett’s girlfriend from college… was Joanna? Everett and I met at the orphanage. That year, when I was seventeen, my mother took me home. When I reunited with Everett, all I knew was that he had a girlfriend in college whom he loved but couldn’t have. Joanna put on a coy act. “Oh, you guys, stop spreading rumors! Everett has a girlfriend, what if she misunderstands?” The moment she finished speaking, everyone burst into laughter. “Everett doesn’t have a girlfriend! We’ve all seen it clearly this past half-year, his heart only has room for you!” “I also heard that Everett specifically requested Joanna to be the female lead in this show!” I stood there stunned, my heart feeling like it was being fiercely squeezed. When my mother gave the director the novel I wrote, he immediately decided to film it. As for Joanna, she clearly didn’t fit the female lead’s character at all. I always thought it was the director’s decision. It was Everett. I looked at him. He was gazing at Joanna indulgently, silently confirming it. Joanna’s gaze swept around the room, then suddenly landed on me. “Oh dear, who’s standing at the door? I thought it was some beggar, you startled me.” Seeing me, Everett frowned slightly, hesitating for two seconds before looking at Joanna beside him. “An old friend I knew. She probably saw me passing by and came over to say hello.” Joanna’s lips slowly curled into a meaningful smile. She deliberately raised her voice. “Oh, I remember her. That day, Everett specially drove halfway across the city to buy me bubble tea, and she was standing in the shade of a tree diagonally across from the tea shop, staring at us for a long time. Her eyes were red like a rabbit’s, almost crying. What? You like Everett?” A female assistant with a bun suddenly spoke up. “I remember now! That was the day Joanna misunderstood and got a little mad at Everett. Everett later explained that she was a girl whose father abandoned her at an orphanage, and who tried to get into her teacher’s bed in middle school.” Another grip looked at me, shaking his head and clucking. “Can’t believe she looks so innocent but is so promiscuous behind the scenes? She really is an uncultured person without parents to teach her. No wonder she dared to come here, trying the same old tricks to cling to Everett?” At these words, the surroundings instantly fell silent for a few seconds, and their gazes at me were filled with undisguised contempt. 3 I stood frozen, my thoughts involuntarily drifting back to junior high that year. My homeroom teacher, under the guise of tutoring, tricked me into his home. Later, Everett sensed something was wrong, kicked open the door, and rescued me. But ever since then, rumors spread rapidly, saying I actively seduced the teacher, saying I was promiscuous. I stared at Everett in disbelief. He had clearly seen me at the time, trembling and crying, curled up in a corner, unable to move. He abruptly averted his gaze, his eyes darting, unwilling to meet mine. Joanna quietly walked to my side, pretending to hold my hand, her voice deceptively gentle. “Don’t blame Everett. I just misunderstood your relationship with him back then, and he only mentioned a few things to me. I didn’t expect others to overhear and spread rumors. Everett is always like this, he can’t stand to see me suffer.” I subtly pulled my hand back, suppressing my emotions. “My eyes just weren’t feeling well that day; I looked a bit longer. Everett and I are just ordinary friends, you don’t need to worry about it.” Hearing my words, Everett’s mouth moved, as if he wanted to explain. But Joanna pulled his wrist first, leading him back to his seat. I left the celebration party in a hurry before it ended. Behind me, I heard hurried footsteps—Everett had chased after me. Seeing my reddened eyes, a flicker of pain crossed his. “I told you already, this is just for work right now. Otherwise, I would have made our relationship public a long time ago. As for what happened that day, if you hadn’t been staring at me, causing everyone to misunderstand, why would I have said anything?” I chuckled self-mockingly. He must have forgotten. Actually, I had texted him that day, saying I wanted to drink that bubble tea, but he never replied. When I arrived, though, I saw him cheerfully handing a cup of bubble tea to Joanna. I kept texting him, and only then did he glance down and quickly reply, “no time.” I no longer wanted to argue with him and started walking away. Everett instinctively wanted to catch up, but his phone rang in his pocket. He answered the call, his voice instantly softening. “Joanna, don’t be scared, I’ll be right there.” With that, he looked in my direction, hesitated for a few seconds, then turned and quickly ran off. The next morning, a news headline, “Everett Black’s Girlfriend Identified, and It’s Not Joanna Meng!” shot to the top of trending topics. The accompanying picture was from years ago, showing me eating barbecue at a street stall with a newly debuted Everett. Immediately after, a second headline followed: “Joanna Meng Allegedly Drinks Her Sorrows Away Late at Night, Claims She Doesn’t Want to Cause Trouble!” I opened my phone. The screen showed over a hundred missed calls from Everett. As soon as I answered, his angry shouts erupted from the other end. “Selene! Are you crazy? Do you really want me to announce our relationship? Do you have to make it known to everyone? Now the company is telling me never to interact with Joanna again. Are you happy now?” I gripped the phone, my heart sinking little by little. I hung up directly. I really didn’t want to explain to him anymore. Whenever Joanna was involved, he never believed me. But the next second, Everett’s clarification statement shot to the top of trending topics again. “Ms. Selene Kim and I are merely ordinary friends. In the past, seeing her pitiable situation, I would occasionally offer help. I didn’t expect her to keep pestering me recently. I am currently seriously pursuing Joanna Meng, so all my actions are voluntary and have nothing to do with her. I hope everyone will not involve her.” The comment section was instantly flooded with blessings for them and insults directed at me. “Waaah, Everett’s favoritism is only for Joanna! Please, certain people, stop being so conceited and trying to cling on!” “Selene? I know her. She was restless in middle school, even tried to get into her teacher’s bed. Now she wants to climb the social ladder and latch onto Everett?” The insults grew increasingly nasty. Someone had leaked my phone number, and I received countless abusive texts. Just then, chaotic footsteps and murmuring came from outside the door. “We’ve checked the records, Selene Kim is in here!”

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It was the fifth year of Alan’s second marriage. The child his new wife bore him was already in kindergarten. I, however, remained unchanged. Every day, I squeezed onto the subway, busy working overtime until ten at night. There was no grand return after the divorce, no sweet redemption by a wealthy second lead. All I had left was the fact that Alan and I lived in the same city, yet had never crossed paths again. That day, I emerged from the subway station, numb as usual. The first thing I saw was Alan’s car, parked by the side of the road. 1 Snowflakes suddenly began to fall from the sky. I pulled my down jacket tighter, covering my sallow face, a testament to too many sleepless nights. I hurried a few steps forward, only to be slapped to the ground by a furious woman who had stormed out of the car behind Alan. My ears rang, but I could still hear the varied whispers of passersby. “Good for her! This shameless woman, trying to seduce someone else’s husband, deserves a lesson!” The wet stain on my pants from the melted snow grew larger. I sat on the ground, disheveled, ignoring their contemptuous gazes. I recognized her as Alan’s current wife. If it had been anyone else, fueled by three months of overtime and hunger, I would have fought her to the bitter end. But Alan was still here. One was a hated ex-wife, the other a deeply loved current wife. I didn’t need to guess who he would side with. Both of them, together, I couldn’t win. Spineless, I brushed off my clothes and lowered my head, ready to leave. The hood of my down jacket was suddenly yanked from behind. I stumbled, my back instantly hitting a hard, iron-like chest. “Summer, you think you can just leave without apologizing?” How unreasonable. He hit me, and then expected me to apologize? But I knew Alan was fiercely protective. Anyone under his wing, even if they were wrong, was right. He had a hundred ways to ruin me, and I couldn’t afford any of them. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going and accidentally bumped into your wife’s hand.” Perhaps it was from being scolded by my boss too often, but I didn’t even feel that humiliated. Yet, Alan’s face seemed to grow colder. He slowly lowered his head, and when his eyes met mine, a flicker of hurt seemed to cross them. “Summer, are you so certain I wouldn’t protect you?” For a moment, I was back to the day Alan and I divorced, him on his knees, pleading. “I don’t want anything, Summer. Don’t leave me.” If it had been that Alan saying he’d protect me, I would have believed him. But now, he had a wife, a son, a warm family. And Summer? To him, she was nothing anymore. 2 “Oh, you little tramp, you dare to seduce my husband right in front of me!” The woman’s face twisted into a snarl, and she lunged at me. I wasn’t entirely without temper. To let her bully me again and again. Just as I was about to fight back regardless of the cost, Alan intervened. He forcefully pulled us apart, dragging me behind him, accidentally bumping into a passing pedestrian. I fell again. Alan tightly embraced his wife. He chuckled softly. “Why are you stooping to her level? You’ll just devalue yourself. Serena, are you that insecure? I already have you as my wife, why would I ever look at any other common woman?” His warm lips almost brushed her reddened earlobe. The woman blushed shyly, then looked back at me with a touch of confusion. “She’s my ex-wife, Summer.” The moment the words left his lips, the woman’s defenses finally dropped. She smiled. “Oh, she’s the foolish ex-wife Mom always talked about, as dumb as a brick!” A flood of memories washed over me. “Idiot! You can’t even do this simple thing right. All you do is embarrass my son. Our Miller family was truly unlucky to marry such a troublesome daughter-in-law!” Mrs. Miller’s contemptuous and mocking gaze pierced through my layered defenses and appeared before my eyes. Originally, I had only thought that the difference between Alan and me was just our vastly unequal family backgrounds. But after marrying into the Miller family, I realized that connections, education, and social circles—these invisible, intangible things—were where I truly fell short. They could speak fluent English, laughing and chatting with those around them. But when Alan brought me along, I found it hard to even greet his friends. My clumsy accent made everyone present chuckle. I became a joke. And, naturally, I dragged Alan down with me, making him a joke as well. As I made an excuse to hide in the restroom, the laughter continued behind me, interspersed with a few teasing remarks. “Alan, your wife is a bit unpresentable, isn’t she? For someone of your status, you can’t just go by looks!” At that moment, I slowed my steps, wanting to hear Alan’s answer. But the instant he opened his mouth, I, still lacking courage, fled the scene in a sorry state. I didn’t want to hear him say he regretted marrying me. Even though I tried so hard, attending eighteen hours of lessons arranged by Mrs. Miller every day, to learn what they had mastered twenty years before me. In the bone-chilling winter, large beads of cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Alan released his wife’s side and quickly strode towards me in a panic. The past shadow merged with the present. I didn’t want to disappoint him, I didn’t want to embarrass him, and I didn’t want to be in the same space as him anymore. I abruptly turned and ran back towards the subway entrance. 3 By the time I got home, it was already one in the morning. After a quick wash, I was too exhausted to even eat. I just climbed into bed. For five years, I had numbed myself with endless work, preventing myself from reminiscing about the past. But seeing Alan again had still brought considerable ripples to my long-calm heart. It wasn’t until I saw the savings accumulated on my phone over the years that I felt a genuine sense of still being alive. Once the current project was complete, I would receive a hefty bonus. Then this year, I would have enough money to quit my job and retire. When Alan and I divorced, he had given me a sum of money. I didn’t want it. But I couldn’t even find an opportunity to return it to him. He had deleted all my contact information from his phone. The company security guards, having received instructions, would rush me out whenever they saw me. When I waited outside his apartment complex, Alan never came back. Later, Mrs. Miller came out of Alan’s house. She instructed her driver to call the police, claiming I was trespassing. Before the call was made, I pulled out the bank card Alan had given me. I had never checked how much money was in it. I also didn’t know that Alan had lied to his parents, telling them I left empty-handed. Mrs. Miller snatched it and stuffed it into her designer handbag. She had the driver chase me away, as if I were a homeless person. “Wasted my son’s good years, and still want our Miller family’s money? You poor people are the most calculating! Trying to use the excuse of returning money to make my son pity you and take you back? Let me tell you the truth, my son is currently on a date with a daughter-in-law I’m very satisfied with. They’re getting engaged in a few days!” Just as Mrs. Miller said. Three days later, the Miller Group officially announced its alliance with the Harrington Group. Alan, divorced just seven days, now had a fiancée. The next day, with dark circles under my eyes, I took an hour-long subway ride to work. My colleagues at the company were more enthusiastic than usual; almost everyone was holding a small mirror, touching up their makeup. A colleague I got along with pulled me aside and whispered. “The young lady from the head office is coming to inspect our work today. Everyone wants to make a good impression!” As a workhorse who was only a few months away from saving enough money to retire, I didn’t care who visited, be it the young lady or the CEO himself. But I didn’t expect the woman, who was surrounded by the usually mysterious CEO of the company, to be Alan’s wife, Serena Harrington. As she passed me, she deliberately glanced in my direction. With just that one look, I knew. Yesterday’s incident wasn’t over. She wasn’t going to let me go. 4 Sure enough, soon after, the manager took all the unfinished work from other employees and handed it to me. “You must finish all this today, or you can’t leave work.” The stacks of dense documents already towered over my computer. Even if I had a week, I couldn’t finish it. I stood up, pointing at the documents and confronting the manager. “I can’t finish it. Even if I had eight hands, I couldn’t finish it.” A colleague spoke up for me. “Manager, are you mistaken? How can all this work be given to Summer alone?” The manager snorted, leaving no room for negotiation. “The young lady ordered it. If anyone wants to help her, they can collect their salary and leave immediately!” My colleagues lowered their heads, falling silent. During lunch break, I still hadn’t touched the documents piled on my desk. A colleague, eating lunch, hesitantly patted my shoulder, lowering their voice. “Summer, if you know this young lady, just apologize. She’s clearly waiting for you to beg her.” But how should I apologize for this? That I was married to Alan, this was an unchangeable fact. If she was causing me trouble because I was Alan’s ex-wife, then no matter how much I begged her, she wouldn’t let me go. By the afternoon, colleagues who used to talk to me no longer acknowledged me. Something else must have happened. A sudden, indescribable wave of resentment swelled in my heart. Alan and I had already broken up. I was only a few months away from leaving. Why, just when I was about to see hope, were new obstacles suddenly created, blocking my path to happiness? I sat at my desk all afternoon. After finishing my own work, it still wasn’t quitting time. I comforted myself. At least I wouldn’t have to work overtime today. What should I treat myself to? But when quitting time arrived, everyone in the office grabbed their bags and rushed into the elevator. Oh, I forgot. They had given all their work to me; there was no overtime for them. I knew they didn’t want to be around me. After almost everyone had left, I finally shut down my computer and slowly went downstairs. In front of the company building, Alan’s car was parked. Next to him stood Serena Harrington, clinging to his arm like a delicate bird. 5 Seeing me, Alan showed no surprise. He knew I worked here. Or, he knew his wife was deliberately seeking me out. He allowed it, he indulged it. This thought ripped at my heart. I didn’t know why I was sad. We had already divorced. As I stepped down the stairs, Alan’s indifferent gaze swept over me, as if I were a stranger. “Why isn’t she joining you for the dinner? Serena, isn’t she from your company?” The arm that had been linked with the woman was subtly withdrawn. The man still smiled gently. Serena’s face, however, paled slightly. Without her needing to gesture, the quick-witted manager rushed over. He grabbed me, muttering complaints. “Summer, is your brain made of water? Did you forget about our company dinner tonight? Why aren’t you thanking the young lady right away?!” I didn’t know. No one had told me. The manager was afraid of offending her, so I stayed silent. He dug his fingers into my arm, hard enough to tear my down jacket. I tried to pull away but couldn’t, and I didn’t want to draw attention by speaking up, so I just endured it. Suddenly, a soft “Tsk” sound. Serena cried out in pain, not daring to lose her temper at Alan. She could only whisper plaintively: “Alan, you’re hurting me.” Alan slowly raised his hand, looking at me with a half-smile. “Oh, I thought it wouldn’t hurt. Look, she doesn’t hurt at all.” Everyone’s gaze followed the man’s. The manager’s small, round eyes detected something unusual. He quickly let go of me and instinctively put some distance between us. Since I was the last to arrive, everyone else had already arranged transportation. I had no choice but to get into Alan’s back seat. In the car, before Alan could even start driving, Serena unexpectedly leaned over and kissed his cheek. Alan instinctively started to lift his hand to wipe it, but then, in mid-air, abruptly changed course. He considerately fastened her seatbelt. The two whispered closely, and in the confined space of the car, I could still hear. “There are outsiders. I’ll give you more when we get home.” Serena blushed coyly. Just as she was about to plant another kiss on his lips, Alan had already gotten up. The woman, without changing her expression, turned and smiled at me. “Sorry for the display, Ms. Stern. My husband and I are just like this at home; it’s hard to change when we’re out.” I offered a perfunctory reply: “Ms. Harrington, your happy marriage is truly enviable.” In the rearview mirror, a cold gaze shot directly at me. I couldn’t understand. Which of my words had been wrong just now? Praising their happy marriage—was that wrong?

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1 The party at the reunion was in full swing when Liam, the former king of our high school, suddenly smashed his wine glass at my feet. Red wine, splattered with glass shards, stained my white dress, looking just like blood. “Willow Reid, I hear you’re exclusively servicing rich old men these days?” He loosened his tie, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “How much for a night? For old times’ sake, I’ll take you for a month.” The private room fell silent. Every eye was a dagger aimed at me. Slowly, I knelt, picking up the broken glass piece by piece, not stopping even when my palm was sliced open. Then I looked up, a smile on my face. “Alright, Mr. Blackwood. But my rates have gone up. It’s by the minute now. Are you sure you can afford it?” His expression froze. I wiped the blood from my hand, adding, “After all, your fiancée approached me last month about a surrogacy, offering three million, and I turned her down.” It was eleven o’clock at night when I pushed open the door to VIP888 at The Velvet Lounge. The air was thick with smoke, cigar fumes mingling with women’s perfume, making my head spin. “Here she is! Our star has arrived!” Someone whistled. I was wearing the club’s standard black slip dress, the fabric barely covering what it needed to. The manager had said tonight’s client was special; this outfit was mandatory. “Willow Reid, it really is you!” a woman with a perm exclaimed. “Haven’t seen you since high school graduation. What are you doing working here?” I recognized her. Phoebe, my little shadow back then, always trailing after me, calling me “Willow Queen.” Now, the diamond on her finger was big enough to blind a lesser mortal. “Work requirements.” My smile was perfectly standard, eight teeth, no more, no less. “Requirements that lead you to a place like this?” Liam Blackwood’s voice drifted from the darkest corner of the room. He sat at the head of the table, long legs crossed, the cigarette clutched between his fingers glowing intermittently. Seven years. He was still impossibly handsome. But his eyes—the eyes that once sparkled with starlight as he watched me recite poetry—now held only ice. “Mr. Blackwood is too kind,” I said, bowing slightly. “Sorry, I’m a client manager here, responsible for VIP reception.” “Client manager?” Liam scoffed. “A client manager dressed like that?” Low laughter rippled through the room. Phoebe leaned in, her perfume so strong it made my nose itch. “Willow, don’t be shy. We’re old classmates, we all know each other, don’t we? I heard after your father went bankrupt, you…” She deliberately left the sentence unfinished, leaving plenty of room for scandalous speculation. I maintained my smile. “Ms. Miller, what kind of wine would you prefer? We’ve just received a few bottles of exceptional Burgundy, excellent vintage.” “Cut the act!” interjected a man in wire-rimmed glasses. “Willow, remember how glorious you were back then? Class president, straight-A student, guys lined up from the main hall to the campus gates just to ask you out. And now?” He leered at me, his gaze vulgar. “It’s true what they say about women, always needing a man to get by.” Liam hadn’t spoken a word. He just watched me, his gaze like a scalpel, peeling back my layers. I remembered that rainy night seven years ago. He stood outside my family’s mansion, soaked to the bone, clutching a savings passbook. “Willow, I borrowed the money—twenty thousand. You can use it for now…” I stood at the second-story window, looking down at his stubborn silhouette. My father’s roar came from behind me. “Don’t you dare go down there! What is Liam Blackwood? A penniless student? What can he do for you? Mr. Sullivan’s son has already agreed to help, if you’ll just marry him!” “But Dad, I love Liam…” “Love? Can love buy food? The company’s bankrupt, eighty million in debt! The Sullivans have resources and connections, they can save us! What can Liam give you? Love? How much is love worth?” That night, I never went downstairs. The next day, I met Liam on the school rooftop. “Let’s break up,” I said. He was stunned. “What did you say?” “I said, we’re breaking up.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “My father arranged a marriage for me, with Mr. Sullivan’s son. We… aren’t right for each other.” “Not right for each other?” Liam grabbed my wrist. “Willow Reid, you promised you’d wait for me. Wait for me to graduate, to start my own business, to give you the best life!” “I can’t wait anymore,” I said, yanking my hand away. “My father’s sick, the company’s collapsed. I need money, a lot of it. And you can’t give it to me.” I pulled out the diamond necklace Austin Sullivan had given me, dangling it before his eyes. “See this? This necklace alone is worth half a million. Liam Blackwood, you’ll never earn that much in your entire life.” His eyes shifted from shock to despair, finally settling into a dead calm. “So, you chose money.” “Yes, I chose money.” I turned to leave, each step feeling like I was treading on knife blades. “Don’t ever come looking for me again.” That was the last time I saw him. Later, I heard he dropped out of school and disappeared. Then, word came that he’d made it big down south, his company listed, a billionaire. And my family… My father ultimately couldn’t cope. The day before the bank sealed off our mansion, he jumped from the eighteenth floor. My mother, unable to bear the shock, had a mental breakdown. She’s now in a care facility, costing twenty thousand a month. And Austin? Once he was bored, he threw a divorce agreement at me with a fifty thousand settlement, not even enough to cover the interest on our debts. I went from a pampered heiress to a divorced woman drowning in debt. Such is life. 2 “Willow, what are you daydreaming about?” Liam’s voice pulled me back to reality. He had stood up and was now standing before me. Seven years had sharpened him, honed him into an even more formidable presence. His impeccably tailored suit, the million-dollar watch on his wrist, and that aura of power that only those at the top possess. “I hear you’re exclusively servicing rich old men these days?” he suddenly asked, his voice low, but loud enough for everyone to hear. The private room instantly quieted. I looked up, meeting his gaze. “Where did Mr. Blackwood hear that?” “Does it matter?” Liam loosened his tie, a cruel smile on his face. “Working in a place like this, dressed like that—what else would you call it but openly advertising your services?” Phoebe giggled behind her hand. “Liam, don’t say that. Willow is just doing what she has to for a living…” “Doing what she has to for a living?” Liam took a step closer, almost pressing against me. “Willow Reid, how much for a night? For old times’ sake, I’ll take you for a month.” His breath, smelling of whiskey, ghosted across my face. Everyone’s eyes were daggers, stabbing at me. Slowly, I knelt. The wine glass he’d thrown earlier lay shattered on the floor, red wine mixed with glass shards, splattering my white dress—the club required us to wear a white blazer over our uniform. Now, crimson spots bloomed across it like blood. I picked up the broken glass piece by piece. The sharp edges cut into my palm, blood beads surfacing, mingling with the spilled wine. But I didn’t stop. One piece, two pieces, three pieces… The entire room was eerily silent, broken only by the crisp tinkling of glass. Finally, I had gathered all the larger fragments, clutching them in my hand. Then I stood up, looking up at Liam with a smile. “Alright, Mr. Blackwood.” His expression stiffened slightly. I continued, “But my rates have gone up. It’s by the minute now. Five thousand for one minute. Are you sure you can afford it?” Someone gasped. Liam’s eyes narrowed. I wiped the blood from my hand, adding slowly and deliberately, “After all, your fiancée approached me last month about a surrogacy, offering three million, and I turned her down.” A ripple of shock, then a sudden burst of chatter. “Fiancée? Mr. Blackwood has a fiancée?” “Who? I haven’t heard anything!” “Surrogacy? My God…” Liam’s face darkened. His fiancée, Charlotte Evans, the heiress of the Evans Corporation, had indeed come to see me secretly last month. In a coffee shop, wearing sunglasses, she handed me a check. “Ms. Reid, I know you need money. Three million to carry my child. Liam has never forgotten you, and if the child has half your genes, he might just love it.” I had thrown my coffee in her face then. “Ms. Evans, doing too many despicable things will come back to haunt you.” Now, it seemed the karma was swift. Liam grabbed my wrist, his grip so powerful it felt like my bones would shatter. “Say that again.” I winced in pain, but my smile remained unchanged. “Mr. Blackwood’s fiancée, Ms. Charlotte Evans, approached me last month for a surrogacy, offering three million. Would you like me to play the recording for everyone?” His pupils contracted sharply. I seized the opportunity to yank my hand free, stepping back two paces. “It seems Mr. Blackwood was unaware. Well, Ms. Evans did say it was entirely her idea. She planned to tell you once she was pregnant, as a ‘surprise’.” I scanned the room, looking at the faces, some surprised, some gloating. “Ladies and gentlemen, do you still want drinks? If not, I’ll be clocking out. After all…” I looked at Liam. “If it’s by the minute, Mr. Blackwood just wasted three of my minutes. Fifteen thousand. Shall I add it to your tab?” With that, without waiting for a reply, I turned and pulled open the door. The cold air of the hallway rushed over me. 3 I leaned against the wall, my palm burning. Looking down, I saw glass shards still embedded in my flesh. “Willow.” Liam had followed me out. I didn’t turn around. “Anything else, Mr. Blackwood? If you want to book me for a month, please settle the paperwork at the front desk.” He blocked my path, his gaze complex. “What you said just now, was it true?” “The recording’s on my phone. Would Mr. Blackwood like to hear it?” I pulled out my phone. “But after you listen, please settle the fifteen thousand. It’s a small business; no credit.” Liam stared at me for a long time, then suddenly laughed. But there was no warmth in that laugh. “Willow Reid, you’ve changed.” “People change.” I put my phone away. “Hasn’t Mr. Blackwood changed too? You used to be too stingy to buy a bottle of mineral water; now you’re smashing wine glasses. Money’s good, isn’t it?” He was silent. I walked around him, heading for the employee exit. “I heard about your father,” he said from behind me. “If only back then…” “There are no ‘if onlys’,” I cut him off. “Liam Blackwood, let the past be the past. You’re Mr. Blackwood now, and I’m a client manager at The Velvet Lounge. We’re even.” “Even?” His voice turned cold. “What you owe me, how can we be even?” I turned around, facing him. “What do I owe you? My youth? My love? Liam Blackwood, don’t be childish. I broke up with you back then, and I own it. But now, I don’t owe you anything.” “Then why are you working in a place like this?” he demanded. “With your ability, you could clearly…” “Could clearly what?” I laughed. “Go work at your company? Mr. Blackwood, don’t be ridiculous. We’re not from the same world. We weren’t then, and we certainly aren’t now.” I gestured to my clothes. “See this? This is the path I chose. I chose wrong, I own it. But you don’t need to humiliate me, especially since…” I leaned closer to him, lowering my voice. “Your fiancée was far more humble when she asked me for a surrogacy. At least I’ve never knelt and begged anyone.” Liam’s face turned completely black. I turned away, satisfied. This time, he didn’t stop me. The next day, the entire club was buzzing with gossip about last night. The manager called me into his office, looking serious. “Willow, do you know who Liam Blackwood is?” “I do,” I said, lowering my eyes. “CEO of Blackwood Industries, a billionaire. Our club’s biggest potential client.” “Then how dare you offend him?” “He insulted me first.” The manager sighed. “I know you have pride, but pride doesn’t pay the bills. Mr. Blackwood called this morning, specifically requesting you to serve him tonight.” I looked up. “I won’t go.” “Won’t go?” The manager pushed a check across the desk to me. “This is Mr. Blackwood’s advance—one hundred thousand. If you go tonight, this money is yours. And he said if you go, he’ll consider signing the club’s annual VIP contract, with a three-million-dollar annual fee.” I stared at the check. One hundred thousand. That was exactly what my mother’s care facility fees would be next month. “Willow, I know your mother’s illness needs money,” the manager’s voice softened. “Sometimes, a person has to learn to bow their head.” I stared at the check for a long time. Finally, I reached out and picked it up. “What time?” “Eight PM, the usual spot.” At eight PM, I pushed open the door to VIP888 once more. This time, only Liam was inside. He sat on the sofa, a bottle of Romanée-Conti on the table before him.

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On the flight to London, I saw her and knew. She was the woman who, eight years ago on my wedding eve, slipped into my silk gown and my drunk fiancé Alistair’s bed. Now she sat just a few rows ahead. Through the seat gap, I heard her laugh with a companion. “Tell me more—how amazing is this mystery man? Worth flying across the world for?” Her voice turned sweet. “So amazing… I think of him every day. He says he’s never forgotten how bright my eyes were.” “But he’s married. Should you really…?” She cut in, smug. “The one unloved is the other woman. That marriage is an empty shell. I’ve always been the one in his heart.” I looked away, smiling coldly. A leopard never changes its spots. After landing, our paths kept crossing. In a convenience store, she leaned by a shelf, on the phone—her earlier triumph replaced with a playful pout. “So clingy… I know you miss me on your birthday. A few hours without service and you blow up my phone.” “A present? I’m your present. I’ll drain you dry tonight, love.” Her words, soft yet sharp, pierced my ears. I had flown here alone to surprise Alistair. Today was his birthday, too. 1 On a strange impulse, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Alistair, who was supposed to be working late at the office. [Alistair, are you done with work yet?] No reply. As the girl passed the checkout counter, she reached out and grabbed two boxes from the condom rack. The same brand, the same kind, the same size. A brand I knew well. The one Alistair always used. I couldn’t hear what the person on the phone said, but she responded with a mock-angry tone. “I’m not cold, I’m wearing plenty of layers. You can check for yourself later if you don’t believe me.” “You can slip your hand inside, run it up my waist, all the way to…” I glanced down at my phone. Still nothing. After paying, I followed her out of the store. Her voice was a playful coo. “Don’t rush me, I see your car.” A classic London drizzle hit my face, each drop cold as a shard of ice. I clutched my coat tighter, my hand trembling as I hit the call button. A mechanical female voice answered, cold and impersonal. “The person you are calling is unavailable.” I understood. He had his phone on Do Not Disturb. He’d told me this year that the overseas division was swamped, and once he was in the office, he couldn’t take calls. This wasn’t the first time he’d been unreachable. A Bentley pulled up to the curb a short distance away. “Alistair!” The girl hurried forward and opened the passenger door. I turned my head slightly to watch. One glance, and I was frozen to the spot. The window was halfway down, revealing the man in the driver’s seat—poised and distinguished. The girl swayed her hips and planted a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. He smiled, a look of fond exasperation on his face. “You and your games.” The streetlight was dim, but I saw his face with perfect clarity. The face of the man who had been my entire world for thirty years. At three, we held hands as we walked into kindergarten. He’d secretly press the candies the teacher gave out into my palm. “I’ll protect you. Don’t cry.” At sixteen, he mimicked a scene from a movie, hiding a sketch of me inside a textbook. When I found it, his ears turned crimson. “So what if I like you? Is that a crime?” At nineteen, our first love, our first kiss. He was so thrilled he paid the bill for the entire restaurant. “I wish I could tell the whole world that I’m the happiest man alive.” At twenty-two, he proposed. In front of both our families, he swore he would only ever love me. Everything froze on the eve of our wedding. When I opened the hotel room door, I found him tangled in the sheets with a stranger. Everything from that day was a blur. Everyone said he’d had too much to drink, that it was a case of mistaken identity. That as his childhood sweetheart, I should give him another chance. Even the girl knelt and begged for my forgiveness. She said it was all her fault, that she’d bribed a staff member for a keycard just to live out a secret crush. Alistair, who had been proud and commanding his whole life, had tears in his eyes for the first time. Seeing my silent tears, he grabbed a fruit knife and pointed it at his own heart. “Audrey, it’s all my fault. I’ve wronged you.” “If you don’t believe me, I’ll carve my heart out and show you. There’s truly no one else in there but you!” My tears blurred his face. His voice trembled uncontrollably. “Don’t leave me, my love, I’m begging you. You know I’ve loved you for so many years.” “If you leave me, I’ll die. I swear I’ll die…” Later, I locked that memory away. We had grown up together, intertwined. I thought we were inseparable, destined to go from childhood playmates to silver-haired companions. But in this single, shattering second. Our thirty years. Finally, they crumbled to dust. 2 I returned to the apartment in a daze. A message from my mother popped up: [So? Was Alistair thrilled to hear you’re pregnant?] I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat, and typed back with feigned calm: [Not yet. I just got to his place. I haven’t told him.] The apartment door swung open from the outside. It was Alistair, having returned. Our eyes met. For a few seconds, his gaze flickered with unease before he quickly regained his composure. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have picked you up from the airport.” My voice was flat. “I wanted to surprise you.” He walked over, smiling, and gently ruffled my hair. “You shouldn’t have. I’d never want you to go through that.” “Flying is exhausting. It’s just a birthday, and now my poor wife has to deal with jet lag.” Alistair was about to say more when his phone buzzed. As he looked down to reply, his expression softened into that familiar, patient tenderness I knew so well. Then he looked up, apologetic. “I’m sorry, baby, but I have a client dinner tonight. You’ll have to be on your own.” Before I could respond, he pulled a piece of clothing from the closet. I understood instantly. He had come back to retrieve something the other woman had forgotten. This apartment, his temporary home while on assignment overseas, was one I had spent my own time decorating for him, piece by piece. I’d taken a week off work for it, losing a major client in the process. But now, the vase I had spent half an afternoon hunting for and carried all the way from home was gone. Even the photo of us on the fridge had vanished. A sharp, damp chill, carried in by my rain-soaked clothes, seeped into my heart. I shot to my feet and dragged my suitcase toward the door. Alistair followed me. “Are you angry?” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind. “The apartment is a mess. I’ll book you a room at the five-star hotel nearby.” “I promise, I’ll spend all day with you tomorrow, okay?” He leaned in to kiss me, just like he always did. A strange citrus scent filled my nostrils. Her scent. I turned my head away. Alistair, however, didn’t seem to notice, already eager to leave. By the elevator, a leering lowlife whistled at me, his eyes sticky and invasive. “How much? If he doesn’t want you, I’ll take you.” “He’s got a girlfriend, you know. I’ve seen her. A pretty thing like you, why stoop so low?” “All the neighbors know them. He wouldn’t even let his girlfriend walk. I’ve seen him carry her all the way from the garage a few times. The girl always looks so damn happy.” He grabbed my waist, his mouth twisting into a grin as he lunged in for a kiss. On pure instinct, I stomped down hard on his foot. As he yelped in pain, I scrambled away with my suitcase, taking the emergency exit. I stumbled and fell hard on the concrete stairs, but I didn’t dare stop to check for scrapes. I just got up and kept running. I went straight back to the airport and sat numbly in the departure hall. I couldn’t understand. Why was Alistair cheating on me again? For the first two years of our marriage, I was plagued by nightmares. In my dreams, Alistair was naked, holding a strange girl. I would always wake up crying. He would hold me, soothing me over and over. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who broke my baby’s heart.” He changed all his passwords to my birthday and introduced me as his wife at every public event. He gave me a detailed report of his day, every day—what he did, who he saw. Even when he traveled for work, he’d keep a video call open all night, falling asleep to the sound of my breathing. Both of us were carefully, painstakingly trying to repair that broken trust. When did it all start again? Vaguely recalling the woman’s name, I opened a social media app and searched. It only took a minute to find her among the many accounts with the same name. Because her profile picture was taken in Alistair’s office back home. 3 Seraphina was a minor travel blogger with a decent following. I scrolled down. The first post related to Alistair appeared three years ago. Seraphina’s hand was intertwined with a man’s, the background our high school running track. [Finally with my high school dream guy!] The same place where, at eighteen, we had held hands for the first time. The night air had been cool, and Alistair’s palm was so sweaty from nerves. “When we’re old and gray, we’ll come back here together.” The year before last, mid-August, on our wedding anniversary, Alistair had told me he had to work. But his social media trail showed him with Seraphina, eating at a street food stall. Last New Year’s Eve, I was in the hospital with a high fever from the flu. Alistair appeared in Seraphina’s video, his head bowed in concentration as he disinfected a small cut on her finger. My hand holding the phone was shaking. Alistair never showed his face in any of the photos. But the familiar cuff of his shirt, the lines on his palm… I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. Seraphina’s latest post refreshed on my screen. The picture was of a lacy maid costume, so revealing it made me sick to look at. [Bought this but forgot to pack it. Good thing someone remembered. He’s getting a reward tonight.] So that was what Alistair had gone back to the apartment to get. In the comments, a fan joked: [Hubby’s eating well! You spoil him so much, girl.] Seraphina replied: [I can’t help it. I asked him today when he first fell for me.] [He said it was eight years ago, the first time I bravely told him I liked him. He said my eyes were so bright he could never forget them.] [When I think about how he was thinking of me all these years, my heart just melts.] Eight years ago. The day I caught them in bed. I pressed my lips together tightly. But the tears, disobedient as ever, streamed silently down my face. Seraphina posted another video. The camera panned over a large bed covered in rose petals. A woman’s voice giggled. “My followers want me to ask you, now that you’re thirty, do you have any new plans for our relationship?” A man’s low chuckle. “Plans?” “I’m the one who wants a child. Will you have one for me, baby?” The camera shook violently as the sound of rustling fabric filled the air. My fingers were stiff, fumbling several times before I managed to dial Alistair’s number. The phone rang three times before he finally picked up. My voice trembled. “Alistair, am I still in your future plans?” He was silent for a few seconds, then answered casually, “Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be?” “By the way, Mom and Dad said you had a surprise for me. They’ve asked me about it a dozen times. What is it?” From his end, I could hear Seraphina’s low, urgent whisper. “Honey, if you don’t pay attention, I’m going to have to punish you.” If I hadn’t known, I would have been foolish enough to think it was just one of his colleagues. My gaze fell on the shredded pregnancy test report in the trash can. I said softly, “It’s gone.” The surprise is gone. The love from our past, the future we had planned together. All gone. Alistair’s voice hardened with a hint of anger. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” “For you, I’ve turned down over a dozen international partnership opportunities, all because you’re so damn insecure!” “I’m out with a client tonight, trying to build a future for us. Can’t you just give me a moment to breathe?” Fresh tears fell. I managed a small, bitter laugh. “You’re right, Alistair.” “I’m just throwing a tantrum.” “When you get back, let’s get a divorce.”

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After decades of marriage to my childhood sweetheart, I only learned the truth when he died. He was in love with my best friend. Every time he’d get close to me, every time he brought me milk tea or snacks, it was just an excuse to bring her a share. He never told a soul how he felt, just watched from the sidelines as she got a boyfriend. The day they shared a passionate kiss, he turned to me with a smile and asked if I wanted to be with him. Later, we had a daughter and a very happy life. But on his deathbed, he gripped my hand tightly. “Charlotte, if we could do it all over again… could you help me win Isabelle over? My biggest regret in this life was missing my chance with her and marrying you out of spite.” What I thought was a mutual love story was just him settling for second best. I pulled my hand from his, my face a cold mask. I watched his heart monitor flatline. Fine. A new life it is. I’ll give you exactly what you want. (1) When I opened my eyes again, the acrid smell of disinfectant still lingered in my nose. But the scene around me had completely changed. I was no longer in a hospital waiting for a doctor to sign a death certificate. I was at my high school desk, just waking up from a nap. A heavy weight slammed onto my left shoulder. Someone had slapped my back, hard. I instinctively turned to see my childhood sweetheart, Asher, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “What are you zoning out for? Class is about to start! Didn’t you sleep well last night? I got you some coffee!” With that, a loud thump echoed from my desk. It was the sound of a bottled coffee being slammed down. As if to catch someone’s attention. I met his gaze. His eyes were clear and bright, and when he looked at me, it seemed as if I was the only person in the world. In my last life, it was that earnest, focused gaze that had stolen all my love. Remembering his last words, the irony was sickening. “I don’t like coffee.” Thinking back, the signs were there all along. Isabelle was the one who loved coffee. I never did. Asher looked momentarily stunned, as if he couldn’t understand why the girl who always greeted him with a smile would reject him so bluntly. He offered a placating grin, his gaze cautious. “Then what do you like? I’ll go buy it for you after class…” My deskmate and so-called “best friend,” Isabelle, shot me a glance before flashing a sweet smile at Asher. “It’s okay, I love coffee. Charlotte, you can give it to me.” The moment she spoke, Asher snapped out of it, handing her the other bottle he had been clutching in his hand. “This one… is for you.” A rare, unnatural blush crept up the handsome planes of his young face. I took in the entire little exchange. I pushed the coffee on my desk toward Isabelle. She winked at me happily. “Looks like I’m benefiting from being your friend again, Charlie.” But that afternoon, when I went to the restroom, I overheard her complaining to another girl through the thin wall. “You know, she’s so extra. Is she trying to show off how much Asher cares about her?” “Honestly, who would even be friends with her if it wasn’t for Asher?” (2) To escape this toxic little trio, I asked my homeroom teacher to change my seat. She was frowning at my report card. “Charlotte, I know you’re a good kid, but you can’t let your friendships distract you from your studies. Your ranking has dropped by twenty spots this semester. You used to always be in the top five. At this rate, how are you going to get into a top-tier university?” “Mrs. Davison, that’s actually what I came to talk to you about.” “I’d like to change seats.” Mrs. Davison gave me a surprised look. I was the one who had originally asked to sit with Isabelle, claiming we could help each other study. Her grades had improved significantly. Mine, on the other hand, had steadily declined as my focus wavered. In my past life, because of this, I only managed to get into a decent state school, missing out on the dream university that had once been within my reach. With a second chance, I wanted to fix my past regrets. When I stepped out of the teacher’s office, I was surprised to find Asher waiting for me in the hallway. Since starting high school, he’d had a growth spurt, quickly transforming into a tall, handsome teenager. I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. Asher’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his expression a little awkward. He pressed something warm against my arm. I looked down. It was a carton of low-fat, high-calcium milk. A sudden laugh escaped me. So, he did know what I liked. He just never bothered to give it to me before. This time, I took it. Seeing me smile, his expression relaxed. He was about to speak, but I beat him to it. “I asked Mrs. Davison to make you and Isabelle deskmates. I know you like her. Don’t miss your chance.” There was no joy on Asher’s face. He just stood there, frozen. I gave him one last look and walked past him without another word. (3) Mrs. Davison was efficient. The seats were changed right after physics class. I hadn’t expected, however, to be seated next to the school’s academic legend, the top-ranked student in both our class and our year, Felix. He was a man of few words. I’d never seen him speak, except to answer a question. When he heard someone was finally going to occupy the empty seat beside him, the pen scratching formulas on his notepad paused for a fraction of a second. He simply glanced up at me. His dark eyes behind his glasses were as still and lifeless as a pool of stagnant water. That day, for the first time, I listened to an entire day of lectures without any distractions. Without those two next to me, even the air felt fresher. After evening self-study, I was still lost in my work when a shadow fell over me. It was Asher. He called my name with the same old intimacy. “Charlotte, let’s walk home together.” I could hear a faint excitement in his voice. He must be thrilled to be sitting next to the girl he liked. I didn’t even look up. “No thanks. You go ahead, I’m going to stay a bit longer.” As if he didn’t notice the distance in my tone, Asher didn’t move. He blocked the light from above, leaning his hands on my desk. His voice was still warm. “A little extra studying isn’t going to make a huge difference. It’s better to go home early, for safety.” “If I leave first, who’s going to walk you home?” He leaned in closer, the warmth of his body radiating through the air. I looked up and met his smiling eyes. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking as effortlessly confident as ever, as if he was certain I would agree. Over his shoulder, I saw Isabelle’s face, twisted in a grimace. She had been glaring daggers at me, but froze when she realized I was looking at her. She quickly forced her expression into a strained, unconvincing smile. My lips curved into what must have been a wicked grin. “You don’t need to worry about that. Don’t you like Isabelle? Just walk her home. And please move, you’re blocking my light.” The color drained from Asher’s face. The fingers gripping the edge of my desk turned white from the pressure, his breathing grew shallow, his eyelashes fluttered. Called out, he flew into a rage. His voice shot up. “Charlotte, are you still mad about the coffee? That’s no reason to spread rumors! Who said I like Isabelle?” The hallway was bustling with students. Curious eyes darted between us. After a tense few seconds, my new deskmate spoke, his voice cutting through the tension. “Asher, nobody cares who you like. You’re being loud, and it’s annoying.” His voice was like shards of ice. The air froze. Someone snickered. A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd. As the reality of the situation dawned on him, Asher belatedly reached out to steady a swaying Isabelle. Before leaving, he shot me a deep, meaningful look. Then, in front of half the class, he took her wrist and strode away. (4) After that day, our trio was officially broken. Asher brought breakfast, coffee, and snacks only for her. They walked to school and back home together. They no longer needed me as a buffer. Their relationship progressed rapidly, growing more intimate by the day. To avoid them, I started waking up earlier and staying up later, maximizing my study time. Finally, in the final exams of our junior year, I clawed my way back to fifth in the class and twentieth in our year. Holding the report card, a sense of stability washed over me, the feeling of finally taking control of my own destiny. My eyes traveled up the list, stopping at the very top line. The academic god, always admired, never surpassed. Felix’s name was as solid as a mountain. He had no weak subjects, and he almost never lost points on objective questions. He was like a precision computer. No emotions, no errors. I glanced at my own pathetic physics score and felt a sudden urge to ask for his help. I turned to look at him, but his gaze was fixed on the window, as if he were daydreaming. I followed his line of sight and saw the orange sunset bleeding into the clouds. Sensing my stare, he gave me an indifferent glance. “Yes?” It was a question, but his tone was flat, like a statement. “Could you help me with some science problems?” His eyes fell to the test paper on my desk. “You’re getting giveaway questions wrong. Do you think me teaching you will make a difference?” There was no disdain in his voice, no mockery. It was as if he were simply stating a fact. But he still took my paper and, with a pencil, began showing me how to substitute the formulas. His explanations were concise but easy to understand. His calm tone was like the setting sun outside the window, creating an illusion of peace. When he finished, he handed the paper back to me. As I took it, he suddenly looked at me, his dark eyes bottomless. “You’ve improved a lot. Now that your grades are back up, don’t let them fall again.” I was stunned for a moment, then nodded firmly. In this life, I would not be caught in their little love game. And I would never, ever fall behind again. (5) That night, a sudden rain began to fall from a cloudless sky. Felix didn’t have an umbrella, but I did, so I offered to walk him to the bus stop. He looked at me for a few seconds. “My ride is here. I can give you a lift.” His tone was even, still carrying that distant coldness. But I was starting to think he wasn’t as unapproachable as everyone said. He was tall, and holding the umbrella over him was a strain. Seeing me struggle to raise my arm, his long fingers closed around the handle. “I’ll hold it.” The umbrella wasn’t big. We walked shoulder to shoulder in silence. But I could feel it was tilted in my direction. “Charlotte!” Over the downpour, I heard someone calling my name. It was a voice that should have been the most familiar in the world. We’d spent decades together in my past life, but now, it sounded like a stranger’s. I didn’t want to get entangled with Asher, so I kept walking. Felix glanced at me. “I remember you two used to be close.” “I’m surprised you pay attention to that stuff. I thought you were always buried in your books,” I said. A tiny twitch played at the corner of his lips. It was the first time I’d ever seen such a vivid expression on his face. “I’m studying, not deaf and blind. Asher’s so loud, it’s hard not to hear him.” Just then, a figure blocked our path. Asher stood there without an umbrella, soaked to the bone. His eyes were barely open, the rims red, but he stared at me with a stubborn intensity. “I don’t have an umbrella either. Why are you walking him and not me? Have the months you’ve been deskmates meant more than all the years we’ve known each other?” For months, he had been completely absorbed in his burgeoning romance with Isabelle. Every time he saw me, he would look away as if I were a stranger. What right did he have to question me now? I looked at him calmly. “Do you really think I don’t know why you started hanging around me in the first place?” He froze for a second, seemingly lost in thought. We took the opportunity to walk around him and leave. It was true. I should have realized it in my last life. His sudden attention wasn’t because our parents were friends. It was because the new transfer student, Isabelle, was my friend. She was beautiful, with a gentle personality. But she was also bold, wearing pretty floral dresses under her school uniform. The day after she transferred, she approached me and said she wanted to be friends. Her eyes were sparkling, captivating. And just like that, we were friends. We ate lunch together, went to gym class together. Shortly after, Asher, who was in our class, also started getting close to me. Before, we’d only ever exchanged polite greetings. After Isabelle arrived, he started acting like we were the best of friends. The friend I thought I had was hiding other motives. The special treatment I thought I was receiving was just his little trick to get closer to her. The rain grew heavier. The car that was picking Felix up was waiting at the school gate. He held the umbrella as he opened the car door with one hand and gestured for me to get in. I didn’t hesitate. I gave the driver my address. Less than ten minutes later, we were at my door. Before I got out, Felix called my name. His eyes were unreadable in the dim light. “I won’t be coming back after the break. Study hard. If your grades slip again, no one will respect you.” His voice blended with the sound of the engine. Rain hammered on the umbrella. It was only later that I realized it. You truly never know when you’re seeing someone for the last time.

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1. Arthur had lost his memory, every trace of me wiped clean. His mind was stuck in the year he loved his ex-wife most. No matter how much everyone around him tried to reason with him, he insisted I was the homewrecker who’d sabotaged their relationship. The doctors said there was a chance his memory could return, and I clung to that hope with everything I had. For three years, we divorced and remarried. It became the talk of the entire social circle, a running joke. People even placed bets. Bets on when I’d finally give up, bets on when Arthur would remember. Then came the eighth time our divorce hit the headlines. Reporters, cameras rolling, swarmed into my law office. They shoved microphones in my face, their words dripping with malice. “Ms. Jones, as a divorce attorney, how do you feel about being divorced eight times yourself?” My firm’s sign was defaced, my personal commendation plaques trampled underfoot. Before I could even respond, my boss fired me, citing damage to the firm’s reputation. “Eleanor Jones, take some advice: have some self-respect, stop hounding Mr. Hayes.” I gripped my trembling hands, a sudden weariness washing over me. They were right. This time, I really had to let go. … It was pouring rain when I left the office. Carrying a box of my belongings from my desk, I drifted home. The front door was ajar, and I could hear Arthur and Laura Miller’s laughter drifting from inside. I glanced around. The place was a disaster – clothes strewn everywhere, the carpet stained… The living room TV was still replaying the day’s circus at my office. Seeing me, the smile on Arthur’s face faded a bit. “Still have the nerve to come back.” His sarcastic words cut through the air, sharp and clear. Laura giggled and kissed Arthur’s cheek. “Alright, you two were together for seven years, try to keep some decorum.” She then looked up, raising an eyebrow at me, her smile suggestive. “Arthur really missed me, so I came over. You don’t mind, do you?” Rainwater dripped from my hair, hitting the floor one by one. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. Without another look at the two on the sofa, I turned and walked toward the bedroom. But as I pushed open the door, I froze. “Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Arthur’s voice was laced with a cruel amusement. “This house is also registered under my mother’s name. It has nothing to do with you. I threw all your stuff out. Probably in the trash can by the road.” Arthur leaned against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips, as if seeing me in such a state brought him immense joy. A sharp pain stabbed at my chest. My soaked shirt made my body shiver with cold. “You bought today’s trending topic, didn’t you?” My voice was barely a whisper. “We’re already divorced. Why did you have to make me lose my job?” In response to my question, Arthur lifted his hand and swatted the box out of my grasp. Documents and files scattered across the floor. Seven years of my hard work, my life’s blood, lay exposed. “Three years of chasing me isn’t enough for you? Even if I really did have something with you before, I’ve lost my memory.” His voice was cold, each word a blow. “I’ve forgotten you, which means you mean nothing to me!” His words, yet again, tore open old wounds. Three years ago, his sudden amnesia had erased everything about me. Just the day before, he’d been excitedly planning the nursery with me, imagining if it would be a boy or a girl. But then he forgot, and only remembered Laura. “You just forgot! You have no idea what Laura did back then…” Frustration and fury threatened to drive me mad. Arthur’s face was livid. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron, and shoved me out the door. The heavy rain instantly drenched me again. “I don’t care what Laura did. I only remember that I love her, and that’s enough.” I opened my mouth, but all my questions and bitterness suddenly felt meaningless. Arthur irritably avoided my gaze, then roughly pulled off the wedding ring from his finger. The edge of the diamond ring scratched his skin. He tossed it at my feet, and as he slammed the door shut, he spat out, “Don’t be so pathetic, begging me to remarry.” I stood there for a long time, then finally knelt down and picked up the wedding ring. Arthur had designed it himself before we got married. He’d worn it for seven years, never once taking it off. By the roadside trash can, there were our smashed wedding photos, the scarf he’d knitted for me with his own hands, and all the photo albums filled with our memories. My phone suddenly rang. I looked at the caller ID and answered. Arthur’s mother’s excited voice came through. “Eleanor, I just got Arthur’s medical report! The doctor says his memory is starting to loosen up!” “If he continues treatment, there’s an eighty percent chance he can recover!” My knuckles were white as I clutched the phone. The word “good” died on my tongue. In the end, I simply whispered, “Mom, no more treatment. If he’s forgotten, then let him forget.” 2. The next day, I went to the Hayes family estate. I laid the eight divorce certificates on the table in front of Arthur’s mother. “Mom, Arthur and I are divorced again.” She looked at me with pity, sighing deeply. “Arthur is truly sorry for what he’s done to you. You two were so happy once.” Her eyes pleaded. “But this time, it’s really different. I’ve contacted several doctors, and they all say there’s a high chance of recovery.” She pushed some business cards toward me. “I’m getting old, and all I want is for you two to have a good life together.” She paused, a hopeful glint in her eyes. “He’s even remembered quite a few things from the past recently…” Her persuasion was cut short by my interjection. “But he’s never remembered anything about me.” I lowered my head, avoiding her sympathetic gaze. The atmosphere grew heavy, until she spoke again. “If you leave, and Arthur remembers you and can’t find you, he’ll go mad.” For the past three years, every time we divorced, Arthur’s mother would say those exact words. And every time, because of those words, I would soften, again and again. Remarrying, time after time. Before I could reply, there was a commotion at the entrance. Arthur walked in, his brows instantly furrowing when he saw me. “Eleanor Jones, are you here to complain to my mother again?” he sneered. “I threw you out, and you’re still clinging on like a ghost. Can’t you really live without me?!” Arthur’s mother’s chest heaved with anger. She shot to her feet, her hand flying up to deliver a resounding slap across Arthur’s face. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?! How much more do you intend to push Eleanor? Without her, you wouldn’t even be alive!” I sat on the sofa, my hands clenched into fists, memories of seven years ago flooding back. His marriage to Laura had been a nightmare. She’d reveled in his complete devotion, yet secretly had another man. When he discovered her infidelity, he became the laughingstock of their social circle overnight. When he went to confront her, Laura had absconded with ten million dollars, vanishing without a trace. After that, Arthur sank into a deep depression. He was about to jump from a bridge when I saved him. “So what? She just wanted money, didn’t she?” Arthur remained stubborn, his gaze fixed on his mother. “I don’t care what Laura did back then. I just love her, and I can’t love anyone else.” His voice was defiant. “I won’t regret it.” In that instant, all the strength seemed to drain from Arthur’s mother. She turned, her eyes full of apology, to look at me. Arthur rubbed his temples, then finally, as if in defeat, he lifted his head. “Eleanor Jones, you want to remarry? Fine, we’ll just divorce again anyway. You’re the one who’ll look like a fool, not me.” His voice was cold, taunting. “So desperate for me? Let’s go to the registry office now.” He chuckled humorlessly. “This is your eighth divorce, isn’t it?” I forced a smile, unable to reconcile the man before me with the Arthur in my memories. “I came here to clarify things with Mom.” I looked him dead in the eye. “You’re free, Arthur Hayes.” Arthur froze, his hands at his sides trembling imperceptibly. He stared at me in surprise, then quickly regained his composure. “Playing hard to get, huh? Too bad it won’t work on me.” He scoffed. “Alright, you said it. Just don’t come crawling back to me again.” Arthur’s words were almost bitten out. Ignoring his mother’s protests, he tossed whatever he was holding onto the floor and stormed out. Arthur’s mother’s eyes went dark with fury. She screamed after his retreating back, “You’ll regret this, Arthur Hayes!” 3. Whether Arthur regretted it or not, I no longer cared. After finally giving up on his treatment, the constant tension I’d lived with for so long began to ease. After leaving the Hayes estate, I was about to go retrieve my passport and ID from Arthur. For years, all my documents had been with him. Just as I rounded a street corner, a sharp pain shot through my forehead. Hot blood gushed from the wound. I felt dizzy, disoriented, before I even understood what was happening. A group of people violently dragged me, hitting and kicking. “That’s her! That’s the homewrecker!” “Mr. Hayes and Laura are the real couple, she just had to come chasing after him, trying to be a mistress.” “Pfft, she’s a disgrace to the legal profession, always handling other people’s divorces, yet she can’t sort out her own life.” The commotion immediately attracted the attention of passersby. They didn’t intervene, but instead pulled out their phones, snapping photos of me. Losing too much blood, I couldn’t fight back. When the crowd saw I was completely defenseless, they dispersed, spitting on me as they left. “We’ll beat you every time we see you!” Through my blurring vision, I saw Arthur in the distance. He and Laura were holding hands, laughing sweetly, looking genuinely happy. Our eyes met, and Arthur’s expression stiffened. He instinctively started running toward me. “You, what happened to you?” Blood flowed unstoppably, staining my clothes. Arthur’s mind went blank. He seemed to panic, his hands trembling as he pulled out his phone to call for an ambulance. But Laura stopped him. “Don’t bother. She’s probably just faking it, trying to get your sympathy, isn’t she?” Her voice was dismissive. “It just looks scary, she’ll be fine.” Laura tugged at his arm. “Didn’t you say you were going to take me to pick out my birthday present?” Laura pulled him away. Arthur hesitated for a moment, then turned off his phone. He didn’t look back at me. I leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, the blood still flowing. In the end, I called for an ambulance myself. But before it could arrive, I lost consciousness completely. When I woke up again, it was a week later. The doctor said if I’d been any later, I might have died from blood loss. Arthur’s mother, hearing what happened, specifically came to the hospital to see me. She covered all the medical expenses. “Eleanor, it was just those people’s extreme behavior. I’ve already handled it.” She looked at me, a flicker of something in her eyes. “Arthur… he just forgot you have a blood clotting disorder.” Arthur’s mother tried to persuade me again, but seeing my pale face, the words died in her throat. I smiled faintly. “Mrs. Hayes, Arthur and I are divorced, and I won’t be staying in Sterling anymore.” I took a deep breath. “I won’t be coming back.” Hearing the change in address, her eyes welled up. In the end, she just nodded. “Eleanor, whatever you want to do, I’ll help you.”

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