Author: Momo Chan

Waking up in the middle of the night, my wife, Evelyn Lee, was crying, pleading with me to let her see that young man one last time. “Just one last goodbye, and I’ll come straight back. Please, I’m begging you, alright?” In our seven years of marriage, this was only the second time she’d spoken to me with such a cajoling, desperate tone. The first was when I walked in on the young man, disheveled, scrambling out of her office. Afraid I’d make a scene, she’d clutched my hand, pleading: “Darling, I promise I’ll break it off with him. Don’t divorce me, I’d die without you. Can you… can you do that for me?” I gave her a chance. And just as she promised, she devoted herself entirely to our home, becoming the flawless wife everyone admired. Until tonight. I flicked on the bedside lamp, looked into her eyes, and answered steadily: “Go. Don’t leave yourself with any regrets.” I had none left. I hoped she wouldn’t either. 1 The sudden glare stung Evelyn’s eyes, making her instinctively squeeze them shut. The tear tracks on her face became starkly clear, glaringly so. A sudden, bitter laugh caught in my throat; the whole scene felt absurd, almost comical. This was the woman who, in her youth, had shielded me from a thug’s swinging rebar, almost crippling her right arm, and hadn’t even flinched. Now, she was weeping like this, heartbroken over the departure of a twenty-something boy. Her drunken haze slowly receded as she scrutinized my expression. After a few seconds, she sagged like a spring that had been taut for too long, collapsing onto the bed. “You can yell like you used to, you can slap my face and forbid me from going.” “You don’t have to pretend you don’t care, just to make me feel guilty, do you?” “It’s tiresome, Ethan Pierson.” Her face was a mask of suppressed pain. Ever since Evelyn had “returned to the family,” these suffocating silences had become common. Outsiders, oblivious to the undercurrents, would marvel at how our marriage, even after the seven-year itch, seemed to grow stronger. They’d joke about Professor Lee, a distinguished academic, rushing home from work like a lovesick teenager, unable to bear a second away from me. My photo graced her social media profile; my picture adorned her background. She even handed over her phone, allowing me to check it whenever I wished. She was the picture of a devoted, perfect wife. But only we knew the stormy seas churning beneath that seemingly tranquil surface. After that incident, I became hypersensitive, fragile, and my words grew sharp, laced with bitterness. If she complimented a tie, saying it made me look younger, I’d accuse her: “Is it because you have someone younger, fresher in your heart now, that you’re suddenly complaining I’m old?” She once took me on a date to a trendy restaurant. Everything was going well until I heard her casually say, “Their signature dish is quite good.” I immediately erupted, demanding to know why she’d brought me to a place she’d already visited with another man. But I wasn’t like this before. 2 I used to be cheerful, optimistic, the life of the party for my family and friends. How had I become this person? Honestly, the first time I caught her cheating, I thought about divorce. She was the one who, back then, had spent an entire month begging me, swearing countless times that she’d never make the same mistake again. Yet, later, she was also the one who would look at me with a cold face when I lost my temper, asking if I was done throwing a tantrum. During one of my worst breakdowns, I smashed almost everything in the house. I pointed at her, my voice raw and hoarse, shouting: “Do you think I only forgave you that one time?!” “No, it’s every sleepless night, every time the memory resurfaces, I forgive you again.” “Why is it that you’re the one who made the mistake, but I’m the one who suffers?!” I hadn’t shattered the glass, but every day, I felt like I was walking over it. Tonight was our eighth wedding anniversary. Everything had started so well. Evelyn, uncharacteristically, had drunk a lot. With every sip, she’d whisper “I love you.” After a hundred repetitions of these sweet words, both our faces were flushed, as if we were back in the throes of first love. I even silently thought, maybe, just maybe, I should truly forgive her. Pretend nothing ever happened. But only moments ago, a stark realization hit me: how utterly foolish I had been. Her emotional display wasn’t born of love for me. It was grief over another man’s departure. And just like that, I felt no regrets. I pulled out the divorce papers, already prepared in my bedside table, and handed them to her. “Evelyn Lee, I’m letting you go.” But she sprang up from the bed, startled. “Ethan Pierson, are you trying to drive me to my death?!” “Steve Pierson is leaving for Toronto soon. We’ll never have a chance to meet again after this.” “I just want to see him off, as his professor. Is that really so wrong?!” Her phone rang, a sudden, jarring sound. Her voice, as she answered, was incredibly gentle. “Yes, wait for me. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Before she left, Evelyn threw the divorce papers into the trash. “Everything can wait until I get back.” “But divorce? Don’t even think about it.” The door slammed shut with a bang. In the room, only my quiet sobs remained. I had checked. There were no flights to Toronto tonight. Sure enough, a short while later, Steve sent me a picture. Evelyn, naked, was nestled securely in his arms, sleeping peacefully. “Professor Lee says she can only sleep soundly when she’s with me now.” “Do you really think she’s not divorcing you because she still loves you? She just doesn’t want to jeopardize her promotion to associate dean next week.” I looked at the crumpled divorce papers in the trash, the ones that had proposed splitting our assets evenly. I suddenly smiled. She was the one who betrayed me. The one who should pay the price. 3 Evelyn and I were college sweethearts. After graduation, she stayed on at the university, while I pursued a career in a multinational corporation. But after we got married, citing her busy university projects, she asked if I would consider quitting my job to focus on our home. At the time, I was embroiled in a messy corporate power struggle, so I agreed. But now, I was divorcing her. Returning to the workforce was inevitable. However, being out of touch with society for so long, the years of blank space on my resume would make it difficult to find a job with the same benefits as before. So I decided to go abroad for further studies, which would also fill the gap on my CV. As I was using the study computer, browsing doctoral program requirements for universities abroad, I stumbled upon a private folder. The title: [To My Dearest] Those three short words gradually blurred before my eyes. As if disbelieving, I typed in my birthday, her birthday, our wedding anniversary. Stubbornly, I tried every number with special meaning to us. But none worked. Until I opened Steve’s social media, found his birthday, and entered it. The folder unlocked. I already knew the answer, yet seeing the result with my own eyes still brought a surge of suffocating pain to my chest. The folder was a hefty 4.3 GB. It was meticulously filled with everything related to Steve Pierson. The razor he casually discarded, she picked it up and took a picture of it against her chest. Videos of Steve sleeping, head on the desk, when they were rushing projects together in the studio. Voice messages Steve sent her, his way of addressing her, from the initially respectful “Professor Lee” to later “Sister,” and then, “Wife.” Evelyn had carefully noted her feelings for each entry. She called him her “little moon,” writing: [My little moon, I often feel like a sick dog chained up, and only when I occasionally look up at you does my soul find release.] [That day you said you would give yourself to me as a gift, but I refused. Not because I didn’t love you, but because I dared not defile you.] She hated that she hadn’t met him sooner, and even more, that she was already married when she did. I felt like a thief, prying into someone else’s privacy, peeking through the screen at their bone-deep love affair. The last entry was from the day I discovered their affair. Evelyn had written a suicide note, filled with nothing but guilt towards Steve. She had changed her address for him; she called him, my husband. [My husband, if I should unfortunately pass away one day, all my assets will belong to you.] [As for Ethan Pierson, I have wronged him. Just leave him enough money to live out his golden years.] My blood ran cold. My hand, clutching the mouse, trembled uncontrollably. My stomach churned, and I retched into the trash can. It was at that exact moment that Evelyn returned. Her eyes immediately darted to the computer screen, and she panicked, stammering defensively: “N-no, it’s not like that, darling, listen to me.” “I just wanted to vent my emotions. There’s nothing else between us…” Before she could say more, I wiped my mouth and sat upright. Looking into her eyes, I said each word distinctly: “I’m giving you two choices: either make him leave now.” “Or I’ll expose all your disgusting secrets!” 4 Just as I expected, Evelyn chose the first option. Not only did she fear for her own career, but she also couldn’t bear the thought of even a speck of tarnish on her “little moon.” So when Steve Pierson came to find me, I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I was almost hoping he would. I chose a quiet coffee shop for our meeting, a place Evelyn and I used to frequent. Steve looked just like his social media photos – full of youthful collagen, vibrant and energetic. But he also had the common flaw of the young: he was too impatient. “You saw the photos I sent you, right? We’ve already… slept together.” “Tsk tsk, I just casually mentioned leaving, and she got so worked up.” “But thanks to you, really. If you hadn’t pushed her so hard, how else would she have appreciated how good I am?” He was like a puffed-up rooster, eager to provoke me into divorcing Evelyn. But I just smiled indifferently, my gaze falling on the wristwatch he wore. “A classic from R-Brand. Evelyn certainly spares no expense for you.” Steve’s lips curved into a smug smile. But before he could speak, I continued: “I’ve looked into your family background. You can’t afford a six-figure watch.” “Little brother, let me give you a legal heads-up. The money she’s spent on you is marital property. If we divorce, you’ll have to return half of it.” “Though I assume most of it’s already spent, isn’t it?” “Or, I could pay a visit to your parents. Then the entire village will know that you, Steve Pierson, are someone’s mistress in college!” Steve’s smile froze. He sprang to his feet, his once handsome features twisting into something momentarily grotesque. “You wouldn’t dare!” “You can test me and see if I dare!” I spoke, and even though I remained seated, my presence overwhelmed him. Just then, the aggressive young man suddenly glanced behind me. The next second, he quickly grabbed his coffee cup and splashed it all over his face. When he spoke again, his eyes were red. “Brother, I’m sorry. There’s truly nothing going on between me and Professor Lee.” “I’m leaving the country soon. Please, stop tormenting me, alright?” A rush of hurried footsteps came from behind me. I had never seen Evelyn in such a frantic state. She immediately pulled Steve into her embrace, tenderly wiping the coffee from his face. When she looked at me, her eyes were icy cold, yet she dared not utter a single word to me, especially with outsiders present. I watched her, a mocking smile on my face. Just then, several students, who had been following her, began chattering. They were clearly Evelyn’s students, appearing to have just come from a meeting, notebooks still in hand. “Is this the legendary good-for-nothing husband of Professor Lee? Tsk tsk tsk, no wonder Professor Lee doesn’t want to go home!” “Not only does he live off Professor Lee, he’s paranoid every day. He actually suspects Steve, her most brilliant student!” “Exactly! Steve said he’s being forced to leave the country because of him, and he still came here to humiliate him!” With every word they spoke, Steve’s eyes grew redder. Evelyn’s face grew paler. I raised an eyebrow. The next second, I moved with unexpected speed, walked up to Steve, and punched him hard in the face, then smiled at the students. “See? If I really wanted to hit him, I wouldn’t do something so trivial.” Steve clutched his face, stumbling backward into Evelyn’s arms, his hatred barely suppressed in his eyes. Evelyn finally lost her temper, shouting, “Enough! Ethan Pierson, don’t push it too far!” Me, pushing it too far? Oh, there was much more to come! Before I could retort, one of the girls who had spoken up for Steve shoved me hard. “What else do you want to do? If you touch him again, I’m calling the police!” I lost my balance for a moment, falling to the ground, my head hitting the corner of the table with a sickening thud. The world spun. The girl panicked, quickly telling Evelyn she hadn’t meant to. But Evelyn merely gave me a deep, unreadable look. In the end, she said nothing, and left with her students. I clutched my throbbing head, struggling to my feet. I didn’t watch Evelyn and Steve, supporting each other, walk away. Instead, my gaze fixed on a hidden spot on the ceiling.

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1 Seven years after Jackson and I split, we met at the City Clerk’s office. He was picking up his marriage license; I was there for my divorce. Jackson smirked at me. “You went on about love when you cheated. Now you’re here getting divorced?” I replied calmly, “I’ve always been bad at judging people.” His face turned cold for a moment. Then he showed everyone my secondhand app and announced loudly: “Seven years married, and you’re still selling what I gave you — three million six hundred eighty thousand in total.” He snatched my divorce papers, checked the compensation, and sneered: “With the twenty‑five thousand eight hundred and seven cents from your ex, you still owe me three million six hundred fifty‑four thousand one hundred ninety‑nine dollars and seven cents.” “Why seven cents?” his new wife asked.“Discounted iced water,” he said. The crowd laughed at the so‑called gold‑digger’s humiliation. … “Trying to milk money from rich folks, eh? They’re way too shrewd to spend an extra cent on someone not worth it.” “That seven cents must be for her water on the way home, telling her to get lost, hahahaha.” I listened to the ridicule, feeling little ripple within. I silently scanned the code and transferred the money back to him. Still, a pang of disappointment lingered. My appointment for hospice care, it seemed, would have to be canceled. I dreaded pain, you see. The stares from the crowd were too intense, so I retreated to the restroom. The message I’d sent to my husband, Caleb, half an hour ago, remained unanswered. I sighed unconsciously. “He’s still not here?” Jackson’s voice suddenly echoed behind me, startling me. I instinctively recoiled a few steps, my too-thin back hitting the washbasin with a painful thud. Frowning, I tried to evade his probing gaze. “He’s busy. He’ll be a little late.” Jackson raised an eyebrow, proceeding to wash his hands. “Looks like your standards for boyfriends have really dropped.” He spoke with an air of indifference. I was speechless, unsure how to reply. It was true, when I was with Jackson, he never let me suffer the slightest inconvenience. If I wanted fruit, a mere glance from me would have him peeling and slicing it, serving it on a platter. If we had to walk a few extra steps on a date, he’d worry about my legs hurting, and without a second thought for the onlookers, he’d carry me. As for making me wait on a date, that was an absolute impossibility. “Well, the depth of love differs, so naturally, the tolerance varies too,” I retorted, though my fingers unconsciously sent another urgent message to Caleb, “Aren’t you coming? If not, we won’t get the papers today.” “Next time, I’m not sure I’ll even be able to make it to the office…” Before I could finish typing, a signed divorce agreement arrived from him. “Give it to the staff. They’ll handle it.” His words were curt, as if speaking more to me was a chore. Jackson saw it and scoffed, “Back then, you guarded him so fiercely, never letting me know his identity.” “Guess I won’t get to see him today either.” “Mr. Dalton, isn’t it a bit… unseemly for you to be so invested in another woman’s ex? Especially if your wife were to find out,” I said, pocketing my phone and feigning a carefree tone. I looked up to see Fiona, her face beaming. “It’s fine, really. Everyone enjoys seeing a trashy ex getting their just deserts, don’t they?” With that, she forcefully pushed me aside and wrapped her arm around Jackson’s waist. “Honey, you really shouldn’t have been so good to Ms. Annabelle, considering you were the best of her past boyfriends.” “Three million dollars isn’t even enough to buy the bag I’m carrying; it’s quite embarrassing to recall, isn’t it?” Jackson hugged Fiona back, saying softly, “Alright, let’s not bring up my past disgraces.” “Spending three million on someone undeserving, I’d say that’s already too much.” In the three years I dated Jackson, I never asked him for any gifts. But back then, Jackson, who was just starting his career, insisted, “No way. Our Annabelle must have everything other wealthy women have.” Yet now, he stood with another woman, demanding I repay him under the guise of being a gold-digger. “I’ve settled the debt. Since it’s a sore subject, I won’t linger.” I nodded slightly, ready to leave. But Fiona, with a faint smile, held me back. 2 “Annabelle, don’t be upset. Our Jack was also at fault for what happened back then.” “Blame him for being too naive, for being a poor judge of character. With me around, he won’t be tricked again.” “And I’d like to give Annabelle a chance to make amends. We haven’t even taken our wedding photo yet, and I hear Annabelle is an excellent photographer. Why don’t you take ours?” “Make amends?” My fists clenched in an instant. “Fiona, what right do you have to say that? You knew everything.” Fiona froze, seemingly surprised by my bluntness. “Knew what?” My bony hand was suddenly gripped by a large one. For a fleeting moment, I felt like I was back seven years ago, the moment Fiona pleaded with me to save Jackson. But when I looked up, I met Jackson’s bottomless eyes. He seemed surprised by how thin I had become and unconsciously loosened his grip. I snapped back to reality, pulled my hand free, and hid my unsightly hands. Under Fiona’s warning gaze, I smiled and replied, “You know I’m not just any photographer you can hire cheaply.” “My husband made a bad bet, so I naturally need to squeeze more money out of my ex-boyfriend. Ms. Fiona, since you’ve picked up my slack, you wouldn’t be stingy about paying a bit more, would you?” Jackson’s tense face suddenly crumbled, finally giving way to a sneer. “Annabelle, I really shouldn’t have held such unrealistic expectations for someone like you.” Hearing me say that, Fiona also breathed a sigh of relief and casually draped her arm over Jackson’s. Gently stroking Jackson’s back, she said, “There, there, don’t get angry over a woman like this. If she wants money, we’ll just consider it giving alms to a beggar.” Inside the photography studio, through the camera lens, I finally dared to truly look at Jackson. Thankfully, the surgery seemed to have left no lingering effects on him. The exquisitely tailored bespoke suit made him look dashing and distinguished, perhaps even more handsome than he was seven years ago. Suddenly, Jackson lifted Fiona’s veil, swept her into his arms, and gave her a deep, lingering kiss through the veil. My hands, holding the camera, trembled involuntarily, several times lifting and then dropping weakly. My breathing became unconsciously shallow and rapid. Jackson’s disgusted gaze landed on me, his voice laced with sarcasm: “Annabelle, what’s the act? You don’t think I’d still feel sorry for you, letting you snap a few shots and get away with it, do you?” “No, not at all. The customer is always right; it’s my fault.” I tried my best to steady my breath, using all my strength to balance both hands. That day, I took over a thousand photos in one afternoon, my hands shaking so much they didn’t feel like my own. But Jackson and Fiona picked and chose, always finding something unsatisfactory. It wasn’t until the City Clerk’s office was about to close that they reluctantly selected the very first picture I had taken. Hearing this, I almost coughed up blood. As I walked out of the City Clerk’s office, the heavens decided to unleash a torrential downpour. On the ride-sharing app, the number of cars waiting ahead was 99+. My winter boots, soaked from waiting, grew heavy and cold. Jackson’s Cayenne screeched to a halt in front of me, splashing cold water all over me. After a day of turmoil, I was practically collapsing. Fiona rolled down the window, feigning kindness. “Ms. Annabelle, do you need a ride? I can have my Jack drop you off.” Just as I was about to politely refuse, Fiona signaled the driver to push me into the passenger seat. The moment my foot touched the floor, I sensed something amiss. Looking down, I saw it was the scarf I had spent five months knitting for Jackson years ago. The pristine white scarf was now stained and dirty, clearly having been used as a floor mat for a long time. “This scarf, I think it was a gift from you to Jack, wasn’t it, Annabelle? I’m so sorry, Jack said he felt sick every time he saw it. I thought, well, we can’t waste your efforts, so I just used it as a footrest for guests. You don’t mind, do you, Annabelle?” I gave a faint smile. “Of course not. It’s perfectly fitting for useless things to be handled this way.” Jackson impatiently tapped the driver’s back, and the driver immediately accelerated sharply. All the blood rushed to my head in an instant; I felt so nauseous I nearly threw up. Jackson knew I got carsick; he was deliberately trying to get back at me. Midway, Fiona suddenly announced she wanted dessert from North End, and they simply abandoned me on the side of the road. I checked the map, and I was even farther from my destination. Finally, utterly exhausted, I made it back to my ex-husband’s villa in the suburbs, only to find that all my belongings had been packed and sent back to my parents’ house. I had no choice but to brave the rain and return home, but as I reached the doorstep, I saw my luggage piled like trash next to the bins. The housekeeper, who saw me first, said, “Ms. Annabelle, I’m so sorry, but this was the lady of the house’s (my mother’s) instruction. She said your brother is getting married, and your room will be used as a nursery, so you’ll have to move out.” I said nothing, silently picking up the light bag of luggage. But then, I ran straight into my mother who was leaving the house. She looked at me as if I were a plague, her face instantly twisting into an expression of disgust. “Useless thing! You get married and then returned like damaged goods, can’t even help your brother one bit.” “How did I ever give birth to such a loose woman? Jackson treated you so well back then, and you didn’t appreciate it. Now you’ve backed the wrong horse, haven’t you? And you’ve dragged our whole family down with you. Why don’t you just find a place to die somewhere? Why bother coming back?” With that, she grabbed a broom to hit me. Luckily, the housekeeper intervened, giving me a chance to escape. 3 I rented a small apartment near the publishing house I often worked with. Opening my suitcase, I found that over half the items were related to Jackson. There were the paper hearts he’d casually folded for me, candid photos I’d taken of him sleeping, and photos I’d secretly taken of his recovery progress after we’d broken up. There were also news clippings of his various career achievements that I’d collected over the years. Every time I saw these things, I felt that all my suffering had been worth it. The rent almost depleted all my savings. I could only manage one night’s rest before rushing to the publishing house the next day, hoping to inquire about the delayed payment for my new book. After marrying Caleb, he never spent a single penny on me. Writing and publishing books had been my only income these past years. But the moment I entered the publishing house, everyone cast strange glances my way. “That’s her, that’s her! She’s so materialistic, abandoned her boyfriend for money, and then beautified herself as a victim in her book. It’s truly disgusting.” “Not only did she not help her boyfriend when he was sick and bankrupt, she kicked him when he was down and ran off with a rich guy. Classy.” “Do you think she knows she’s offended Mr. Dalton, and still comes to our company because she thinks we’re stupid and easy to bully? How unlucky are we to get stuck with someone like her? Now all our projects are on hold. Oh my god, am I going to lose my job?” “Hah, she even wants to use our channels to clear her name. Honestly, some people’s shamelessness knows no bounds.” “Do you think she’s crying herself to sleep every night now, seeing how successful Mr. Dalton has become?” I’d grown accustomed to hearing such things over the years, so I didn’t pay much mind. I just hadn’t expected Jackson’s actions to be so swift, even implicating the publishing house, which made me feel a pang of guilt. Soon, the editor-in-chief called me into his office and handed me a revised copy of a book. I flipped through it; the general content was not much different from my original version. However, my character had changed. I was now portrayed as the cruel ex who heartlessly abandoned her boyfriend during his toughest times. Fiona, on the other hand, had become the woman who bravely stood by Jackson when his career was at its lowest and he was gravely ill, staying devotedly by his side until his resurgence. Even the author’s name was changed directly to Fiona. “This is my book! Why is it attributed to someone else? And by what right can someone else just casually revise it?” I glared angrily at the editor-in-chief, but he snatched the book from my hands. “Annabelle, get this straight: you were the one who deceived us first. Since it’s a story based on real events, why didn’t you tell us? Why did you hide the truth and twist the facts?” “Let me be frank with you. Your book is excellent, and it won a major literary award. But now Mr. Dalton’s wife wants that award, so you have to give it to her. This is the compensation you owe her, understand?” “And setting that aside, our publishing house needs to survive. In our past collaborations, when did we ever treat you unfairly? You can’t bite the hand that feeds you.” With things laid out so plainly, I knew further argument was pointless. Jackson’s influence was too vast; I couldn’t deny him what he wanted. Dejected, I returned home, still worried about how I’d manage living expenses, only to run into my brother at my doorstep. He was carrying a large bag of my favorite snacks. My relationship with my brother wasn’t particularly good, nor was it bad. Most of our conflicts stemmed from our mother’s unfairness. After entering the house and seeing the room I was staying in, my brother’s eyes welled up. “Sis, actually, Mom and Dad miss you a lot. They’re just stubborn.” “I’ve talked to them. Everyone wants you to come back for dinner on Christmas Eve. What family quarrel can’t be mended over a meal?” With that, he sent me a restaurant address, urging me to attend. Perhaps the impending death made me a little afraid, or maybe Christmas Eve was just too cold, but by some strange impulse, I went. Seeing Jackson, the groom, and Fiona, the bride, in the hotel banquet hall, I finally understood their intentions. My mother was using me to entertain Jackson and Fiona. No wonder I was doused with cold water the moment I entered the hotel. No wonder all three elevators in the hotel coincidentally broke down at the same time, forcing me to gasp and climb twenty-plus floors. 4 Gazing at the man surrounded by the crowd, my fingers clenched. He saw me too, a mocking smile on his face. “You came to my wedding dressed like that?” he said, looking at my soaked shirt and jeans. “What, trying to snag a rich husband at my wedding, too?” “Well, I suppose any man here today, if you latch onto him, would be enough to support you for the rest of your life. You’re certainly clever.” With that, he stuffed a wad of cash into my cleavage. “My wife needs a bridesmaid. Serve her well today, and I’ll give you three million six hundred eighty thousand.” Hearing that figure, my heart twisted in pain, uncontrollably. Three million six hundred eighty thousand—that was everything Jackson had invested in me back then. Now, he intended to return it this way. Taking several deep breaths, I forced back the tears and managed a smile. “Alright, but I’ll need payment upfront. I’m afraid Mr. Dalton might change his mind.” Jackson’s face twisted into an expression of extreme disgust. Gritting his teeth, he scanned the code. Then, with a snap of his fingers, a waiter brought out over a hundred bottles of hard liquor. Two days ago, during my check-up, the doctor said my condition was worsening faster than expected. After downing over 100 bottles of this alcohol, I wasn’t sure if I’d even make it through the night. But thinking of all these years of hardship, I felt death might actually be a release. Jackson, with Fiona in his arms, began to toast. Their friends knew the story of Jackson and me, and they knew how devastated he had been when I abandoned him. He refused treatment, wouldn’t take his medicine, and stood dumbly outside my house every day, demanding an explanation. On my wedding day, his mother, desperate, locked him up, but he smashed a glass window with his bare fists. When he appeared before me, he was covered in blood, but I didn’t even spare him a second glance, only telling him to get lost. Jackson’s friends loathed me, and they mercilessly forced drinks on me, even, at Fiona’s subtle nod, adding shards of glass to my wine glass. I drank until my mouth bled, and I threw up directly. Seeing this, Jackson’s gaze wavered. Just as he was about to speak, Fiona rushed over, steadying me. “That’s enough, all of you! Even though Annabelle betrayed Jack years ago, she’s suffered so terribly all these years that she’s received her retribution. You don’t need to kick her when she’s down.” As she said this, she made to help me up, but whispered in my ear, “Actually, Jack’s illness wasn’t a terminal disease at all. A simple surgery would have cured him. The heart you donated? I fed it to my dog that very day.” In that instant, all the humiliation and painful memories of these past years flooded my mind. My brain buzzed, and all my rationality collapsed. I lunged at Fiona like a madwoman, “Fiona, you deserve to die, you deserve to die!” But before I could even touch Fiona’s collar, Jackson brutally kicked me away. A sharp pain exploded in my ribs; I felt as if every bone in my body had shattered. Jackson held Fiona tightly in his arms, his face filled with anguished concern. Fiona, still shaken, whimpered, “Jack, I was just trying to help Annabelle. Why did she do this to me?” Jackson turned his head to look at me, his face so dark it seemed to drip ink. “Annabelle, you really are rotten to the core!” “Get down on your knees and apologize to Fiona.” When I didn’t move, he kicked my stomach hard, then grabbed my hair and yanked me up. “Don’t even think about leaving here alive until you’ve kowtowed 99 times!” His friends rushed in, forcing my head down, slamming it against the ground again and again. Finally, from sheer exhaustion, I passed out. Just before losing consciousness entirely, I saw my parents rushing towards me like madmen, not to check on my injuries, but to pick up the money that had fallen from my chest. Jackson froze, his gaze at me growing complicated. When the paramedics asked for the patient’s family, my parents and brother all denied knowing me. Jackson was about to say something, but a commotion broke out in the crowd. “The patient’s husband is here, everyone make way!” The moment he saw the man, Jackson’s pupils contracted sharply.

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The night Annabelle sent out her wedding invitations, I died unnoticed in a corner. She wore an exquisite gown, poised and graceful. Beside her, Liam, the groom, tucked a strand of her hair back, his gaze filled with unwavering devotion. The banquet was crowded with far more distinguished guests than when we were engaged. Liam scanned the room, then casually asked, “Didn’t you invite your close friends? The ones you’re always with?” “They didn’t show today—did you have a falling out?” He finished with a knowing half-smile. “Surely they don’t dislike me?” Annabelle’s face briefly clouded before she forced a smile. “I’ll call them.” Call after call went to voicemail. Liam’s smile faded. Those friends, though exclusive, were fiercely loyal. On such an important day, he’d expected at least a token appearance. And there I stood, openly beside Annabelle—her legitimate boyfriend, as always. But no one could see me. On stage, I saw only the silhouettes of the perfect couple: Annabelle and Liam. I finally saw the signs I’d missed in Liam from the start. He playfully pulled out his phone, screen paused on our chat. [Asher, what’s ten years?] [I always get the woman I want.] [My wedding with Annabelle is in seven days. Dare you come?] I looked down. It was more than a taunt—the malice had always been there. But by the time I understood, it was too late. I could have shown up, but he wouldn’t have seen me. Because I was already dead. The banquet ended. Liam and Annabelle, still tangled together, made their way to the car and tumbled into the back seat. The driver, accustomed to such scenes, raised the partition and started the engine. Liam leaned his face close to Annabelle’s, his liquor-laced breath hot on her skin. Annabelle giggled, turning her face away, then pecked his cheek. “You drank so much.” His voice softened, sounding endearingly docile and childish. “Don’t you dare find me repulsive!” Annabelle chuckled, tugging on Liam’s collar and bringing her lips to his. What followed was a long, suffocating kiss. I suddenly felt the air grow impossibly stifling. I moved through the car and sat on the roof, watching their intimate dance. The summer night wind couldn’t warm my icy soul. Flirting and feigning vulnerability. That was exactly the type of man Annabelle disliked most. In the past, when I occasionally showed her weakness or dependence, she would only say, “A man should act like a man. Don’t be like that; it gives me goosebumps.” By the time I came to my senses, they had already reached their destination. As they entered the villa, an invisible force tugged at me, compelling me to follow. Annabelle, upon entering, casually kicked off her heels by the shoe rack and poured herself a glass of hot water. Liam followed closely, wrapping his arms around her slender waist. “Annabelle, I’m scared…” Scared? Not just Annabelle, even I looked at him, utterly astonished. Since I’d known him, I had never once seen the word “scared” in his words or actions. Annabelle turned, revealing her collar, which had been pulled low due to the warm weather, a generous expanse of skin exposed to the man. “Scared of what?” Annabelle pressed tightly against him, allowing Liam to unzip the back of her dress. “Scared Asher will change his mind.” “Scared you’ll leave me.” “Scared I can’t truly have you.” Annabelle replied without hesitation: “He won’t. Asher won’t change his mind.” Annabelle’s certainty left me in a daze. Once, when we were most in love, Annabelle was just as certain. She said, “Never. This lifetime, I, Annabelle, will only love Asher.” That day, I believed the person I would spend the rest of my life with would definitely be her. Annabelle and I were middle school desk mates, high school classmates, college sweethearts, and then co-founders of a company—sixteen years. We got engaged when our company was well on its way. If nothing went wrong, we should have been married this year. But in our sixteenth year of knowing each other, our tenth year of love, Annabelle changed. When did Annabelle start to change? Probably when she stopped sending me messages to check on me, probably when she sat across from me, glued to her phone, unable to suppress the smile on her lips, probably when she started sending Liam good morning and good night texts every day. Hearts, they change in an instant. So when we broke up, she took all the blame, completely absolving that seemingly distinguished man. I granted her wish and didn’t reveal the evidence of Liam’s later provocations. Initially, when Liam first appeared, I didn’t think much of it. A wealthy business partner’s illegitimate son, looking to gain some experience at our company. To secure that deal, Annabelle came to me for my opinion. She suggested arranging for Liam to be an assistant, doing mundane tasks like serving tea and water, just to humor a young master, making sure he wouldn’t interfere with the company’s core business. I believed her. But I never imagined Annabelle would make Liam her personal assistant, and he remained so for a whole year. And Annabelle, using every possible excuse, convinced me to go abroad to expand the market, where I stayed for another year. When I returned, Annabelle was the future Mrs. Dalton everyone spoke of. I was Annabelle’s ex-boyfriend. Before I could confront Annabelle, she sought me out. She pushed a resignation letter across the table to me, along with a share transfer agreement. “Asher, we once said that if one day we met someone who stirred our hearts more, we would part amicably.” “You remember, right?” When Annabelle and Liam tumbled into the bedroom, I hid in the living room. Thank goodness. Annabelle and I could still maintain a small distance, sparing me from witnessing those dirty, disgusting scenes firsthand. Although Liam had already sent me videos and photos of them. Annabelle’s phone lay on the living room floor, vibrating incessantly. I moved closer; the number displayed on the screen was mine. My mind felt as if it had exploded, and I froze in shock. My fingertips trembled imperceptibly, and the moments before my death played out frame by frame before my eyes. Terror, helplessness. I remembered, I had died an undignified death. After agreeing to Annabelle’s breakup terms, I left the company. Liam found me, wanting to talk. What was there to talk about? I looked at him, but he just scoffed, “Aren’t you curious why I chose Annabelle?” “Why?” I asked, following his lead. Liam took me to a coffee shop near the company. “I just wanted to see how deep Annabelle’s feelings for you were. Turns out, not much.” I didn’t want to waste words with him. But as I stepped out, I was grabbed by several men and shoved into a van. The car bumped along, from the city to the suburbs, from daylight to nightfall. Until the mountain wind howled, and jagged branches scraped my exposed arms. “Liam sent you?” I asked, forcing myself to sound calm. The four men before me were emaciated, their eyes sunken, emitting a peculiar stench. The one in charge took a long drag from his cigarette, looking at me like a lamb to the slaughter. My heart pounded like a drum, but I still desperately sought a way out. “I don’t have any money on me. Let me go, whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it.” This earned me a chorus of harsh laughter. Their violent faces presaged my impending doom. “Kid, learn your lesson in the next life. Don’t mess with the wrong people.” My knees were shattered by an iron bar, my knuckles crushed by a leather boot, and my face was swollen from repeated slaps. One of them sighed regretfully, “Too bad he’s not a chick; otherwise, we could have some fun.” Another chimed in crudely, “Look at that tender skin; does it matter if he’s a chick?” The first one retorted in disgust, “You think everyone’s like you, a pervert?” Listening to this conversation, my heart turned to ice. Later, someone stripped off my outer clothes. I used all my strength to bite off a piece of flesh, enraging that beast. And then my life, and my suffering, came to an end. Blood gushed onto the ground. When I opened my eyes again, I stood behind Annabelle, watching her hold Liam’s hand, announcing their wedding date. Counting the days, her wedding was on the seventh day after my death. One in the morning, Annabelle walked out wrapped in a bath towel. She picked up the phone from the sofa and, seeing the missed calls, her pupils contracted. I huddled on the sofa, trembling, my mind filled with the images of my death. Liam’s voice came from the bedroom: “Annabelle, what’s wrong?” Annabelle suppressed the emotion in her eyes, deleted the call log, and walked towards Liam, phone in hand, to embrace him. The seamless way she deleted the records reminded me vividly of how she used to be when I rarely returned home to see her years ago. In the early days of my time abroad, Annabelle would always video call me. She would complain about how much work there was at the company, and she’d playfully whine, wishing I were by her side. I’d respond while processing documents. “When did you become so clingy?” “Why are you whining and whimpering like that?” I thought I was just casually teasing her, but I hadn’t expected her face to turn instantly pale. It was only later that I realized. People who spend a long time together inadvertently begin to adopt similar ways of speaking. The next morning, Annabelle left Liam’s apartment. As she left, she gently kissed Liam’s face. “Sleep in, you don’t have to go to the office today.” I found it somewhat amusing. Annabelle used to be very particular about time. Rain or shine, she would always wake up on schedule and wouldn’t allow me to be idle, fearing it would delay the day’s work. For sixteen years, I had grown accustomed to her habits, the ones she made me adopt. But it turned out all her habits could be broken, and that exception was reserved for one particular person. I followed Annabelle to the company. My assistant of three years was pacing anxiously outside Annabelle’s office, clutching a contract. Seeing Annabelle, she spoke with urgency: “Ms. Xu, there was a problem with the contract Mr. Nan negotiated a few days ago during signing.” “The other party insists on meeting Mr. Nan before they’ll sign.” Annabelle glanced at the assistant, seemingly not taking it too seriously, but rather said as if it were obvious, “Then call Asher; he’ll go.” The assistant looked at Annabelle with some embarrassment; her phone receiver only delivered repeated unanswerable tones. Perhaps there were too many unanswered calls, for Annabelle’s brow furrowed deeper, and the contract she was reviewing was slammed onto the table with force. “How long have you been calling?” “You haven’t gotten through since this morning?” Annabelle’s gaze swept to the little assistant standing to the side, impatience written plainly on her face. The assistant flinched slightly, “Yes, Ms. Xu.” I stood by the desk, a little surprised why my phone wouldn’t connect. Clearly, last night, my phone had called Annabelle’s. Annabelle probably thought I was doing it on purpose. I pressed my lips together, sketching a self-mocking smile, and idly scanned the contracts casually strewn across the desk. Many of the clauses in the contract had been changed. Completely different from the terms I had negotiated. Liam’s doing. After all, he had taken my place. Annabelle didn’t speak for a long time, staring intently at her phone screen. On the screen was her chat interface with me; she had sent me a message two minutes ago, “Call me back ASAP.” Annabelle’s jaw was tight, simmering with an anger ready to erupt. Until her best friend, Stella, called her: “Annabelle, Asher he…” “Asher isn’t at the company.” “I’m looking for him too.” “If you get in touch with him, tell him to come to the company as soon as possible.” Stella’s words were cut off by Annabelle. Without waiting for a response from the other end, Annabelle quickly hung up and walked into the conference room. I was pulled along by Annabelle’s swift steps, but a faint, hollow ache resonated in my chest. Annabelle had hung up too quickly. As a result, I desperately wanted to know what Stella had been trying to say, but had no way of knowing. Was she going to say I was missing, or had she already known about my death? How humiliating, such a disgusting way to die. The conference room was silent. I had been negotiating that deal for nearly half a month, and Annabelle broke up with me just as it was about to be finalized. Many people said Annabelle was ditching me after using me. Now, the millstone wouldn’t turn. When Stella arrived at the company, Annabelle was in a furious rage.

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When the gas explosion set the villa on fire, I used every ounce of strength I had to carry my unconscious mother and brother out to safety. But when they woke up, they gathered around my cousin, whose hair had been singed by the flames, showering her with concern. The butler asked anxiously, “Where’s Keira?” Mom shouted furiously, “That ungrateful wretch Keira ran off first thing!” “Thank god for Celeste—she even had her hair burned trying to save us.” Mom and my brother looked at me with intense disgust, completely missing the flicker in my cousin’s eyes. They didn’t know that at that very moment, I was lying collapsed inside the villa. A heavy solid wood bookshelf had crushed my legs. In the towering flames, my right hand was charred black, exposing the white bones beneath. And the chandelier on the ceiling was swaying dangerously, about to crash down on my head. Mom and my brother crowded around my cousin, the whole family rushing to the hospital to fuss over her singed hair. My brother, Hayden Hayes, patted her head consolingly. “Don’t worry. Worst case, we’ll make Keira cut her hair and give it to you.” He frowned irritably. “Where is Keira anyway?” At that, Mom slapped the table twice in anger. “That ungrateful girl saw the fire and ran faster than anyone!” “She’s probably lying around sleeping somewhere right now, completely indifferent to whether we live or die!” Mom’s judgment of me continued. Until the police called with news of my death, she suddenly froze like a machine jamming. The disgust hadn’t faded from her face yet, making her expression look almost comical. I floated in midair, watching their reactions, and couldn’t help wanting to laugh a little. In the car ride home, Mom and my brother both wore expressionless faces. Only their occasionally clenching fingers betrayed their inner turmoil. Quite a crowd had gathered at the villa entrance, and my body lay on a white gurney to the side. After getting out of the car, Mom grabbed my brother in a daze. “That… that’s Keira’s body, isn’t it?” “No… this can’t be possible…” Hayden took two steps back, panic flashing across his face as he asked repeatedly. “You’re working with Keira to put on a show, aren’t you? She loves lying and playing tricks—this is fake too, right?” When the villa caught fire, I had been in the garden watering flowers and turning soil. My cousin Celeste had accused me of stealing her bracelet, and Mom, without asking any questions, had punished me by making me clean the entire villa garden alone. When I saw the billowing black smoke, I rushed into the fire without hesitation. Mom and my brother had already been knocked unconscious by the smoke. I used all my strength to rescue them from the villa one by one. The scorching smoke seared my lungs—every breath brought tears of pain. In his confusion, my brother grabbed my hand and mumbled, “Save Celeste… go save her…” Gritting my teeth, I rushed back into the flames. When I found my cousin, she was huddled in a corner of her room, curled up and screaming. When she saw me, her eyes lit up. “Keira! Save me! Please save me!” I draped the wet bedsheet over her. After just two steps, I saw the bookshelf beside us start to tilt. I instinctively tried to dodge, but Celeste shoved me hard. The intense pain made me cry out. When I came to my senses, the heavy solid wood bookshelf had already pinned my legs. I looked at Celeste in disbelief. A flash of struggle crossed her face, but it all turned to cold indifference in the end. She said, “Keira, you only have yourself to blame for always competing with me for everything.” Then she ran out of the villa without hesitation, shouting as she went. “Aunt! Hayden! Where are you? I’m so scared!” I instinctively called out “Mom”—it’s every child’s natural response in extreme panic. The fire in the villa grew fiercer. I could clearly hear the sound of my skin splitting from the burns. I tried turning my body, pushing hard against the bookshelf on my legs, veins bulging on my forehead. My nails all broke off from the force, leaving my fingers bloody and mangled. But the bookshelf on top of me didn’t budge an inch. Moments later, I collapsed heavily back to the ground. Turning my head, through the bright second-floor window, I could clearly see the three people in the garden. Mom and my brother had regained consciousness. Celeste threw herself into Mom’s arms. Hayden tenderly touched her hair. The whole family wore expressions of relief at having survived, but no one cared whether I lived or died. No one even mentioned me. The chandelier overhead suddenly made a harsh creaking sound. I looked up, then closed my eyes in despair. Before my consciousness plunged into darkness, I felt only endless confusion and bewilderment. I was clearly their daughter and little sister, so why wouldn’t they love me? Hatred rose in my chest. I really didn’t have to die. … When the half-charred body was wheeled before Mom, she collapsed to the ground in shock. She kept repeating, “Impossible—Keira wasn’t even in the villa, was she?” Then she broke down crying. “I’m sorry, Keira… I’m sorry, Mom could have saved you, you didn’t have to die…” Hayden shook his head in a daze, looking at my body in disbelief. “No… this isn’t Keira, she’s not my sister.” “My sister was beautiful—how could she look like this now…” I finally heard the words I’d wanted to hear. But now, it was all too late.

Mom’s hands trembled, not daring to approach. My brother stood to the side, gasping for breath, clutching his chest tightly. Just then, a group of smiling reporters carrying cameras arrived at the villa entrance. Seeing this scene, they looked confused at first, then asked cautiously, “Is Miss Keira Hayes here?” Hearing this, Mom looked up in a daze. When she saw the joy on his face, she was instantly triggered and shouted. “What are you smiling about? Are you happy my daughter Keira is dead!” The reporter quickly waved his hands. “You misunderstand, we didn’t mean that… What did you say? Miss Keira Hayes… she’s dead?” Celeste suddenly stood up excitedly and shoved the reporter. “My sister is dead! Even if she did something else to trend on social media, can’t you just leave her alone?” Mom heard her words and first frowned irritably by instinct, then closed her eyes. “Yes, when someone dies, the past dies with them. I’ll apologize on her behalf…” “You misunderstand!” The reporter interrupted her. “Miss Hayes won second place in the International Art Painting Awards!” “She even received praise from a professor at the Florence Academy—she brought honor to the country!” “What?” Mom shot to her feet, looking at him in disbelief. “She won second place in a painting competition? How is that possible?” The reporter looked at her with a complicated expression. “You’re Mrs. Hayes, right? That’s a strange thing to say. The contestants all painted on site in front of everyone—of course it’s real!” “Besides, as a mother, shouldn’t you feel proud when your daughter achieves such an honor?” At this, tears began welling up in Mom’s eyes. She turned, looking at Celeste with suspicion. In my memory, this was the first time Mom had chosen to question her instead of me. Celeste wrung her fingers together and spoke softly. “I heard from Keira’s classmate that she wanted to hire him as a ghost painter…” The reporter looked at her mockingly. “Don’t tell me this classmate of yours just happens to be the first-place winner of that painting competition?” “Otherwise, why would Miss Hayes hire someone less skilled than herself to paint for her?” Celeste tried to argue back, but my brother patted her shoulder, his voice hoarse. “Forget it. Now’s not the time for this. Let’s just let our sister… rest in peace.” She bit her lip, pouting unwillingly. But just then, another woman with a stern expression walked up to them. She scanned the surroundings and lowered her head in silence for a moment. With reddened eyes, she pulled a bottle of medicine and a USB drive from her bag, speaking calmly. “Keira didn’t come to pick up her medication last week. I wanted to bring it to her today, but now I see there’s no need.” Mom and my brother froze. Seeing the confused expressions on their faces, the woman’s voice turned mocking. “You mean you don’t know?” “The tumor in Keira’s brain has been severely compressing her nerves. She was sick.” Mom looked at her in shock, mouth open, not knowing what to say. The woman glanced at her and continued. “She had already started forgetting many things. Afraid she might completely forget you all one day, she participated in my lab’s new project—the Memory Fragment Preservation Program.” “This USB drive stores her life memories.” “You suspect she hired a ghost painter? Just watch and find out!” Her last sentence was deliberately loaded with meaning. Celeste seemed to realize something, her face turning deathly pale in an instant. She rushed forward, trying to stop the woman from inserting the USB drive and making my memories public. But she was firmly blocked by the two bodyguards the woman had brought. She shouted anxiously at Mom. “Aunt, stop them! How can we just watch Keira’s privacy be exposed to everyone!” Mom seemed to finally react, stepping forward and grabbing the woman’s hand firmly. Her attitude was resolute. “I won’t allow anyone to hurt my daughter anymore. Please stop!” The woman laughed softly, her voice still calm and detached. “Don’t you want to know the truth about your husband’s death?” “Haven’t you hated Keira for over ten years because of this?” I saw Mom’s expression change rapidly in that moment. Finally, she released the woman’s hand as if in a trance.

I floated in midair, watching my own memories being played, feeling strange and curious. For a moment, I felt like I was outside this world entirely. The expression on Celeste’s face grew increasingly terrified. She buried her face in Hayden’s chest. “Hayden, please don’t let her play it, okay? I don’t want to see Uncle’s accident, and I don’t want… to watch my parents die again…” Tenderness appeared on Hayden’s face. He spoke tentatively. “Mom, maybe we shouldn’t watch this?” “This is just too cruel for Celeste.” But the memory USB had already started playing, and Mom was already staring entranced at Dad in the footage. It was the summer when I was six years old. Mom and Dad took Hayden and me to visit my cousin’s family, who had immigrated to Country M. Throughout the journey, Hayden seemed very excited. I knew he had always liked Celeste more than me. Feeling sullen, I didn’t want to talk to him. Noticing this, he pinched my cheek with a smile. “Who told you not to sweetly call me ‘brother’ every time you see me like Celeste does?” “With your personality, you’re like a little old lady all day long.” Though the words were complaints, his voice still carried affection. Back then, Hayden wasn’t as disgusted with me as he is now. But the accident happened without warning. On our third day at my uncle’s house, a severe earthquake struck Country M. My uncle and aunt were pierced through by steel beams from the villa and died on the spot. Dad, dragging his injured leg, struggled to pull Hayden and me out. Even unconscious, Hayden kept mumbling, “Save my sister… don’t worry about me, save my sister quickly.” Dad turned to see Celeste standing under a chandelier, frozen in fear. The massive chandelier swayed precariously, just like today’s scene. Without hesitation, Dad pushed Celeste out of the way and was buried himself under the rubble. At the time, Mom had been drinking tea in the spacious villa garden and escaped disaster. But when everyone regained consciousness, Celeste tearfully told Mom, “Uncle died trying to save Keira.” “Keira was so scared she just stood there unable to move. No matter how much I called her, she didn’t respond. Uncle died trying to save her—he was crushed by the chandelier…” I’ll never forget the look in Mom’s and my brother’s eyes that day. Their eyes held bone-chilling hatred. … “Aunt! Hayden! It wasn’t like that!” Celeste’s face was pale as she anxiously explained. “I was too scared then, my memories got confused…” “I didn’t mean to say that. I was terrified and just heard Hayden say ‘save sister’ and got confused. Please believe me!” Hayden was silent for a long time, then suddenly sighed helplessly. “Celeste, don’t blame yourself. We know you didn’t mean it.” “Mom… you should comfort Celeste too. She’s always been prone to overthinking. Because of this, she probably won’t be able to sleep tonight.” But Mom seemed not to hear, staring fixedly at the computer screen, mumbling continuously. “He died saving Celeste, not Keira, not Keira.” “It wasn’t Keira who caused her own father’s death, it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her all along…” The colorful screen light fell on her face, illuminating her pale features even more clearly. The woman beside them refused to let it go, scoffing. “The one whose confused memories led to amnesia should be Keira, shouldn’t it?” “The tumor has been compressing her nerves from age nine until now. All these years, not one of you noticed.” “So even without today’s accident, she wouldn’t have lived past another year. I suppose we should congratulate her for being released early.” My fingers trembled involuntarily twice. So… I was so sick that I’d even forgotten something this important? But even if I only had one year, I wanted to live it properly. Because back then, it was Dad who dragged me out of the ruins and gave me a second life. I hadn’t yet lived fully enough to see this world on his behalf… Hayden’s expression became very ugly in an instant. Celeste tugged his hand, looking at him pitifully and helplessly. He stared at the ground with a complex expression, lips pressed tightly together. “Don’t worry, there’s more excitement to come.” The woman’s voice rang out like thunder exploding in Celeste’s ears. Her body swayed, eyes wide with terror.

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After discovering my husband, Ethan Holt, came back from a business trip where he’d been cheating, I didn’t fall into hysterical arguments. Instead, I calmly sat him down with my pregnancy test results. Either divorce, or cut things off with the other woman completely. He stayed silent for a long time before choosing to return to our family. But when the baby was born, Ethan breathed a sigh of relief and confessed: “Actually, the person I’ve been having an affair with is your best friend, Jessica.” “While you were in labor, we were having sex at the hotel across from the hospital.” Seeing me too exhausted to even speak, he continued mercilessly: “These past six months, you had her monitor me, but that actually gave us more opportunities to be together.” “Your mom knows too, but she kept it from you because she was afraid you’d miscarry. We all did it for your own good.” As the anesthesia wore off, I felt excruciating pain below. But no physical pain could compare to the heartbreak. I gripped the bedsheets tightly, forcing words from my throat. “Why… why did you have to tell me this right after I gave birth?” The moment I spoke, Jessica and Ethan’s friends burst into the room, laughing and joking. “Jessica, you lost the bet! Vivian didn’t cry, so you have to wear the bunny girl outfit!” “Yeah, when Jessica wears that, Ethan’s going to be completely obsessed!” Jessica laughed shyly and scolded them, then said with a blushing face: “I’ll only wear it for Ethan.” Seeing my shocked, disbelieving expression, Ethan explained calmly: “We bet on whether you’d cry when you found out I was cheating with your best friend. If you cried, I promised her ten rounds in one night. If you didn’t cry, Jessica would wear a sexy outfit.” He spoke as if discussing something trivial, then raised an eyebrow as if remembering something. “Oh, you don’t know this—Jessica and I already got our marriage license.” “Then what about our marriage license!” My voice broke, tears flooding my eyes. The next second, I was silenced by everyone’s mocking, zoo-animal stares. “Vivian, you really didn’t know? Your marriage to Ethan is fake. The real one is with Jessica~” Jessica shot that person a playfully reproachful glance. Then she grabbed my hand with a fake smile: “Vivian, we didn’t tell you for your sake and the baby’s~” That line was identical to what Ethan had said. My blood ran completely cold. A year ago, I’d been overjoyed to tell Ethan about my pregnancy. But when he came back from his business trip, I saw the telltale marks on his body. Panicked, I called my mom to explain the situation. My mom spoke to me like a woman of experience: “If you step aside now, aren’t you just giving the other woman an opportunity? So what if he cheated? I can tell—Ethan loves you most!” My mom convinced me. I swallowed all my hurt and talked with him through the night. When Ethan learned I was pregnant with his child, he knelt and begged for forgiveness without hesitation, choosing to return to our family. But he refused to tell me who the other woman was. That became a thorn lodged in my heart. After learning about this, my best friend Jessica volunteered to help monitor Ethan. She reported everything Ethan did, every moment of every day. Even the duration of his masturbation sessions during my pregnancy was precisely calculated by her. Every time she called to report, she looked sleep-deprived. I thought she was just exhausted, so I frequently bought her expensive supplements. Just a few days ago, she’d even encouraged me to become a career-focused woman after giving birth. Now I finally understood—she was the mistress I’d been trying to catch all along. I trembled with rage, not even noticing when my IV came loose and blood ran down my entire arm. No wonder my mother-in-law always looked down on me but treated Jessica like a daughter. No wonder Ethan’s friends dared to make crude jokes about me but were polite to Jessica. I’d been the only one played for a fool.

Blood from my arm pooled on the floor, the pain snapping me back to reality. “What happened? You’re in postpartum recovery—don’t you know to take care of yourself?” “Drink some of the mushroom soup Mom made.” Ethan held my IV tube with one hand and fed me soup with the other. His tone was gentle, as if he’d already forgotten his naked confession moments ago. My throat felt raw. Eyes red, I stared at him stubbornly. “Ethan, why?” “Why did you lie to me? The marriage license is fake, being Mrs. Holt is fake—what’s real?!” My voice grew more agitated, my chest heaving violently, tears streaming down uncontrollably. Ethan set down the bowl. His peach-blossom eyes, which once held only me when we were in love, now looked cold as frost. “Vivian, you’ve forgotten about that incident. I never will.” “Five years ago, the three of us traveled abroad and encountered kidnappers. I was taken to Myanmar, and it was Jessica who risked her life to save me, while you just turned and ran.” He shot me a mocking glance, his tone carrying a hint of vengeful pleasure. “But you didn’t escape. You were violated instead.” At those words, I froze completely, my entire body shrouded in bone-chilling cold. Five years ago during that conflict, Jessica had deliberately reported our location to local scammers to save herself. I ran thirty kilometers barefoot to transmit our location to the Holt family. My feet were rubbed raw, my arm dislocated from an explosion, even my back burned with horrifying scars. I finally reached the signal camp, but I was discovered, dragged, and thrown into hell. When I got out, Ethan’s face was tight, silent. I wanted to explain, but he shouted with red eyes: “No one is allowed to mention this again!” But he thought it was Jessica. My heart went ice-cold: “If you think I’m a coward, why the fake marriage? Why endure this for five years?” Ethan laughed coldly as he wiped the blood from my arm. But his eyes looked tenderly toward Jessica, who was chatting and laughing at the door. “Jessica became permanently infertile because she saved me. I owe her a child.” “And you—you owe me.” He paused, his expression growing colder. “I tried to forget what happened, tried to forget that you were already dirty. But whenever I think of you running away like a madwoman, I feel disgusted, even physically repulsed.” I laughed. Laughed until tears streamed down, laughed until I couldn’t breathe. All because of a fabricated life-saving favor, Ethan spent five years making me birth a child that would be Jessica’s. For five years, because I had difficulty conceiving, I took injections and medications daily, did IVF treatments. My body accumulated new injuries on top of old ones until I was barely recognizable. I thought I was sacrificing for love, but it was all a monstrous lie. Ethan roughly wiped away my tears. “Why are you crying? It’s not like I won’t support you or love you anymore.” “As long as you let Jessica raise the child, you’re still the prestigious Mrs. Holt.” Those words completely shattered the emotions I’d been suppressing. I parted my cracked lips and screamed hysterically: “In your dreams! This is fraud! Ethan, aren’t you afraid I’ll report you to the court!” Ethan watched me finish my outburst coldly, then said lightly: “Go ahead and report it. But you probably don’t want custody of the child anymore.” Those words struck me like lightning, my ears ringing. I didn’t believe it. I tried to call my lawyer friends, but Ethan smiled cruelly. “Go ahead and call. But Vivian, you need to understand—without me, you’re nothing.” After Ethan left, I started hopefully dialing lawyers one by one. But in the end, some answered saying they were busy, others directly said they didn’t dare take the case. Just as my emotions were about to collapse, that afternoon I was moved from the VIP room directly to the crowded hallway.

I knew it was Ethan’s arrangement. But while I could endure it, the baby couldn’t. In one hour, he cried fifteen times. The constant noise from people passing by made the baby cry nonstop. When passersby got annoyed, they hurled verbal abuse at me. Seeing I was easy to bully, some people later threw glass cups at my bed, telling me to get lost. When Ethan came by, he saw me lying disheveled on the bed, the sheets half-soaked with blood. “Vivian, see? This is your so-called independence.” His mockery stabbed like knives into my heart. Only when he held the baby to feed him did I finally collapse on the bed, drained of all strength. I was a girl from the mountains. Ethan was the most privileged son of the elite circle. To marry me, he defied his parents’ opposition and was beaten until his ribs broke. To prevent others from looking down on me, he helped build my brand, took me to auctions and galas, introducing me to everyone. The year I was misdiagnosed with cancer, he cried every day and prayed at church. Before, when his friends saw me, they all tried to please me. Even my mother-in-law said she wanted to recognize me as her daughter. But for five years, it was all an elaborate lie they’d woven. Ethan seemed to want to watch me struggle more, so he quickly returned the baby to me. I gritted my teeth hard. For the sake of custody of my child, I prepared to sell my design studio. When I called, I learned it had been contracted to the Holt Corporation indefinitely and leased to Jessica, who’d just won a fashion exhibition award. The baby cried again. I hurriedly called the postpartum nanny I’d booked. But I was told coldly: “Ma’am, your price isn’t even a tenth of what your husband offered. I’m definitely not coming!” Helpless, I comforted the baby while staying alert for the aggressive patient nearby, when the maternity center nurse came to notify me: “Miss Reed, your husband refunded all the money. If you want to stay, you’ll need to pay again.” My face went pale. I knew my cards were frozen. So with weak legs, dragging my body that hadn’t finished postpartum recovery, I carried the baby step by step back home. The door to the house was half-open. My heart sank, thinking burglars had broken in. Inside, harsh sounds of sex suddenly rang out. “Ethan~ I can’t take it anymore!” At those words, my legs felt like lead, but I rushed to the bedroom in just a few steps. Inside, Ethan was pressing Jessica beneath him, his strong hips thrusting against her body. Seeing me standing there pale and frozen, Ethan turned Jessica over and smiled mockingly: “What, watched long enough? Want to join us?” Nausea rolled through my stomach. I hurriedly covered the baby’s eyes, but Jessica laughed and taunted me: “Vivian, your mom said it herself—I’m your best friend. It’s better for me to help you and Ethan with your physical needs than some stranger. She’s the one who pushed me to Ethan~” I froze instantly, tears flowing despite myself. I couldn’t believe my own mother had known even earlier and tacitly approved everything! The three people closest to me had all betrayed me! I was so angry my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and my abdomen throbbed with pain. Slowly, I felt liquid leaking from below, the pungent smell filling the entire room. I couldn’t control the postpartum discharge during recovery, and I felt utterly humiliated. Jessica covered her nose in disgust: “Vivian, did you just wet yourself!” Ethan also frowned, his movements unconsciously stopping. He put on a shirt and walked toward me. The instant his nauseating cologne hit me, I shoved him away hard. I collapsed on the floor, vomiting violently. The baby started wailing in fright. But Ethan’s face had darkened like the bottom of a pot. “Vivian, I haven’t even found you disgusting yet—what are you so repulsed by?”

I wiped my mouth roughly and looked at him like I was looking at a dead man. He froze for a moment, then smiled viciously through gritted teeth: “Fine, fine, fine, Vivian. You brought this on yourself. I gave you a chance.” “You’re the one who chose to abandon it.” With that, he pulled out his phone with a dark expression: “Transfer all shares of Vivian Reed’s father’s company to Jessica’s name. Also, put the house her father left her in his will up for auction on eBay.” Jessica’s eyes immediately lit up with delight as she exclaimed: “Ethan, really! You’re so good to me—you’re giving me all of this!” But my heart had died. The massive hands of powerlessness and despair were choking me. I wanted to curse him with the most vicious words, but thinking of the consequences, my throat felt stuffed with cotton. Seeing my awful expression, Ethan looked at me with a mocking smile, his eyes full of ridicule: “Vivian, when you abandoned me in Myanmar and I was tortured by those people, this is exactly how much it hurt.” “This has only been a few days. You’ll suffer slowly for the rest of your life.” I lowered my head, my despairing gaze fixed on my shoes. So that’s how it is. Only now did I finally understand why Ethan spent five years weaving this lie. Simply because he wasn’t willing to let go. He hated me. He wanted revenge. He wanted to hold me in the palm of his hand, then viciously throw me into hell. I looked up, smiling innocently: “Ethan, you’re so stupid.” He frowned, laughing in extreme anger: “Still talking tough?” “The one who saved you back then wasn’t even…” My gaze sharpened, the truth about to slip from my mouth. Suddenly, Jessica pointed at the baby and screamed: “The baby passed out! Vivian, what did you do to the child!” At those words, the baby was snatched from my arms by Ethan. He unwrapped the swaddling clothes. The child was foaming at the mouth, his little face red and swollen. “So hot! Vivian, are you trying to kill the baby!” Ethan touched the child’s forehead and shouted at me harshly. My heart suspended in an instant. I rushed to take the child from his arms, but Ethan refused to let go. “Ethan! I have infant fever medicine in my bag! Give it to him first!” But Jessica rushed up to me and slapped me across the face: “Vivian, he’s going to be my child from now on! Are you trying to kill him!” Ethan gave me a cold glance and carried the child out. I stood there in a daze, watching his retreating back. Jessica leaned close to my ear smugly: “Don’t worry, Vivian. I’ll make sure to kill your son properly.”

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On the night of my birthday, a woman suffering from abdominal pain was rushed into the ER. Ethan Ford rushed Isla James into the emergency room. Her ovarian cyst had ruptured from intense sex. Yet he lied to me, saying he was in a meeting. I personally operated on my rival, only to be ordered by him afterward to quit my job and stay home to care for his mistress. Ten years of deep love, exchanged for repeated humiliation and betrayal. Finally, I dialed the Lancaster family number. “Dad, I want a divorce. I’m coming home to the Lancaster family.” When I stunned everyone at the charity gala as the Lancaster family heiress, when I personally destroyed the Ford Corporation as a doctor, he knelt on the ground, sobbing and begging to get back together. I smiled as I tore up the old letters and said to Pierce, “Honey, the ring is beautiful.” Sophia’s POV On the night of my birthday, a young woman was rushed into the ER. She was in unbearable pain, her face deathly pale. I put on gloves, pressed her abdomen, and made my diagnosis. “Ruptured ovarian cyst, intra-abdominal bleeding. Prep for surgery.” I looked up and locked eyes with a familiar pair of slightly panicked eyes. It was my husband, Ethan Ford. Ten minutes ago, this man had been sweet-talking me on the phone, saying there was a last-minute international conference at the office and he couldn’t make it back to blow out candles with me. Ten minutes later, he brought another woman to my operating table. Even the cause was deeply ironic-a ruptured ovarian cyst from overly intense sex. Outside the ER, Ethan’s friends were poking their heads in, their faces screaming “we’re screwed.” “Holy shit, Sophia’s on duty tonight?” “This is gonna blow up. Ethan really stepped in it this time.” “What’s there to worry about? You all know what Sophia’s like, right? She’s crazy about Ethan. She’ll probably just cry for a bit and that’ll be the end of it.” The nurse looked at my face, her hands trembling with anger. “Dr. Morgan, should I… call Dr. Lee down? This patient’s situation is delicate. Maybe you should recuse yourself?” The whole hospital knew that the woman lying on the bed, Isla James, was Ethan Ford’s precious “sister”-and the thorn lodged in my heart. I removed my stethoscope. “No need. Prep anesthesia. I’ll operate myself.” The murmuring outside immediately grew louder. “Seriously? Sophia’s going to do it herself?” “You think she’s gonna try to hurt Isla while she’s on the table? I mean, she is her rival.” “Last time Isla sat on Ethan’s lap in a bikini, Sophia straight up poured a whole table of drinks on them. She’s way too calm today. Something’s definitely up.” Amid all the noise, Ethan yanked his tie loose in frustration. He strode over and stared hard at my lowered lashes. “Family consent form.” I handed him the surgical consent form without even looking at him. Ethan gripped the pen so hard his knuckles turned white, pressing down with enough force to nearly tear the paper. He lowered his voice, his tone tinged with inexplicable anger. “Sophia, don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “The patient’s bleeding is increasing. Any more delay and she’ll go into shock. Mr. Ford, please hurry.” Mr. Ford. Ethan gritted his teeth and scrawled his signature, then shoved the form back at me. “Fine. Dr. Morgan, so professional. Then you better listen carefully. If anything happens to Isla, I’m holding you personally responsible!” I took the form and turned to leave. The operating room doors slowly closed, and the “Surgery in Progress” light turned on like some kind of alarm. I knew. Ethan thought I would make a scene, lose my mind, and hysterically interrogate him like I used to. But I didn’t. 2 a.m. Surgery complete. I removed my mask and walked out of the OR, utterly exhausted. Ethan immediately rushed over. The first thing he said was: “How’s Isla?” “The surgery was successful. She’ll need a month to recover.” My voice was hoarse. “During this month, sex is strictly prohibited. Next time Mr. Ford engages in such ‘strenuous activities,’ please show more restraint.” Dead silence all around. Ethan’s buddies looked like their jaws were about to hit the floor. Ethan’s face turned ashen. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it felt like he wanted to crush my bones. “Sophia, who the hell are you being sarcastic for? You’re my wife. Can’t you show a little grace? Isla’s health is fragile. I was worried about her and brought her here!” I looked down at the large hand gripping my wrist and gently pulled free. “Mr. Ford misunderstood.” I looked up and smiled faintly. “I’m a doctor. Saving lives is my duty. As for how you two play around or what happens. That’s your private business. I don’t care.” “You don’t care?” Ethan narrowed his eyes as if he’d heard a joke. “Sophia, aren’t you tired of playing hard to get? Don’t think acting like you don’t care will make me look at you any differently.” Just then, Isla was wheeled out, still groggy from anesthesia, mumbling incoherently. “Ethan… it hurts…” Ethan immediately released me, spun around, and rushed to the gurney, his voice dripping with tenderness. “I’m here, I’m here. Don’t be scared. I’m right here.” A crowd of people swarmed around the bed toward the VIP room. The corridor instantly emptied. I stood there, watching their retreating figures, the fake smile on my face slowly fading. I pulled out my phone and found a number with no label saved, one I’d kept for a long time. I dialed. Someone picked up quickly. An elderly but authoritative voice came through, tinged with cautious hope. “…Sophia?” I looked out at the pitch-black night, my voice cold and resolute. “Dad, it’s Sophia Morgan.” “Within a month, help me finalize the divorce.” “I’m coming home to the Lancaster family.”

Sophia’s POV There was a full five seconds of silence on the other end before Dad’s voice broke into a choked, joyful sob. “Yes! My dear daughter, you’ve finally come to your senses! I’ll arrange everything right away! Tomorrow…no, tonight I’ll have the legal team on standby!” The Lancaster family. New York’s wealthiest. A true top-tier dynasty. I was the Lancaster family’s long-lost heiress, separated from them for over twenty years. Six months ago, the Lancasters found me and begged me to come home. At the time, I refused. Because back then, I foolishly believed I could warm the heart of Ethan Ford, that cold, unfeeling stone. I was an orphan. The Ford family sponsored my education. Later, Ethan got into a car accident saving Isla. His legs were paralyzed, and doctors said he might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Isla ran off and flew overseas for “further studies.” It was me who married paralyzed Ethan Ford, despite everyone’s ridicule. For two whole years. I taught myself rehabilitation massage and spent three hours a day massaging him until my finger joints became deformed. I learned to cook for him, and my hands were covered in burn scars. The day Ethan stood up again, he held me and cried, swearing he would never betray me. But a man’s vows are probably only real in that single moment. When Isla came back to the country, she shed a few tears and offered some excuse about “hardships back then,” and Ethan’s heart tilted. Once tilted, it stayed that way for a year. Now, the debt was repaid. The love was spent. “Dad, don’t make it too high-profile. I just want to divorce quietly.” I said softly, “Give me a month to clean up the mess here.” “Whatever you say! As long as you come home, the entire Lancaster Corporation is yours! Anyone who dares bully you, I’ll make sure they can’t survive in this city!” I hung up, and the weight in my chest finally seemed to lift. My phone buzzed. A message from Ethan: “I submitted your resignation letter to your hospital director.” “Isla’s coming to our place to recover after she’s discharged. I don’t trust outsiders to take care of her. Since you’re being so reasonable, spend this month at home looking after her.” I stared at those lines of shameless text on the screen. I didn’t feel angry. I almost wanted to laugh. He wanted me, his wife, to quit my job and stay home to care for his mistress? Ethan Ford, you’re really pushing the limits of absurdity. Thinking of my plan, I tapped lightly and replied with one word: “Okay.” This month would be my final tribute to this dead love. By the time I got home, it was 4 a.m. The villa was brightly lit. Isla didn’t want to stay in the hospital, so she threw a fit about going home to recover. Ethan actually indulged her and brought her back in the middle of the night. When I pushed open the door, I saw Isla wearing my silk pajamas, leaning delicately against the sofa. Ethan was half-kneeling on the floor, carefully feeding her water. At the sound of the door opening, Isla flinched like a startled little rabbit. “She’s back… Ethan, I told you not to come here. She’s definitely going to be upset…” Ethan slammed the glass down on the coffee table and shot me a cold look. “This is my house. I’ll have whoever I want here. Does she dare have an opinion?” I changed my shoes and walked over. “The doctor said she needs rest. The mattress in the master bedroom is soft. Let her sleep there.” Ethan ordered matter-of-factly, “You sleep in the guest room.” She was taking over my nest, and doing it so brazenly. I nodded. “Fine.” I turned to go upstairs and pack my things. I’d already been so compliant, but somehow he still stood up abruptly and blocked my way in a few strides. “Sophia, what the hell are you playing at? This isn’t like you.” I looked up. “Aren’t you the one who told me to be reasonable? Now I’m not only reasonable but generous. I’ve given up my husband and my bed. What else could Mr. Ford possibly be dissatisfied with?” “You-” Ethan was left speechless. “Oh, by the way,” I remembered something. “Since you’re taking care of a patient, don’t sleep too soundly tonight. Keep an eye on her temperature. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.” With that, I walked past Ethan and went straight upstairs. I entered the guest room and locked the door. Leaning against the door, I let out a long breath. I pulled out my phone and opened an encrypted app. It was my private booking account as the top surgeon “M”-and another identity of the Lancaster heiress. If I was leaving, I’d leave cleanly. For the past three years, I’d worked earnestly at Ford Hospital on a fixed salary. Now, it was time to reclaim what I was truly worth. Downstairs, Isla watched as Ethan stared blankly at the staircase. She bit her lip. She tugged gently on his sleeve. “Ethan, has she stopped loving you? She seems… like she really doesn’t care anymore.” Ethan snapped out of it and sneered. “Doesn’t care? She’s loved me for ten years. How could she just cut it off like that? She’s just trying a different way to get my attention.” He was utterly confident. I couldn’t leave him. That was common knowledge in their circle. Even now, he still thought that as long as he crooked his finger, I’d crawl back to him like a dog. “Just wait. Within three days, she’ll definitely come crying and beg me to kick you out.” Ethan ruffled Isla’s hair. “When that happens, I’ll make her kneel and apologize to you.” Isla nodded obediently, but a flash of cunning gleamed in her eyes.

Sophia’s POV The next morning, I was woken by pounding on the door. “Sophia! What time is it and you’re still sleeping? Are you a pig?” Ethan’s irritated voice came through the door. I glanced at my phone. 6:30 a.m. Rubbing my throbbing temples, I opened the door. Ethan stood there with a dark expression, wearing an apron that looked completely out of place. “Isla’s hungry. She wants donuts from that place on the south side. Go get them.” I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Mr. Ford, I resigned. I didn’t become your slave. If she wants food, go get it yourself or order delivery.” “Delivery takes too long! You drive. It’s faster!” Ethan said indignantly, “You used to get up at dawn to make me oatmeal when I had stomach pain. Now you can’t even buy donuts for Isla?” I looked at this man and suddenly felt like I’d been blind all these years. “You said it yourself. That was before.” “Sophia!” Ethan grabbed my shoulder. “You need to get this straight. Everything you eat, wear, and live in. Who’s paying for it? What’s wrong with asking you to do a little work? Don’t forget, if it weren’t for the Ford family back then, you’d still be fighting stray dogs for food in the orphanage!” That sentence hit my weak spot with precision. Debt of gratitude. That damned debt of gratitude again. I brushed Ethan’s hand away. “Fine. I’ll go.” This was the last time. Once I repaid this final bit, we’d be even. I changed and left, drove two hours, waited in line for an hour, and finally got the donuts. By the time I returned to the villa, it was 10 a.m. Laughter filled the living room. Isla was sitting in Ethan’s lap. The two of them were sharing a tablet, laughing so hard tears were forming. When they saw me enter, Isla immediately reined in her smile and timidly called out: “Thank you.” I set the donuts on the table, along with a complimentary hot coffee. Isla reached for the hot coffee first. Suddenly, as if scalded, her hand jerked. Most of the hot coffee spilled onto the back of my hand, with the rest splashing onto the carpet. I sucked in a sharp breath. My hand instantly turned bright red, the searing pain piercing to the bone. “What happened?!” Ethan shot up immediately. But his first instinct was to grab Isla’s hand. “Are you burned?” Isla’s eyes reddened, though her fingertips weren’t even slightly red. “I’m fine… It was my fault… But Sophia made the coffee too hot. I couldn’t hold it…” What a masterful twist of the truth. It was obviously coffee I’d bought. How could I have made it? But Ethan didn’t use his brain to think. He turned to look at me. When he saw the red swelling on the back of my hand, his gaze froze for a moment, but anger quickly covered it. “Sophia, you did this on purpose, didn’t you? You knew Isla just had surgery and is weak, yet you made the coffee this hot and handed it to her? What are you trying to pull?” I looked at my blistered hand, my heart ice-cold. This was the man I’d loved for ten years. In his eyes, my hands were made of iron. They wouldn’t hurt no matter how badly they were burned. But Isla’s hands were like glass. They’d shatter at the slightest touch. “Ethan Ford.” I looked up. “You told me to buy the donuts and coffee. The takeout packaging is still right there. The temperature was set by the shop. As for why it spilled…” I looked coldly at Isla. “Ask Miss James why her hand shook so badly.” “Sophia, watch your mouth!” Ethan exploded in rage. “Sob sob sob… Ethan, don’t blame her. It’s all my fault. I’m useless…” Isla curled up in Ethan’s arms, tears streaming down her face. Ethan’s heart ached. He pointed at the mess on the floor and yelled at me: “What are you standing there for? Hurry up and clean this! Wipe the carpet. If there’s even a stain left, don’t expect to eat dinner!” I didn’t move. I looked at Ethan and smiled. “What are you smiling at? Get moving!” I bent down. Ethan thought I’d given in. He smirked. But the next second, I didn’t reach for the carpet. I picked up the coffee cup, which still had some warmth left, and flipped it over. The remaining coffee landed precisely on Ethan’s six-figure custom shirt. And on his face. Dead silence. Isla’s crying stopped abruptly, her mouth agape. Ethan was completely stunned, brown coffee dripping down his prominent nose. He looked as pathetic as a drowned rat. “Sophia!!!” His furious roar nearly blew the roof off. I pulled out a wet wipe and calmly cleaned my uninjured hand, my tone flat. “Since you think I’m dirty, then nobody gets to stay clean.” “Also, I’m not cleaning the carpet. Whoever made the mess can clean it.” With that, I turned and walked away, leaving behind two spectacularly distorted faces. Satisfying. So satisfying. This was the first time in three years I felt like I could breathe freely.

Ethan’s POV I was furious. I locked myself in the study and smashed a set of antiques. “Outrageous! Absolutely outrageous!” I never imagined that Sophia, who used to be too timid to even raise her voice, would dare pour coffee on my face! “Mr. Ford…” My assistant knocked timidly and entered. “About tomorrow night’s charity gala… who should you bring as your plus-one?” According to convention, for such formal occasions, I had to bring my wife to show marital harmony and stabilize stock prices. I wiped the coffee stains from my hair with a dark expression. “Bring what? Bring Isla!” The assistant froze. “But… the hosts specifically invited Mrs. Ford. I heard someone from the Lancaster Corporation will be there too. If we bring Miss James, won’t that…” Lancaster Corporation. Hearing that name, I calmed down a bit. Lancaster was investing a hundred-billion-dollar project in New York recently, and every major family wanted a piece. The Fords were no exception. I’d heard the mysterious Lancaster heiress would make an appearance. At such a critical moment, I really couldn’t afford any slip-ups. “Tell Sophia,” I said through gritted teeth. “Tomorrow night, she’d better clean herself up and come with me to the gala. If she dares embarrass me, I won’t let her off!” “Also, tell her to apologize to Isla! Otherwise, she can forget about this month’s allowance!” The assistant wiped his cold sweat and retreated. When I called, Sophia was applying medicine to her burned hand. After listening, she gave a derisive laugh. “I’ll go to the gala.” Sophia said into the phone, “As for apologizing, dream on.” Before I could lose my temper, she hung up. I was so angry my chest hurt. The next evening, New York’s largest banquet hall. Luxury cars everywhere, stars gleaming. I wore a black custom suit, with Isla on my arm. Isla wore a white strapless gown with a diamond necklace I’d just won at auction around her neck. She looked delicate and charming, her face full of smugness. “Ethan, is she really not coming?” Isla asked worriedly. I snorted coldly. “She doesn’t know what’s good for her. If she doesn’t come, fine. Saves me the annoyance.” I’d brought Isla anyway. If Sophia didn’t show, I’d just say she wasn’t feeling well. If she did show… well, that would be her own inability to keep me. Just then, the banquet hall doors slowly opened. A spotlight swept over, and the entire hall fell silent. “Who is that?” “So beautiful! Is she some celebrity?” “Oh my God, that’s… Sophia?!” At the end of the red carpet, a woman walked slowly forward. She wore a deep blue haute couture gown like a starlit night sky, the hem encrusted with thousands of tiny diamonds that sparkled with each step. The fitted cut perfectly outlined her graceful waist, and her exposed shoulders and neck formed a swan-like curve. Most shocking was her presence. Gone was the timid, conservatively dressed Mrs. Ford. Now, she held her chin high, lips a fiery red, gaze sweeping imperiously across the room, radiating a powerful aura. I was stunned. I nearly dropped my champagne. This… this was Sophia? That Sophia who used to hover around the kitchen reeking of cooking oil? “Well, well, Mr. Ford.” Sophia walked straight up to me in ten-centimeter heels. She glanced at Isla on my arm, a playful smile curving her lips. “Parading around with your mistress-Mr. Ford’s taste is as… unique as ever.” Low laughter rippled through the crowd. My face turned ashen. “Sophia, what do you think you’re wearing?! Where’d you get the money for these clothes? Did you steal my card?” After all, in my mind, Sophia was dirt poor. Sophia raised an eyebrow, about to respond, when a commotion erupted behind her. “Mr. Lancaster has arrived!” The crowd automatically parted. New York’s wealthiest man, Lancaster Corporation CEO Mr. Lancaster, strode forward surrounded by bodyguards. I immediately straightened my tie and approached with a smile. “Mr. Lancaster, hello. I’m from Ford Corporation-” But Mr. Lancaster didn’t even glance at me. He walked right past me. My hand froze mid-air, embarrassment making my toes curl. Mr. Lancaster stopped in front of Sophia. That stern face instantly softened into a warm, affectionate smile. He reached out, carefully adjusting her gown, his tone so indulgent it was almost embarrassing. “Sophia, my dear, does this dress fit? I picked it out for ages.” Total silence. My brain exploded. Her father?

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I loved Ethan deeply for ten years, yet I had to watch him play the husband to my brother-in-law’s widow, Selene. Selene publicly called me a homewrecker and infuriated my critically ill mother to death. Yet in his office, he told his friend he’d fallen for Selene, and our ten-year marriage now held only duty and compensation. I endured, I compromised, and even when Selene tried to murder me with a knife, he still protected her and locked me in the attic. On the day of my mother’s funeral, I publicly filed for divorce and exposed everything. Later, Selene gave birth to a bastard child, Ethan went mad, kidnapped me, then became a vegetable in a car accident. I boarded a plane to Europe, Adrian holding my hand, asking softly, “From now on, can I be your first priority?” I nodded with a smile, and from then on walked alongside him toward my new life. Tara’s POV I’m Tara, Ethan’s wife, yet I had to watch helplessly as he played the husband to his brother Eric’s widow, Selene. All because after Eric’s death, Selene suffered a severe shock, became mentally unstable, and insisted Ethan was her husband. And she was pregnant with Eric’s child. Ethan’s parents knelt and begged him to temporarily impersonate his brother to keep Selene stable until she gave birth. “It’s just an act. I absolutely won’t touch her,” Ethan swore to me. “Once the baby’s born, everything will end.” But the act became more and more real. He moved into Selene’s bedroom, took meticulous care of her, and the two looked exactly like a real couple. What I couldn’t accept even more was that Selene publicly accused me of being a homewrecker. My mother was already critically ill, couldn’t withstand the shock, and died on the spot. I knelt on the ground, crying my heart out. With trembling hands, I dialed Ethan’s number once, twice, three times… but no one answered. Like a wandering ghost, I walked to his office, only to hear him say with a bitter smile to his friend, “What do I do? I think I’ve gotten too deep into the role. I’ve really fallen for Selene.” That single sentence shattered my entire world! Sharp pain shot from my heart straight to the top of my head, and I could barely stand. Why?! Wasn’t he the one who said it was just an act, that once the baby was born, everything would end? Could all these years of feelings not compare to his few months with Selene? I endured, I yielded, my mother even died because of this… Now, was I going to lose my husband too?! I refused to accept this! I was unwilling! I had to ask him face to face! Just as I was about to push the door open, I heard his friend ask, “What about Tara?” My movement suddenly froze. I wanted to hear what Ethan would say. Would there be even a trace of attachment? Would he be reluctant to see me hurt? Would he turn back in time? Ethan was silent for a moment, then said in a deep voice, “Tara and I have been together for ten years. I should be responsible for her.” “But do you understand? Ten years might really be too long. Touching her is like touching myself.” “Now I don’t even want to answer her calls. Just hearing her name annoys me.” “I can only let her continue being Mrs. Lancaster as compensation for her.” I leaned against the cold wall, tears flooding out. Ten years-a whole ten years! I gave my entire heart, and in his eyes, it only earned me ‘duty’ and ‘compensation’! What about love? Had all that intense love between us died?! Outside the window, rain poured down. I thought of that reckless rainy night so many years ago… Ethan and I were high school classmates. I hadn’t wanted any entanglement with this man. After all, Ethan was so unreachable. Distinguished family background, excellent grades, and devastatingly handsome looks. But unexpectedly, this dazzling Ethan had secretly loved me for three whole years. I remember that night. Ethan stood in the pouring rain downstairs from my house, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Tara! I love you!” On the day we chose universities, he didn’t even look at other options, directly choosing the same school as me, and said with a smile, “Wherever you are, that’s where my future is.” After entering university, we were a famously model couple, and even now the school still tells stories about our romance. After graduation, I went to Europe for further studies, while Ethan went to North America for his MBA. But not even the entire Atlantic Ocean could separate our love. Ethan frequently flew to my school. Even with only one day free, he had to see me. After graduate school, Ethan defied family pressure and decisively proposed to me. This year marks our tenth year together, our third year of marriage. I had been so certain we would be happy forever. I never expected that the boy who once professed his love in the rain would never come back. Through the crack in the door, I saw Ethan’s profile. Still so young, so handsome. Time seemed to have left no trace on him. But his eyes were so unfamiliar, so cold, they made me tremble all over. His next words plunged me straight into hell. “These days with Selene, I’ve experienced a joy I’ve never felt before.” “Once Selene gives birth, I’ll send her abroad, then continue taking care of her under Eric’s identity.” His friend asked, “Will Tara agree?” “What right does she have to disagree?” Ethan was dismissive. “Her mother’s still in the ICU. Several hundred thousand a month in expenses, and follow up treatment will cost even more. How could she afford it?” “Besides continuing as Mrs. Lancaster and playing deaf and dumb, what other choice does she have?” Word by word, each one pierced my heart. I felt the air around me growing thin, couldn’t catch my breath no matter what. I stumbled out, rushing into the rain. So it turned out my critically ill mother was, in his eyes, just leverage to control me! The heavy rain soaked me through, but couldn’t extinguish the flames of revenge in my heart. Ethan, you don’t know yet, do you? My mother is already gone. She was driven to death by you and your beloved, working together! There’s nothing left to hold me back now… I stopped in my tracks, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number. “Transfer five million to my account. I need the best lawyer! I want a divorce!”

Tara’s POV The next evening, I forced down my nausea and stepped into the Lancaster house. The lawyer told me that if I wanted a smooth divorce, I’d better have solid evidence of Ethan’s infidelity. I decided to hide my mother’s death for now and pretend everything was normal. I’d barely crossed the living room when Selene’s sickeningly sweet voice latched onto me. “Miss Tara, you’re finally back~ I’ve been craving the cake you make!” Ethan had truly been taking excellent care of her. Six months pregnant, she looked rosy-cheeked with innocent eyes. As if the person who had shrilly accused me of being a homewrecker and infuriated my mother to death at the hospital yesterday wasn’t her at all. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, almost drawing blood. The pain barely helped me maintain my composure, forcing down the bone-deep hatred as I said hoarsely, “Hire a chef. I’m tired.” “But I want yours,” Selene pouted, rubbing her belly. “The baby inside wants it too.” Ethan’s mother immediately chimed in, “Selene’s carrying a precious child. Tara, can’t you show a little consideration?” Ethan’s father frowned too, glancing at me with displeasure. The study door opened. Ethan walked out, his gaze passing over me without the slightest warmth. “If Selene wants it, go make it. Don’t keep her waiting.” “Eric,” Selene cooed, leaning toward him. “Don’t be so harsh with her.” Ethan looked down at her, the ice in his eyes melting instantly, becoming tender enough to drip water. “Alright, whatever you say.” When he turned back to me, cold and distant again. “Hurry up.” That sentence was like a sharp knife, stabbing my most painful spot. This was clearly my husband, yet he brazenly played another man in front of me, being sweet with another woman. But right now, I couldn’t act rashly. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, then turned and walked into the kitchen. Last night I’d been drenched in rain all night. A low fever made me dizzy and lightheaded, my vision going dark in waves. As I mixed the batter, images of my mother’s pale face at death and the Lancaster family’s cold expressions flashed alternately, tearing at my nerves. My eyes burned hot. I forced the tears back. I couldn’t cry. At least not now. I still had more important things to do. Nearly exhausted, I worked for almost two hours before the cake was barely finished. But Selene only lazily tasted half a bite before pushing it away, pouting coquettishly, “I waited too long. I’m sleepy now. Don’t want it anymore.” Ethan carefully helped her up, not even glancing back as he tossed at me, “Be faster next time.” He supported Selene and headed straight to their room. Selene gave me a faint glance, a trace of triumph flashing in her eyes. I stood frozen, my chest heavy and cold, as if weighed down by ice. I remembered how before, if I just had a slight loss of appetite, Ethan would chase after me to feed me, doing everything he could to coax me. And now, all that tenderness and care had gone to another woman. Love never disappears. Love only transfers. Leaving me alone in the same place, foolishly waiting. My vision began to blur, my head splitting with pain. I knew I had a high fever and should take medicine quickly. But I felt cold all over, couldn’t muster any strength. Soon I collapsed onto the sofa, losing consciousness. When I woke again, the entire Lancaster household was in chaos. Apparently Selene had broken out in hives and was having difficulty breathing. Ethan’s face was ashen. He scooped Selene up horizontally and rushed out the door, heading straight to the hospital. He completely failed to notice me on the sofa, my face deathly pale. I went to the hospital myself and registered for emergency care. My name was called over the loudspeaker. I forced myself to stand up, about to go for treatment. But a figure blocked my path, gripping my wrist hard. “You knew perfectly well that Selene is severely allergic to peanuts! Why did you still put peanuts in the cake?!” It was Ethan. He stared at me, his eyes bloodshot. I was burning with fever, dizzy, and he was shaking me until I could barely stand. “There weren’t any peanuts… I didn’t put any in…” “Liar!” Ethan shoved me away. I stumbled backward, hitting the cold wall, my whole body swaying, yet it earned not a trace of his sympathy. “The doctor said it was food allergy! Who else but you? Tara, how did you become so vicious? That’s Eric’s only flesh and blood in her belly!” I took a deep breath and asked back, “Eric’s only flesh and blood. What does that have to do with me?” He looked at me with disappointment, saying coldly, “If I hadn’t let Eric take that business trip to spend your birthday with you, he would never have been on that flight!” “The one who should have been in the plane crash was me! The one who should have lost her husband was you!” “Tara, you owe Eric a life! Yet you harm his wife and child. Do you have any conscience at all?!” With a buzzing sound, my world fell completely silent. The high fever and heartbreak dulled my senses. I could only see his lips moving. His emotionless gaze was like a dull knife, slowly torturing my already mangled heart. Eric’s death was an accident. Why should I atone for it?! I’d already yielded my husband, even lost my mother whom I depended on-wasn’t that enough?! I desperately wanted to question Ethan, but my throat was so dry and painful, I couldn’t make a sound. Sliding down the cold wall to sit on the floor, I closed my eyes. Before losing consciousness, I saw Ethan panic and rush toward me, calling out, “Tara, what’s wrong?” But my heart was already completely numb. In the last second before losing consciousness, I murmured, “Ethan, don’t call my name…” You don’t deserve to. In the darkness, I thought hazily. Less than seven days until my mother’s funeral. That day, I would hold a grand memorial service for my mother. And that day, I would bring everything to an end. I would give my mother closure.

Tara’s POV When I woke, my fever had broken. Ethan sat by the hospital bed. Seeing me open my eyes, he reached out to feel my forehead, but I turned my head away. His hand hung awkwardly in midair before slowly withdrawing. “Tara,” he sighed, somewhat wearily. “Selene has less than three months before giving birth. For my sake, for this family’s sake, just endure a bit longer. Stop fighting with her, okay?” Seeing my silence, he coaxed gently, “Once the baby’s born, everything will return to normal. I promise.” Return to normal? I laughed coldly inside. I knew he was lying to me. Once the baby was born, he would just keep Selene abroad, enjoying happiness. I closed my eyes, my voice hoarse. “I’m tired. Get out.” Just then, a man in a black suit with a white flower pinned to his chest walked in and bowed to me. “Ms. Tara, we’ve handled everything according to your requirements. Have you confirmed the time for the funeral?” The air instantly froze. Ethan turned his head, his sharp gaze shooting straight at me. “Funeral? What funeral? Who died?” My heart raced wildly. This was a funeral home employee. He was handling my mother’s arrangements. I couldn’t reveal my hand now. If Ethan realized he no longer had anything to hold over me, he’d surely be on guard. I casually lied, “A family member.” Ethan wanted to press further, but urgent footsteps sounded outside the room. The butler appeared breathlessly at the door, his face full of anxiety. “You must come quickly! The lady woke up extremely agitated, crying and calling for your brother’s name. No one can calm her down, and the doctor says it’s very bad for the fetus!” Ethan stood up almost instantly, completely forgetting about me and the suspicious farewell ceremony, striding out after the butler. For most of the rest of the day, I lay alone in the hospital bed, listening to the gossip in the corridor. “That Mrs. Lancaster in the VIP room is so blessed. Mr. Lancaster has been watching over her the whole time.” “I heard Mr. Lancaster even contacted a top nutritionist to create a custom pregnancy plan for her. He treasures her like she’ll melt in his palm.” “Different people, different fates. Look at that room. That woman passed out from fever, and not a single person came to check on her…” These voices were like fine needles, piercing me full of holes. I remembered five years ago when I was alone in Europe, had an appendicitis attack, and passed out from pain. When I woke, Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion, holding my hand and calling my name. Later I learned that Ethan had flown over overnight, not sleeping for more than ten hours. Back then I thought that I want to be with this man for a lifetime, never to part. But lifetime was still so far away. How had everything changed? I stared at the stark white ceiling as the last bit of warmth in my chest dissipated… As night fell, a nurse walked in. “Ms. Tara, there’s one more test. Please come with me.” I didn’t think much of it and followed the nurse through the corridor, turned several corners, and stopped outside a hospital room. “Wait a moment. I need to get something.” The nurse said this, then turned and quickly walked away. I was left there alone. The door was ajar, and from inside came the faint sound of a woman acting coquettish and a man’s low, suppressed breathing.

Tara’s POV I quickly recognized them, Selene and Ethan. I instinctively wanted to flee, but those obscene sounds surrounded me with crystal clarity. “Eric, I’m scared. Hold me tight, okay? Just like before…” “Selene, don’t do this… You’re pregnant…” “The doctor said we’re past the dangerous period. It’s fine… I know you want it too…” The sound of clothes rustling, mixed with a woman’s moans. The man laughed helplessly. “I really can’t do anything with you… Just for a little while. Be careful of the baby.” Outside the door, I leaned against the wall, barely holding myself up. Every coquettish moan, every gasp inside tortured what little dignity I had left. Intense pain instantly swallowed all my senses, even breathing hurt. Ethan, is this what you meant by ‘absolutely won’t touch her’?! You not only gave her your heart, your body betrayed me too! I bit down hard on my lower lip, the taste of blood spreading between lips and teeth, barely suppressing the sobs threatening to burst from my throat. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t collapse. At least not now. Intense hatred drove me to lift my heavy arm, pointing my phone camera at that half-open door. Those images and conversations were clearly recorded. I don’t know how long passed before the intense sounds inside gradually ceased. I withdrew my phone and silently retreated to my own hospital room. The moment the door closed, I slid to the floor. My heart belatedly sent a sharp, twisting pain that made me curl up, gasping for air. When I raised my head again, my eyes were bloodshot. I had to recover quickly. I would make that pair who deceived me, humiliated me, and killed my mother pay the price! I struggled to climb up, collapsed onto the bed, and forced myself to sleep. But the peace I expected didn’t come. As dawn approached, a familiar perfume scent invaded my nostrils. I jolted awake with a start. I tried to move, but my limbs were firmly bound to the hospital bed. I looked up in terror, and what met my eyes was Selene’s face wearing a bizarre smile. “You’re awake.” Selene toyed with a sharp scalpel, cold light flowing between her fingers. “Selene?! What are you doing? Let me go!” I struggled desperately, but to no avail. “What am I doing?” Selene tilted her head, her smile innocent yet cruel. “Killing you, of course!” “Why?! Haven’t you taken enough? You want my life too?” “You’re too composed. Watching Ethan and me together, you can actually pretend nothing happened.” Selene leaned down, the cold blade sliding across my hospital gown. “So I have no choice but to kill you. Only when you disappear will Ethan belong completely to me.” I looked at her in shock. “You… you’ve been pretending all along? You’re not crazy at all! You know Eric is dead. You know he’s Ethan!” “That’s right.” Selene smiled even more happily, undisguised triumph in her eyes. “The one I’ve always loved is Ethan! If he hadn’t only had eyes for you back then, why would I have settled for marrying Eric? Now Eric’s dead. This is fate giving me a chance!” “Calm down! Selene, murder is illegal! You’ll go to prison!” I tried to awaken her reason. “Prison?” She tapped my face with the blade’s back. “Don’t forget, Ethan loves me now. Even if I kill someone, he’ll cover for me.” “Besides, everyone knows I’m a lunatic who suffered trauma. If I have an episode and accidentally kill someone, do I need to take legal responsibility?” She straightened up, raising that gleaming scalpel and aiming it at my chest. The smile faded from her face, leaving only bone-deep coldness. “Don’t be afraid. Soon… you won’t have any more troubles.”

Tara’s POV The hospital room door burst open. Ethan froze in the doorway, horrified. “What… what are you doing?!” Seeing the knife in Selene’s hand pointed at my chest, he rushed forward, snatched away the blade, and fumbled to cut the ropes binding me. In an instant, the murderous madness drained completely from Selene’s face. As if waking from a dream, her body swayed. She clutched her head, looking around in terror. “Ah! Where… where am I? What am I doing?” Large tears immediately flooded out, like a frightened child. “Eric? Eric, I’m so scared… I had such a terrible dream… In it, there was a woman who wanted to steal you away! And harm our baby… I’m so afraid…” She sobbed, her whole body trembling, tears streaming down her face as she reached out to Ethan. Ethan’s pupils constricted. In one swift movement, he rushed forward and pulled Selene tightly into his arms, patting her back gently. “It’s alright, Selene. I’m here. No one can hurt you or the baby.” Forgotten on the hospital bed, I watched this absurd scene unfold, a fury capable of burning everything down finally overwhelming my reason. “Ethan! Open your eyes! She just tried to kill me! She’s faking it all! She’s not crazy at all!” “I didn’t… Why are you saying this about me… And why are you calling him Ethan… Where’s Eric? Isn’t Eric here?” Selene cried even more pitifully, suddenly struggling and screaming hysterically. “Where did Eric go? They said Eric is dead. Is it true? If Eric’s dead… then I don’t want to live either! Eric’s gone anyway, everyone hates me…” As she spoke, heavily pregnant, she actually tried to ram herself into the wall. “Selene! Don’t do anything foolish! I am Eric! I’m right here!” Ethan panicked and held her, repeatedly soothing her. Once she quieted down and collapsed in his arms, when he turned back to me, only fury remained in his eyes. “Tara! That’s enough! Look at her condition! You’re still provoking her! What is your heart made of?” The commotion attracted others too. Ethan’s mother rushed in, shrieking, “Tara! Won’t you be satisfied until you drive Selene to death?” Ethan’s father also wore a stern expression, scolding, “You can’t have children yourself, so you can’t stand others carrying the Lancaster family’s child? You’re simply unreasonable!” They swarmed around her, comforting the nearly fainting Selene. Then they surrounded her, protecting her like precious porcelain, and quickly left the hospital room. And Ethan held Selene tightly the entire time, not sparing even a glance for me, who had just faced life and death. I watched his resolute back, tears silently sliding down my cheeks. Ethan’s father’s words still echoed in my ears. “You can’t have children yourself…” Can’t have children? My heart was bleeding. I had a child too, two years ago. I had the ultrasound photo printed, wanting to surprise Ethan. But before I could show it to him, we were in a car accident together. At the critical moment, I threw myself over him, using my body to shield Ethan. The baby was just… gone. Not wanting Ethan to be heartbroken, I had the doctor hide this fact. After that, I could never get pregnant again. Later, Ethan and I didn’t even have opportunities to be intimate. Perhaps it was for the best. I closed my eyes, forcing back the surging tears. From now on, that heart that once loved Ethan without reservation would no longer beat for him. With a cold expression, I pulled out a small, delicate voice recorder from the inner pocket of my hospital gown. Pressing play, after some static, Selene’s voice rang out. “The one I’ve always loved is Ethan! If he hadn’t only had eyes for you back then, why would I have settled for marrying Eric? Now Eric’s dead. This is fate giving me a chance!” This was enough. I gripped the recorder tightly, my eyes gradually becoming resolute. Mom, wait just a little longer. At your memorial service, I will expose them for what they really are!

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At the engagement party, my fiancé Mario promised my father he would love me forever. After the party ended, I stumbled upon a cheating photo on Instagram. In the picture, a man with a body shape similar to Mario’s was holding hands with a woman, fingers interlaced. I stiffly turned my head to look at Mario. The ring on his hand was identical to the one on the man in the photo. My fingertip pressed against my phone screen, repeatedly zooming in on the ring on the man’s hand in the photo. The width of the band, the matte texture of the face, the minimalist lines on the side—every detail matched the one I’d custom-made for Mario perfectly. Back then, Mario had even laughed at me, saying no one would notice such details. I looked up toward the main table. My dad was patting Mario’s shoulder with satisfaction. “Timothy’s in your hands from now on.” Mario stood up, his gaze landing on me with tender affection. “Dad, rest assured. I won’t let Timothy suffer even a little.” His voice was as sincere and pleasant as always. For three years, he’d been exactly like this. Gentle, considerate, taking care of me with meticulous attention. Everyone said I’d found a treasure, and I’d believed it wholeheartedly myself. But now, this photo was like a bucket of ice water poured over my head. The light from my phone screen reflected my pale face. Still, I didn’t dare believe it. Maybe it was just a similar style? Plenty of people wore the same ring design. I desperately made excuses for myself, but my heart pounded uncontrollably. Mario walked to my side and wrapped his arm around my waist, his palm gently rubbing my back. “You heard what I just told your dad, right? I’ll always treat you well.” I looked up and met Mario’s eyes. They held a smile. But unlike usual, I didn’t feel happy. Lowering my head, my voice came out muffled: “I heard.” Mario’s brows furrowed slightly. He took my hand with concern. “What’s wrong, honey? Your hand is so cold.” My peripheral vision caught his ring, and I quickly covered my mouth. Remembering the image from the photo, a wave of nausea hit me. “I’m fine. Maybe… maybe I had too much to drink.” My mom saw and teased me with a laugh: “That’s hardly anything! You really can’t hold your liquor.” The relatives all laughed, and Mario laughed too. “Are you just too excited?” He took my hand again, his grip light but not allowing me to pull away. “We’re getting our marriage license tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll be my wife!” Mario bent slightly, staring into my eyes with a sincere expression, his tone full of anticipation. He seemed like a completely different person from the man in the photo who’d been leaning sideways, fingers tightly interlaced with a strange woman. Looking at Mario’s affectionate eyes, my stomach churned violently. I needed to confirm this. I had to confirm it right now. I took a deep breath and forced myself to squeeze out a smile. “Mario, do you like the couple’s rings I designed?”

“Honey, why are you suddenly asking this?” Mario’s expression froze for a moment as he looked at me with confusion. “Mario, I just thought of us back then when I saw the ring. Look, your ring’s gotten a bit dirty.” I pointed at his hand. “Let me clean it for you.” As I spoke, I reached to remove the ring from his hand. Mario’s body stiffened for a split second, but he quickly relaxed and extended his hand with a smile. “Sure, I want your personal service.” My hand trembling, I removed the ring. But no matter how I looked at it, it seemed identical to the one in the photo. I couldn’t fool my own eyes. My world completely collapsed in that moment. The joyful chatter around me became grating noise. Holding that ring, it felt scorching hot in my hand. Mario looked at me searchingly. “What’s wrong, Timothy? Is there something wrong with the ring?” I snapped back to attention and shoved the ring back into his hand. “No, nothing wrong.” My voice shook slightly: “I just think that, well, today it looks especially beautiful.” Lowering my eyes, I didn’t dare look at him anymore. Mario laughed and put the ring back on, then took my hand. “I’ll wear it every day from now on, so you can look at it as much as you want.” His tone remained doting, making me instinctively doubt myself. What if? What if it was just the same model? My parents and relatives looked at us, their faces full of gratified smiles. In their eyes, we were a loving couple about to enter the hall of marriage. No one knew what kind of storm was raging inside my heart. When the dinner ended, Mario drove me home. The car played my favorite music. While driving, he chatted with me about tomorrow’s marriage license arrangements and honeymoon travel plans. Everything seemed normal, but I only felt suffocated. How could this man so calmly plan our future with me while holding hands with another woman? And that woman was someone else’s wife. In the photo, her husband and child were sitting right beside her. “Mario.” I opened a bottle of water and handed it to him. “Last Wednesday night, didn’t you say you were working overtime at the company? That the project was urgent?” Mario unscrewed the cap and took a sip. “Yeah, we were rushing the project. Worked all night—nearly killed me.” My fingertip picked at the seam of my skirt as my gaze fell on the ring on his hand. “Really? I thought you went to see a movie.” Mario’s drinking motion suddenly stopped. He choked on the water, and it went down the wrong pipe. He frantically hit the brakes, his face turning red. “Honey, what are you talking about?” “I was so busy those days I barely touched the ground. I practically lived at the office. Where would I have time to see a movie?” “Oh, that’s good then.” I lowered my head and said nothing more, but those comments from the trending topic kept echoing in my ears. My heart sank bit by bit. When we reached my building, Mario got out of the car as usual to open my door and planted a goodnight kiss on my forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, and we’ll become a legal married couple.” I grabbed the corner of his jacket, pretending to act drunk and clingy: “Mario, we’re getting our marriage license first thing tomorrow morning.” “Park your car in my building’s garage. That way you won’t have to make an extra trip to pick me up tomorrow. Just take a cab home and come straight here tomorrow.” Mario smiled and patted my head. “So clingy! Then I won’t leave tonight.” My heart jumped, and I quickly pushed him away. “No, Mario!” “We’re getting married tomorrow. We can’t stay together tonight. Hurry home!” Only then did Mario shake his head helplessly and leave in a cab. After his taillights disappeared around the corner, I turned and walked back to my own car. We’d exchanged spare keys in case of emergencies. I used to think this proved the trust between us. Now it just felt ironic. I took out the spare key and opened Mario’s car door.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, I began searching. His phone—Mario never left it behind, and I knew the password. I’d checked it before. It was clean as a new phone. Social media—no suspicious chat records. I opened the glove box. Besides documents and some miscellaneous items, there was nothing. Had I really been overthinking? Just as I was about to give up, I noticed the dash cam in the center console. This car was one he’d just gotten last month. He’d complained to me that the functions were too complicated and he couldn’t figure many of them out. I pressed the play button, and the recorder began playing recent driving footage. I fast-forwarded, looking for last Wednesday night’s recording. The footage showed Mario’s car leaving the company garage, but the direction wasn’t toward his home. Mario drove to a mall in the west part of the city. On the top floor of that mall was a movie theater. My heart rose to my throat. In the recording, he parked the car and turned off the engine. The screen went black, but the audio continued. The car door opened, then closed. A few seconds later, a woman’s voice sounded, carrying laughter: “You’re really punctual.” Then came Mario’s voice: “Of course. For you, I’d brave fire and flood.” My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, nausea rising in waves. The woman’s voice sounded again, with an affected tone of coyness: “Stop it, you smooth talker.” “Mario, when can we come here again?” Mario’s voice replied tenderly: “Once I take care of the engagement party, I’ll take you out to play, okay?” He’d used this same tone when confiding in me. I turned off the audio and sat in the dark car, my whole body cold, my fingertips squeezing my phone so hard it felt hot. Mario, is the love you claimed to have for me real or fake? I don’t know how long I sat there until my phone rang. It was Mario calling. “Honey, are you asleep? Why haven’t you replied to my messages?” Ignoring the call, I put my phone on silent. I needed to stay calm. This evidence wasn’t nearly enough. The photo was from online, without a clear face shot. In the audio, they hadn’t mentioned what they were specifically going to do. With Mario’s cunning, he could easily claim he was just meeting an ordinary friend. I needed to leave him with no room for excuses. Back home, I opened my computer and found that movie theater’s official website, checking last Wednesday night’s screening schedule. In the trending photo, the background showed a vague corner of a movie poster for a newly released sci-fi film. But I remembered Mario saying he hated sci-fi movies, finding them childish and boring. Back then, when I wanted to drag him to see one, he’d refused. Turned out, he just wouldn’t watch them with me. I cross-checked the time—the 7:30 PM showing. Then I logged into Mario’s banking app. He’d given me all his passwords, cupping my face and saying seriously: “What’s mine is yours. I’m completely open with you.” I’d been so moved by that trust I’d been a mess. Now, thinking back, it was just his extreme confidence in controlling me. In the transaction records, I found a payment around 7 PM last Wednesday night. It was at a Japanese restaurant, and the address was right next to that movie theater. I opened that restaurant’s app and went to the reviews section, scrolling through reviews from last Wednesday night page by page. Finally, I saw an account with a gray cartoon character avatar that had posted a photo review at 9:30 PM that night. “Great movie, and the Japanese food was delicious as always. Thank you, darling.” The post included nine photos—pictures of Japanese food, two movie tickets, and a photo of a man’s hand. That hand had distinct knuckles and was pouring tea. On the ring finger was a ring. That ring—I couldn’t be more familiar with it.

I clicked into that account’s profile. Most posts were about her child and food, with occasional selfies, all heavily blurred. I couldn’t see her face clearly. But in one photo of her and the child at an amusement park, I saw a man’s silhouette. That silhouette wasn’t Mario. So she really did have a family. I saved screenshots of everything, feeling my hands shake. Anger and the sense of betrayal almost swallowed me whole. I used to think I was the happiest woman in the world. Now I knew—I was just a fool living in lies. Mario, good for you. You deceived me so thoroughly. Looking at the pitch-black night outside my window, a plan had already formed in my mind. Picking up my phone, I sent Mario a message. “Mario, I can’t sleep. Tomorrow I’ll become your legal wife. I’m so nervous.” He replied almost instantly: “Silly girl, don’t be nervous. I’m here.” “Get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ll be the most beautiful bride.” Looking at his reply, I continued typing. “Let’s see a movie before we get our license tomorrow?” “At the theater on top of that mall in the west. I want to see that sci-fi film.” The phone went silent for a long time—so long I thought he wouldn’t reply. Just as I was losing patience, a notification sounded. “Okay, whatever you want.” Followed by a kissing emoji. I turned off my phone and lay in bed, sleepless all night. The next day, I deliberately did elaborate makeup—red lips, black dress. The me in the mirror looked nothing like my usual gentle image. My mom saw me and froze. “Timothy, why are you… dressed so formally today?” I smiled. “Mom, today’s an important day for me. Of course it should be different.” When Mario came to pick me up, he was clearly stunned too. The amazement in his eyes flashed by, then he smiled. “Honey, you look beautiful today.” Mario tried to take my hand, but I subtly avoided it. “Let’s go. Aren’t we seeing a movie? Don’t be late.” On the way to the theater, the atmosphere in the car felt strange. I didn’t speak, just looked out the window. Mario seemed to want to find topics to discuss, but I deflected them all coldly. As we neared the theater, I suddenly spoke. “By the way, Mario.” “A friend of mine said she thought she saw you around here a few days ago.” Mario’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Really? She probably saw wrong.” “She said you were with a woman, laughing and chatting.” I continued, staring at him intently. “I told her she must have been mistaken. You were so busy those days working overtime with clients.” Mario’s expression became unnatural for a moment. He laughed dryly. “Your friend’s eyesight must be terrible. I didn’t even leave the office those days.” “Really?” I drew out the syllable. “Then she probably really did see wrong.” At the theater, I went to the self-service kiosk to get the tickets. When the two tickets emerged from the machine, I saw the seat numbers. Row 7, Seats 11 and 12. I remembered comments under that trending photo—some tech expert had analyzed that the couple in the photo sat in Row 7, Seats 12 and 13. And their husband and child sat in Seat 11. Holding the tickets, I walked over to Mario. He was looking down at his phone, seemingly replying to a message. “Got the tickets.” I handed the tickets to Mario. He took them, his gaze falling on the seat numbers. Mario’s expression changed instantly. He jerked his head up to look at me. I calmly met his gaze, then slowly took out my phone. I opened the “theater cheating photo” saved in my album, zoomed in, and held it in front of him. “Take a look. Does this look familiar?” The infrared camera image was so clear it left nowhere to hide. In the photo, the ring on the man’s hand was identical to the one Mario wore. Mario’s breathing became rapid. His lips moved, but he couldn’t say a word. I put away my phone and pointed at the woman in the photo who was twisted in her seat, fingers interlaced with his. My voice was light: “Now, can you tell me who she is?” Mario’s face turned deathly pale in an instant. He looked at the photo on my phone, his lips trembling, his eyes full of panic. “Timothy, let me explain. This isn’t what you think.” Mario’s voice was hoarse, carrying a tremor. I crossed my arms and looked at him coldly. “Oh? Then what is it?” Mario explained frantically: “She… she’s just a client of mine. That day after we finished talking business, she said she wanted to see a movie. Her husband and kid were there, so I just went along to watch with them.” I laughed. “A client? One who requires you to abandon your fiancée who’s preparing for an engagement party to accompany her to a late-night movie?” “As for holding hands… that was a misunderstanding! The theater was too dark. When she passed me popcorn, we accidentally touched!” The more Mario spoke, the more fluent he became, as if he believed his own story. He even started playing the victim, his face showing the pain and disappointment of being wronged. “Timothy, we’ve been together for three years. Is this how you see me?” “One photo from who knows where, and you interrogate me like this?” “We’re about to get married, and you’re still investigating me at this time?” “In your heart, I can’t even get basic trust?” Mario’s voice rose, carrying an angry tremor, as if I were the unreasonable criminal. Watching his brilliant acting, my heart turned to ice. “Really?” I nodded, then pressed play on my phone.

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My mother tried to jump off a building three times because of me. The first time was after my SAT exam. I clearly qualified for an Ivy League university, but she stood on a rooftop and forced me to apply to a local school. I gave in and ended up choosing an ordinary local university. The second time was after college graduation. When I went to work in New York, she stood on top of my company building and forced me to quit. I went back to our hometown with her and worked at a gas station for three thousand dollars a month. The third time, she climbed up to a rooftop again, forcing me to marry a woman I’d only met once—a woman she was very satisfied with. I obediently married her. After the wedding, that woman cheated on me and stole all my money. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and jumped off a rooftop. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn. I went back to the day when my mother first used jumping off a building to force me to obey her. “If you dare apply to an out-of-state university today, I’ll jump from here!” She climbed onto the rooftop. I glanced at her, then turned and walked away. “Go ahead and jump. Don’t waste my time.”

My mother’s expression froze. That mixture of rage and disbelief on her face reminded me of my past life. In my past life, after all my savings were stolen and I discovered my wife’s affair, the first thing my mother said when she came to see me was: “Who told you not to listen to me? You can’t even control a woman. You’re useless!” In that moment, I suddenly understood that my repeated compromises back then had already ruined my entire life. “You… what did you say?” Her voice trembled. I turned toward the stairwell. “I said if you’re going to jump, hurry up. I’m in a rush—I need to go apply to universities.” “Julian!” Her voice turned shrill. “Stop right there! You heartless boy, are you really trying to drive me to my death?” I stopped and looked back at her. “Mom, you’re the one who voluntarily climbed onto the rooftop to threaten suicide. What does that have to do with me?” With that, I walked down from the rooftop without looking back. When I got home, I locked myself directly in the study and opened the college application system. My fingertips were trembling. This time, I wouldn’t attend some ordinary university. From memory, I filled in the Ivy League universities I’d been thinking about for three years, one by one. The moment I clicked submit, my nose stung and I almost cried. This was the first time I’d made a choice for my own life. I had just logged out of the system when the study door was suddenly pushed open. My mother stood in the doorway, her eyes red and swollen, her hair disheveled. She must have run down. Her chest was still heaving violently. “You…” She gasped for breath, her gaze falling on my computer screen. “Did you finish submitting?” I nodded and closed the laptop. “Let me see!” She rushed over, trying to grab the computer. I turned to shield it. “Mom, I already submitted it.” “I said let me see!” Her voice rose, carrying a sharp edge of losing control. When she saw I wouldn’t move, she reached out and pressed the computer’s power button. The screen lit up, showing a login page that required a password. She stared at me. “What’s the password?” “I’m not telling you.” I said, “The application is already submitted. It can’t be changed.” “Where did you apply?” Her voice began to tremble. “Is it out of state? Is it?” I said nothing. Silence was the answer. She suddenly screamed and grabbed my keyboard, smashing it violently on the floor. Plastic fragments flew everywhere. Several keys popped off and rolled into the corner. “Julian! Are you trying to drive me to death?” She cried out, tears flooding down her face. “I told you to apply locally! Don’t you understand human speech?” “I raised you all by myself through so much hardship! Was it easy for me?” “Now you’ve grown up and want to fly away!” “First it’s going to college out of state, then what? Working out of state! Getting married out of state!” “You’ll never care about your mother again. You’re just like your father—you both want to abandon me!” She collapsed on the floor, pounding the ground, her cries piercing. This scene had happened countless times in my past life. Every time I showed the slightest resistance, she would cry about how hard she had it and how unfilial I was. I used to truly believe I was wrong, that I had failed her—until the moment I jumped off that rooftop… “Mom,” I interrupted her. “I never said I wouldn’t take care of you.” She lifted her tear-filled eyes, as if grasping at a thread of hope: “Then change your college application! You can still change it! You have three days to change it!” “How great would it be if you applied to a local university! Mom could see you often…” “I won’t change it.” My voice was soft but firm. “Don’t try to interfere with my college application.” She froze, as if she hadn’t expected me to refuse so directly. I picked up the computer, walked around her collapsed body on the floor, and headed to my bedroom, locking the door. Outside, her crying continued. Before long, I heard her making phone calls. She was sobbing to relatives, crying about how much trouble I was causing and how hard she had it. I didn’t bother listening. I opened the password settings on my computer and changed it. I leaned against the headboard and silently repeated to myself: This time, I won’t compromise my life for anyone.

Maybe the pain of jumping off the building in my past life was too real—I slept deeply. My dreams were filled with fragments from that past life. My fingers cracking from the cold while pumping gas at the station in winter. The despair when I discovered my wife had stolen all my savings and run off with another man. My mother standing in my empty house saying, “When the money’s gone, just earn more. Listen to me, I’ll help you find another woman next time, definitely better than this one.” I woke up with a start, my forehead covered in cold sweat. The bedroom light was off, only the computer screen glowing faintly. I heard the soft tapping of keyboard keys. Someone was sitting at my desk, trying to guess my computer password. Hearing me wake up, the next second, the bedroom light snapped on, making me squint. Before I could react, my mother had already thrown the computer violently onto my bed. Her face was iron-gray, filled with the fury of being defied. She pointed at me and cursed: “You changed the password? What do you mean by that? You’re guarding against me like I’m a thief?” A fire blazed up inside me, but when our eyes met, I suddenly felt only powerless. I had already anticipated this scene. For over a decade, she’d entered my room whenever she wanted. She looked at my phone whenever she wanted. I even had to tell her when I set a password. I sat up, pulled the computer toward me, and said calmly: “I told you, I’m making my own decisions about college applications. This is my computer. You have no right to look through it.” “I’m your mother! What can’t I see that belongs to you?” Her face flushed red, her voice shrill. “Would I hurt you? I just want to see what schools you applied to. I’m doing this for your own good!” “Why do you need to go so far away?” “If you study locally, after graduation I’ll find you a stable job. Isn’t that better than being out there?” I’d heard these words my entire life. In my past life, it was all this “for your own good” that dragged me into hell. “Enough!” My voice wasn’t loud, but it made her stop abruptly. I walked to the desk and picked up the fruit knife lying there. I wasn’t pointing it at her, just holding it. “Mom, you said if I don’t apply to local schools, I’m driving you to death. But have you ever considered me?” She opened her mouth but said nothing. “My grades can get me into the best schools in America, studying the major I most want to study.” “But you insist I stay local and attend an ordinary school I don’t even respect. Mom, that’s not for my own good—that’s ruining the rest of my life.” “I think you’re the one trying to drive me to death.” The moment those words left my mouth, my mother’s expression went blank. She seemed to truly see me for the first time. For the first time, she realized that her always-obedient son harbored such deep resentment. Then she exploded. “I’m driving you to death? Julian, do you have no conscience? I provided food and clothes for you! I sacrificed everything for you!” “And now you’re telling me I’m forcing you? Fine! I’ll die right now and let you see! You’ll be satisfied when I’m dead!” She cried and rushed toward the balcony, her movements exaggerated, but I knew she wouldn’t jump. This was just her most effective method to make me compromise. Seeing I hadn’t moved, Mom cried even louder. Soon, impatient banging came from next door, followed by the neighbor across the way opening their window and roaring angrily: “What’s all this wailing in the middle of the night? Are you going to let people sleep? Keep it up and I’m calling the police!” My mother’s cries caught in her throat. She froze at the balcony edge, unable to advance or retreat, her face alternating between red and white. Finally, she glared at me fiercely, quickly walked back to her own room, and slammed the door heavily. The world was finally quiet. But I knew it wasn’t over yet. The next morning when I woke up, my mother was already gone. I didn’t think much of it. After washing up and changing clothes, I went out to look for part-time work. College would cost money. Although I had a scholarship, I didn’t want to rely on her for living expenses anymore. More importantly, I needed to start saving myself an escape route. After running around all afternoon, I got home around five-thirty. I walked to my bedroom door, grabbed the handle, pushed it open—my computer was gone. “Where’s my computer?” “Oh, that.” She put vegetables into a basin, her tone casual. “I accidentally knocked over my water cup today and spilled water on the computer.” “So I took it to a repair shop. The technician said it needs to be examined, might take a few days.” Something felt wrong.

I didn’t argue with her. I turned and went back to my bedroom. Then immediately took out my phone and opened the college application system. I entered the password. A line of bright red text appeared on the screen: Password incorrect, please re-enter. I tried three times in a row. All wrong. My hands were shaking. Struggling to maintain my composure, I walked out of the bedroom again. Phone in hand, I walked up to her and held the screen in front of her eyes, suppressing my anger as I asked: “What’s going on? What did you really do with the computer today?” The faucet was turned off. My mother shook off the water, turned around, wiped her hands on her apron, then looked at me, completely self-righteous: “College applications are such a big deal, I had to help you check.” “You’re young, you don’t understand. What’s the use of just looking at the school’s reputation? You need to look at the major, the employment prospects!” “Today Mom pulled some strings, spent thirty thousand dollars, and hired an experienced consultant to review your schools and choose majors for you.” “They’re all local. After graduation you can become a high school teacher—so stable, so good!” “I already changed your college application for you. You don’t need to worry about it.” Thirty thousand dollars. She was really willing to spend. I was so angry my voice shook. “Who gave you the right to change my college application? Did I ask you to apply for me?” “Change it back right now! Tell me the password!” Hearing this, she immediately put on that life-or-death act again, pointing at me and shouting: “Tell you? You’ll definitely change it back to those out-of-state schools, won’t you?” “Let me tell you, no way! If you dare change the application, don’t recognize me as your mother! I’ll act like I never gave birth to a son like you!” She’d said this line many times. In my past life, every time she said it, I would cry, beg her, compromise. This time, I looked at her, watched for a few seconds, then turned, pulled open the door, and ran out. “Julian! Where are you going? Come back!” Her shouts were shut inside. After running out of the apartment complex, my phone rang. It was my mother’s sister, Martha. I hung up without expression. It rang again quickly. This time it was my mother’s brother, Brandon. Twitter also started going crazy with notifications. [Julian, how can you treat your mother this way? Raising you alone wasn’t easy for her!] [I heard you want to apply to out-of-state universities? Going so far isn’t good. Be obedient and stay with your mother.] One message after another, all urging me to be sensible and obedient. Looking at those words, I found them absurdly laughable, but I knew I couldn’t fight head-on right now. The college application deadline was in three days. Even if I found a way to reset the password and change it back, my mother would definitely cause more trouble. I sat in a pavilion, scrolling through Twitter in frustration. I came across a photo posted by a senior one year ahead of me showing his computer programming competition award. My spirits lifted—I had an idea. Just after I finished messaging the senior, my phone rang again. This time it was Aunt Michelle. I answered. “Julian! Where are you?” Michelle’s voice was urgent. “Get to the hospital quick! Your mother collapsed!” When I arrived at the hospital, my mother was already awake. She was leaning against the hospital bed, pale-faced, receiving an IV drip. Seeing me enter, she snorted coldly and turned her head away: “What are you doing here? I don’t have a son like you.” “What are you saying!” Michelle tried to smooth things over, pulling me to sit down. “Julian rushed over as soon as he heard you were sick.” “Julian, I’m not criticizing you, but your mother didn’t eat all day because of you, running around everywhere. She collapsed from stress and anger. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” I’d heard these words too many times. Every time, I would compromise under the weight of family obligation. I knew that this time, I could only compromise too. For my future, to make my mother lower her guard, I had to compromise. I lowered my head, my fingertips digging into my palm, and said hoarsely: “I understand.”

The hospital room fell silent for a few seconds. My mother turned her head and looked at me suspiciously. “I know I shouldn’t have made you angry.” I continued, my voice carrying exhaustion and helplessness. “The college application… wherever you want me to apply, I’ll apply there.” My mother’s eyes lit up instantly: “Really? You’re willing to stay local?” I smiled bitterly. “What else can I do? You’re already hospitalized from anger, you changed the password. What can I do?” “Oh! Now that’s right!” Michelle clapped happily. “Julian, that’s right! Would your mother hurt you? She’s doing everything for your own good!” My mother’s face immediately brightened. She reached out to pat the back of my hand, her tone rarely gentle: “Now that’s my good son. You’re still young, all you think about is going out to explore. In a few years you’ll understand your mother’s good intentions.” “Staying local is so much better. Mom can still cook and do laundry for you. If you go out of state, who’ll take care of you?” Her hand was warm, gripping mine tightly. In my past life, she also held my hand like this, saying “I’m doing this for your own good.” Then at the gas station, exposed to wind and sun, my hands cracked from the cold, earning only three thousand dollars a month. I discovered that woman had stolen all my savings and run off with another man, without even a word of explanation. I let her hold my hand without pulling away, only saying softly: “Mm.” Over the next two days, I became unusually obedient. My mother logged into the college application system at least twice a day to confirm I hadn’t changed anything. I didn’t say much, even actively leaned over to look, saying “the major you chose is actually pretty good.” Every day I accompanied her shopping and cooking, helped massage her shoulders and back. Whatever she asked me to do, I did, without any resistance. She finally relaxed, laughing cheerfully when talking to relatives on the phone. Saying I’d finally become sensible, that I understood her devotion. On the evening the college application deadline closed, after dinner, I proactively told her: “My classmate said there’s a meteor shower on the mountain in the suburbs tonight. I want to go see it.” “If you’re worried about me, you can hold my phone or come with me.” She paused, probably not expecting me to actively make a request. She took my phone and scrolled through it for a long time, finding nothing suspicious. Seeing my expectant expression, she nodded: “Alright, I’ll go with you. Better than letting you run around.” When we climbed the mountain it was just past nine. There were already quite a few people waiting. I sat quietly beside her, chatting with her, showing no sign of anything unusual. At eleven-forty, I tugged her sleeve and said: “Mom, I need to use the restroom.” My mother, afraid I’d pull something, followed me and stood outside the men’s room waiting. I walked into the innermost stall, locked it, then pulled out an old phone from a hidden pocket in my jeans. It was an old phone from high school, long since deactivated, but it could still connect to Wi-Fi. I quickly powered it on, connected to the observation deck’s public network, then logged into a cloud note app. Inside was a complex password string and a phone number. I dialed the number. It rang three times, then connected. “Hello?” A young male voice answered. “It’s me,” I lowered my voice. “You can do it now. Right now.” The call ended. I heard my own heart pounding like a drum. My palms were already soaked with sweat. I took several deep breaths, stuffed the phone back in the hidden pocket, flushed, and walked out of the stall. My mother was waiting at the door. Seeing me come out, she looked me up and down: “Why so long?” “My stomach felt a little uncomfortable.” I touched my stomach. She didn’t ask more, just urged me to hurry back. When we returned to our seats, it was exactly midnight. My mother let out a long sigh of relief, a victorious smile on her face: “Good. Now the college application system is closed. Everything’s settled.” “Just wait for the acceptance letter from the local university.” I turned to look at my mother. Her face in the distant firelight appeared blurry and soft, filled with the relief of a mission accomplished. I smiled too. “Yes, Mom.” My voice scattered in the night wind, very light but very clear. “Everything’s settled. I’m definitely going to that out-of-state school.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “380754”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Five years after I left Giovanni, everyone in our class received his and Michelle’s engagement invitation—everyone except me. The hotel where he was getting engaged was the same place where I worked as a server. A classmate recognized me and shouted loudly, “Gerard, you dumped Giovanni just to work as a server here?” All eyes turned toward me. Giovanni let go of his fiancée’s hand and strode toward me. He stared at me, his voice dripping with mockery. “Didn’t you say back then that staying with a sickly guy like me had no future? Do you regret it now?” I gripped my serving tray tighter and forced a smile. “Yes, I regret it.” Giovanni looked me up and down with a sneer. “Do you think you’re worthy of me now?” I didn’t argue. I just turned away, clutching my chest. I had no time to get tangled up in the past with him, arguing about who was right or wrong. After all, my artificial heart wouldn’t make it past this winter. I made an excuse about needing to get back to work and turned to leave. Giovanni quickly stepped forward, blocking my path. “Gerard, didn’t you say it yourself? That you’d definitely be at my wedding.” I lowered my gaze, bitterness welling up inside. That was because back then, I thought I would be the one marrying Giovanni. After we broke up, I avoided him at all costs. I never expected to run into him again, especially not at his engagement party. Whispers erupted around us. “Is that really Giovanni’s ex-girlfriend? I heard she took his family’s financial support to finish school, then turned around and dumped him!” A classmate who knew our history cursed. “She’s a total asshole. Giovanni’s heart condition was serious back then—he needed a transplant. She was afraid of being dragged down, so she just broke up with him.” “No wonder she ended up like this. She deserves it. She might as well be dead.” Those insults and curses fell into my ears, word for word. A dull ache spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe. When I looked up, I saw Michelle linking arms intimately with Giovanni. “Giovanni, don’t be so petty. We’re all old classmates.” She turned to me, feigning magnanimity. “Gerard, just sit down and have a few drinks with us. Let’s celebrate.” “No need. I still have work to do.” I politely declined. I picked up my tray, wanting nothing more than to escape this suffocating place. But the moment I turned around, I heard Giovanni call out in a deep voice, “Manager Anderson.” My supervisor came running over, bowing and scraping before Giovanni. “Mr. Giovanni, what can I do for you?” Giovanni didn’t even look at him. He kept his eyes fixed on me as he spoke slowly and deliberately. “This server will exclusively serve us tonight. Triple her wages. If she’s absent or if I’m dissatisfied, dock all her pay.” Manager Anderson didn’t even ask if I was willing. He agreed immediately. I felt trapped by invisible ropes, unable to move. Without my wages, I wouldn’t be able to afford next month’s medication. I had no choice but to follow orders, trailing behind Giovanni and Michelle as they made their rounds, table by table. Whatever Giovanni handed me, I had to drink. My stomach churned, and my chest tightened with wave after wave of dull pain. Someone asked curiously, “Who’s this?” Giovanni wrapped his arm around Michelle’s waist and glanced back at me. “Just a short-sighted ex-girlfriend.” The table erupted in laughter. I clenched my fists, feeling desolate. Giovanni gestured for me to stand beside Michelle and ordered, “Michelle likes salmon. Cut it for her.” Then, as if remembering something, he leaned closer to me. In a voice only the two of us could hear, laced with alcohol and mockery, he said, “Gerard, if you hadn’t abandoned me back then, you’d be the one sitting here now. Too bad you don’t have that fate.” I numbly cut the salmon and placed it on Michelle’s plate. She ate delicately, taking small bites, then suddenly acted coquettish. “Giovanni, I want shrimp.” Giovanni paused. A memory surged to the front of my mind. I used to playfully feed him shrimp. He’d laugh and dodge. “You eat it. I’m allergic. If I even touch shrimp, my hands get itchy.” So he never peeled a single shrimp for me. Yet now, under everyone’s watchful eyes, Giovanni skillfully peeled shrimp and gently placed them in Michelle’s bowl. Michelle smiled sweetly. “Giovanni’s always like this. Every time we eat shrimp, he insists on peeling them for me himself. He says he doesn’t trust anyone else to do it.” Giovanni said nothing. He just picked up another shrimp, continued peeling it, and placed it on an empty plate. Antoine, who used to receive financial aid like me, raised his glass with his now-protruding belly and fawned over Giovanni. “Mr. Giovanni is truly devoted to Miss Michelle! Unlike some people—both of them were poor students, but Miss Michelle is kind and excellent, grateful and loyal, and ultimately a perfect match for Giovanni.” “But some people? They were practically ready to sell themselves when accepting aid, but the moment they saw Giovanni’s health was poor, they turned cold and heartless. Truly despicable character.” Every word felt like a needle stabbing into me. The long hours of work, combined with the alcohol I’d just consumed, made my face turn pale. My body trembled, and my vision started to darken. I had to lean on the table to stay upright. Giovanni seemed to notice. He looked up, frowning at me, as if he wanted to say something. But Michelle’s friend glanced at me with contempt. “Giovanni, some people are just naturally dramatic. They pretend to be pitiful to win sympathy. Otherwise, how could they abandon a seriously ill boyfriend?”

The air fell silent for a moment. Giovanni leaned back in his chair, a sneer curling at the corner of his mouth. “Gerard, after all these years, do you think I’d still fall for your act?” The tightness in my chest intensified sharply. I forced myself to stand upright. “Sorry, I need to use the restroom.” Without waiting for anyone to respond, I stumbled and turned away. Behind me, I heard Michelle’s anxious voice trying to stop him. “Giovanni, don’t chase after her. She probably doesn’t want to see you right now. Let me go talk to her. After all, we used to be friends.” Friends? The nausea in my stomach grew worse. I clutched my chest and staggered into the emergency stairwell. Michelle followed me. “Gerard.” I stopped but didn’t turn around. “Michelle, there’s no one else here. You don’t need to act.” She stepped in front of me, looking at my disheveled state with mockery. “Act? I’m just here to remind you to know your place. Giovanni is my fiancé now. You’re just a server. You’d better stay away from him.” I looked at her, unable to reconcile this ugly face with the innocent girl I once knew. Michelle and I were both orphans, raised together in the same orphanage. I was adopted by kind people and made it through high school. At school, I ran into Michelle again. She was about to drop out because she couldn’t afford tuition. Giovanni was my sponsor at the time, so I asked him to sponsor Michelle too. To thank Giovanni and me, she became our “relationship guardian.” Later, Giovanni’s heart condition left him on the brink of death in a hospital bed. I didn’t want him to die, so I secretly went to get tested for heart compatibility without telling Michelle. The results showed I was a match. I could donate my heart, but afterward, I could only survive with an artificial heart. When Michelle heard I’d decided to donate my heart, she froze. “Gerard… I was just talking. Are you really going to donate your heart?” When she couldn’t persuade me otherwise, she gripped my hand tightly and cried until she couldn’t breathe. “I swear, while he’s unconscious and recovering, I’ll watch over him for you! You don’t want him to feel guilty, so I won’t tell him the truth.” I looked at Michelle’s triumphant face now and suddenly felt utterly absurd. My voice trembled. “Michelle, why are you the one marrying him?” I treated her like a friend, like family. Why did she betray me? “Why?” Michelle’s face twisted with jealousy and satisfaction. “Gerard, what gives you the right to always be so naive and lucky? Yes, we’re both orphans. But why do you get everything so easily that I can never obtain no matter how hard I try? The favor of Giovanni’s family. Giovanni’s unconditional love. Even after you abandoned him, even when he hates you to death, he still loves you deep down.” She stepped closer. “You told me to take care of him, and I did. When he woke up at his most vulnerable, when he hated you the most, I told him you left. Watching him suffer, watching him depend on me, watching him finally look at me… that feeling was so wonderful. Finally, it was my turn to be lucky.” “And you? You won’t live past ten years with that artificial heart.” Michelle’s expression grew more excited. “Besides that broken body, what do you have left to compete with me?” A bone-deep chill wrapped around me. I looked at her, suddenly losing all desire to argue. I tugged at the corner of my mouth and walked past her. “You’re right.” “So please, both of you stay away from me.” I find you disgusting. Giovanni kept his word. The next day, Manager Anderson found every excuse to fire me. Over the following week, every résumé I sent out sank without a trace. I knew whose doing this was. He wanted to force me to bow my head, to beg him. Fine. Hatred is easier than love. Hatred would keep him alive—alive with a healthy body and a bright future. Still, my heart sometimes ached in dense, stabbing waves. So this was it. He really could leave not a shred of old feelings behind. Ruthless to the end. I clutched the medical report I’d just received. The doctor only said, “For your remaining time, enjoy your life.” I might not see the next spring. A wave of dizziness hit me, and my body swayed. At that moment, the last voice I wanted to hear sounded from behind me. “Gerard?” I froze instantly. Before I could hide the report, Giovanni was already striding toward me. “Why are you at the hospital? Are you not feeling well?” His brows furrowed tightly as he reached out to take the report. Instinctively, I hid it behind my back and stepped away, helpless and cornered. Seeing this, Michelle, afraid Giovanni would learn the truth, grabbed his arm. “Giovanni, don’t do this…” Giovanni’s tone grew heavier, carrying an undeniable command, as if he were still the boy from years ago who could take whatever he wanted from me. Just as he was about to seize the report, an arm suddenly blocked his path. “Mr. Giovanni, it’s not very appropriate to get physical with a lady, is it?”

I looked up in surprise. It was Robinson. My neighbor, and also a heart patient. Robinson shielded me behind him. “Gerard came to accompany me for a follow-up. My heart isn’t in great shape. She was kind enough to help me out.” Giovanni’s gaze swept back and forth between Robinson and me. Jealousy instantly shattered his composure. “Accompany you?” He let out a laugh filled with both hatred and panic. “You’d better be careful. After all, staying with a sickly guy has no future. Those are someone’s words of wisdom.” Giovanni paused, each word landing like a blow. “Don’t end up like me—casually abandoned by her.” With that, he abruptly turned away and strode off without looking back, his retreating figure resolute. That night at two in the morning, Giovanni pounded on my door. He was drunk, leaning against the doorframe with bloodshot eyes, staring at me. “Gerard, don’t you have any conscience at all?” “You abandoned me when I was sick and walked away without a word. Then you show up again acting like you don’t know me. Don’t you feel even a shred of guilt toward me?” “Why do you get to accompany someone else to see a heart specialist when you left me all alone back then? Why!” I looked at him, my chest tightening with pain. I thought about the doctor’s warnings, my empty wallet, and the orphanage director’s dying words that people need a good coffin after death so they can have their wishes fulfilled in the next life. I asked, “Mr. Giovanni, what will it take for you to let me go?” He stared at me, speaking each word deliberately. “Do three things with me.” “Fine.” The first thing was to take care of him for a day at his apartment. Giovanni lay in bed like a real patient. He deliberately knocked over the borscht I’d made, complaining it was too hot, then too cold. He demanded I adjust his pillow angle every half hour. He made me read love letters he’d written. None of the letters had a name at the beginning. If I read a single word wrong, I had to start over from the top. He watched my pale face and sneered. “Can’t handle it already? Back then, I suffered far worse than this!” I bent down to pick up pieces of yet another shattered bowl, cutting my hand. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. I steadied myself against the table, trying to regulate my breathing. Giovanni suddenly sat up. “You—!” I quickly interrupted. “I’m fine. Does Mr. Giovanni have any other instructions?” He stared at me for a long time, then finally lay back down heavily, turning his back to me. “No.” The second thing was to accompany him to pick out a birthday gift for Michelle. Giovanni pointed at the most expensive necklaces in the jewelry store. “Bring all of these for her to try.” He gestured to me. “You put them on.” “This is a gift for Miss Michelle. It’s not appropriate for me to try them.” His tone was firm. “I said try them on.” I complied. “Ugly.” When I was trying on the fifth one, I raised my hand to adjust the clasp. My sleeve slipped down, revealing new and old scars crisscrossing my wrist. Giovanni suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I cried out in pain. His hand was trembling. “What is this?” I yanked my hand back and pulled down my sleeve. “Old scars.” “When did you get them?” I looked away. “I don’t remember. Should I keep trying? Miss Michelle would probably like the sapphire one.” Giovanni’s chest heaved violently. He suddenly grabbed my chin viciously, forcing me to look at him. “Gerard, do you think this will make me soften? This is what you owe me. You deserve to suffer.” In the end, he bought every necklace I’d tried on. The third thing was to accompany him to a hospital follow-up. Outside the cardiology consultation room, Giovanni greeted the doctor with practiced ease. After completing a series of tests, the doctor looked at the report and said with relief, “Mr. Giovanni, the recovery is excellent. This heart is very compatible with you.” I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Giovanni reflexively glanced at me. I turned my head to stare out the window. The doctor looked at me a few more times, his brow furrowing. When the consultation ended and I got up to collect medication, the doctor said to me quietly, “Miss Gerard, you need to take care of your own health too.” I froze. Giovanni had already walked back in, sneering. “Doctor, you’re worrying too much. Someone as cold-hearted as her, who abandoned her seriously ill boyfriend without a second thought—what could possibly be wrong with her? She values her own life more than anyone.”

The doctor hesitated, then finally just sighed. Outside the hospital, Giovanni’s driver was waiting by the door. He opened the car door but didn’t get in immediately. I asked softly, “The three things are done. Will Mr. Giovanni let me go now?” He had his back to me, his shoulders tense. After a long silence, a single word came out. “Get lost.” Dead leaves were swept up by the cold wind. My heart died completely, with nothing left to hold onto. This winter was truly cold. Giovanni returned to the hospital for another follow-up half a month later. The doctor pushed up his glasses, his expression grave. “Mr. Giovanni, although I shouldn’t meddle in patients’ personal affairs, that Miss Gerard who came with you last time—you need to cherish her while you still have time!” Giovanni paused while adjusting his cuffs. “What do you mean, ‘while I still have time’?” The doctor looked surprised, realizing he’d said something he shouldn’t have. He tried to brush it off. But Giovanni kept pressing him, even threatening his career. “Five years ago, when you were critical, the only suitable donor was Miss Gerard. She volunteered to donate and requested using an artificial heart as a replacement, even though the technology was still unstable at the time. The surgical risk was extremely high, and the possibility of post-operative rejection and artificial heart failure were both very real.” The doctor’s words cut into Giovanni like knives, one after another. His face turned deathly pale. “What did you say?” “After the surgery, she asked how you were. When she heard the operation was very successful, she didn’t ask anything more.” “But an artificial heart ultimately… Miss Gerard doesn’t have much time left.” Giovanni thought about all those harsh acts of revenge, those humiliating words filled with hatred. Those necklaces he’d made her try on under false pretenses. Those moments when she looked pale but he assumed she was just playing the victim. In an instant, regret mixed with pain spread through his entire body. The car sped along, running through countless red lights. Giovanni’s hands shook so badly he could barely grip the steering wheel. He frantically rushed to the building and looked up. With his own eyes, he saw a familiar, frail figure leap from the rooftop.

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