Author: Momo Chan

1 At my wedding reception, a decade in the making, the big screen suddenly flashed photos of my fiancé cheating. The entire ballroom waited for me to spiral into hysterics. Everyone knew about my severe control issues and bipolar disorder, that my obsession with Zach Weixler ran bone-deep. If he so much as caught a wisp of an unfamiliar scent, I’d be on the rooftop, forcing him to scrub his skin raw. If he exchanged more than a few words with another woman, I’d cut my wrists, demanding he lock himself away in a dark room for three days and three nights. Zach’s family whispered warnings, “Anna, don’t make things more difficult for everyone.” In the photos, Zach’s back was covered in scratch marks, as he tenderly kissed the woman in his arms. He was even explaining it to me, quite pleased with himself. “Anna, I’m doing this for therapy.” Zach’s promise last night, that he would cut ties with that woman, landed like a resounding slap, finally waking me up. My illness was cured. And him? I no longer wanted him. … The wedding reception ended in disarray. I removed my veil and looked at Zach’s parents. “Mr. Weixler, I remember you once said that if Zach and I ever grew tired of each other, I could use this engagement contract to ask you for anything.” He looked surprised, as if he couldn’t believe I would give up this engagement. “Then, please adopt me as your goddaughter, and arrange for me to marry far away in Brighton, where he can never find me.” In the face of my resolute gaze, he reluctantly agreed. I turned back to my room, tearing down photos from the wall, one by one. A warm breath ghosted over my neck, and my hand paused. “My wife is so well-behaved today, not acting up like usual. It seems my treatment over the years has been very effective.” I had severe control issues and bipolar disorder. Every time I found a trace on Zach that wasn’t mine, I would go mad, forcing him to clean it off. He was no less extreme, always making himself bruised and battered to demonstrate his loyalty. I don’t know when it started, but a depressed patient, far more severe than me, appeared in Zach’s life. Zach said if he could cure Clara Hastings, then he could definitely cure me. I subtly evaded Zach’s hand. He keenly noticed, holding my hand even tighter. “My wife, it was Clara who had an episode today. She was sobbing and nearly killed me.” “I had no choice. I came up with this idea to cheer her up.” As if afraid I wouldn’t believe him, Zach opened his photo album and showed me a smiling picture of Clara. For the past six months, Clara had infiltrated every aspect of my life. She baked a cake, and Zach, despite my matcha allergy, forced me to eat it, demanding I smile and admit she was wonderful. When her planted flowers sprouted, Zach would interrupt my therapy sessions, dragging me to a party to celebrate. When she was scared of thunderstorms, Zach left me with a high fever on the way to the hospital… I gave a perfunctory agreement. “Mmm, she smiled. Congratulations on becoming her savior.” But Zach’s face suddenly darkened. He gripped my shoulder tightly. “Anna!” “I’m only your savior!” His grip was too strong, and the back of my head slammed against the wall. The photos in my hand scattered, trampled under Zach’s feet. I cried out in pain, and he immediately pulled his hand back, his face filled with concern. He crouched down, picking up the scattered photos. “I’ll have the housekeeper pack up our things and move them to the bridal suite. You don’t have to worry.” It seemed he still didn’t know about my plans to marry far away. I nodded and spoke softly. “Then the wedding…” Zach clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You’re the only one in my heart. Does it matter if we have a wedding? Clara’s emotions have just stabilized. Can’t you wait?” A specific notification sound suddenly filled the air. The anger on his face vanished, replaced by a gentle expression as he answered the phone. A girl’s delicate sobs came through the speaker. Zach panicked, dropped the photos, and rushed out. I watched his hurried departure and dialed the wedding planner. “Just transfer the refund directly to Mr. Weixler’s account.” Half an hour after Zach left, I finally cleared the photo wall. I stared at my own happy smiling face in the photos, a sudden pang in my heart. Then, without hesitation, I threw them into the shredder. On the bedside table hung an ugly, distorted doll. Initially, I loved it, and felt bad for Zach’s pricked fingers from making this ugly doll. But later, I saw the same pattern on Clara’s phone case, but a more exquisite charm. Only then did I realize this was just a failed practice piece Zach had used. I threw it into the trash, along with all the couple’s items in the room. My phone vibrated wildly, indicating Clara had updated her social media. When I first learned of Clara’s existence, I furiously confronted Zach. I happened to catch him holding her hand, helping her write. They were so close, the air practically glowed with a pink, ambiguous aura. I went mad, smashing his study, forcing him to draw a line with her. For the first time, Zach didn’t soothe my emotions; instead, he stood beside Clara, scolding me. “Those with dirty hearts see dirt everywhere! I was just teaching her how to write!” But the scattered sheets of paper on the floor were all covered in hearts. That time, Zach didn’t comfort me; he gave me the silent treatment for a month. Zach self-righteously claimed it was normal socializing. But what I saw were his and Clara’s intertwined fingers, his and Clara’s shadow kiss in a staged shot, and yesterday at the wedding banquet, the ambiguous, glaring scratch marks. My consciousness returned. I picked up my phone and saw Clara’s post about soaking in a hot spring. She wore a sheer white gauze, the wet fabric clinging to her skin. A pair of hands, intimately familiar to me, appeared in the frame, kneading Clara’s calf without any sense of boundaries. The caption read, “I’m so clumsy; my calf cramped as soon as I got in the water. Luckily, Master Zach saved me.” It was followed by two emojis of praying hands, attempting to lighten the romantic atmosphere. I watched for a long time, then blocked Clara’s contact. As soon as I blocked her, Zach’s call came in. His roaring voice pierced my eardrums. “Anna Vance, what the hell are you doing? Clara was just normally sharing her life on social media!” “Don’t you know she has severe depression? Why did you block her? She’s been crying nonstop, banging her head against the pool wall, saying she’s a sinner and wants to prove her innocence by dying.” Zach’s accusations were like a sharp knife, brutally tearing through my feigned strength. My chest ached dully. I tried to suppress a sob. “Zach Weixler, I just want to draw a line between us. Is it wrong for me to give you to her?” A splash was heard on the other end. Zach screamed in panic. “Clara!” All that was left was the cold dial tone. Tears fell onto the wedding dowry my parents had left me. I ran my hand over the exquisite phoenix coronet. In the end, I still couldn’t fulfill my parents’ last wish, to marry Zach in grand style. I continued packing. Half an hour later, the door was kicked open with a bang. Zach, protecting the sobbing Clara, looked furious. “Look at how much Clara is crying! Hurry up and apologize!” My fingernails dug deep into my palm. I didn’t want to argue with him anymore. I obediently bowed and said, “I’m sorry.” Zach was unaccustomed to my docility, staring at me in surprise. I carefully placed the phoenix coronet into my suitcase. But then I saw Clara gently tug at Zach’s sleeve. “That phoenix coronet is so pretty! If I had a coronet like that, I’d be so happy.” Her tears fell perfectly onto Zach’s hand. Zach snatched the coronet from my hand and placed it on Clara’s head. “If this coronet can make you happy, it’s worth it. Besides, Anna made you sick, so consider it her apology gift to you.” I frantically tried to grab it back, but Zach’s grip on my wrist was crushing. The force was so immense, it felt like my bones would shatter. Tears welled up from the pain, and I looked at Zach pleadingly. “That’s the only keepsake my parents left me! Give it back!” Clara fiddled with the coronet’s tassels, asking with a smile as she looked in the mirror, “Do I look good wearing it?” Zach nodded, affectionately pinching her cheek. “Of course, you look good. Clara is the prettiest.” Clara finally stopped crying and, smiling, threw herself into Zach’s arms. The two of them flirted openly, oblivious to my presence. I saw a corner of the phoenix coronet bent. My heart felt as if it had been slashed by a sharp knife, blood dripping out. “Give it back!” I shrieked, my voice sharp, startling even Mrs. Weixler. She rushed into the room, saw Clara deliberately bending the coronet’s tassel, and frowned deeply, angrily questioning Zach. “How could you get involved with someone so disreputable? Look at her, she has no manners, just casually stealing other people’s things!” The atmosphere was tense. Zach gritted his teeth, looking at me. “Did you teach Mom to say that?” With that, he scoffed. “If we’re talking about manners, you’re the one without them, aren’t you? If you had manners, would you be living in my house before we’re even married?” “You uncultured brute.” A buzzing erupted in my ears. I forcefully raised my hand and slapped Zach’s face. “You have no right to say that!” During a family gathering years ago, a fire broke out. The Weixler family, being closer to the exit, escaped first. Zach and I were still playing hide-and-seek. My parents were shielding me as we fled when they heard Zach’s frightened cries for help. They didn’t hesitate, immediately turning back to find him. Because of inhaling too much dense smoke, my mother collapsed in the flames. My father, using his body as a shield to protect Zach, suffered extensive burns and eventually died from his injuries. If it weren’t for Zach, my parents would never have died. Mrs. Weixler’s eyes reddened, and she tearfully pulled me into a hug. Zach also realized he had spoken out of turn, his lips moving slightly as if to make amends. Clara, seeing everyone starting to side with me, started to cry pitifully again. She took off the phoenix coronet, placing herself between Zach and me. “Please don’t argue over me, okay? I’m sorry, I’ll give the phoenix coronet back to you.” My fingers trembled as I reached for it, but the moment I touched the coronet, Clara let go. It fell heavily to the ground, severely deformed, the embedded jewels shattering everywhere. My blood ran cold. I collapsed to the ground, carefully gathering the pieces of the phoenix coronet. Clara, as if triggered, screamed hysterically, throwing herself into Zach’s arms. Zach wrapped his arm around her waist, angrily gripping my wrist. “Anna Vance, it’s just a broken item! Do you really want Clara to die?” “Come with me! I’ll make you experience what it’s like to have an episode too.” Zach forcibly dragged me into the passenger seat. Mrs. Weixler ran after us, looking worriedly at me. “The Weixler family will be here to pick you up soon! Where are you going now?” The roar of the engine drowned out her words. Zach didn’t hear a thing. I clutched the jade fragments in my hand. They pierced my palm, blood seeping through my fingers. Zach merely glanced at it, then averted his gaze. He worriedly watched Clara in the rearview mirror, gently comforting her. “Don’t be scared, Clara. I’ll make things right for you right away.”

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It was my pregnancy that had Elias Stone’s blue-blooded family heir in a fit of pique this time. When I returned alone from my doctor’s appointment, his gaze, usually fixed on financial reports, didn’t even lift. “I have no immediate plans for children. My assistant has scheduled your procedure for next week.” That evening, I packed a bag and left. But his rival, Dean Holloway, found me, offering to help me fake my death to escape. The condition was the Rosewood Estate, which belonged to me. The day I was supposed to leave, I accidentally overheard their conversation. “If you want to marry Scarlett back home, why not just divorce? Why go through this whole charade of faking her death to get rid of her?” “A divorce and remarriage would brand Scarlett a homewrecker. A widower remarrying minimizes the harm to her.” “Then why do you want her Rosewood Estate? Aren’t you allergic to roses?” Elias gave a faint smile. “Scarlett likes them.” … Dean Holloway probably didn’t expect me to arrive two hours early at our meeting point. In two hours, I would be boarding his private helicopter to leave. But right now, hiding behind a concrete pillar, I gripped my hands so tightly they trembled uncontrollably. “Once you take her abroad, find someone to look after her until the baby is born. This card is my compensation for her.” Elias said, his tone utterly dismissive. Then came a scoff. “You’re kidding, right, Stone? You want me to look after your wife and child? Aren’t you worried I’ll ‘look after’ them into my bed?” Elias seemed to freeze for a moment. Their eyes met, then he calmly shifted his gaze, lighting a cigarette. “I thought you preferred the big-chested, empty-headed type, Holloway? She’s not your style.” “Sometimes you just want a change of pace. And honestly, Eleanor Leigh is quite pretty.” After a brief silence, Elias nonchalantly flicked his cigarette ash. “Suit yourself.” Dean laughed heartily. “Relax, I’m just kidding. That mousy, domestic type like Eleanor, she’s not really my thing. Besides, if it weren’t for Scarlett, I wouldn’t lift a finger for you, not even if you offered me another twenty percent of the profits.” Elias shot him a cold, sharp glance. “Scarlett is your pet name for her?” I first saw Scarlett Lindell at a Stone family dinner. At the time, she was Elias’s nephew’s girlfriend. Fair-skinned and beautiful, in a red slip dress. Bold enough to corner Elias in the dim hallway of the old mansion. “Uncle, your nephew cheated on me. I’ve decided to teach him a lesson.” She smiled, cunning and bright, then pulled his tie and kissed him. That day, Elias pushed her away. He was a man of great restraint. In our five years of marriage, countless women had tried to get into his bed. From innocent interns to glamorous actresses, he never once crossed the line. But Scarlett became his sole exception. On the day we were supposed to fulfill our marital duties, Elias didn’t come home. I huddled in the cold sheets, waiting for a long time. Overcome with sleepiness, I finally called him. After a long ringing, it connected. The hot, ambiguous sounds made me realize the call had been accidentally answered. Then I heard a low murmur, accompanied by a muffled groan. “Scarlett, this is how you teach him a lesson…” “Scream for me. I want to hear it.” His voice was hoarse, unable to contain his passion. I froze, shaking as I dropped my phone. It was then I realized that my usually composed and reserved husband could lose control like this. Dean Holloway’s teasing voice piped up again. “I heard Eleanor Leigh’s Rosewood Estate was her mother’s inheritance. Taking that from her feels a bit cruel, doesn’t it?” “Take? Wasn’t it her choice to use it as collateral for the deal?” “To have a child or to keep her inheritance, I gave her a choice.” Elias slowly stubbed out his cigarette. Hearing those words, I actually laughed. Yes, from childhood, I had always been making choices. Tired of being confined and starved in the bathroom by my stepmother, I chose to be obedient, to call her ‘Mom,’ and to silently endure her furious slaps when she was upset. Afraid of one day being drugged and assaulted by my stepbrother, I chose to agree to the marriage alliance with the Stones, to marry a man whose marital duties were even outlined in a prenuptial agreement. Fearful that Elias would truly force me to have an abortion, I chose to use the only memento my mother left me to exchange for Dean’s help to escape. Because I didn’t want to die, I fought desperately to live. If that’s what you call a choice. Then fine. From now on, I won’t fight anymore. I laughed, wiping away the tears streaming down my face. If they didn’t want me to live. Then we could all go down together. I pretended to know nothing and successfully left the country as planned. At the same time, the news broke that Eleanor Leigh, wife of Elias Stone, CEO of Stone Enterprises, had tragically died in a fire. Dean, as agreed, prepared a secluded villa in the countryside and a new identity for me. And the first thing I did after settling in was get a medical abortion. I had wanted that child once. But now, I didn’t want it at all. Lying on the cold hospital bed. I could distinctly feel the undeveloped embryo detaching from my body. Back at the villa, I lay in a daze for several days. When Dean came, he found me crying in bed. He didn’t know I’d had an abortion. Seeing me so distraught, he frowned and asked, “You still can’t let go of Elias? You love him that much?” Elias and I were in an arranged marriage. If Stone Enterprises hadn’t been facing a cash flow crisis, my nouveau riche father would never have had the chance to secure a marriage alliance with a family like the Stones. Our first meeting was the day before we officially registered our marriage. Compared to my nervousness, he was elegantly composed, calmly handing his assistant a thick prenuptial agreement to pass to me. “Ms. Leigh, if you have any questions, we can discuss them.” I once only saw marriage as an escape from the Leigh family. Later, I gradually thought that if Elias was the one I’d spend my life with, it might not be so bad. He would prepare unique gifts for every holiday and anniversary. He would take me to every important event, smiling as he introduced me to everyone: “This is my wife.” And in bed, when he sensed my nervousness, he would whisper hoarsely in my ear: “Tell me if it hurts.” How could I not have loved him? My stifled sobs grew louder, and Dean, perhaps impatient, snatched away my blanket, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Eleanor Leigh, why don’t you just come with me instead?” I hadn’t told him I was crying because of the pain. I gave him a cold glance. “What nonsense are you talking about?” He suddenly leaned closer, a hint of seductive charm flickering in his deep-set eyes, which usually held a playful, dog-like affection. “I’m not joking, princess.” I stiffened slightly, clutching the bedsheet, unsure what to do. He seemed pleased with my reaction. He ruffled my hair like a puppy, raising an eyebrow with a roguish smile. “Mind if I use your shower?” When the sound of water began in the bathroom, relying on my last stolen glance, I opened Dean’s phone. That red rose icon was all too familiar. Scarlett. [Eleanor Leigh would totally lose it if she knew Elias was celebrating my birthday at her Rosewood Estate, wouldn’t she?] [You need to propose to her on my birthday, then dump her the next day. Don’t forget to record it!] [I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes she’s been played by both you and Elias!] Dean replied with a face-palm emoji. [Alright, little princess, you’re the expert at this game.] Scarlett loved playing games to watch me squirm. She knew I had discovered their affair. So, when she was in bed with Elias, she would ‘accidentally’ call me from his phone. When I accompanied Elias to important events, she would always call, making him abandon me. Even on my birthday, she dressed as a sweet maid delivering a cake and, when my back was turned, hooked Elias into a kiss. Perhaps my reactions were never quite satisfying enough for her. So this time, she wanted to play a bigger game. I took photos, then put Dean’s phone back. Since they enjoyed playing these games, I would play along to the very end. I spent an entire night figuring out Dean and Scarlett’s relationship. They were both trust fund kids, childhood sweethearts who’d even had a childhood engagement. But Scarlett didn’t like spoilt heirs like Dean; she preferred the thrill of bringing down a reserved man like Elias. And Dean, the kind of playboy who adored being a lapdog to a princess, seemed outwardly flirtatious but was deeply starved for affection. The most direct way to win over such a man was to care for him, look after him, and mother him. In the days that followed, Dean used every trick he had for chasing women on me. It was an endless parade of clothes, handbags, expensive jewelry, and armfuls of roses. Oh, and spontaneous fireworks displays. He sent gifts for seven straight days, and I ignored him every time. Finally, the spoiled prince couldn’t take it anymore. Drrunkenly, he arrived at my house. Pushing open the door, he saw the piles of unopened gifts and let out a frustrated laugh. He shoved me against the wall, gritting his teeth. “Eleanor Leigh, are you really that hard to get?” I asked him, “Are you hungry?” Dean froze. Those eyes, always filled with playful mockery, were now clear as a golden retriever’s. He nodded stiffly. I made him a bowl of noodles and sat opposite him, watching him eat with gusto. He looked at me self-consciously. “Why are you staring at me?” I smiled bitterly. “Elias used to only eat a few bites. He never ate with such enjoyment, like you.” He paused, then asked, feigning indifference, “You often cooked for Elias?” I nodded. “He had a sensitive stomach, so I learned some recipes for digestive health.” I was lying. With four maids in the house, I never had to cook. He fell silent, burying his face in his noodles. In the following days, Dean clung to me, demanding I cook him various dishes, and pressing me about whether Elias had ever eaten them. I played video games with him, watched him race, and listened to him recount his teenage angst. When he feigned indifference, I calmly described my life after my mother’s death. The way he looked at me grew increasingly strange. Finally, one day, as I was washing dishes, he suddenly hugged me from behind. “Eleanor Leigh, have you thought about my offer from last time?” His chin rested on my neck, sweet and with a hint of cautious anticipation. I didn’t speak. In the quiet kitchen, only our increasingly heavy breathing filled the air. Just then, his phone rang. It was Elias’s voice coming through the receiver. “How… how has she been lately?” It seemed he sensed my body stiffen. Dean spun me around, forcing me to face him. His deep eyes stared intently at me, a half-smile playing on his lips. “She’s fine.” Elias was silent for a few seconds, then asked, “And the child?” My eyes slowly welled up with tears. Dean’s face darkened. He abruptly gripped my chin and kissed me fiercely. He casually knocked the phone onto the counter. He held the back of my head, kissing me until I could barely breathe. “Dean Holloway!” I cried out his name. But he just curved his lips, rubbing his nose against mine, his voice hoarse. “Say it again.” On the other end of the line. Elias’s hand, holding the phone, froze. Behind his glasses, his pupils abruptly constricted. I pushed Dean away, panting, and ran upstairs. He chased after me, grabbing my arm. “Eleanor Leigh, can’t you just look at me?” I looked at him. “Why?” He gritted his teeth in frustration. “You don’t know why? Fine, I’ll tell you. Because I’m crazy about you!” I didn’t know how much of Dean’s sincerity was real and how much was pretense at that moment. It didn’t matter. What mattered most was that I knew my moment had arrived. “You like me?” I scoffed, a cold laugh escaping. “Alright, then give me back my Rosewood Estate.” Dean hesitated for a few seconds. I pulled my hand away from him. “Mr. Holloway, please let me go. I truly can’t risk giving my heart away to the wrong person again.” He grabbed me tightly, pulling me into his arms. “Is it true? If I give it back to you, you’ll believe I’m serious?” Whether Dean was genuinely swayed by my acting these past few days, or merely feigning affection to draw me into his trap, he eventually returned the property transfer deed I had signed. But as he handed it back, he probed, “Are you taking the Rosewood Estate back because you want to return?” I shook my head calmly. “No. Eleanor Leigh is dead.” She died in the deception they wove together. Dean and I started dating, just like a normal couple. He was incredibly clingy. After we started dating, he stopped going to bars, races, or clubs. We walked hand-in-hand along the river, and kissed on the sofa while watching movies. Every time, by the end, he’d be panting, his head on my lap, stroking my lower belly and whining, “When will it be three months?” He didn’t know I was utterly alone. Our romantic game would only last until the day he and Scarlett had planned. That day, Dean was bothering me as usual, his hand trying to slip under my clothes, when his phone rang. He impatiently reached to turn it off but paused when he saw the name on the screen. “Uh… babe, my buddy’s calling me at this hour, probably something urgent. I’ll just take this.” His expression was a little unnatural. He was clearly distracted when we went to bed that night. I feigned sleep. He called my name softly a few times. Seeing no reaction, he grabbed his phone and got out of bed. It sounded like he was heading out, but when the door opened, I heard his hushed, surprised voice: “You came all the way here? Are you crazy?” Immediately followed by a petulant, aggrieved voice. “Dean Holloway! Are you scolding me?”

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My grandfather was the richest man in the nation of A, and I was his only grandson. Yet, my two elder sisters allowed their shared lover to impersonate me. Just before the grand centennial celebration of the corporation was to begin, Marcus Thorne quickly took the seat reserved for the heir of the enterprise. He then put on an act for me. “Oh, if only my sisters hadn’t insisted I bring you along to see the world, a poor student like you would never step foot inside the Zenith Group’s doors.” “Remember to be smart later. Don’t cause any trouble for me, or my sisters will beat you to a pulp.” In my past life, threatened by my sisters, I was timid and weak, always tolerating Marcus. But now, I had been reborn. Watching Marcus, who was still spouting nonsense, I directly kicked him, sending him flying three feet away. “What are you? A kept man dares to lecture me!” 1 My audacious actions immediately drew everyone’s attention. My elder sister rushed over, her face etched with concern, cradling Marcus in her arms. My second sister raised her hand and slapped me twice. Seeing their beloved kept man, whom they had pampered for years, sent flying by my kick, both sisters were utterly distraught. They simultaneously glared at me, seething. “Ethan Caldwell, you must have a death wish, daring to lay a hand on our little brother!” Looking at my two aggressive sisters, I realized how foolish I had been in the past to ever fantasize about them having sisterly affection for me. I pointed at Marcus, who was still being cradled by them, and scoffed loudly. “He’s just a kept plaything you both secretly fund. Am I, the legitimate heir of this corporation, the grandson of the richest man, not entitled to hit him?” Hearing my words, my elder sister instantly bristled with anger and shoved me backward to the floor. “Ethan Caldwell, Marcus generously helped you with your schooling, yet you’re here spewing nonsense.” “Everyone here, listen clearly: Marcus is my grandfather’s true grandson, the eldest son of the Zenith Group.” I looked at my elder sister in disbelief. “He’s my grandfather’s true grandson? The eldest son of the Zenith Group?” “Sister, how can you say such things? Your audacity truly knows no bounds!” My second sister’s eyes darted, and she looked at me with disdain. “Ethan Caldwell, did you forget to take your medication today? Are you having an episode?” Marcus, meanwhile, began to sob theatrically. “It’s all my fault. I knew Ethan had a mental illness, but I still brought him here.” Their distorted conversation, twisting truth into lies, was heard clearly by everyone in the grand hall. In an instant, everyone around me looked at me with scorn. “So Ethan Caldwell is just a poor student sponsored by the young master, no wonder he’s dressed so shabbily.” “The young master is truly naive and kind, to sponsor someone with a troubled mind and ill intentions like that.” Immediately, my elder sister called for Mr. Davies, the corporation’s assistant. “You and your men throw Ethan Caldwell out. He’s not allowed to step foot in the corporation’s doors again without my permission.” I looked at the corporate assistant, Mr. Davies, as he approached me with security guards. “Mr. Davies, you’ve been with my mother for so long. How can you not recognize the true heir of the corporation?” Mr. Davies immediately stopped, frozen in place. “I… I…” My second sister shot him an annoyed glare. “Mr. Davies, my elder sister is the future successor of the corporation. Are you defying her orders now? Do you want to pack your bags and leave?” Mr. Davies instantly turned pale with fright. He looked at me uneasily. “Young Master, I have elderly parents and young children, and I rely on this job to support my family. Please don’t make things difficult for me. Please come with me.” With that, Mr. Davies signaled the security guards to quickly drag me away. Looking at the several people closing in on me, I grabbed a vase from the table and threw it forcefully. “Not only am I the true heir of the Zenith Group, I am its sole successor! Try laying a hand on me!” The shattering of the vase and my furious roar echoed through the entire banquet hall. Hearing this, everyone around me scoffed. “It seems he’s quite unwell. First he impersonates the richest man’s grandson, now he claims to be the corporation’s successor. It’s utterly laughable.” “Exactly. Even if he were the richest man’s true grandson, it wouldn’t be his turn, a mere young master, to inherit the corporation. After all, he has two elder sisters ahead of him.” Looking at my two sisters, still so arrogant, I challenged them directly. “Elder sister, are you certain you and our second sister have any claim to inheritance?” My second sister’s eyes flickered, but she quickly regained her composure. She tugged at my elder sister’s sleeve. “Elder sister, today is a joyous occasion. Our family elders will be arriving soon. Perhaps it’s better to just let it go.” Seeing my second sister’s reaction, I knew she was recalling her origins and starting to feel apprehensive. After all, my grandfather, the nation’s wealthiest man, had only one son – my father. After my father’s passing, I was his only true grandson. My two elder sisters were merely the orphaned daughters of my father’s sister. After their parents passed away, my father, unable to bear seeing his nieces suffer outside, brought them back to the Caldwell family. Therefore, they had no blood relation to my father or grandfather and absolutely could not inherit the Zenith Group, which my biological grandfather had founded. But my elder sister disregarded my words, instead frowning and glaring at my second sister. “She just laid a hand on Marcus. Can you really stand to see Marcus suffer such an injustice?” “Ethan Caldwell, it seems your condition has worsened. Perhaps we should just have the assistant send you to a mental institution for treatment?” Hearing the words “mental institution,” my chest instantly filled with consuming hatred. I remembered the agony of being bled and flayed by Marcus in the mental institution in my previous life. Yes, in the last life, my elder sister and second sister, desperate to win Marcus’s genuine affection, both conspired to calculate and harm me. Marcus was a medical student, and he harbored a lifelong desire: to personally observe the structural differences between living and dead human bodies. When my two sisters learned of this, they collaborated with Marcus to dissect me alive. Despite growing up with my sisters, living together in the Caldwell home for eighteen years, they, to please Marcus, not only allowed him to impersonate me but also constantly devised ways to help him torment me. Now, I understood. In my sisters’ eyes, kinship was trivial; only love was the most important thing in their hearts. But I was now curious: when love and power were placed side by side, how would my two sisters choose? Thinking of this, I let out a cold laugh. “I’m asking you one last time: who is the true heir and eldest son of the Zenith Group?” Before my two sisters could speak, Charles Harrington, the son of a partner company under the Zenith Group, rushed forward and punched me. “This is outrageous! You, a mere sponsored student, dare to cause trouble here at the Zenith Group? Don’t you know your place?” I knew Charles Harrington. He secretly admired my elder sister and constantly fantasized about marrying her to become the future chairman’s husband of the corporation. Ever since he heard that Marcus was the richest man’s grandson and the eldest son of Zenith Group, he had spent the last two months flattering Marcus and running errands for him. He wanted to establish a good relationship with his future brother-in-law early on and leave the impression of a devoted husband in my elder sister’s mind. Unfortunately, he had curried favor with the wrong person. Marcus was not only not the eldest son of the Zenith Group, but also his rival in love – my elder sister’s kept lover for years. I wasn’t about to take Charles’s punch for nothing, so I kicked him hard in the abdomen. “What are you? The son of a third-rate company president dares to strike me! With just one word from me, your family will be bankrupt immediately.” Charles clutched his stomach in pain, looking at me in disbelief. “Ethan Caldwell, you actually dared to kick me! My father and mother have never even scolded me, let alone hit me!” “You just wait, I won’t let you off the hook.” Marcus remorsefully took Charles’s hand. “Charles, don’t bother with him. He’s not right in the head. I apologize on his behalf.” I looked at Marcus with disdain and sneered. “I think you’re the one who’s crazy. Why play the role of a kept man when you could be something decent, instead of running to such an important event impersonating the heir of the corporation?” I turned to my two sisters, pointed at the door, and said coldly. “Ugh, since my sisters insist on playing dress-up games with their lover, then take your kept boytoy and get out of my corporation!” My two sisters glared at me, their faces ashen. “Ethan Caldwell, let me tell you, we hold real power in this corporation, while you’re still a student. You’re the one who needs to leave!” “What’s going on? Why are you all standing here instead of taking your seats?” A dignified, exceptional middle-aged woman squeezed through the crowd. She was Victoria Vance, the CEO of Zenith Group, and my biological mother. But she hurried to Marcus, raising a hand to wipe away his tears. “Marcus, don’t cry~ Who bullied you?” “Tell me quickly, and I’ll get revenge for you right now!” My elder sister angrily pointed at me: “Who else but that arrogant scoundrel Ethan Caldwell would dare to bully Marcus right under my nose?” My mother, hearing this, slapped me with displeasure. “Ethan Caldwell, I truly gave you too much leeway. How dare you act like a bully, picking on Marcus.” “Now, kneel and apologize to Marcus immediately, or else you won’t see any allowance for the next year.” Looking at my mother, who blamed me without discerning right from wrong, my eyes were filled with disappointment. Indeed, Mother was just as she had been in my previous life, irrationally doting on Marcus with my two sisters. Although I had already anticipated it, my heart still couldn’t help but ache. I used to wonder why, when I was clearly her son, and Marcus was merely a plaything for my two sisters, Mother became obsessed with him the moment she met him. Especially after learning that both sisters had kept Marcus as their lover, Mother flew into a rage, whipping both of them for an entire day and night. At the time, seeing my sisters being beaten, I even ran to persuade Mother, defending them. But I was accidentally struck twice by Mother’s whip, and those two scars are still on my arm to this day. After that, Mother not only forbade my two sisters from continuing to keep Marcus, but she also pulled strings to send Marcus to the best university in Nation A. More importantly, Mother also declared to my two sisters that if they truly liked Marcus, they should compete fairly and try their best to bring him into the family as a son-in-law. And the one who successfully won Marcus would be the inheritor of Mother’s wealth. In my past life, Mother’s unusually behavior made me extremely curious, so I secretly investigated Marcus’s background. Later, I learned that Marcus was actually the son of Mother’s first love. Marcus resembled his father very much. Mother recognized him the first time she saw him. The destructive power of a deceased first love was truly potent; a similar face could firmly capture my mother’s heart. It was truly a pity for my father, who died without ever knowing that Mother harbored another man in her heart. Thinking of this, I looked at my mother with a mocking expression. “I will not apologize!” “However, since my two sisters claim Marcus is their brother, the eldest son of the Zenith Group, doesn’t Mother have anything to explain to everyone?” Hearing this, Marcus immediately looked at my mother with a wronged expression, knowing that my mother was most afraid of him crying. Sure enough, seeing Marcus’s face turn pale from crying, Mother immediately slapped me twice again. “Explain what? They’re right. Marcus is my good son, the eldest son of the Zenith Group.” Looking at my mother, who was lying through her teeth, I roared at her directly. “Victoria Vance, how can you do this to my deceased father? Do you dare to say those words again with a clear conscience?” Mother ignored my words and turned to my two sisters. “Go and throw out this trash who bullied your brother.” Looking at my cold and heartless mother, my heart was a mix of emotions. Heh, this was the woman my father loved his entire life? This was the biological mother I had admired for eighteen years since childhood? I thought my father, before his death, never would have anticipated that after he passed, the two daughters he kindly adopted would harm his beloved son for the sake of a lover. And his own wife would not only fail to protect their biological son but would also drive him out of the house for the child of her first love. At this moment, I truly felt sorrow for myself and for my deceased father.

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While I was preparing our seventh-anniversary dinner, Renee suddenly told me she wanted a divorce. “Arthur has depression, and I need to be with him for his treatment.” “We’ll remarry in a year.” In my past life, I waited for her, year after year, only to learn she was pregnant and remarrying her childhood friend. I crashed the wedding, questioning her hysterically. But it only led to her endless revenge and torment. In the end, my family went bankrupt. My parents died, one gone, one driven mad. Even I was thrown into the ocean by creditors, my body never found. Reborn, I didn’t argue or make a scene. I took off my apron and quickly packed my bags. When I went downstairs, she stood with her arms crossed, a look of mockery on her face. “You don’t have to pretend to be so eager. I’m not falling for that playing-hard-to-get act.” “Since I promised we’d remarry, we will.” My hand paused briefly as I signed the divorce papers, then continued quickly and steadily. I was indeed eager, but not to get her attention. It was because I had already signed a top-secret project. From now on, I would disappear completely from her world. 1 As I signed, my mind flashed back to the classified documents I’d signed three days prior. “Adam, you need to be absolutely sure. This isn’t just any confidential project.” “Once you join, all your information will be completely erased.” “Adam Reynolds will cease to exist in this world.” My feelings when signing then were the same as now: calm, resolute, and without hesitation. The last letter, and a heavy weight in my heart, settled together. I handed the agreement to Renee, who stood nearby. “It’s signed.” Seven years of marriage, and the woman’s allure had only grown. Now, however, it held a hint of shattered cruelty. “Adam Reynolds, don’t you have anything to say?” In my past life, I was the one who asked that question. Renee back then had been utterly annoyed and indifferent. “Arthur has a delusional disorder and sees me as his whole world. Only a divorce can calm him down.” “You can choose not to sign, but I have my ways.” My past heartbreak had transformed into present composure. I shook my head. Renee snatched the agreement, her grip so fierce it seemed she meant to rip it apart. She clenched the pen, its tip hovering, reluctant to descend. A scene flashed in my mind. I immediately took off my wedding ring, worn for seven years, and placed it next to the document, adding casually. “I don’t want the car, the house, or the company shares. They’re all yours.” In my past life, to avoid divorce, I had manipulated the assets. When Renee discovered this, she hired the top lawyers from a prestigious firm to fight the case. It left me with nothing, stripped bare. Now, I wanted none of it. Besides, I no longer had the time to divide assets with Renee. Better to make a clean break. The woman let out a cynical laugh. “Fine, Adam Reynolds. You’ve got nerve.” She gripped the pen, barely making a mark, then abruptly looked up. “I’m not cooking. Go make Arthur his favorite black chicken soup.” “Once the soup’s ready, I’ll sign.” My heart, which had been steady, now leaped into my throat. I was somewhat puzzled. Renee not only knew how to cook, but she was an excellent chef. However, in the seven years I had cooked for her, I never knew this. Because she only cooked for Arthur. I took a deep breath and turned into the kitchen. Renee followed close behind. The seafood soup she loved was still simmering in the pot. Now, it was all poured down the drain. She stood by, casually directing me. “Arthur doesn’t like chunky radishes, chop them finer!” “Go easy on the pepper, Arthur’s stomach has been sensitive lately; he can’t handle spicy food.” Once, I had hoped she would understand me as intimately as she did Arthur. But when I was rushed to the hospital for the tenth time, throwing up violently after eating the chestnut dessert she bought, She remained completely unconcerned. “You’re allergic to chestnuts? Really? How would I know? Did you ever tell me?” A pang of sorrow passed. I turned the heat to maximum, wishing the soup would be ready immediately so I could finally break free from Renee. Two hours later, I placed the freshly made soup on the table, then turned to take off my apron. Renee, after taking just one sip of the soup, suddenly slammed the bowl onto my back. “You were trying to poison Arthur, weren’t you?!” 2 Soup drenched my back, the scalding pain reaching deep into my heart. I flinched from the sudden agony, turning back inexplicably. Renee’s face was filled with fury. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Arthur breaks out in a rash every time he eats Szechuan peppercorns.” “I think you did this on purpose. No wonder you seemed so indifferent earlier. You wanted to use this as an opportunity to hurt Arthur!” I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath. Just as I was about to explain that she hadn’t mentioned the allergy at all, she suddenly stood up, grabbed her bag, and walked out without a backward glance. “I’ll give you two more hours. Make the soup and bring it to the hospital.” “Don’t let me catch you playing petty games again.” I grabbed the divorce agreement and chased after her, only catching the fumes of her car. After a long while, I returned to the kitchen, starting the soup again. Before leaving, I had to finalize the divorce. I couldn’t give Renee any chance to find me. While the soup simmered, I opened my social media. The first post was from Arthur. He had shared a photo of the new car Renee bought him. A flashy red, with even the license plate number thoughtfully set to his birthday. [Whatever I want, she always gets it for me immediately.] I stared at the words, a long-buried wound in my heart aching faintly. In my past life, Renee, who was never interested in cars, suddenly asked me to buy her one. After I gifted her the car, she never brought up remarrying. Unable to bear it, I went to find her. I happened to catch her and Arthur kissing passionately in the new car. My own clown-like, bitter smile was reflected in the car window. At the time, she was still lying to me, saying that appropriate physical contact would speed up Arthur’s recovery. Thinking about it now, it was so ridiculous. I had actually chosen to believe her because I was too afraid of losing her. Two hours later, I arrived at the hospital on time, carrying the soup and the agreement. The autumn evening was chilling, with a biting wind. Renee’s phone kept going straight to voicemail. I rubbed my frozen hands, then resolutely headed upstairs, stopping outside the VIP room. Inside the room, Renee was sitting by the bed, peeling an apple for Arthur, her voice tender in a way I had never heard. “Adam and I are divorced. You focus on getting better, I’ll stay with you.” My hand, poised to knock, fell. A pang of emptiness settled in my heart. I sat on a nearby bench. A moment later, Renee finally emerged from the room. The moment she saw me, the tenderness on her face instantly transformed into fury. She anxiously pulled me away. “Adam Reynolds, you came here on purpose to provoke Arthur, didn’t you?” “Get out, don’t appear in front of Arthur!” I shook the soup container, then produced the divorce agreement. “I came to bring Arthur his soup, and also, you haven’t signed this yet…” Renee raised her hand and knocked over the soup container, her anger intensifying. “You want to divorce me that badly?!” As she spoke, Arthur walked out of the room. The moment he saw me, his face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling. “Adam, are you here to take Renee away from me?” He suddenly knelt down, pleading desperately. “Adam, please don’t take Renee away. I truly can’t live without her!!” “If she leaves, what reason do I have to live?!” “I might as well just die right now!” Renee pulled him up, looking at me as if I were her sworn enemy. “Adam Reynolds, are you satisfied now?” “Apologize to Arthur immediately! Swear you’re not here to take me away. Hurry up!” This absurd scene made me chuckle involuntarily. “Renee, can you please be reasonable?” Indifference spread across the woman’s eyes. She waved a hand towards the distance. Two burly bodyguards stepped forward resolutely, one gripping each of my arms and legs, forcefully pushing me down. Excruciating pain shot through me. My legs trembled uncontrollably, and with a thud, I slammed hard onto the floor. The moment my dignity was trampled, a chill pierced my heart. This wasn’t the first time I had knelt for Arthur. 3 The first time was in my past life. I crashed into the wedding venue, hysterically demanding to know why Renee had lied to me. She shielded Arthur behind her, her eyes filled with annoyance. “Why so many questions?” “When love is gone, it’s gone. Now, even looking at you for a second annoys me.” I stood frozen, stiff all over. Arthur had another episode, collapsing on the floor, convulsing. Renee blamed everything on me. Under her relentless pressure, our family factory soon went bankrupt and closed down. My father, burdened with tens of millions in debt, collapsed and jumped from a building. My mother witnessed it all, suffered a severe shock, and had a mental breakdown. In my darkest despair, I knelt before Renee, begging her for mercy. She pointed to Arthur, lying unharmed in the hospital bed. “The person you owe an apology to isn’t me, it’s Arthur.” My dignity and self-respect were utterly gone. I numbly kowtowed, head after head. But I never received any mercy from Renee. In the end, unable to repay the enormous debts, I was thrown into the icy sea by creditors. At the same time, Renee was on a cruise ship, watching fireworks with Arthur. The pain of my past life surged back, suffocating and despairing. I stopped struggling, numbly kneeling on the ground. “I swear to God, from this day forward, I will never approach Renee again.” The kind of solemn vow I once couldn’t utter, now came as easily as drinking water. Arthur instantly calmed down. But Renee’s face remained clouded with anger. She frowned, utterly impatient. “Now, get out!” The bodyguards released their hold. I stood up, picked up the agreement, and dusted it off. “You sign this.” Arthur, who had just calmed down, suddenly went wild again, snatching a small knife from a bodyguard’s belt, his eyes bloodshot. “So you two aren’t divorced yet?!” “Renee, you’ll go back to him anytime, leave me, won’t you?!” “Renee, if I can only have you for a short time, I’d rather just die now!!” He was frantic, the small knife hovering inches from his arm’s artery. Scarlet blood trickled down, and Renee was terrified. “Arthur! Don’t do this!!” “I’ll divorce him, I’ll divorce him right now!” The woman who had just been hesitant signed resolutely, then forcefully threw the agreement at my forehead. “Get out!” Blood dripped into my eye. I clutched the agreement as if it were a treasure. I felt no pain, only immense relief. After one last glance at Renee, I left the hospital without looking back. While waiting for a car, I received a call from my parents. They already knew I would be leaving. Though reluctant, they were very supportive. As their familiar words of caution rang out, my eyes welled up uncontrollably. My father’s dying words from my past life echoed involuntarily in my ears. “Adam, after I’m gone, you must take good care of your mother…” At the same time, Mother texted me, saying she was bringing sparerib soup to the factory. “Adam, as long as our family is together, even if the sky falls, it’s not a big deal.” In my past life, before I died, I visited Mother at the nursing home. She held my hand, her expression dazed. “Adam, the sparerib soup is ready. Remember to take it to your father.” “He loves that the most, you know.” In this life, I wanted nothing. Only for my parents to be safe and healthy. The call ended, and I took a deep breath. Just then, the car picking me up arrived. As I prepared to step forward, a sharp pain shot through my back. Then, I lost consciousness. 4 When I woke, I was lying face down on an operating table. Renee and the doctor’s conversation chilled my heart, inch by inch. “Ms. Vance, skin graft surgery without anesthetic is no different from torture. Perhaps…” “I said no anesthetic means no anesthetic. Pain will teach him a lesson, so he won’t intentionally provoke Arthur again.” “Hurry up with the surgery. Arthur hates scars on his body the most.” I wanted to struggle, but my body felt paralyzed. The cold scalpel sliced across my back, the distinct pain piercing my very bones. The air was thick with the smell of blood, making me nauseous several times. More than once, the pain was so intense I blacked out. When I next awoke, I was in a hospital bed, my back burning with fiery pain. Renee sat by the bed, her fingertip pausing at the corner of my eye, her gaze complex. “Was it that painful? You were crying even in your coma.” My eyes were like stagnant water. “Don’t touch me.” Renee, unusually, wasn’t angry, her tone confident. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s just a divorce for a year. Are you really that dependent on me?” Before I could speak, an assistant appeared at the door. “Ms. Vance, Mr. Maxwell is awake.” The woman rose and left without hesitation. I calmly pulled out my phone. The latest message was from my project team leader. [Adam, the car picking you up is at the hospital entrance. Why haven’t you come down?] I immediately replied. [Teacher, I’ll be right down.] I changed my clothes and resolutely left. But as I went downstairs, I saw the one person I least wanted to see. Arthur had shed his previous erratic behavior, his eyes now full of scorn. I ignored him, wanting only to leave quickly. As we brushed past each other, the man scoffed. “A defeated opponent, nothing more.” My fists immediately clenched. “What did you say?” Arthur became even more arrogant. “I said, I’m seeing a useless man like you for the first time!” “I really don’t know what Renee ever saw in you. Do you even deserve to marry such a wonderful woman as Renee?” “You don’t know yet, do you? You and Renee actually had a child once.” I froze, Arthur’s wild voice piercing my eardrums again and again, leaving them raw and bleeding. “But she promised me that her first child could only be mine, so she quietly aborted that child.” “I told her to tell you she was just tired from work, that her face looked bad, and you actually believed her, even massaging her and washing her feet every night.” “How pathetic are you?” “I heard your dad has a weak heart. What if I send him those photos and videos of Renee and me? Would he die of anger?” Arthur shook his phone, utterly pleased with himself. My rage completely ignited. I grabbed his arm and slammed it hard against the wall. “You’re looking for death!” Arthur looked up, pouting. “Coward, go ahead and hit me if you dare!” Hatred surged through my chest, no longer containable. I raised my fist, just about to strike. From the end of the corridor, Renee’s scream echoed. “Adam Reynolds, stop it!!” Bodyguards rushed over, one seizing the fresh wound on my back. I gasped sharply and fell directly to the ground. Arthur cradled his bleeding arm, whining. “Renee, I just came to tell Adam to stop bothering you, but he suddenly hit me.” “He even threatened me, saying if I tried to seduce you again, he’d kill me!” I struggled to lift my head, looking at Renee’s utterly disgusted face, and roared. “Renee, don’t listen to his nonsense! I didn’t!” The woman’s gaze turned cold as she looked at the bodyguards. “Hit him! Keep hitting him until he breaks!” Countless fists rained down on me like meteors. The wound on my back quickly reopened, blood soaking through my shirt. I curled up on the ground, my internal organs feeling displaced, my mouth full of blood. After an unknown period, Renee finally called for a stop. Just as I thought she had relented, she raised her high heel and savagely ground it into my right hand. “Just now, you used this hand to hurt Arthur, didn’t you?” “Break this hand!” A bodyguard grabbed my right arm and, with effortless force, bent it downward. The crisp snap of bone traveled along my marrow to my heart. It sounded precisely like the discordant notes that fell when Renee taught me to play the piano years ago. “Adam, this is my favorite piece. When you learn it, will you play it for me?” Now, the music had ended. And we, too, should part ways. “Arthur! Wake up, don’t scare me!” “Call a doctor, quickly!” I lifted my bloodied face, watching Renee’s retreating back. All love and hate transformed into smoke, completely dispersing. I stood up, unable to tend to my broken right hand, and limped out of the hospital. After getting into the car, I snapped my phone’s SIM card and tossed it out the window. The car drove north, never stopping again.

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My sister, Sophie, had this uncanny ability to be everyone’s favorite. Family, strangers—it didn’t matter. No one was immune. One complaint from her about needing a room to practice her dancing, and just like that, I was shipped off to the school dorms. Through the haze of my insecure and sensitive teenage years, Jax was my only lifeline. So when I heard Sophie was transferring to our school, a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even hear the final bell. A lazy grin on his face, Jax tapped me on the head. “That scared I’ll get snatched away?” “Shit, who the hell isn’t watching where they’re going…” The next second, Jax’s cursing died in his throat. My sister was standing there, bathed in sunlight, smiling right at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I bumped into you.” The next day, I went to find Jax in his classroom for our usual tutoring session. But then I heard his laid-back voice drift out. “Tsk, her sister’s not as bad as she makes her out to be.” “Kinda cute, actually.” 1 The chatter and laughter from the classroom carried on. I stood at the back door, my vision blurring as I slowly blinked. A tear escaped, hitting the tiled floor with a soft splat. “Sophie’s not as bad as Ivy makes her out to be.” Jax’s voice was casual, punctuated by a soft click of his tongue. “Kinda cute, actually.” My knuckles turned white as I clutched the notebook in my hand. His friends immediately started hooting. “Known her for one day and you’re already an expert?” “Shut up, man.” Jax laughed, aiming a light kick at the guy’s leg. “She bumped into me yesterday, spilled her bubble tea all over my uniform.” “She went out of her way to add me on Insta this morning to send me money for the dry cleaning.” The laughter in the room grew louder. “Ooh, I bet she just thought you were hot. A different guy wouldn’t have gotten the same treatment…” “Wait, so does that mean you accepted her follow request?” “Hahahaha, since when does our ‘Campus King’ Jax add girls?” Just yesterday in the hallway, Sophie had smiled and said, “Any friend of my sister’s is a friend of mine! It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Sophie.” Jax had pointedly ignored her outstretched hand, letting her smile freeze on her face. “I’m your sister’s friend. That’s all.” That evening, as he walked me back to my dorm, he’d been so proud of himself. “Ivy, see? I’m always on your side. Anyone you don’t like, I won’t have anything to do with them. Promise.” The lamplight was a dim yellow, but his eyes shone brighter than stars. In that moment, I truly believed the nightmare that had haunted me for years was finally over. But now, reality had just slapped me across the face. I scrambled to wipe my tears away, turning to leave. But I moved too quickly. A pen slipped from my pocket, clattering onto the floor. The conversation inside the classroom stopped cold. I bent down to pick it up, my fingers just brushing against the cool plastic when Jax rushed out. “Ivy?” “How long have you been here?” Jax had beautiful eyes—almond-shaped, with a slight upward tilt at the corners. I used to love sketching them. But looking at them now, they felt like a stranger’s. “Just got here.” I pulled my hand back, my voice so calm it surprised even me. “You guys seemed busy catching up. Didn’t want to interrupt.” “You’re being too sensitive.” Jax ran a hand through his hair, a rare flicker of panic on his usually carefree face. “She was just being persistent this morning, insisting she had to pay me back. I figured if I just took the money, that would be the end of it, and we wouldn’t have to deal with any misunderstandings.” “So it’s over now.” I looked him straight in the eye, enunciating each word. “If I asked you to delete her, right now, would you do it?” Jax’s expression froze, then hardened with a flicker of annoyance. “Ivy, don’t be like that. Just deleting someone out of the blue? How awkward is that? She was just trying to apologize. Is it really that big of a deal?” Is it really that big of a deal? Those words were like a dull knife, carving me up piece by piece, leaving me a bloody mess. Something inside me shattered. I slowly pulled my hand from his grasp, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes, it is.” The situation was laughable, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. Tears started falling, hot and fast, and I couldn’t stop them. Jax was stunned. He reached out, about to wipe them away. “Ivy, I’m sorry, I messed up…” Before he could finish, another voice cut in. Sophie was coming up the stairs. Her hair was in a high ponytail today, bouncing in the sunlight, looking painfully bright. “Jax!” She jogged over, her smile sweet as sugar. “Thank you so much for agreeing to tutor me! I just transferred and don’t know anyone. I was so scared…” Her gaze landed on me, paused for a beat, then her eyes crinkled into another smile. “Oh, is Ivy here for tutoring too? Perfect, we can study together!” My head snapped up, my eyes wide with disbelief as I stared at Jax. A chill washed over me. Jax was a top student, but he was also known for his pride. Teachers had often asked him to share his study methods or help struggling students. He’d turned every single one of them down. Except for me. All this time, I had cherished that special treatment, thinking it was just for me. But for Sophie, it was just another thing she could have for the asking. Seeing my silence, Sophie’s voice softened. “We’re sisters. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Ivy?” My whole body was trembling with emotion. I took a deep breath and said evenly, “I mind.” Sophie’s eyes instantly welled up with tears, her expression a mask of confusion. “Ivy, are you mad at me?” “Then… then I won’t do it. Just please, don’t be mad.” Jax stepped in front of her, his brow furrowed. “Ivy, she was a dancer before this. Her grades are really bad, and switching to this academic track now… she really needs the help.” So, he already knew that much about her. “Then she can get a private tutor.” My voice started to shake. “Why does it have to be you?” “Ivy, please don’t be angry…” A single, perfect tear rolled down Sophie’s cheek. “I won’t do it, really. I don’t want you two to fight because of me.” She clutched her textbooks and ran off, her steps frantic. Maybe because she was in such a hurry, she stumbled on the stairs. “Ah!” Sophie clutched her ankle, her face twisted in pain. Jax instinctively moved to go after her. I called out to him, my voice firm. “Jax, if you go after her right now, we are done. For good.” Jax stopped and turned back to look at me. My eyelashes fluttered, a tiny spark of hope igniting in my chest. But he just let out a cold laugh, his eyes filled with disgust. “Ivy, no wonder even your own parents don’t like you.” The hallway suddenly felt vast and empty. A draft blew through, and I shivered. The notebook had fallen from my hand at some point. It lay open on the floor, its pages flipping in the wind, revealing the math problems Jax had stayed up all night to organize for me. I knelt to pick it up, my vision so blurry I couldn’t make out the words. A tear splashed onto the page, spreading into a wet, circular stain, like a faded memory. I guess that’s what Jax and I were now. Just a watermark. Soon to dry up, leaving nothing behind. 2 I stumbled back to my classroom in a daze. I couldn’t help it; I collapsed onto my desk and wept. My shoulders shook with each sob. I don’t know how long I cried. Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the back of the room. Startled, I shot upright. In the last row, a pair of long, pale fingers pushed aside a school uniform that had been draped over a desk. A cool, sharp-featured face was revealed. Rowan. The genius who perennially held the top rank in our year, and Jax’s sworn rival. He always slept in the back of the classroom but still managed to beat Jax on every single exam. “So damn loud.” Rowan sat up, the uniform sliding into his lap. His voice was raspy, thick with sleep. “S-sorry…” I hastily wiped away my tears. “I didn’t see you there…” Rowan didn’t respond to my apology. Instead, he stared at me for a few seconds before speaking slowly. “What are you doing here? Don’t you usually go to Jax for tutoring around this time?” I froze. How would Rowan know about that? He was a total loner, never paying attention to anyone else’s business. Once, our homeroom teacher asked him to collect names for a competition. He glanced at the sign-up sheet and said flatly, “Who’s this?” “In our class? Oh. Don’t recognize them.” But his family was so prominent that even the principal greeted him warmly. No one at school dared to gossip about him. “How did you know…?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “The so-called ‘Campus King’ practically lives in our classroom. It’s not exactly subtle.” “The gossip is everywhere. Hard not to know.” Rowan’s tone was flat, impossible to read. “So, why the tears? Because he’s not tutoring you anymore?” I looked down, unsure how to answer. “Yeah…” “He’s only second in our year. What’s so great about that?” Rowan raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with his usual indifference. “With his level of understanding, what could he possibly teach you?” It was such an arrogant thing to say that I couldn’t help but retort, “You’re first in our year, of course you don’t care…” “Then I’ll tutor you.” “What?” I blinked, sure I had misheard him. Rowan stood up and walked over to my desk. He was tall, even taller than Jax. Standing beside me now, he cast a long shadow over my desk. Looking up at him this close, I realized how strikingly handsome he was. If it weren’t for his anti-social nature, the title of ‘Campus King’ probably would have gone to him, not Jax. “I said, I’ll tutor you.” Rowan looked down at me, repeating himself slowly, deliberately. “R-really?” I felt like I’d just won the lottery. I was completely stunned. “But on one condition.” Rowan leaned down slightly, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes were unique—not almond-shaped like Jax’s, but long and narrow, with a faint mole at the outer corner. “What condition?” “From now on, the breakfast you bring for Jax, you bring for me.” Rowan spoke slowly, as if observing my reaction. “Oh, and the water you bring him after his basketball games? That’s for me now, too. Basically…” He paused, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a barely-there smile. “From now on, you’re my sidekick.” It wasn’t a difficult request. And it worked out perfectly, since I had no intention of having anything to do with Jax ever again. “Okay.” I heard myself agree. “I promise.” “Tomorrow morning. Cafeteria, second floor, window three. The breakfast sandwich.” He turned and started walking toward the classroom door, his tone cool. He paused at the doorway and glanced back at me. “And get milk. I don’t drink soy milk.” “Mission accepted.” I gave him a solemn nod. 3 The next morning, I was stopped just as I was leaving the cafeteria with breakfast in hand. Jax had dark circles under his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept well. “Ivy,” he said, his gaze falling to the bag in my hand. His brow relaxed slightly. “I knew you wouldn’t stay mad at me…” “I was wrong yesterday. I said some harsh things.” As he spoke, he reached for the bag as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “This isn’t for you.” I sidestepped, moving the bag out of his reach. Jax’s hand froze mid-air, the expression on his face stiffening. “What did you say?” “It’s for Rowan.” I looked him in the eye, my tone perfectly even. Jax’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief. After a moment, he let out a cold laugh. “Ivy, are you done with this little tantrum?” “Do you have any idea what the doctor said yesterday? Sophie’s sprain was serious. If she hadn’t gotten to the hospital when she did, she might not have been able to dance properly ever again.” He sighed in frustration, his tone softening a little. “So, in that situation, I would’ve helped a complete stranger. Can you just stop overthinking it?” “You can help whoever you want. You don’t need to explain it to me.” “The food’s getting cold. I have to go.” “Ivy.” Jax grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “Stop joking around. Rowan? Everyone knows he’s arrogant as hell, not to mention his family background.” His fingers tightened, digging into my skin. It hurt. “There’s no way he’d ever give you the time of day…” Before Jax could finish, a cool voice cut him off. “What’s taking so long?” Rowan had appeared out of nowhere. His eyes were fixed on the hand Jax had clamped around my wrist. The morning light outlined his tall frame. His usually distant face was expressionless, but it radiated an unexpected pressure. Rowan casually took the bag from my other hand, completely ignoring Jax. “Did you do the problems I sent you last night?” It took me a second to process. “Y-yes, I did.” “Good. Give them to me.” Rowan held out his hand. “I’ll correct them during morning study hall.” “Come find me after class to get them back. I want them revised before school ends. I’ll go over them with you then.” I immediately started digging through my backpack as I fell into step beside him. “Here.” I pulled out the neatly completed worksheet and handed it to him. Rowan took it, his eyes scanning the page. “Hmm, not bad. You got most of the multiple-choice questions right.” He turned, then glanced back at me after a few steps. “What are you waiting for? Study hall is about to start.” “Oh, right!” I hurried to catch up, ready to learn. “But for the long-form problems, I’m still a little fuzzy on that type of derivative question, especially the second part…” Jax stood frozen in place, his face ashen as he watched the two of us walk away together. 4 The final bell rang, but I was still staring blankly at my physics worksheet. Rowan sat across from me, his red pen flying across the page, leaving a trail of precise marks. He read through the problems incredibly fast, but every correction was scarily accurate. “Your force analysis is wrong,” he said, tapping my paper. “Right here. Gravity and the normal force aren’t a balanced pair. You forgot friction.” “Got it…” I quickly started making the correction. The classroom door opened quietly. Sophie stood in the doorway, her eyes red and puffy. She was wearing a pale pink dress that made her skin look incredibly fair. She had her school uniform, but she never seemed to wear it. “Ivy,” she said softly, “can I talk to you for a second?” My hand paused, then I went back to my work. Sophie bit her lip and walked in anyway, stopping by my desk. “Ivy, I’m so sorry about yesterday. I didn’t know you didn’t want me asking Jax for help… Can you forgive me?” The tip of my pen stalled, bleeding a small black dot onto the paper. “You’ve said what you wanted to say. You can go now,” I said without looking up. “I’m studying.” “I’m not leaving until you forgive me.” Sophie stood her ground, her voice catching with a sob. “Then you can stand there all day.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. The room was quiet except for the scratch of my pen on paper and the soft rustle of Rowan occasionally turning a page. The minutes ticked by. Sophie must have been getting tired of standing. She suddenly turned to Rowan, her eyes glistening. “Rowan, have we met before?” Rowan didn’t reply, but she wasn’t deterred. “Can you help me convince my sister? I just really want her to forgive me…” At the sound of his name, Rowan looked up. My heart gave an odd little squeeze. A hopeful light flickered in Sophie’s eyes. Then, Rowan spoke flatly. “Move. You’re in my light.” Sophie’s expression froze solid. I blinked, a strange feeling stirring in my chest. Outside, the sky was growing dark. The security guard came by on his rounds. “Still studying? C’mon, time to go home. I’ve gotta lock up.” I only just realized it was almost eight o’clock. “That’s enough for today.” Rowan packed up his books and pulled a packaged pastry from his bag, holding it out to me. “It’s late. Eat this for now.” He was surprisingly thoughtful, completely at odds with his cold exterior. “Thanks…” I started to reach for it. Suddenly, Sophie swayed, grabbing the desk for support. Her face was pale. “I… I stood for too long, and I haven’t eaten… I think my blood sugar is low…” She looked at the pastry in Rowan’s hand. “Um… could I have that? I feel really sick…” Rowan looked at me. “It’s yours. Your call.” I didn’t quite understand. “She’s asking you,” Rowan repeated patiently. “If you want to give her the pastry.” I turned to Sophie with a fake smile, my voice clear and calm. “Oh. I’m not obligated to give it to you.” A crack appeared in Sophie’s carefully constructed expression. “But… but I really don’t feel well…” She didn’t give up, turning her pleading eyes back to Rowan. “Don’t you have another one? I promise I’ll pay you back tomorrow…” Rowan zipped up his backpack and said, without a trace of emotion, “Sorry. I’m a germaphobe.” A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Sophie’s face flushed red, then went pale. Finally, she stormed out in a huff. Now it was just me and Rowan in the classroom. “Tomorrow, I want the shumai from the first cafeteria.” Rowan’s expression was neutral. “Rowan.” I called out to him. “Thank you.” He turned back, raising an eyebrow. “For what?” “Nothing,” I smiled, hugging the pastry to my chest. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

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“When is she going to quit?” The voice from the breakroom wasn’t loud, but every word was crystal clear. I stood at the doorway, cup in hand, motionless. “Should be soon. It’s been three months.” “I bet she’s gone by the end of this week. A round of hot pot on it.” “You’re on.” I turned and walked back to my desk. My desk was next to the restrooms, a place with a permanent, 24/7 odor. I sat down, opened my laptop, and continued working on my spreadsheet. No one knew what I had been documenting for the past three months. And no one knew just how long the list I was going to read at the annual meeting would be. 1. My name is Anya, and I’m 32 years old. Three months ago, I was transferred to this branch office with the title of “Specialist.” No specific duties, no clear reporting line, not even an official ID badge. The HR manager’s explanation was: “It’s a transitional period. Just get acclimated for now.” I didn’t ask what “transitional period” meant, nor did I ask what I was supposed to be getting acclimated to. I just swiped in on time every day, sat at my desk, and created spreadsheets that nobody wanted. In the first week, people still said hello. By the second week, the greetings became sparse. By the third week, out of more than twenty people in the department, not a single one looked my way. When I walked over, they scattered. When I sat down, they lowered their voices. When I went to the breakroom, it fell silent. I’m not an idiot. I knew what was happening. But I said nothing. I just came on time, left on time, and did what needed to be done in between. On Monday morning, I discovered my desk had been moved. It used to be by the window. Now, it was next to the restrooms. “Anya,” the young woman from administration said with a sweet smile, “it’s quieter over there. Better for you.” I glanced at her but didn’t say a word. Fine. So be it. I carried my laptop over, arranged my files, and got back to work. The restroom door swung open and closed, releasing waves of unpleasant smells. Someone walked by, covering their nose and snickering. I pretended not to see. At noon, the department went out for a team lunch. I was the last to find out. Or more accurately, I didn’t “find out,” I “discovered.” At 12:30, the entire office was empty. I went to the breakroom for some water and heard laughter echoing from the elevator. Back at my desk, I opened my phone. There was a group photo in the department chat. “Mr. Peterson is treating! Cheers, everyone!” The picture showed a table laden with food, with over twenty people raising their glasses, all smiles. I scrolled through the chat history. No one had tagged me. No one had asked, “Anya, are you coming?” It was as if I didn’t exist. At two in the afternoon, they returned. Veronica, the manager, led the way, her face flushed from the wine. She paused as she passed my desk. “Oh, Anya, you didn’t go to lunch?” I looked up at her. “No one told me.” She froze for a second, then laughed. “Oh, dear. We forgot. Next time, then.” And with that, she walked away. I lowered my head and continued typing. A colleague nearby whispered, “What an act. Still waiting for a personal invitation.” Another one chuckled. “She’s got thick skin. Let her wait.” I didn’t turn around. But I did open a new document. In the first line, I wrote: December 3rd. Department lunch. I was not informed. Participants: Veronica, Mark, Tina… I wrote down every name. Then I saved the document and closed it. And went back to my spreadsheets. At four o’clock, I finished a market analysis report. It was a task I had assigned myself. No one had asked for it, and no one wanted it. But I did it anyway, and I did it meticulously. I sent the report to Veronica, and CC’d the general manager, Mr. Peterson. “Veronica, here is the Q4 market data I compiled, for your reference.” Five minutes later, Veronica replied. “Got it.” Two words. That was it. The next day, I saw my report featured on Mr. Peterson’s social media. His caption read: “Veronica’s team is killing it! This report is incredibly professional!” Below were dozens of likes and comments. “Veronica is a rockstar!” “Stick with Veronica and you’ll go far!” “The data analysis is so detailed. Great work, Veronica!” I scrolled to the cover page of the report. In the author field, my name was gone. It had been replaced with “Veronica’s Team.” I stared at those two words for a long time. Then I opened my document and wrote on a new line: December 4th. My market analysis report was credited to “Veronica’s Team.” Author: Veronica. I saved it and closed it. In the following days, similar incidents piled up. The PowerPoint I made became Tina’s. The data I compiled became Mark’s. The proposal I wrote became the “department’s collective effort.” Every single time, I recorded it. Date, content, people involved. Entry by entry, crystal clear. On Friday afternoon, Veronica called me into her office. “Anya,” she said, sitting back in her chair with her legs crossed. “How long have you been with the company?” “Three weeks.” “And how do you find it?” “It’s fine.” She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Fine? You think your performance is ‘fine’?” I remained silent. “Anya, let me be blunt,” she leaned forward. “You’re not a good fit for our department.” “Oh.” “Look at you. You don’t socialize, you’re not proactive. You just sit there every day like a block of wood.” “Mm-hmm.” “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” I looked at her and said calmly, “Veronica, what would you like me to say?” She was taken aback for a moment, then sneered. “I’d like you to have some self-awareness. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll write your resignation letter. The company will give you a severance package.” “And if I don’t?” “If you don’t?” She leaned back again. “Then don’t blame me for playing rough.” I stood up. “Okay, I understand.” “Understand what?” “I understand you’re going to play rough.” I turned, walked out, and gently closed the door behind me. Back at my desk, I opened my document and wrote: December 8th. Meeting with Veronica. She suggested I resign and threatened to ‘play rough’ if I refused. Saved. Closed. I glanced at the calendar. Three months to go. That was plenty of time. 2. Starting the fourth week, the isolation escalated. Before, it was just not inviting me to lunch or talking to me. Now, it was— Not notifying me of meetings. My expense reports getting “accidentally” lost. The printer always breaking down the moment I needed to use it. My requests for office supplies were never approved. The stapler I used, I bought myself. The pens, I bought myself. Even the A4 paper, I brought from home. Once, I went to administration to get a notebook. The young woman smiled. “Anya, your request isn’t in the system.” I said, “I submitted it last week.” She shrugged. “Must be a system glitch. Can you submit it again?” I submitted it again. A week later, still no approval. I stopped submitting requests. I went to the convenience store downstairs, bought a pack of notebooks, and used my own. On Wednesday afternoon, I overheard the bet in the breakroom. “I bet she resigns this week.” “I’ll take next week.” “What’s the wager?” “A hot pot dinner, how about it?” “You’re on!” I stood at the doorway, cup in hand, completely still. The people inside hadn’t noticed me. “Seriously, why doesn’t she just leave? She’s so thick-skinned.” “Probably holding out for a payout.” “A payout? Who does she think she is, demanding a payout?” “Exactly. She brought this on herself by not taking the hint.” Their laughter drifted out, grating on my ears. I turned and walked back, my steps light. At my desk, I opened my document: December 11th. Breakroom conversation overheard. Tina, Mark, and Jenna made a bet on when I would resign. Wager: a hot pot dinner. Saved. I looked at the screen and suddenly smiled. Hot pot, huh? Sounds good. I’ll treat you all later. In the afternoon, Veronica struck again. This time, it was a meeting. The department’s monthly meeting, the kind everyone had to attend. Ten minutes before it started, I saw everyone packing up their things. I asked Jenna, who sat next to me, “What meeting is it?” She glanced at me, said nothing, and walked away with her notebook. I caught up to Mark. “What time is the meeting? Which conference room?” Mark didn’t even turn his head. “I don’t know.” I stood there, watching them disappear one by one down the hall. The office was empty. I was the only one left. I checked my email. No meeting invitation. I checked the department chat. Nothing there either. I sat back down at my desk and opened my document: December 13th. Department monthly meeting. I was not notified. After writing that, I thought for a moment and added another line: [Meeting content to be investigated.] Half an hour later, they returned. Veronica was at the front, looking displeased. She paused by my desk. “Anya, why weren’t you at the meeting?” I looked up. “No one notified me.” “We did,” she frowned. “It was posted in the group chat.” “I checked. It wasn’t.” “Well, maybe you just missed it,” she said, a hint of mockery in her voice. I didn’t reply. She said nothing more and walked away. I took out my phone and screenshotted the entire group chat history for the day. There was indeed no meeting notice. Not a single one. I saved the screenshot to my folder. Evidence +1. Friday was my birthday. No one knew, and no one asked. I sat alone at my desk, eating a rice ball from the convenience store, looking out the window. Outside, the sky was a dreary gray, filled with one office building after another. I was 32. Ten years ago, I was a fresh graduate, full of ambition. Five years ago, I was promoted to management, convinced the future was bright. One year ago, I was transferred to this branch, to start all over again. Now, I was sitting next to a restroom, eating a rice ball on my birthday. My phone buzzed. It was an email. Sender: HR. Subject: [Notice of Termination Discussion] I clicked it open. “Ms. Anya Shen, please report to the HR department at 3:00 PM on December 15th for a termination discussion.” I stared at the email for a long time. A termination discussion. They didn’t even bother to speak to me first, just sent an email. I didn’t reply. I just opened my document and wrote: December 13th. My birthday. Received email notice for a termination discussion. After writing, I closed my laptop. I stood up, grabbed my bag, and left. The elevator was empty. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and suddenly smiled. Three weeks. They had no idea who I was. They had no idea why I was here. And they certainly had no idea what was going to happen at the annual meeting in three months. I pressed the button for the ground floor. No rush. Let’s take this nice and slow. 3. On the day of the termination discussion, I arrived on time. The HR manager’s name was Collins. He was in his early thirties, wore glasses, and looked perfectly professional. But his first words told me exactly what kind of person he was. “Anya Shen, right? Have a seat.” I sat. He shuffled some papers and looked up at me. “You’ve been with the company for almost a month now.” “Yes.” “How are you finding it?” “It’s fine.” He smiled, a practiced, corporate smile. “Anya, I’ll be direct. The company is not satisfied with your performance.” “In what way?” “Across the board, really.” He shrugged. “You’re not a team player, not proactive, and your work output is low…” I cut him off. “My market analysis report, the one Mr. Peterson praised on his social media? I wrote that.” He blinked. “That… wasn’t that from Veronica’s team?” “It was credited to Veronica’s team, but I am the original author.” He frowned. “Do you have proof?” I smiled. “Mr. Collins, I’m here today to listen to what you have to say, not to argue with you. Please, continue.” He was momentarily flustered but recovered quickly. “In any case, the company’s position is that we hope you will resign voluntarily. As compensation, we can offer you the standard severance package.” “And if I don’t leave?” “If you don’t leave?” He took off his glasses and wiped them. “Well, that would be more complicated. You know how it is in the corporate world…” He didn’t finish, but the message was clear. Don’t leave, and the harassment will continue. I stood up. “Okay, I understand.” “Think about it and give me your answer tomorrow.” “No need to think about it.” “Oh?” “I’m not leaving.” He stared at me, stunned. I looked him in the eye and said calmly, “Mr. Collins, I will not be resigning voluntarily. If the company wishes to terminate my employment, please follow the proper procedure. Labor laws require written notice stating the grounds for dismissal.” “You…” “And I’d also like to remind you,” I paused, “that I have records of every instance my work has been credited to someone else, and every time I have been deliberately isolated. If the company wants to take this to court, I’m ready.” His face changed. I said nothing more, turned, and walked out. Leaving the HR department, I took a deep breath. Round one was over. Not a win, but definitely not a loss. When I returned to my desk, the atmosphere had shifted. Before, it was like I was invisible. Now, it was— Hostility. Naked, undisguised hostility. The door to Veronica’s office was open. She stood in the doorway, staring at me. Her gaze was like a knife. I pretended not to notice, sat down, and opened my laptop. Five minutes later, she marched over. “Anya.” I looked up. “What did you say to HR just now?” “Nothing much.” “Nothing much?” She sneered. “Did you threaten him?” “I just told him I have evidence.” The look in her eyes changed. “What evidence?” I looked at her and said slowly, “Veronica, for the report you put your name on, I have the original draft. For the meetings you didn’t notify me about, I have screenshots. For my desk being moved next to the restroom, I have photos.” I paused. “Would you like to see?” Her face went white. But only for a second. She quickly regained her haughty composure. “Anya, who do you think you are? You think you can fight me?” “I don’t want to fight you.” “Then what do you want?” I smiled faintly. “I just want to do my job properly.” She stared at me for a few seconds, then snorted and stalked away. I lowered my head and went back to work. But I knew, from this day forward, everything was different. She would get crazier. She would become more reckless. She would use every trick in the book to get me fired. I wasn’t afraid. This was exactly what I was waiting for. The bigger the scene she made, the more evidence I would have. And the more evidence I had, the longer the list I would read at the annual meeting. I opened my document. It was already several pages long. Date, incident, people involved, source of evidence. Every entry was clear and precise. I scrolled down and saw the very first entry. The one I wrote on my first day. I knew back then what would happen. Because before I even arrived, I had done my homework. This branch had been at the bottom for performance for three years straight. This department had had issues with expense reimbursements for two consecutive years. This manager, Veronica, had a salary of over a million dollars, but her performance was practically zero. Headquarters had wanted to make a move for a long time. They just didn’t have the proof. So they sent me. Ostensibly as a “Specialist.” In reality— I am the Head of the Corporate Audit Team. I didn’t come here to be fired. I came here to fire them.

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The day I went to buy a crib for our unborn child, a strange woman burst into the private viewing room and plunged a knife into my pregnant belly. “How dare you flaunt another man’s bastard in your belly?” she snarled, twisting the handle with a crazed smile. The cold steel pierced my womb, and the agony sent me crumpling to the floor. She crouched down, patting my cheek. “Did you really think a little tramp like you could use a baby to claw your way up? The title of Mrs. Donovan… is it something you can even dream of?” Blood poured from the wound and pooled beneath me. Only then did it all click into place. My husband—the man I had loved for seven years, been married to for three—was really keeping a mistress. “What? Not happy about it?” she gloated. “Even if I kill you right here, with my status as Mrs. Donovan, nothing will happen to me!” Watching her preen, I shakily pulled out my phone and dialed my brother’s number. “Alistair, come get me at the baby boutique.” My voice was terrifyingly calm. “The Donovan family… they have no reason to exist anymore.” … My unborn child was dying inside me. The tiny heartbeat I could once feel through my own skin was fading to nothing. My consciousness blurred as the blood drained from my body, but the searing pain in my abdomen was a cruel anchor, keeping me tethered to the horror of the moment. A cold rage sent shudders through my entire body. I’d heard the rumors, of course—that Donovan was keeping a mistress. But I had given him a chance to come clean. And this was the result. His mistress hadn’t given me a chance. She hadn’t given my baby a chance. For a man like Donovan, who struggled with fertility issues, I thought he, of all people, would understand what this child meant. “Audrey, is it? Does Donovan know you’re doing this?” My eyes were bloodshot as I stared her down. “Did he forget to tell you that if you ever laid a hand on me, my family—the Sinclairs—would make you pay in blood?” The air in the room went still for a beat, then erupted in derisive laughter from her entourage. “Wow, mistresses these days sure are feisty.” “Don’t you get it? She’s pregnant. And Mr. Donovan wants a kid so badly, she thinks she’s hit the jackpot.” The cutting remarks were like a physical assault. Audrey just sneered, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow. “The Sinclairs? In Southcrest, the only name that matters is Donovan.” “It’s hard enough for my Donovan to have children. Who knows whose bastard you’re even carrying?” “As Mrs. Donovan, it’s my duty to clean up his messes!” She kept saying it, over and over. Mrs. Donovan. But if she was Mrs. Donovan, then who was I? I pressed my hands to the gushing wound in my stomach, but the hot blood just streamed through my fingers, staining my skin red. There was no time to regret coming out without my bodyguards. I cast a desperate look at the people around me, silently pleading for help. All I got back were cold stares and mocking smirks. And the whispers. The constant, accusing whispers. They were calling me “the other woman.” Fighting back waves of agony, I met Audrey’s gaze, my own eyes cold and murderous. “I’ll say it again. My name is Sinclair. As in, the Sinclairs.” “You can run, while I’m still deciding whether or not I want you dead.” “What damn Sinclairs!” Audrey’s face contorted with rage. She lifted her foot and viciously kicked my wound with the pointed toe of her designer heel. “In Southcrest, the sky belongs to the Donovans! Who the hell do you think you are, talking to Mrs. Donovan like that!” A blunt, crushing pain exploded through me. A mixture of blood and amniotic fluid gushed from the wound. If this went on any longer, I’d die from an embolism. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Donovan had waited on me hand and foot for eight months, all for this child. And now, because of his child, and his mistress, I was on the verge of death. “I’m going to the hospital. Now. And you will get Donovan on the phone and tell him to get his ass over there. Immediately.” I was done playing games with her. My voice was ice. “Because if something happens to me today, he’ll kill you first.” “And then, he’ll follow me to the grave.” Audrey’s eyes were filled with contempt as she burst into hysterical laughter. After a moment, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Who in God’s name do you think you are? Demanding my husband come running to the hospital?” As the words left her mouth, she lifted her foot and stomped it down on my stomach. The thin stiletto heel sank into the wound, and her eyes glinted with malice as she ground it back and forth. The gash was ripped open wider. The sharp heel churned my insides. The pain was so intense it felt like my heart was being torn apart. My screams echoed through the room, mingling with Audrey’s maniacal laughter. Just then, the screech of tires tore through the air outside. A dozen Maseratis slammed to a halt in front of the boutique. A relieved smile spread across my face. I clutched the gaping wound in my abdomen. Staring straight into Audrey’s eyes, I enunciated each word with chilling clarity. “Remember this. In Southcrest, the sky belongs to the Sinclairs. Victoria Sinclair.” “Now, my brother is here. Are you ready to die?” 2 “Victoria!” My brother, Alistair, roared my name as he sprinted towards me. He was already shrugging off his bespoke suit jacket, frantically draping it over my body. One arm wrapped around me, holding me tight, while the other pressed down hard on my bleeding stomach. The familiar warmth of his presence was a comfort. “I’m here. Don’t be afraid.” His voice was soft and warm, but when he turned to face Audrey, it dropped to a lethal chill. “You’re the one who did this to my sister?” Audrey was completely unfazed. She shot my brother a scornful look. “Well, well. So protective. Don’t tell me the bastard in her belly is yours?” “Yeah, I’m the one who took care of her. What are you going to do about it? Now I’m going to take care of you and your little lover, too!” The moment the words left her mouth, her bodyguards moved to surround us. Alistair gave a single, sharp look. His own security team surged forward, and in a blur of motion, they had every one of her men on the ground. But as I looked past them, I saw more of Audrey’s men pouring in from outside. My heart sank. “Alistair, why did you only bring a few people?” I asked, a new wave of fear washing over me. “It happened so fast. I was nearby, so I just brought the guys who were with me. Don’t worry, Dad is on his way.” He soothed me patiently. “Let’s see who dares to touch my sister while I’m here.” I relaxed slightly. Then I saw Audrey, gritting her teeth as she looked at her downed men, and pulling out her phone. Her voice instantly became sickly sweet. “Hubby, some people are bullying me! Aren’t you going to do something about it?” “Of course, I will!” Donovan’s voice—so familiar, yet so foreign—crackled from the speakerphone Audrey had deliberately activated. Familiar, because it was unmistakably him. Foreign, because the doting, gentle tone was one I had never heard him use, not even with me. A flash of bitterness cut through me, chipping away at the guilt I felt over my child’s death. Audrey shot a triumphant look at my brother and me, her voice a saccharine whine. “It’s this guy, Alistair Sinclair. He’s already taken out a bunch of my bodyguards, and he’s threatening to kill me!” “I’m so scared, you have to come quick, okay?” “Ali… Alistair Sinclair?” Donovan’s voice went sharp, as if someone had grabbed him by the throat. “Which Alistair Sinclair?! What the hell did you do?!” The string of questions made Audrey’s expression falter. She quickly switched off the speakerphone. But we could still faintly hear Donovan’s enraged shouting. “Stay right where you are! Don’t do anything! Do you hear me? Don’t do a damn thing! I’m on my way!” Audrey mumbled her location and quickly hung up. She took a deep breath, her arrogant smirk returning. “You’re both dead meat! My husband is on his way!” “He said if you end up dead, so be it. We’ll just throw some money at the problem. Who the hell is Alistair Sinclair anyway? Never even heard of him!” With a wave of her hand, her remaining bodyguards swarmed us. My brother’s men, as skilled as they were, were outnumbered. One by one, they fell. A dozen burly men closed in on us. Alistair stood up, shielding me with his body. After just a couple of exchanges, bloody gashes appeared on his arms. Seeing the blood welling from my brother’s wounds, my vision turned red. I struggled to grab the knife that had been dropped on the floor. Staggering to my feet, I lunged at Audrey, who was shouting with glee. She reacted instinctively, shoving me hard. The dagger, which I had managed to plunge into her side, was ripped from my grasp. The pain was even worse than before. Audrey’s screams grew even more shrill. Her bodyguards froze. She clutched her side, her eyes spitting venom at me as I lay on the floor. “What are you all standing there for! Kill them! Kill them!” Her men sprang into action, and a rain of clubs fell upon us. Alistair threw himself in front of me, taking the brunt of the blows. The sickening thud of the weapons hitting his body echoed in my ears. Suddenly, a warm drop of blood landed on my lips. My brother’s body convulsed, and he collapsed on top of me. “Alistair…? Alistair? Wake up…” There was no response. Dazed, I managed to turn my head. I could see blood pouring from a wound on the back of his head. Before I could even process my terror, the bodyguards dragged us to the roof. They bound us tightly and hung us over the side of the shopping mall. Their rough handling tore at the wound in my stomach, and my clothes were soaked with blood. My brother, hanging a few feet away, had a dark, spreading stain on the back of his white shirt. The biting wind kept me conscious. But my unconscious brother just swayed limply in the breeze. A crowd had gathered below, and their jeering accusations drifted up to me. “Heard she’s the mistress, got pregnant by some other guy to try and trap the husband. The wife caught them, so now they’re both getting what they deserve.” “Tsk, tsk. Serves her right. Can’t even be a proper mistress!” I could only keep talking to my brother, hoping my voice would wake him. The minutes stretched on. My own consciousness was fading, and there was still no response from Alistair. Audrey’s arrogant voice echoed from the rooftop. “Oh, still alive?” The sight of her made my blood boil. I clenched my jaw. “Audrey, you better let us down right now. When my father gets here, you won’t be able to handle the consequences.” She just laughed, a wild, unhinged sound, and took a compound bow from one of her men. “Oh, really? Then I’d better hurry up and kill the two of you, so I have some company in hell.” She drew the bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed at my brother’s swaying body. “You know, Donovan and I met at an archery range. You know how good he is, right?” “Unfortunately, my skills aren’t quite as polished.” My heart plunged. The archery range… I had funded it for him. I never imagined it would be the place where he began his affair. The next second, a searing pain shot through me. An arrow was embedded in my shoulder. I bit down hard to keep from screaming. “So annoying. I was aiming for your brother. How did I miss by that much?” The bowstring twanged again. This time, the arrow flew true, piercing my brother’s chest. The agony jolted him awake. He let out a furious roar. Seeing our situation, his eyes blazed with a tangible fury. “Audrey, is it? I swear to you, I will tear you limb from limb!” But Audrey just laughed maniacally, mechanically drawing, nocking, and firing. Alistair thrashed wildly, trying to shield me with his own body. In moments, he was riddled with arrows, his body a canvas of crimson. A choked, gurgling sound escaped his throat. On the rooftop, Audrey seemed to tire, leaning on the railing, panting. Suddenly, my phone, which she had, started ringing. She answered it, confused. Donovan’s frantic voice came through. “Victoria, where are you? I’ll explain everything about Audrey, I promise. Just please, don’t hurt her!” “You don’t want me to hate you for the rest of my life, do you?” I laughed. “Donovan! It’s me and my brother who are about to be killed by your little pet canary!” “And the child you wanted so badly is already gone!” I screamed towards the phone, but the wind snatched my words away. The only voice that carried was Audrey’s, hesitant and suspicious. “Hubby? Why are you calling her?” “Don’t worry, I’ve handled it. But… you might have to pay a little something…” Donovan was silent on the other end. All we could hear was his heavy breathing. A moment later, his furious roar erupted. “Audrey! What the hell did you do to Victoria Sinclair?! Don’t you know who she is? She’s the fucking Sinclair heiress! I…” Audrey abruptly hung up. She frowned, staring at the number on the screen, lost in thought. Her eyes darted back and forth as she muttered to herself. She looked up at my brother, who was on the verge of death, and at me, still struggling. “What damn Sinclairs…” 3 “You’re Victoria Sinclair?” Audrey stood over me on the rooftop where I’d just been hauled back up, her pupils dilating wildly. I gave a cold laugh in response. “What? You believe me now?” “Never seen Donovan that panicked before, have you?” But the next second, her trembling stopped, and a crazed look flashed in her eyes. “Impossible! It’s absolutely impossible!” “I’m Donovan’s wife! I’m the rightful Mrs. Donovan!” She pulled a marriage certificate from her purse and threw it at my chest. “You! You’re just some dirty little secret!” I hesitantly opened the certificate, my brow furrowing. The bright red seal, the clear security watermark, the official serial number. Everything about it screamed that it was real. My mind flashed back to our wedding three years ago. Donovan had insisted on going to the registrar’s office alone, saying he didn’t want me to get tired. I suddenly laughed. Laughed at how stupid I had been. To be fooled for so many years by that piece of trash. I looked up at Audrey, my eyes filled with nothing but boundless hatred. “Perfect. The two of you can be a legitimate couple on your way to hell.” “But you’re the mistress, why are you acting so righteous?” Audrey suddenly shrieked. She was panting, her voice dropping to a low growl. “But… Donovan has never yelled at me before. That’s right. It must be you, you bitch, you’ve bewitched him!” “You knew how badly he wanted a child, so you just found some random guy to knock you up, didn’t you?” “This child can’t be Donovan’s… it’s impossible…” A manic light gleamed in Audrey’s eyes. She snatched the dagger from the ground and raised it high above me. “After I kill the bastard in your belly, you’re next!” As the blade began to fall, I finally realized what she was about to do. I twisted my body, trying to dodge. Seeing my resistance, Audrey screamed, “Hold her down! When she’s dead, Donovan will only love me!” The bodyguards pinned my arms and legs. I watched in horror as Audrey raised the dagger again. “Audrey! You dare—” “Aaargh!” The searing pain of the blade piercing my flesh cut off my words. I could feel the cold steel sawing across my stomach. Waves of tearing agony washed over me, forcing me to stay conscious. The cool wind on my exposed abdomen dropped my body temperature to freezing. I screamed until my voice was raw, then my head fell weakly to the side. I saw my brother, who had been on the brink of death, suddenly stir. He began to crawl towards me, his voice strained. “Victoria… wait for me… I’m… coming to save you…” His eyes were bloodshot with desperation, tears streaming from the corners. With every inch he moved, the arrows embedded in his body pushed deeper. Seeing the trail of blood he left behind, my vision swam with rage. “Alistair! Don’t move! Just go! Leave me!” But he kept crawling, his words growing fainter. “I’m… not leaving… I can’t… watch my sister… suffer…” And I had never seen my brilliant, charming brother so broken and battered… I struggled uselessly against the hands holding me down, regret solidifying in my heart. If… if I hadn’t insisted on marrying that scumbag Donovan. If I hadn’t given him a second chance when I first heard the rumors. My child wouldn’t be dead. My brother wouldn’t be in this state. I turned my head, locking my eyes on Audrey, and screamed with every ounce of strength I had left. “Audrey! You and Donovan will pay for what you’ve done to my brother and my child! You will pay in blood!” But Audrey was lost in her own world. She reached into my sliced-open stomach and grabbed my lifeless child. “This bastard doesn’t even look like Donovan! You lied to him! You all have to die!” “Stop!” Donovan stumbled through the rooftop door, his face turning ashen at the scene before him. The next second, the sky above the rooftop was filled with the roar of dozens of private helicopters. My father, William Sinclair, stood at the open cabin door, looking down at the carnage below. “You dare to touch my children? You’re looking for death!”

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I got into a massive fight with Ashton because he ate a grape fed to him by Layla. The next day, he had my sister’s targeted therapy medication discontinued. That day, I knelt on the living room floor of the Crawford estate for six solid hours. Only then did he relent, pinching my chin and saying, “Seraphina, your sister’s life is a gift from me. When I want you to be good, you will be good.” So the next time I saw Layla slip a hotel key card into Ashton’s pocket, I stood in the darkest corner of the room, slowly finished the wine in my glass, and didn’t even flinch. 1. At the celebratory banquet for the auction, my director pushed me forward to make a toast. Ashton was surrounded by a crowd. Layla was practically plastered to his side, holding a champagne flute, her smile sickeningly sweet. As I approached, I overheard her say, “Ash, I’ve booked the suite upstairs. I even have some tea ready for you to sober up.” As she spoke, her hand slid naturally into the pocket of his suit jacket. A key card, pushed in by her slender fingers. A few men around them exchanged glances. Someone whistled. “Mr. Crawford, looks like little Layla is planning to take care of you all night.” “You’re a lucky man, Ashton.” Ashton said nothing, just glanced down at his pocket. When he looked up again, his gaze cut through the crowd and landed squarely on my face. I knew that look all too well. It was scrutinizing, expectant, with a hint of defiance. I walked over, holding my wine glass. He smoothly wrapped an arm around my waist, his palm warm against my skin. “What took you so long?” he asked. “I was double-checking the numbers,” I said, handing him my glass. “The director wanted me to give you a toast.” He took it and drank, his brow furrowing slightly. “This wine is terrible.” Layla immediately chimed in. “I have a better one in the suite. An ‘82 Lafite.” Another round of knowing chuckles went through the group. Ashton ignored her, his eyes fixed on my face. “You look pale.” “Just a little tired,” I said. “Then you should leave early,” he murmured, leaning closer. “I’ll have the driver take you.” “No, it’s fine.” I took a small step back. “I’ll get a cab.” His hand suddenly tightened, pulling me back into his embrace. His voice hardened. “Be good.” The words were quiet, but they carried an undeniable weight. My mind flashed back to that night three months ago. It was a similar party. Layla had fed him a grape. I had smashed my glass on the spot. The next day, the hospital called, their voice urgent. “Ms. Xie, your sister’s targeted therapy medication wasn’t approved. Stopping the treatment could have serious consequences. You need to do something, quickly.” “What do you mean?” My voice was trembling. “Everything was fine last week…” I called Ashton like a madwoman. He finally picked up on the seventeenth try. “Ashton, Willow’s medication…” “Yeah, I stopped it. You’ve got quite a temper, don’t you?” I cried. I begged. Finally, in resignation, I knelt on the floor of his living room. He sat on the sofa, reading a document, not even looking at me until my voice was raw from sobbing. “Learned your lesson?” I nodded, tears splashing onto the marble floor. He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Give her a week’s supply.” After hanging up, he walked over, bent down, and gripped my chin. The oppressive weight of his presence was suffocating. “Seraphina, your sister’s life is a gift from me. When I want you to be good, you will be good. Understand?” I nodded frantically. “Seraphina?” Ashton’s voice pulled me back to the present. I snapped out of my daze and found him staring at me. Layla sidled up, linking her arm through his. “Ash, should we head upstairs then?” Ashton didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow at me. I picked up my purse and smiled at him. “You two have fun. I’m going to head home.” As I turned to leave, I heard someone whisper, “Wow, she can really take it.” The elevator doors closed, and the reflection in the mirror showed a pale face with perfectly applied lipstick. My phone vibrated. A message from Ashton: “Really? No scene?” I stared at the words, typed and deleted a reply several times, and finally wrote back: “Get home safe.” The city lights blurred past the car window. I looked down, remembering what my sister had asked me last time. “Sera, is the medicine really expensive?” I had smiled and stroked her hair. “Not at all. You just focus on getting better. Don’t worry about things like that.” But the truth was, I couldn’t afford it. Eighty thousand a box, one box a week. Without Ashton, I couldn’t even afford a single pill. So what was Layla slipping a key card into his pocket? Even if she walked into that hotel room with him right in front of my eyes, I would have to smile and close the door for them. Because my sister couldn’t stop her medication. If she did, she would die. So I had to be good. Extra, extra good. 2. At Layla’s birthday party, she publicly put a diamond pinky ring on Ashton’s finger. Ashton was visibly taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure. He glanced down at the ring, then up at Layla’s expectant face, and finally smiled, slipping the ring onto his little finger. Layla immediately stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers. Ashton didn’t push her away. Instead, he put his arm around her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Layla’s face instantly turned crimson, her eyes curving into crescent moons as she smiled. I retreated to the darkest corner, drinking one glass after another. I was gripping the rim of my glass so tightly my fingertips had turned white. Halfway through the party, I escaped to the terrace. I heard familiar, steady footsteps behind me. Ashton leaned against the railing next to me. “What are you hiding out here for?” I didn’t speak, my gaze fixed on a cruise ship on the river in the distance. He took out a cigarette case. Smoke curled from his lips, dissipating into the night. “About the ring,” he paused, “she didn’t tell me beforehand.” I still said nothing, just tightened my grip on my glass. “It’s just a childish game,” he said, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “Don’t take it seriously.” The night wind blew past, carrying the scent of cedarwood and smoke from him. I used to love that smell. Now, it just made me feel suffocated. “Ashton,” I finally said, my voice barely a whisper in the wind. “Willow’s latest test results are back.” “She needs to switch to a new medication.” I turned and looked him straight in the eye. “Two hundred thousand a box. One box a week.” He took a slow drag from his cigarette. He was silent for a long time before he finally spoke. “Next month, Layla is going to Europe for a three-month course.” My heart sank. “You’ll go with her.” He stubbed out his cigarette and turned to face me fully. “The day she comes back, the medication starts.” “Willow can’t wait three months,” my voice began to tremble. “Then find a way to make her wait.” He took a step forward, his shadow completely enveloping me, exuding an oppressive aura. “Or, you could find a way to make Layla come back sooner.” I looked up at the face I had loved for three years. “Ashton,” I heard my own voice shaking, “that’s your sister you promised to take care of. You said you would cure her.” “And I am taking care of her.” He took another half step forward. “I’m giving her a chance. I’m giving you a chance.” His breath, laced with the scent of tobacco, fanned across my face. It was a smell that had once captivated me. Now, it just made me sick. “A chance for what?” I asked. “A chance to prove you’re worth it.” He raised his hand, his fingertips brushing against my cheek. “To prove you’re more sensible than Layla, more deserving of my investment.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again, I looked at him and said, word by word, “Fine. I’ll go.” He smiled, a victor’s smile, laced with a complex emotion I couldn’t decipher. He reached out to stroke my hair, but I turned my head, avoiding his touch. His hand froze in mid-air. After a moment, he let it drop. “Get some rest,” he said, then turned and walked back into the blindingly bright party. I leaned against the railing, watching his back disappear behind the glass door. The music from the ballroom started up again, light and cheerful. It seeped through the cracks in the door, like a sound from another world. 3. The Parisian winter was bone-chillingly cold. Layla lived in Ashton’s luxurious apartment, sleeping in until noon every day. I stayed in a cramped guest room, preparing breakfast before she woke up and redoing her schedule over and over under her critical gaze. She had endless demands. The coffee had to be at a precise temperature, her clothes had to be perfectly ironed, and even the temperature of her bathwater had to be measured with a thermometer. When she was in a good mood, she would tell me about her Parisian adventures. When she was in a bad mood, she would take it out on me. Every time she frowned, every time her tone held a hint of dissatisfaction, I would think of Willow in the hospital, of the two-hundred-thousand-dollar medication. I would swallow whatever I wanted to say and just lower my head and say, “I’ll do it again.” In the third week, she took me to a gallery opening. A French man stared at me all night. His fingers would “accidentally” brush against my waist, my arm. Layla chatted with him in French. They would laugh from time to time, their eyes sweeping over me. I knew they were talking about me. The flirtatious glances, the suggestive smiles, said it all. On the way back to the apartment, Layla leaned against the car window and said suddenly, “That Frenchman wants to be your sugar daddy. He’s offering a lot.” I didn’t say anything, just continued to fold the shawl she had tossed on the seat. “But I turned him down,” she smiled. “I told him you belong to Ashton, and you’re off-limits.” The car drove along the Seine, the lights from the banks reflecting on the water. I stared at the lights and said nothing. The next morning, before dawn, I was jolted awake by my phone. The caller ID was from the hospital back home. I answered, and the doctor’s urgent voice came through. “Ms. Xie, your sister’s condition has suddenly worsened. She needs surgery immediately!” I shot upright. “What kind of surgery?” “The tumor is pressing on her main airway. She’s having severe difficulty breathing. Without surgery, she has three days at most.” My hand started to shake so badly I could barely hold the phone. “The cost…” “We estimate around eight hundred thousand. And,” the doctor paused, his voice low, “Mr. Crawford isn’t answering his phone. We need a family member to sign the consent forms immediately.” I hung up and, with trembling fingers, called Ashton. Once, twice, three times. All went to voicemail. I called his assistant, who told me apologetically that Mr. Crawford was in a crucial meeting and had given strict instructions not to be disturbed. “My sister is dying!” I screamed into the phone. “Make him answer!” “Ms. Xie, I really can’t…” I hung up and, with shaking fingers, booked the fastest flight back home. The earliest was in six hours. I jumped out of bed and started throwing things into a suitcase. The noise woke Layla. She came out in a silk robe, frowning. “What’s going on? It’s so loud.” “Willow is in critical condition. I have to go back.” “Now?” Her face fell, her tone displeased. “But we’re supposed to go to Versailles tomorrow. Everything’s arranged, the hotel, the guide, it’s all booked.” I stopped what I was doing, looked up at her, and said, enunciating each word, “My. Sister. Is. Dying.” She took a step back, biting her lip. Seeing that I was serious about packing, she turned and went back to her room. The door wasn’t fully closed. I could hear her on the phone with Ashton, her voice choked with tears. “Ash, Seraphina is insisting on leaving. She doesn’t care about my feelings at all, everything was already planned…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I zipped up my suitcase, grabbed it, and walked out of the apartment. The door closed behind me, cutting off her plaintive voice. I didn’t sleep a second during the thirteen-hour flight. The hospital called one after another. Willow’s condition was getting worse. Finally, the doctor said, “Ms. Xie, your sister is waiting for you. She’s holding on, she said she wants to see you one last time.” I covered my mouth, tears splashing onto my phone screen. I landed at four in the afternoon, local time. When I rushed into the hospital, the surgery had already started. A nurse handed me a stack of forms. My hands were shaking too much to sign. The pen kept slipping from my fingers. Finally, I gripped the pen with all my might and carved out my name, one stroke at a time. The surgery lasted six hours. I sat in the hallway for six hours, staring at the red light above the operating room door until my eyes were sore and aching. Every minute felt like a year. The light finally went out. The doctor came out, his face exhausted, his scrubs stained with blood. He looked at me and slowly shook his head. I stood up, my legs giving out from under me. I had to grab the wall to stay upright. “We did everything we could,” his voice was hoarse. “We were too late. The tumor was too deep, and there was massive bleeding during the surgery…” I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. A nurse wheeled a gurney out, a white sheet covering a small body. I walked over and lifted a corner of the sheet. Willow’s face was so pale, so peaceful. Her long eyelashes made her look like she was just asleep. “Willow,” I whispered, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Sera’s here.” A nurse tried to take the gurney, but I shook my head and pushed it myself. Down the long hallway, into the elevator, into the morgue. An attendant asked me to fill out some paperwork. I signed, swiped my card. As the machine spit out the receipt, I remembered Ashton saying, “two hundred thousand a box,” and “the day she comes back, the medication starts.” Not anymore. It was all over.

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The call came in the middle of the night. It was my colleague, Jessica. Her mom was in critical condition and needed Rh-negative blood. I was a match. So I went and donated 400cc. Her family didn’t offer a single word of thanks. They didn’t even make me a bowl of soup. Six months later, the phone rang again. “The blood we got last time wasn’t enough. We’re going to have to trouble you again.” I held the phone to my ear and spelled it out, one word at a time. “A 400cc intravenous donation. Compensation for nutritional supplements, lost work, and emotional distress. The total comes to twenty thousand dollars.” “Wire the money first. I’ll go as soon as it hits my account.” 01 On the other end of the line, Jessica Bell’s voice cut out as if the signal had died. The silence was absolute, stretching for three long seconds. It was followed by a volcanic eruption of rage. “Alex, are you fucking insane? This is extortion! My mother is lying in a hospital bed, and you’re demanding money from me?” I moved the phone slightly away from my ear to escape her piercing shriek, my gaze drifting to the inky blackness outside the window. Tonight’s sky was just like the one six months ago—a thick, suffocating darkness that refused to yield. My voice was calm. “That’s my price. If you accept, transfer the money. If not, find someone else.” “Do you have a conscience? This is a human life we’re talking about! How can you just stand by and watch someone die?” Jessica screamed into the phone, her voice cracking. Each word was a sharp, moral dagger, trying to nail me to a pillar of shame. A conscience? An image from six months ago flashed, unbidden, before my eyes. Two in the morning. The donation center at City General Hospital. The needle slid out of the vein in my arm as 400cc of my crimson blood flowed through a tube into a sterile bag. The nurse told me to press down on the cotton ball and get some rest. I was dizzy and nauseous, my face as pale as a sheet, sitting alone on a cold bench in the corridor. Not far from me, Jessica and her father, David Bell, were gathered around the doctor who had just emerged from the operating room. They were showering him with emotional questions and endless words of gratitude. “Thank you, Doctor, thank you! You’re our family’s savior!” “You must be exhausted, Doctor. Please, have some water!” Not once did either of them so much as glance in my direction. I was like a spare chair in the hallway, used and then forgotten, an object of no concern. The warmth that left my body with the blood was nothing compared to the chill seeping into my heart. I sat there alone until the dizziness subsided, then used the wall to steady myself as I shuffled out of the hospital, one slow step at a time. The frigid pre-dawn wind cut through my thin clothes. I pulled my jacket tighter and hailed a cab. As the car passed by Jessica’s apartment building, I could smell it, even through the closed window: the rich, savory aroma of chicken soup wafting from her kitchen. It must have been for David, a nourishing meal to help him recover after a long, stressful night. And me? The person who had just given 400cc of life-saving blood? I hadn’t been offered so much as a glass of water. The memory was a needle, piercing my heart and reawakening the long-suppressed humiliation and coldness. I let out a bitter laugh into the phone. “I’ll say it again. Twenty thousand dollars. I’ll go when the money arrives.” Then, I hung up. Without a moment’s hesitation, I found Jessica’s contact and blocked her number. The moment I did, my world fell blessedly silent. But the screen lit up again almost immediately. An unknown number. I didn’t answer. I let it ring, persistent and demanding. Soon, the text messages started flooding in. “Alex you son of a bitch! You’ll get what’s coming to you!” “If anything happens to my mom, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life!” “Please, Alex, I’m begging you. Just consider it a loan, okay? We have to save her!” “You heartless monster. I hope you die a horrible death!” The tone shifted from desperate pleading to venomous curses in a heartbeat, a perfect reflection of Jessica’s true, self-serving nature. Expressionless, I screenshotted every single message and saved them in a newly created folder I named “Evidence.” Then, I switched my phone to airplane mode. The buzzing, frantic world finally went quiet. I knew this was only the beginning. They had grown accustomed to my “kindness,” to me being “easygoing.” Now that my kindness had a price tag, they could only see it as a betrayal. Since they had no decency, I would teach them about value. 02 The moment I stepped into the office the next day, I could feel the oppressive weight in the air. Colleagues were whispering in hushed clusters, their eyes on me filled with a mix of curiosity and unconcealed disdain. I knew instantly. Jessica’s smear campaign had already begun. Sure enough, just as I sat down, my desk phone rang. It was a call transferred from the front desk. The second I picked up, David Bell’s voice, sharp enough to pierce my eardrum, exploded through the receiver. “You heartless little bastard! How dare you show your face at work!” His voice was so loud and strained that I could hear the whistle of his breath, ragged with fury. I instinctively winced and held the receiver a little further from my ear. The colleague in the cubicle next to me immediately perked up, pretending to shuffle papers while his eyes were glued to my every move. “Our Jessica is such a good person! She thought of you as her best friend, and what do you do? You take advantage of our crisis! What kind of sick game are you playing?” David began to sob, his voice thick with a nasal whine, as if he were the most aggrieved man on earth. “My wife is still lying in the hospital! The doctors say she could go at any moment, and you won’t help save her life for twenty thousand dollars? Can you even sleep at night? Is your blood made of gold?” His words were a dull knife, sawing at my nerves. Especially that line, “Is your blood made of gold?” It was an echo of Jessica’s accusation from the night before. No, my blood isn’t made of gold. But it is a part of my body, the very essence that keeps me alive. Why should I be expected to give it away for free, just to satisfy their sense of entitlement? I calmly turned in my chair, shielding myself from the prying eyes around me, and pressed the record button on my cell phone. “Mr. Bell, if you have something to say, say it. Yelling won’t solve anything,” I said, my tone as placid as if I were discussing the weather. My composure seemed to enrage him further. “Solve anything? Twenty thousand dollars! Why don’t you just rob a bank? You’re trying to ruin us!” “We were doing you a favor by asking you to donate! We were giving you a chance to do a good deed! And you threw it back in our faces!” That sentence ignited the fury I had been suppressing all night. Doing me a favor? So, in their eyes, my sacrifice was nothing more than a gift they had bestowed upon me. I cut him off, my voice cold. “The first time I donated, it was a favor, not an obligation. You people couldn’t even be bothered to say a simple ‘thank you.’ What right do you have to come asking me for anything now?” There was a brief, choked silence on the other end. Then David immediately switched to full-blown tantrum mode. “I don’t care! You have to go to the hospital today! If you don’t, I’ll come to your office and cause a scene! I’ll let everyone see what kind of person you are! A cold-blooded monster who values money more than a human life!” “You just wait! I’m on my way! I’ll make sure you can’t work there anymore! I’ll destroy your reputation!” He was threatening me, his voice growing shriller with every word. I held the phone tightly and replied, each word deliberate. “You’re welcome to try. It will be a perfect opportunity for everyone to judge for themselves who the truly cold-blooded one is: the person who ignored someone for six months, only remembering them when they needed more blood.” “And by the way, every single word you’ve just said, including your insults and threats, has been recorded.” “If necessary, I will be forwarding this recording to my lawyer as evidence.” The line went dead silent, except for the sound of David’s ragged, furious breathing. I didn’t give him another chance to speak. I hung up. I renamed the audio file “Threats from David Bell” and uploaded it to my cloud for backup. I knew a much bigger storm was brewing. They wouldn’t give up this easily. And I was ready to see it through to the end. 03 The office was eerily quiet. Everyone pretended to be busy, but I could feel their stares, invisible threads weaving a suffocating net around me, pressing in from all sides. Jessica was wearing a faded, worn-out t-shirt today. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles were bruised beneath them. She wasn’t at her desk. Instead, she was making the rounds in the breakroom, “confiding” in different colleagues. As I got up to get some water, I could clearly hear her voice, strained with suppressed “sobs.” “…My mom is still in the ICU. The doctor says it’s not looking good, she needs a transfusion urgently… I’m just so desperate…” “I thought Alex was my best friend. Last time, he helped without a second thought. I assumed it would be the same this time…” She paused for dramatic effect, letting out a heavy sigh that dripped with helplessness and disappointment. “But who knew… he demanded twenty thousand dollars. Not a penny less, he said. My mom’s life, in his eyes, is only worth twenty thousand dollars…” A male colleague who was friendly with her patted her on the shoulder, his voice filled with righteous indignation. “That’s inhuman. Kicking someone when they’re down like that.” Another female colleague chimed in, “Exactly. Alex always seemed so quiet. I never thought he could be so heartless. It’s a person’s life on the line!” Jessica looked at them with her bloodshot eyes, a grateful expression on her face, before shooting a venomous, wounded glare in my direction from across the room. She had successfully painted herself as a poor, devoted daughter, pushed to the brink and betrayed by a friend. And I was the villain. The cold-blooded opportunist. I walked back to my desk with my water, the weight of their contempt and judgment clinging to my back. A female colleague who had been on decent terms with me walked past my desk, carrying a stack of files. She let out a loud “Hmph.” It wasn’t loud, but in the silent office, it was sharp and clear. Then, as if she’d lost her balance, the files in her hands went flying. “Whoops!” Half of them landed on my desk, knocking over my glass of water. Warm water spilled everywhere, soaking my keyboard and mousepad. “Oh, my bad,” she said, her voice devoid of any real apology. She slowly picked up her papers one by one, never once making eye contact with me. I silently grabbed some tissues and started cleaning up the mess, not saying a word. I was completely ostracized. Just then, my desk phone rang. It was the internal line from my department head, Mr. Rogers. He wanted to see me in his office. I walked straight in. Mr. Rogers gestured for me to sit, his face arranged in a look of paternal concern. “Alex, I’ve heard about what’s going on with Jessica’s family,” he began. He steepled his fingers on his desk and leaned forward slightly, adopting the posture of a man ready to “solve my problems.” “We’re all colleagues here. When someone is facing such a difficult time, we should help if we can. This isn’t just about helping Jessica; it’s about maintaining unity within our department.” I tried to explain. “Mr. Rogers, it’s not what they’re saying. Six months ago, I donated blood, and they…” He cut me off with a wave of his hand, a flicker of impatience on his face. Or maybe, he simply didn’t care about the truth. “Regardless, a life is at stake. For you to just name a price like that… it doesn’t reflect well on the company if word gets out. What will people think of us? That we’re all a bunch of cold, indifferent people here?” His words were a soft blade, each one twisting in a vulnerable spot. He didn’t care about the facts or my feelings. All he cared about was the “company’s image” and “department unity.” “Alex, I need you to look at the big picture and handle this properly. Don’t let your personal feelings affect your work, or your own future here.” That last sentence was a clear warning, a veiled threat. If I didn’t handle this “properly,” my annual performance review, my chances for promotion, would all go up in smoke. This was blatant corporate pressure. I walked out of his office feeling as though the walls were closing in. The rumors, the accusing stares, the pressure from management—it was all converging, layer by layer, threatening to crush me. I sat at my desk, feeling utterly drained. Humiliation, anger, helplessness… they churned inside me. But I didn’t cry. Tears are the cheapest currency in the world. They don’t buy you sympathy, only more contempt. I opened my laptop, ignoring the flashing notifications from work applications, and launched my web browser. In the search bar, I typed, word by word: “Rh-negative blood,” “paid donation,” “legal statutes,” “related case law.” They thought they could break me by isolating and pressuring me. They were wrong. The more they pushed, the more determined I became to fight back. If no one was going to stand with me, then I would become my own armor and my own weapon. 04 Over the weekend, all I wanted was to lock myself away at home, shutting out the noise of the world. But peace was a luxury I wouldn’t be afforded. Around two in the afternoon, the doorbell began to ring, not just rung, but assaulted—a frantic, furious rhythm that threatened to break the button. It was immediately followed by the sound of David Bell’s hysterical wailing. “Alex! Open this door! You murderer! Get out here!” I peered through the peephole. He looked like a madman, his hair disheveled, pounding on my security door with his fists, his face twisted in a mask of rage. A few of my neighbors were already peeking out of their doors. I didn’t open mine. I had no desire to engage with him. My silence only fueled his frenzy. He threw himself on the floor of the hallway, wailing and beating the ground. “Everyone, come and look! It’s the young man in this apartment! His heart is blacker than ink!” “My daughter treated him like a friend, and what does he do? He tries to extort twenty thousand dollars from us while my wife is dying!” “He’s watching her die! There’s no justice in this world! If anything happens to my wife, I’ll haunt him forever!” His voice was shrill and piercing, carrying down the entire hall. Soon, a small crowd of neighbors had gathered. Their whispers seeped through the crack under my door like ants crawling into my ears. “Oh my, he looks like such a quiet young man. How could his heart be so cruel?” “I know, that poor man sounds so pitiful. His wife is waiting for that blood.” “Twenty thousand dollars? That’s no different than murder.” Every word was an invisible knife. I couldn’t stand this public trial, this humiliation. I yanked the door open. I just wanted him to shut up. The moment he saw me, a vicious light flared in his eyes. Like a starving wolf spotting its prey, he sprang up from the floor and lunged at me. He grabbed my arm, his nails digging deep into my flesh, and tried to drag me out into the hallway. “You’re coming with me to the hospital! You’re donating today whether you like it or not! You don’t have a choice!” His strength was astonishing. I struggled, but he held me in a death grip. In the chaos, David raised his hand and, with all his might, brought it down across my face. CRACK! The sharp, echoing sound reverberated through the hallway. A searing, white-hot pain exploded across my left cheek. My ears rang. I was completely stunned. Stunned by the blow. And completely awakened by it. In that instant, all the humiliation, the anger, the restraint—it all coalesced into a cold, hard flame that shot from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. With every ounce of strength I had, I shoved him away. David, caught off balance, stumbled back several steps and landed hard on the floor. I retreated inside, slammed the door, and threw the deadbolt, my back pressed against the cold metal, my heart pounding in my chest. Without hesitating, my trembling hands dialed 911. The police arrived quickly. The second David saw the uniforms, he transformed into a master actor. He collapsed onto the floor and began to cry even more theatrically than before. He pointed at my closed door, sobbing to the officers that not only had I refused to save a life, but I had also assaulted him, an elder. Just then, the sound of frantic footsteps came from the stairwell. Jessica had arrived. It was as if she had timed it perfectly. She rushed up to the officers, breathless, her face a mask of grief and desperation. She pointed a shaking finger at my door and screamed at the police. “Officers, it’s him! That’s Alex!” “My mother is in the hospital waiting for blood to save her life, and he’s using it to extort twenty thousand dollars from our family!” She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it up to the officers, her face contorted with a triumphant grimace, as if she held irrefutable proof. “I have a recording! He admitted it himself! Officers, this isn’t extortion—it’s attempted murder!”

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The first day I was brought back to the Donovan estate, my biological parents laid down the law. “Even though you’re back, don’t think for a second you can compete with Sophie.” I looked at the power play this family was putting on and smiled as I pulled a contract out of my bag. “I believe you’ve made a mistake. Our parent-child relationship is a legal fact. But for me to play the role of a docile, obedient daughter who also serves as a stepping stone for your adopted child? That’s a premium emotional service.” “And it’s going to cost you.” 1 My biological father, Richard Donovan, tossed a black card onto the table. “There’s ten thousand dollars on this. It’s your allowance for the next six months.” “Now that you’re a Donovan, you will follow the Donovan rules.” “First, you are not to bully Sophie. She may not be our biological daughter, but we’ve raised her for twenty years. Don’t you dare think you can replace her.” “Second, do not discuss your identity with outsiders. For now, we will be telling everyone you’re a distant relative.” “Third, leave your backwater habits behind. Keep a low profile and do not embarrass the Donovan name.” Beside him, my mother, Anabelle, dressed like the socialite she was, added her own conditions. “Sophie is a very sensitive girl, and her health is fragile. She can’t handle any stress. You need to be considerate and not do anything to make her cry.” According to the plot of the novel I knew, the long-lost biological daughter—me—is brought back, desperate for affection, only to be gaslighted and manipulated by her entire family. My parents and brother find me vulgar. The adopted daughter, Sophie, undermines me at every turn, both openly and behind my back. And my fiancé, Marcus Blackwood, humiliates me every chance he gets. The original me, in an attempt to fit in, desperately studies etiquette, grovels for approval, and walks on eggshells around everyone. In the end, she’s still thrown out of the family and dies alone, consumed by despair. Now that I’ve taken her place, I looked around at the hundred-million-dollar mansion and decided to think bigger. If playing the part of the loving daughter is a death sentence, I’ll play the part of a consultant. And consultants get paid. I picked up the card with a small smile. “My apologies, but I’ve done my due diligence.” “Donovan Industries reported a net profit of four billion dollars last year.” “And from what I understand, Miss Sophie’s monthly expenses alone run well into six figures.” “Since you’re both so concerned about Miss Sophie’s feelings and so worried that your daughter from the country will embarrass you, why bring me back at all?” “Could it be because the Blackwood family specifically requested an alliance with the true heiress?” Richard, who had been about to stand, froze. His eyes sharpened. “Who told you that?” I smiled and pulled a printed document from my bag titled Functional Family Member Performance Agreement. “That’s not important. What’s important is the business I’d like to discuss with you both.” “Integrating a stranger, even one who shares your blood, into a family unit is, in essence, a high-risk merger and acquisition.” “I know you had no choice.” “Since we’re all uncomfortable, let’s commercialize it. You need me to act as a mascot, a tool for a marriage alliance, and, when necessary, a foil to highlight Miss Sophie’s superior grace. I am willing to cooperate on all fronts. But not for free.” Richard and Anabelle’s expressions soured. Reading the room, I pressed on before they could play the family card. “Mr. Donovan, Mrs. Donovan, please don’t talk to me about blood being thicker than water. That’s an outdated concept.” “In the world of business, providing emotional value and taking the fall for others are services that command a premium.” “If I’m mistreated in this house, that’s a workplace injury. If you expect me to handle a scumbag like Marcus Blackwood, that’s hazardous duty, billed on a case-by-case basis, and you will be taking out a top-tier life insurance policy in my name.” “As for the ten thousand you just offered? That’s what you give a beggar. Considering the unique and irreplaceable nature of my position, I require a monthly salary of fifty thousand dollars, a full benefits package, and an annual bonus to be negotiated separately.” “Are you insane? You really are from the sticks, with that crass, money-grubbing attitude!” My older brother, William, who had been watching silently from the side, finally spoke. I shook my head. “There’s no hollow affection between us, only a relationship maintained by money. So it’s only right that I get paid for my services.” “What do you say? Think of the return on investment. Fifty thousand a month for a peaceful and harmonious household. Sounds like a bargain, doesn’t it?” Richard, ever the capitalist, was the first to regain his composure. He truly felt nothing for this unrefined, unpresentable stranger of a daughter. Fifty thousand dollars was less than the price of a single bottle of wine from his cellar. If the price of one bottle could secure him a compliant, professional, and trouble-free tool for the marriage alliance… the deal was exceptionally cost-effective. After all, in the world of the wealthy, problems that money can solve aren’t really problems at all. He picked up a fountain pen and signed the contract with a decisive stroke. “You’d better be worth it. Stay in line.” 2 The next day, I officially started my new job. At breakfast, the adopted daughter, Sophie, drifted into the room like a delicate willow in the wind. I had to admit, the product the Donovans had poured their money into was exquisite. She met every aesthetic standard for the damsel-in-distress archetype. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled up. “Victoria, why are you glaring at me? What did I do wrong?” “I’m sorry, whatever it is. Please don’t be angry with me.” Before I could respond, she looked timidly at the other three. “Dad, Mom, William… should I not be down here for breakfast?” “I know I’m just the adopted daughter. I don’t have the right to eat at this table. I’ll go.” Richard and Anabelle’s hearts immediately went out to her, and they were about to scold me when I spoke first. “Miss Sophie, your performance is subpar.” Sophie looked confused, tears clinging to her lashes. “Wh-what?” I sized her up. “As the Donovan family’s signature socialite, your core competencies are beauty, fragility, and evoking pity. But look at your facial control.” I pointed to the corner of her mouth. “When you cry, the downward curve of your lips is too exaggerated. It looks stiff and theatrical.” “Furthermore, as the favored one, acting so meek in front of an ‘outsider’ like me makes you seem small-minded. It reflects poorly on Mr. and Mrs. Donovan’s upbringing.” “If anyone else saw this, they’d think there was a quality control issue with the Donovan brand.” Richard, who had been ready to yell at me, paused. He actually thought I had a point. The Donovans were a prestigious family. How could their daughter act so timid and submissive? “Then what do you suggest?” he asked. “I can act as her competitive analyst and part-time image consultant.” I adopted a more professional posture. “From now on, I will simulate various scenarios for her: the wicked older sister, the demanding mother-in-law, even the cunning romantic rivals she might encounter in the future. I’ll conduct comprehensive situational drills.” “Through my pressure, we will improve her resilience. Through my critiques, we will perfect her public image. I guarantee that when she marries into another prominent family, she will be a formidable presence and a credit to the Donovan name.” Sophie was dumbfounded. She had never heard “bullying” described in such a refreshingly corporate way. “Rest assured, this service is included in my monthly salary. I only require the subject’s cooperation.” “For instance… now.” My gaze sharpened, my tone turning imperious. “Come here and clear my plate.” Sophie instinctively looked to her parents. I sneered. “What are you looking at them for? In the future, when your powerful mother-in-law demands you serve her, are you just going to cry for your mommy?” “Did you think being a society wife was easy?” Richard mulled it over for a moment and then, to my surprise, nodded. “Victoria is right. Sophie, it’s time you started training.” Sophie, her face a mask of shock and humiliation, carried my plate to the kitchen. I turned to Richard with a slight smile. “See, boss? This is called the catfish effect.” “Sardines only improve their survival rate when they’re being chased by a catfish.” “A flower raised in a greenhouse has no core competency. It has no value on the open market.” For the first time, the way Richard looked at me held something different. A flicker of reassessment. 3 I adapted to my job as the “true heiress” quickly. In the original story, the protagonist was always jealous of Sophie and would dress in flashy, garish outfits to one-up her, only to be mocked for being tacky. I had no need for that. I was here to work. Every day, I wore sharply tailored business attire, my hair pulled back neatly, and I moved through the house with an air of purpose. When I saw Richard, it was, “Good morning, Mr. Donovan.” When I saw Anabelle, “Mrs. Donovan.” To William, “Mr. William.” And to Sophie, “Miss Sophie, your foundation looks a bit cakey today. I suggest trying a different formula.” One day, the male lead from the novel, my nominal fiancé, Marcus Blackwood, came to visit. This heir to a fortune was notoriously arrogant and unruly. He was in love with Sophie, but his grandfather was forcing him to marry the true heiress, so he was openly hostile toward me. “So you’re the one from the countryside?” Marcus sneered, looking down his nose at me. “You have a passing resemblance to my aunt and uncle, I suppose. A shame about the lack of refinement.” “You can put a pig in a dress, but it’s still a pig. Don’t think returning to the Donovan family means you can just climb the social ladder.” Such painfully cliché lines. I couldn’t be bothered with this idiot. Sophie nestled against him, her eyes welling up again. “Marcus, don’t say that about my sister. She’s trying her best. We shouldn’t mock her.” “Sophie, you’re just too kind,” Marcus said, pulling her into a protective embrace before glaring at me. “I’m warning you, stay away from me. Don’t get any foolish ideas. The only woman I will ever marry is Sophie.” Fine. I admit it. My tolerance for idiots is zero. I put down the tablet I was holding, which contained the company’s latest financial report that Richard had asked me to review. That’s right. After repeatedly proving my value, Richard had finally agreed to let me get involved in some of the company’s peripheral business. I cherished every opportunity to work, but this moron was disrupting my focus. “Mr. Blackwood, regarding our engagement—this non-performing asset—due to its uncontrollable risks and extremely low rate of return, I have no interest in acquiring you.” Marcus’s brow furrowed. “What did you say? A non-performing asset?” “Isn’t that what you are?” I met his angry gaze without flinching. “Poor emotional regulation. Inappropriate public conduct. A complete lack of basic respect for a potential business partner, engaging in blatant personal attacks.” “As a future spouse, your performance is severely inadequate.” “You!” Marcus shot to his feet, trying to intimidate me with his height. “Stand still.” My voice was a sudden, sharp command. The sheer force of my presence made him freeze instinctively. “Since you’re so determined to be Sophie’s white knight, you should at least have the assets of one.” My eyes scanned him from head to toe, as sharp as an X-ray, finally settling on his midsection. “Unbutton your shirt.” Marcus was completely bewildered, unsure how the situation had taken such a sharp turn. “What?” “What are you trying to do?” “Get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert.” I cut him off with a cold eye-roll. “I am currently conducting quality control for the family gene pool. In the current market, there’s a surplus of alpha CEO types. Looks and physique are the only hard currency.” “Sophie is so delicate and fragile. She’s bound to be harassed by all sorts of vultures at social events.” “If you don’t even have a six-pack, how are you supposed to protect her? How can you be a fashionable accessory she can proudly display on her arm?” “Are you planning to defend her with that foul mouth of yours?” Marcus’s face turned beet red. He hated being looked down on, especially in front of the delicate Sophie. “I work out three times a week! I have plenty of muscle!” I raised an eyebrow, my expression dripping with disbelief. “Talk is cheap. For all I know, you’re all bark and no bite. An empty suit with a soft body underneath.” Then, I turned to Sophie with a sigh. “Sophie, darling, I’m not trying to cause trouble.” “But if Mr. Blackwood isn’t even willing to show this small token of sincerity, I doubt he truly loves you.” “And even if he does, you should be careful.” “Men like him look impressive on the outside, but they’re often all show. A man who lacks the confidence to show his physique is probably insecure. It might even mean he… has performance issues in other areas.” At my words, Sophie frowned and began to scrutinize Marcus. “Marcus, if Victoria is just trying to help our future, maybe you should just show her. It’s no big deal.” “I’d also like to see if you really have a six-pack.” Marcus stared at Sophie in disbelief. Under our united front of “it’s for the greater good,” this proud heir experienced the first real gaslighting of his life. 4 Gritting his teeth, desperate to prove to the woman he loved that he was “man enough,” and to wipe the smug, condescending look off my face, Marcus acted on impulse. He ripped open his shirt. “Open your damn eyes and look!” Sophie gasped, covering her mouth with a blush. Marcus shot me a defiant look, as if he’d just won a great victory. “See that, you country bumpkin? Can you shut up now?” However, I didn’t show the slightest hint of the slapped-in-the-face embarrassment he expected. Instead, I stepped closer, my expression neutral, inspecting him as if I were picking out a cut of pork at the market. “Body fat percentage is average, at best. The lines aren’t well-defined.” “On a scale of Hero to NPC, you’re barely a background character.” “Alright, button up. You’re an eyesore.”

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