Author: Momo Chan

When my grandmother fell gravely ill, I made a vow. I packed my life into a single duffel bag and vanished into a remote, ascetic ashram in the high desert, taking a vow of simplicity. For five years, I lived on a strict vegan diet and daily meditation, dedicating every ounce of my spiritual energy to praying for her miraculous recovery. Five years bled away in that quiet isolation. When I finally returned home, I found that my life had been hijacked. There was an imposter sleeping in my bed. She hadn’t just stolen my bedroom; she had utterly bewitched my oldest brother, the person who used to love me most in the world. And at her lavish eighteenth birthday gala, my own fiancé stood before the city’s elite and loudly declared that she was the only woman he would ever marry. In my past life, I had fought like a wild animal to claw back what was rightfully mine. My reward? They conspired to murder me. Now, my eyes snapped open. The blinding pop of flashbulbs anchored me to the present. I was back. Back at the exact moment of the imposter’s eighteenth birthday gala. 1 “Look at Blair trying to steal the spotlight on Peyton’s eighteenth birthday. She’s completely shameless, always hovering center stage.” “Excuse me, miss, you need to step aside. The guest of honor’s presentation is about to begin.” The murmurs of the ballroom washed over me like ice water. I blinked against the harsh glare of the chandeliers, my vision clearing to reveal Peyton and my older brother, Brooks, standing at the top of the sweeping grand staircase. A tidal wave of memories crashed into me—the cold stone of the wine cellar, the suffocating darkness, the agonizing venom in my veins. My eyes instantly burned red. I didn’t think. I just moved. I stormed up the velvet-carpeted steps, reached out, and violently ripped the diamond pendant straight off Peyton’s neck. The clasp snapped with a sharp hiss. “Who the hell do you think you are?” I snarled, my voice trembling with a rage that felt ancient. “My mother designed this necklace specifically for me. A stray like you doesn’t get to wear it.” A collective gasp sucked the air out of the grand ballroom. Brooks lunged forward, roughly shoving me back by my shoulders. He shielded Peyton behind his broad frame, his face twisted in absolute fury. “Blair, have you lost your damn mind?! What is wrong with you?” he roared, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “I can’t even believe you’re a Kensington right now. Give Peyton her necklace back. Now.” I handed the broken diamonds to a stunned waiter hovering nearby, then turned a glacial smile toward the brother I used to idolize. “Brooks, what on earth are you talking about?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “Since when is that her necklace? And since when is she the eldest daughter of the Kensington family? Don’t you feel ridiculous spinning these lies?” Peyton reached out, her delicate fingers wrapping around Brooks’s tuxedo sleeve. Tears pooled perfectly in her wide, innocent eyes. She was a masterclass in fragile victimhood. “Brooks, please. It’s my eighteenth birthday. Don’t fight with your sister over me,” she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to carry over the silent crowd. “Let her have the necklace. After all… she was the one who went away to the ashram to pray for Grandma. It’s my fault she suffered out there in the desert.” She paused, letting a single tear track down her perfectly powdered cheek. “If I hadn’t been so terribly sick with that fever, it would have been me, the older sister, doing that penance. Mother only took her in as a foster child because she was so touched by her filial piety. I should be the one to yield to her.” I stood frozen. The sheer audacity of her reversed reality left me breathless. She spoke with such earnest, tear-soaked conviction that the guests immediately erupted into venomous whispers. “Wait, Blair is just a foster kid? No wonder she looks so unrefined.” “Imagine being a charity case and acting this entitled.” “Look how gracious Peyton is. She’s a literal angel.” “They should throw that ungrateful little brat out on the street. Why even foster someone so toxic?” Brooks pointed a rigid finger at the waiter holding the diamonds. “Bring that here.” Martha, the head housekeeper who shadowed Peyton like a bodyguard, rushed forward. She snatched the necklace from the waiter and handed it to Brooks with a sickeningly sycophantic smile. “Here you go, Mr. Kensington. Let’s get this back on our real young lady.” I stepped forward, grabbed Martha by the collar of her stiff uniform, and slapped her hard across the face. The sharp crack silenced the room again. “You’re the help,” I hissed, my voice dropping to a terrifying register. “Who gave you the authority to snatch my property?” I shoved her away. She stumbled back, clutching her stinging cheek, immediately bursting into theatrical sobs. “Oh, the cruelty! Everyone knows Miss Peyton runs this house, and she treats us staff like family!” Martha wailed, turning her pleading eyes to my brother. “I’ve worked my whole life and never been struck! Mr. Brooks, you have to do something!” I stared Martha down, my eyes like chips of flint. “You’ve worked in this house for years. I suggest you dig deep into your memory and remember exactly whose name is on the deed.” Martha caught the lethal edge in my gaze. She suddenly stammered, her eyes darting nervously toward Brooks, terrified to speak another word. 2. Brooks’s face darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Just as he opened his mouth, Peyton gave his sleeve another gentle, pathetic tug. “Brooks, please. Tonight is supposed to be joyous. Let’s not ruin the harmony of the evening over a piece of jewelry. I’ll just wear something else.” “Absolutely not,” Brooks snapped, though his eyes softened when he looked at her. “Mother custom-designed this for your debut. You aren’t swapping it out.” He raised his voice for the crowd. “The Harringtons will be arriving shortly. Mother made it very clear: tonight, at your debutante ball, we are officially announcing your engagement to the heir of the Harrington empire.” My stomach churned. Years ago, Peyton had dramatically collapsed on the front steps of my mother’s exclusive country club. Pitying her, my mother brought her home. Because Peyton was quiet and intensely compliant, my mother took her in as a ward, thinking she’d be a nice companion for me. But from that day on, Brooks—who used to carry me on his shoulders and sneak me ice cream before dinner—transferred his entire soul to Peyton. He started treating her like his one and only sister. He constantly praised her manners, her soft-spoken elegance. Meanwhile, I was the loud one. I played video games, I went out, I wasn’t the picture-perfect, submissive socialite he apparently wanted. To prove his devotion to Peyton, he had orchestrated this very moment: using her eighteenth birthday to publicly declare her the biological Kensington daughter, and me the charity case. In my past life, the crowd had turned on me. Brooks had his security guards beat me black and blue, then locked me in the subterranean wine cellar to “reflect on my behavior.” Upstairs, they drank champagne and celebrated Peyton’s coming-of-age. Downstairs, I was bitten by the venomous snake Peyton had slipped under the heavy oak door. By the time Brooks came to let me out the next morning, I was already a cold corpse on the concrete floor. This time, staring down the barrel of Brooks’s furious glare, I lifted my chin. “That necklace was designed by Mother, for me,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension. “You’re deliberately rewriting history. Calling her the biological daughter? Do you have any idea what Mother will do when she finds out?” Mother had flown out to escort my grandmother home from the hospital, but their private jet had been grounded by a storm. I had driven myself back from the desert ashram, wanting to spare them the trouble of picking me up. I hadn’t expected to walk into a coup. Brooks had timed this perfectly. He threw this gala knowing Mother wouldn’t be here to stop it. Peyton clutched the diamonds tightly against her chest, biting her bottom lip. “Blair, I know how desperately you want this!” she cried out. “I’d give you anything else in my closet, truly I would! But this is a symbol of Mother’s love for me. I just can’t let you take it.” “God, Blair, could you be any more pathetic?” a shrill voice rang out from the crowd. It was Kendall Montgomery, the illegitimate daughter of a local real estate tycoon, and Peyton’s most loyal lapdog. Ever since she bought into the rumor that Peyton was the Kensington heiress, Kendall had clung to her like a parasite, desperate for a foothold in high society. “You’re a foster kid,” Kendall sneered, stepping forward. “You should be on your knees thanking them for the food and clothes. Do you seriously think you’re a real debutante? You’re out of your mind.” I let out a low, humorless laugh. “You’re calling me an orphan? Kendall Montgomery, you have a lot of nerve opening your mouth about lineage.” I stepped down one stair, leveling my gaze at her. “You are literally a billionaire’s dirty little secret. An affair baby. If I were you, I’d be hiding in the shadows, not barking in a ballroom. The Montgomery family truly has zero shame.” Kendall’s face drained of all color. She opened her mouth, but only a strangled squeak came out. “Miss Peyton, you need a powder touch-up before the grand entrance,” Martha interjected loudly, trying to break the tension. Brooks nodded, his voice instantly softening. “Come look at the gift I got for you, Peyton.” A uniformed butler presented a velvet-lined silver tray. When I saw what rested on it, the breath was completely knocked out of my lungs. It was a worn, leather-bound scrapbook. Grandma’s scrapbook. It contained every polaroid, every ticket stub, every single milestone of my life since I was a baby. I remembered sitting by Grandma’s hospital bed, her fragile hand patting the leather cover. “This is for my Blair,” she had whispered. “The geography of our little princess’s precious life.” It wasn’t a million-dollar diamond, but it was the very heartbeat of our family. And Brooks was handing it to a stranger as a party favor. 3. “That is Grandma’s album for me,” I said, my voice cracking. “Brooks, you have absolutely no right to give that away.” Brooks placed the heavy book into Peyton’s hands. He didn’t even look at me. “Grandma specifically told me this belongs to the granddaughter she holds closest to her heart,” he said coldly. “And that is Peyton. Are you really going to try and steal this, too?” Peyton flushed a pretty, delicate pink. She looked at me, a subtle, triumphant smirk playing at the corners of her mouth—visible only to me. “When you turn eighteen, Blair, I promise I’ll buy you a much nicer, brand-new album,” she cooed. “But Grandma made this one by hand. I have to cherish it. I really can’t let you have it.” It was the exact same script from my past life. Every single time we clashed, Peyton played this exact role. The forgiving, magnanimous angel. It made Brooks view her as a fragile saint, while I was painted as the greedy, unhinged villain. Every tear she shed drove another wedge between my brother and me. I felt the hot sting of tears, not from sadness, but from a profound, agonizing betrayal. I surged forward, dodging Martha and the butler. Before I could even reach the book, Brooks’s hand cracked across my cheek. The force of the slap sent me stumbling. “I am disgusted by you,” he spat, wiping his hand on his trousers as if touching me had soiled him. “I have no idea how the Kensingtons ended up with someone so relentlessly greedy and shameless.” I pressed a hand to my burning cheek, staring up at the man who shared my blood. He looked completely alien to me. “I don’t care about the jewels, I don’t care about the dresses!” I screamed, my voice breaking. “But that album is from Grandma! You have to give it back!” Brooks closed the distance between us, towering over me. “Are you still lying? Still throwing a tantrum?!” he bellowed. “Security! Drag her down to the wine cellar. Let her sit in the dark until she learns her place.” The whispers of the elite crowd swelled like a dark tide. “God, this foster girl is delusional. She actually thinks she’s the heiress.” “She’s been faking it so long she believes her own lies.” “If I were Peyton, I would have thrown her out on the street years ago. So embarrassing.” I looked at Brooks. He was already signaling the guards. My heart flatlined. It was identical to the last time. He didn’t care about the truth. He didn’t care about me. He only cared about playing the knight in shining armor for Peyton. “What’s going on here? Has the ceremony not started?” A smooth, arrogant voice sliced through the murmurs. Footsteps clicked against the marble floor. Pierce Harrington, the golden-boy heir to the Harrington tech-fund, stood in the arched doorway. He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine in his bespoke Tom Ford tuxedo. He was my fiancé. But… “Peyton, darling, why are you crying? Who upset you?” Pierce bypassed me completely, striding straight to Peyton. He reached out to brush a tear from her cheek, caught himself in front of the crowd, and let his hand drop. He turned a lethal glare around the room. Brooks pointed a rigid finger at me. “It’s this little brat! She tried to rip Peyton’s necklace off, and then tried to steal her childhood scrapbook!” He scoffed. “She’s actually trying to convince people she’s the biological Kensington daughter. I was just about to have her disciplined.” Pierce’s icy blue eyes finally slid over to me. I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. “Blair just got back from living in a monastery,” Pierce said, his tone dripping with condescending pity. “I suppose she’s just jealous of all the beautiful things Peyton has. That’s why she’s spinning these delusional fantasies about being the real daughter.” He took a step toward me. “I never realized the Kensingtons harbored someone so profoundly shallow. Peyton has a heart of gold, so she won’t hold this against you. But I am not so forgiving.” His eyes narrowed. “If you ever upset Peyton again, I will personally ruin you.” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. I’m shallow? He’s threatening me? His family’s wealth was new money, built on a lucky tech boom. How dare a glorified venture-capital bro speak to me—a true daughter of old Manhattan money—like this? I watched, nauseated, as Peyton gazed up at Pierce with glittering, love-struck eyes. I knew the truth now. They had been sleeping together behind my back for months. Tonight wasn’t just about stealing my identity; it was a carefully orchestrated play to legitimize her so she could steal my marriage pact, too. In my past life, I had foolishly waited for Pierce to defend me. I had thought he loved me. I hadn’t realized he was the one holding the knife. I won’t forget this, I thought, the vow engraving itself into my very bones. Pierce turned back to Peyton. He reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out a small, iconic Tiffany Blue box. He held it out to her like it was a holy relic. “I had this custom-made for you,” he murmured softly. Peyton popped the box open. The crowd of socialites actually gasped. Nestled inside was a pair of breathtaking, matching diamond bands. “Oh my god, Pierce is so in love with her. Those rings are millions.” “Are they about to announce an engagement?” 4. Peyton’s cheeks flushed a deep, feverish crimson. “Thank you, Pierce.” Pierce looked at her like she was the only woman on earth. “You’re stepping into adulthood today. It’s just a small token of my devotion. I hope you love them.” Kendall Montgomery snickered from the sidelines. “What’s the matter, Blair? Are you going to claim that the Harrington marriage pact actually belongs to you, too?” Brooks glared at me with absolute revulsion. “Look at how vulgar you are! How could you possibly be a match for the Harrington heir? Only a woman with Peyton’s refined grace is fit for a family like that.” I tilted my head, keeping my spine steel-straight. “What if I told you the marriage pact was mine?” Peyton suddenly lunged forward. Her hand cracked across my face—a stinging, vicious slap. Her sweet facade finally slipping, her face contorted with rage. “I wasn’t going to discipline you, but you have crossed every single line!” she shrieked. “You try to steal my necklace, you try to take my photo album, and now you want to steal the man I love?!” She took a ragged breath, re-centering her mask. “As your older sister, I cannot let you spiral like this. Security! Drag her to the cellar. Do not let her out until she has written a full confession and apology.” Two burly security guards stepped forward, then hesitated, looking nervously between me and Brooks. “Which one of you is going to touch me?” I asked, my voice a deadly, quiet hum. “You’ve worked for my family for years. Look at me. Do you really not know who the actual heiress of this house is?” The guards froze, shifting their weight uneasily. I turned my glacial stare back to Peyton and Pierce. “You think I want this garbage marriage pact? I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.” Pierce’s jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck strained. “You’re a street rat,” he spat. “You’ve lived in luxury for a few years and you actually convinced yourself you’re royalty. My marriage to Peyton was arranged by our elders. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.” “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I sneered. Pierce raised his right hand, looking out at the glittering crowd. “I, Pierce Harrington, swear on my life that I will only ever marry Peyton. I will never betray her. And I do not care where she came from.” I tilted my head, a dark amusement pooling in my chest. “Oh? So even if she was just a nameless foster kid, a charity case pulled from the gutter, you’d still proudly make her the lady of the Harrington estate?” “Yes,” Pierce said firmly, wrapping his arm around Peyton’s waist. “Even if she was an orphan, she is the only woman I will ever love.” Peyton blushed, burying her face against his shoulder before looking back at me with sickening faux-pity. “Don’t worry, Blair!” she chirped. “When Mother gets back, I’ll make sure she finds a suitable husband for you, too. Even as a foster daughter, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of. A nice middle-management guy, or maybe a bank teller. We’ll find you a solid, ordinary life.” I covered my mouth, genuinely laughing. The sound was sharp and unhinged in the quiet room. “Peyton, you really, truly believe you’re the heiress, don’t you?” I wiped a tear of mirth from my eye. “Setting me up with a bank teller? God, that’s hilarious. It sounds like exactly the kind of life you belong in.” “Blair, you are out of control!” Pierce roared. “If you don’t get on your knees and apologize to Peyton right now, I swear to God…” Peyton immediately burst into fresh, dramatic sobs, turning to Brooks. “Brooks, I… I was just trying to be kind to her, I didn’t mean to offend her…” Brooks’s patience snapped. He grabbed a heavy, brass-tipped walking stick from an umbrella stand near the door. “Have you lost your damn mind, Blair?! Security, pin her down!” I didn’t back up a single inch. “Put your hands on me. I dare you.” Brooks slammed the brass tip of the stick against the marble floor. The sharp crack made several guests flinch. He looked at me with the eyes of a stranger. “As the heir and future CEO of the Kensington empire, it is my duty to teach you a lesson. Let’s see who dares to stop me.” He barked at the paralyzed guards. “Hold her. Now!” Fear of losing their jobs won out. The guards and a few groundskeepers rushed me, forcing me to my knees on the cold marble. Brooks raised the heavy wooden stick high into the air. Crack. Agony exploded across my shoulder blades. The sheer force of the blow tore through my thin silk blouse. I felt the hot, wet rush of blood instantly soaking the fabric. It was a brutal, bone-jarring pain. A few of the socialites gasped. “Mr. Kensington, maybe that’s enough!” someone whispered nervously. “She’s still a girl… you’re going to put her in the hospital.” “My god, look at the blood. This is too much.” My body was still frail from five years of ascetic fasting in the desert. The trauma of the strike sent dark spots dancing across my vision. I swayed, fighting the urge to vomit. “You just wait,” I choked out, tasting copper in my mouth. “When Mom gets home… she is going to destroy you.” “Still talking back?!” Brooks screamed, his face red with exertion. “I don’t care who walks through those doors! Today I am going to beat it into your skull what happens when you try to steal from the rightful daughter! Do you admit you were wrong?!” I locked my teeth together, shaking with pain and adrenaline. “I am… the Kensington daughter.” The stick came down a second time. The sickening thud echoed in the room. White-hot pain ripped through my spine, pulling me toward the edge of consciousness. “Are you going to try and steal from her again?!” Brooks yelled, raising the stick for a third strike. “You animal! Take your hands off her!” a voice shrieked from the grand entryway.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “402428”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

There was a dry-erase board in our immaculate, marble-countered kitchen. On it was my countdown. Estimated Time Until Total Heart Failure: 47 Days. Every morning, my mother would take a felt eraser, methodically wipe away yesterday’s number, and uncap a fresh black marker to write the new one. It looked exactly like the countdowns you see for a Black Friday sale. Precise. Clinical. Brimming with quiet anticipation. My name is Harper. I am twelve years old. I have a congenital heart defect. The specialists said without a transplant and complex reconstructive surgery, I wouldn’t live to see the end of the year. The out-of-pocket cost for the experimental procedure was three million dollars. My father, Richard Carmichael, is a real estate developer worth over two billion. But his exact words were: “Three million isn’t a viable ROI.” Return on investment. Because there was already a perfectly healthy asset living under our roof. My little brother, Miles. Eight years old, bright-eyed, striking, a piano prodigy who knew exactly how to charm a room full of adults. In this house, he was the only thing deemed “worth it.” ⋯⋯ 1 I first heard them discussing my death on a rainy Wednesday night. The heavy mahogany door to the study hadn’t been pulled completely shut. I was walking down the hallway, clutching my plastic amber pill bottle against my chest, when their voices drifted out. My mother, Caroline, sounded entirely composed. Like she was discussing a shift in their stock portfolio. “The insurance brokers confirmed it,” she said. “Harper’s life insurance policy is capped at five million. Standard death benefit. We are the sole beneficiaries.” I heard the crisp rustle of my father flipping through a file. “Five million? We only paid eighty thousand in premiums when we took that out. The yield on that is exceptional.” Caroline murmured in agreement. “And since it would be death by natural illness, there’s no contestability period. It pays out immediately. I had the estate lawyers verify the fine print.” “Then we cancel the surgery.” I heard the dull thud of my father’s Montblanc pen dropping onto the leather desk pad. “Three million for a procedure with a sixty percent success rate? It’s a bad gamble. We save the capital, let the policy pay out, and net a clean five million.” “That five million,” Caroline said, her voice softening slightly, “would easily cover Miles’s tuition for that Swiss boarding school track, plus a new investment property in the right school district.” She hesitated. Just for a second. “But Richard… the optics. People in our circle will talk.” “Let them,” Richard scoffed. “Congenital heart failure. The top pediatric cardiologists already said it was a long shot. We are simply respecting the medical consensus.” He paused, likely visualizing the PR spin. “When the time comes, we issue a press release. We say we exhausted every medical avenue, but it was God’s will. We throw a tasteful, tragic memorial. Invite the local press. It’ll do wonders for the firm’s philanthropic image.” The pill bottle slipped from my trembling fingers. Clatter. It bounced against the hardwood floor. The study went deathly silent. I dropped to my knees, snatched the bottle, and turned to walk away. “Harper?” Caroline’s voice sliced through the crack in the door. “What are you doing out there?” I didn’t turn around. I stared straight ahead at the shadowy hallway. “I just came down to get my meds.” “Take them and go to sleep. You have your follow-up at the clinic tomorrow.” “Okay.” I walked back to my room and quietly shut the door. In the dark, I looked toward the wall where I kept a mental image of that kitchen whiteboard. 47 days. It wasn’t a countdown to my death. It was the maturity date on their investment. That night, lying in the cold, cavernous space of my bedroom, I made a decision. If they were waiting for me to die— I would give them a death. Just not the one they were banking on. 2 The next day, I didn’t go to the clinic. I took an Uber to the corporate office of the life insurance company. The receptionist—a young woman with a kind face—blinked in surprise when a pale, twelve-year-old girl walked up to her towering marble desk alone. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you lost? Who are you looking for?” “Hi. I need to check the status of a policy,” I said, my voice steady. “My name is Harper Carmichael. The policyholder is Caroline Carmichael.” She hesitated, her fingers hovering over her keyboard, but eventually, she typed it in. “Okay, I see it… Death benefit is five million dollars. Beneficiaries are your parents, Richard and Caroline Carmichael.” “Miss, can beneficiaries be changed?” “They can, but only with the authorization of the policyholder. That would be your mother.” I nodded slowly. “And if the policyholder refuses?” “Then it can’t be changed.” I thought for a moment, gripping the edge of the desk. “What if I bought my own policy? Could I name someone else as the beneficiary?” The receptionist looked completely utterly bewildered. “Sweetheart… you’re a minor. You can’t legally buy life insurance. And…” Her brow furrowed with genuine concern. “Why are you asking about this?” I offered a thin, hollow smile. “It’s nothing. I just wanted to know if there was a way to make sure my parents didn’t get a dime when I die.” The color drained from her face. She stood up, walking around the desk to crouch down to my eye level. “Harper… are you in trouble? Is something happening at home?” “No. Thank you for your time.” I turned and walked out through the revolving glass doors. The sunlight hitting the pavement outside was blindingly beautiful. A perfect, crisp afternoon. I knew I might not see many more days like this. Not because of my failing heart. But because I had decided that before they could ever touch that five million dollars, I was going to drain them. Or give it all away. I was going to make sure they got absolutely nothing. When I got home, the grand piano was echoing through the foyer. Miles was practicing his Chopin. He didn’t even lift his hands from the keys when I walked in. “Mom’s pissed you skipped the clinic,” he said over the music. “Oh.” “She said if you’re gonna be noncompliant, she’s going to cut your dosage.” I stopped dead in my tracks. “What does that mean?” Miles hit a complex chord, his shoulders shrugging casually. “Exactly what it sounds like. Your pills are, like, super expensive, right? A few grand a month. Mom said if you won’t do the therapies, she’s not wasting the money refilling them. Because…” He faltered, his fingers slowing down. Even he seemed to realize the next part was ugly. “Because what, Miles?” “Because it’s not gonna fix you anyway.” He was eight years old. And he delivered that line with the exact same breezy, detached inflection as our father. So casual. So matter-of-fact. I looked at him. This beautiful, golden boy, raised in the warm glow of our parents’ absolute adoration. He wasn’t inherently evil. He had just been conditioned, from the moment he could understand language, that I had no intrinsic value. I was a bad asset. A sunk cost. A defective product waiting to be written off. “Miles.” “What?” he muttered, still looking at the keys. “You play really beautifully.” He finally looked up, genuine surprise flashing in his blue eyes. “…Thanks.” I walked upstairs to my room. I pulled out the old iPad my father had handed down to me—the only piece of electronics I owned, and only because Miles had complained the screen was too small for him. 3 I opened an incognito browser. Can a minor write a legally binding will? How to invalidate a life insurance beneficiary? Slayer Statute life insurance payout. The search results handed me the exact weapon I needed: If a beneficiary is proven to have intentionally caused or contributed to the death of the insured, the insurance company will deny the payout under the Slayer Rule. I stared at that paragraph until the words burned into my retinas. Then, I started keeping a diary. But it wasn’t a diary. It was a case file. Using the iPad’s voice memo app and camera, I started recording. Every hushed conversation about my policy. Every time Caroline rationed my pills. Every morning when she wiped that kitchen whiteboard to update the days until my heart gave out. I documented it all. Three days later. The number on the board read 44. Just as Miles had warned, Caroline cut my medication. I was supposed to take three Amiodarone tablets a day. She handed me a little paper cup with two. “Mom, I’m missing a pill.” Caroline was standing at the island, meticulously peeling an organic apple for Miles. She didn’t look up. “Dr. Harrison said we could begin tapering your dosage at this stage.” “Dr. Harrison never said that.” The paring knife froze in her hand. The silence in the kitchen grew heavy. “I am your mother,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. “If I say we taper, we taper.” I didn’t argue. I took the two pills, walked back to my room, and hit ‘Stop’ on the audio recorder hidden in my sweater pocket. I saved the file: EVIDENCE_004_Medication_Cut.m4a. That evening, Richard came home with a stranger. A man in a sharp charcoal suit, carrying a leather briefcase, flashing a perfectly practiced corporate smile. “Harper, sweetheart, this is Mr. Davis. He’s a risk assessment consultant for our insurance firm.” My father’s voice was dripping with a sickly-sweet warmth. Whenever he used that tone with me, it meant I was required to perform. “Mr. Davis just needs to do a quick health evaluation, okay? Be a good girl and cooperate.” Mr. Davis crouched down to my level, beaming. “Hi there, Harper. I just have a few quick questions for you. Super fast, I promise.” He pulled out a tablet. “How are you feeling these days? Any discomfort?” I caught my father’s eye over the man’s shoulder. Richard’s gaze was hard. A silent, terrifying warning. I smiled back at the man. “I feel okay. Sometimes my chest gets a little tight, though.” “Are you taking your medication? Staying on schedule?” “Oh, absolutely. Three pills a day. I never miss one.” A microscopic smirk tugged at the corner of Richard’s mouth. Caroline, standing by the stairs, visibly exhaled. Mr. Davis tapped on his screen, stood up, and shook my father’s hand. “Everything looks to be in order, Richard. I’ll expedite the paperwork. If… God forbid, the tragic happens, I’ll personally make sure the claims process is seamless and immediate.” “I appreciate it, Davis.” After the man left, Richard walked over and patted me on the head. Like a dog that had successfully rolled over. “Good job today. As a reward, you can have an extra thirty minutes of screen time tonight.” Thirty minutes of screen time. That was my compensation for helping them rehearse my own death. 4 I locked my bedroom door and exported the audio from the evening. EVIDENCE_007_Insurance_Prelim_Interview.m4a. I created three distinct backups of the entire folder. One on the iPad. One on a flash drive I duct-taped to the underside of my mattress. The third copy needed to be handed to someone I could trust. But I had no one. Kids at my private middle school? They only knew me as the sick girl with the rich dad; we never spoke. My teachers? Once, a gym teacher noticed a bruise on my arm and asked about it. Caroline made one phone call to the headmaster, and that teacher was gone the next day. Family? Every aunt and uncle was on the payroll of Carmichael Enterprises. Nobody would cross Richard. I lay awake all night, listening to my erratic heartbeat. The next morning, on my way to the bus stop, I saw him. A homeless man who practically lived on the park bench just outside our gated subdivision. He was always bundled in a frayed army jacket, cradling a scruffy orange tabby cat. The neighborhood private security had chased him off a dozen times, but he always drifted back. I walked off the manicured sidewalk and approached him. “Excuse me, sir. What’s your name?” He blinked, pulling his chin out of his collar. His eyes were milky but surprisingly sharp. “…Arthur.” “Arthur. Do you have a cell phone?” “No.” “Can you read?” “…I used to be a middle school English teacher.” That stopped me. A teacher? “Arthur, is it okay if I come sit with you after school every day?” He didn’t speak. He just gave a slow, cautious nod. From that afternoon on, I made Arthur my daily routine. I’d bring him a bottle of water and a sandwich—food I’d hide in my backpack from my own untouched lunches. Over the weeks, he told me his story. His wife had died of ovarian cancer, the medical debt swallowed their house, and he just… fell through the cracks of the world. We became a strange sort of friends. One overcast Tuesday, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the flash drive. “Arthur. If I die, will you promise to take this to the police?” His rough, weathered hands started to shake. “What… what are you talking about, kid?” “My parents took out a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on me. If I die, they get the money. So they’re canceling my doctors and cutting my heart medicine.” I placed the small plastic drive into his palm. “Every piece of evidence is on here. If the police prove they intentionally hastened my death, the insurance company won’t pay out. Under the Slayer Statute.” I looked him dead in the eyes. “They are waiting for a five-million-dollar payday. I want them to get prison sentences instead.” Tears spilled over Arthur’s dirt-smudged cheeks, catching in his gray beard. “I can’t let you die. You’re just a little girl!” I sat next to him on the cold wooden bench and gently patted his hunched shoulder. I was the one with the failing heart. I was the one running out of time. Yet here I was, comforting a broken man who was crying for me. 5 The number on the kitchen whiteboard was down to 31. My body was giving out. It used to just be a tightness in my chest. Now, walking up a single flight of stairs left me gasping, my lips turning a faint shade of blue. Caroline watched me struggle down the hallway. There was no pity in her eyes. Just arithmetic. “We have about a month,” I heard her whispering to Richard in the kitchen later that night. “Davis has the paperwork queued up. When it happens, the narrative is a sudden, tragic deterioration of her congenital condition.” “And her meds?” Richard asked, pouring himself a scotch. “I’ve got her down to one pill a day. By the end of the week, I’ll stop them completely.” “Good. Make sure the staff doesn’t notice anything off.” I was standing barefoot in the dark dining room, the voice recorder running in my pajama pocket. EVIDENCE_015_Medication_Termination.m4a. That Thursday afternoon, the darkness finally swallowed me. I collapsed in the middle of the school cafeteria. When I opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room blinded me. A woman in a white coat was standing at the foot of my bed. Dr. Evelyn Garza. She was in her forties, with sharp, intelligent eyes, and she looked absolutely furious as she flipped through my chart. “Your bloodwork makes no sense,” she said, realizing I was awake. “Based on your chart, you should be on three doses of Amiodarone a day. Your serum levels are barely registering a fraction of one. Have you been throwing them up?” I stared at the ceiling and said nothing. Dr. Garza sighed, pulled up a chair, and sat close to my bed. Her voice dropped, losing the clinical edge, replaced by a fierce maternal warmth. “Harper. Talk to me. Is something happening at home?” I turned my head to look at her. She wasn’t just checking boxes. She actually cared. “Dr. Garza, if I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell my parents?” “I promise. What is it?” “My parents are trying to kill me.” Her pupils dilated. She froze. “They bought a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on me. They’re the beneficiaries. They’ve been cutting my pills so my heart will fail naturally, and they can collect the payout.” I took a shallow, painful breath. “I have proof. Audio recordings, videos, a diary. Everything.” Dr. Garza’s hands began to tremble. She had been practicing medicine for twenty years. She had seen death in every form. But she had never seen a twelve-year-old girl explain her own premeditated murder with the dead-eyed calm of an accountant. “Why… why haven’t you called the police?” “My dad is Richard Carmichael.” Dr. Garza went still. Richard Carmichael. The billionaire developer. The man who had single-handedly funded the construction of the new pediatric cardiology wing we were currently sitting in. The wing was literally named The Carmichael Pavilion. “Harper,” Dr. Garza said, her voice dropping to a fierce, resolute whisper. “I am going to keep you admitted for observation. You are not leaving this hospital.” She stood up, pulling her phone from her pocket. “And I am going to make a call.” “To who?” “My old roommate from med school. He realized he hated blood and went to law school instead. He’s the Assistant State’s Attorney now. Your father’s money might buy this hospital, Harper, but it doesn’t buy the State of Illinois.” 6 I watched her walk out into the hall. She was the second person willing to fight for me. The first was a homeless man. The second was a doctor I had just met. Strangers with no blood tie to me whatsoever. When she came back in, I looked up at her. “Dr. Garza?” “Yeah, kiddo?” “Thank you. But… what if my dad finds out? He destroys people who cross him. Aren’t you scared?” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “The day I took the Hippocratic Oath, I swore to do no harm and to protect my patients.” She adjusted my IV line. “Your dad bought a building. Good for him. But a building doesn’t buy my conscience.” Two hours later, Caroline swept into the room. She was wearing her standard uniform of understated wealth—a cashmere camel coat, a Birkin bag on her forearm—and a perfectly calibrated mask of motherly distress. “Oh, my poor darling,” she cooed, reaching for me. “Mommy’s here. Let’s get you discharged and take you home to your own bed.” Dr. Garza stepped directly between my mother and the bed. “Mrs. Carmichael. Harper’s cardiac rhythms are highly unstable. I am holding her for mandatory observation.” Caroline’s mask slipped for a fraction of a second. The warmth vanished from her eyes. “Dr. Garza, we have a fully equipped medical suite at home. I’ll be taking my daughter.” “Then perhaps you can explain why her medication levels are critically low?” Dr. Garza held her ground, locking eyes with my mother. “According to her records, she requires three doses a day. Her toxicology report shows a concentration of less than a third of that. The only medical explanation is that someone is withholding her prescriptions.” Caroline turned ashen. “What… what are you insinuating?” “I’m not insinuating anything. I am stating a medical fact.” Dr. Garza slapped the metal chart shut. “Harper is not leaving. If you attempt to force a discharge, I will have you sign an ‘Against Medical Advice’ waiver. That document will be forwarded immediately to Child Protective Services for medical neglect.” Caroline stood frozen, her jaw trembling slightly. She was a strategist. She knew that signing that paper left a massive, undeniable paper trail. “…Fine. Keep her for now.” Caroline pivoted on her designer heels. As she brushed past my bed, she leaned down, her perfume suffocating me, and hissed into my ear: “Don’t think you can outsmart us, Harper.” I didn’t look at her. Under the thin hospital blanket, my thumb pressed ‘Save’ on the recorder. EVIDENCE_019_Hospital_Confrontation.m4a. That was enough. Without a second thought, I pulled out my iPad, attached the zipped folder of evidence, and hit ‘Send’ to the email address Dr. Garza had given me. I watched the progress bar hit 100%. Mom, Dad. This is my final gift to you. I hope you choke on it.

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Steven and I have formed an unholy alliance. Me? I’m the biological son, the one who was switched at birth and grew up in the sticks. I’ve survived by becoming a master of the “weaponized pout”—a high-end manipulator who knows exactly how to play the victim to get what he wants. Steven? He’s the fake son, the one who took my place in the penthouse. He’s spent twenty years perfecting the role of the “Stained Glass Saint”—pure, fragile, and utterly full of it. But they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Looking at my biological parents and my “big sister,” it’s clear where we get it from. They aren’t just cold; they’re predators. Between the veiled threats, the emotional blackmail, and the empty promises, it’s obvious they only brought me back to use me—and Steven—as bargaining chips for their crumbling empire. … Pushed to the edge, Steven and I finally shook hands on a deal. To get out from under our parents’ thumbs, we set our sights on the apex predators of the city: Diana Blackwood, the powerhouse CEO of the Blackwood Group, and her younger sister, Morgan. We crafted the perfect personas. Steven would be the unyielding, misunderstood intellectual; I would be the ethereal, untouchable hermit. We were setting up the ultimate “Honey Trap.” What we didn’t expect? The trap was already set—and we were the ones walking into it. Eighteen years in a backwater town, and then suddenly, my billionaire parents “found” me. I was rebranded as Dominic Rossi and hauled back to the city. On the drive to the estate, they broke the news: the “fake” son would be staying with us. His biological parents—the ones who raised me—had died in a convenient car accident during my junior year of high school. Hospital records showed he was younger than me. I kept my head down, eyes fixed on my lap, feeling a cold knot of dread in my gut. Sure enough, the second I stepped into the foyer of the marble-clad mansion, a guy in a crisp white shirt with tear-rimmed eyes threw himself at me. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, his voice trembling with practiced precision. “It’s all my fault. Please don’t be mad. Don’t blame Mom and Dad. I’ll leave right now. I’ll go.” I hadn’t said a single word, and already, I was being cast as the villain. A professional victim? I thought. Finally, a worthy opponent. Beside me, our mother, Martha Rossi, rushed forward to pull him into her arms. “Hush, darling. You’re my son, too. You’ve done nothing wrong. This is your home, and you aren’t going anywhere.” Then, she shot me a look of sharp disapproval. I didn’t roll my eyes, though I wanted to. Instead, I let my lip quiver just a fraction. I let my shoulders slump, radiating a quiet, crushing loneliness. “I know I shouldn’t have come back,” I whispered, my voice sounding hollowed out. “He’s been with you his whole life. You have a bond. I’m just… the stranger who showed up twenty years late.” I paused, letting a single tear track down my cheek. “But I just wanted to know what it felt like to have parents again. Since his parents died so young… it’s been so hard surviving on my own.” I put a tiny, jagged edge on the words “his parents.” A reminder that Steven, for all his tears, didn’t share their blood. Martha’s face went pale. A flicker of unease crossed her features. I knew how to play the “pity card” better than anyone; I’d had to do it to survive the foster system after my adoptive parents died. The tide turned instantly. Martha stepped away from Steven and pulled me into a tight, scented embrace. “Oh, honey, it’s my fault. I lost you when you were so small. You’ve suffered so much.” She turned back to Steven, her voice hardening. “Steven, what has gotten into you? I thought you were more mature than this. Your brother just got home, and you’re already throwing a scene and making him feel unwelcome? Is this how I raised you?” Steven’s “saint” act cracked. He shook his head frantically. “No, Mom, I didn’t mean—” He looked at me, eyes wide with a mix of shock and budding hatred. “Dominic, you misunderstood me,” he said, pivoting quickly. “I’m just bad with words. I was afraid you’d hate me because I took your place.” He didn’t mention leaving again. Instead, he reached out and grabbed my hand. “Here, let me show you to your room!” He dragged me to a corner on the second floor and pushed open a heavy oak door. The room was a nightmare of clashing neon greens and garish reds. I squeezed my fists shut, my nails digging into my palms. “Do you like it, Dominic?” Steven asked, a sharp, triumphant glint in his eyes. “Mom and I picked everything out ourselves!” I caught Martha looking slightly uncomfortable out of the corner of my eye. I realized then—this “decor” was all Steven’s idea. He’d put me in the smallest room and decorated it like a cheap motel to remind me of my “roots.” A power move. I looked at him, then let out a blinding, joyful smile. I grabbed both of his hands and squeezed them tight. “Thank you, Steven. I’ve never had a room this nice in my entire life.” The tears started again—overflowing this time. “I can’t believe I actually deserve to live somewhere like this. But wait… where is your room? I don’t want my arrival to ruin the life you’ve built here.” The room went silent. The air grew heavy. Harriton Rossi, my father, who hadn’t spoken since we walked in, finally cleared his throat. “Enough. It’s just a room. For God’s sake, stop the crying; you’re a grown man. Martha, get someone in here tomorrow to swap this out. Give Dominic the master suite on the east wing. A son of Harriton Rossi deserves the best.” I looked at Steven, whose fake smile was now plastered on his face like a death mask. I let a tiny, cruel smirk touch my lips for just a second. “Thanks, Dad.” Our parents said their goodnights and headed to bed, leaving our older sister, Cordelia, to deal with me. Steven managed one last trembling sigh. “Cordelia, you take care of Dominic. I’ll… I’ll stay out of your way.” He walked off, his head bowed, looking like a discarded puppy. Predictably, Cordelia’s face softened with worry. She frowned at me and said, “Just get some sleep. Call a maid if you need anything.” Then she turned and chased after Steven. The kid was good. I’d give him that. The next few days were a blur of skirmishes. We fought for territory in the house, for attention at the dinner table, for the favor of the staff. He won some; I won some. But I was miserable. This house was a cage, and I quickly realized there wasn’t enough room for two sons. The battlefield soon shifted to the university. The next day, Martha took me to Steven’s elite private college to finalize my transfer. Money talks; even mid-semester, the doors swung wide for a Rossi. I said goodbye to Martha and walked into the lecture hall behind the dean. “So you’re the one bullying Steven?” A guy named Jax—some trust-fund jock—stood up before the dean even left the room. “A gutter rat from nowhere thinks he can come in here and push Seb around just because he’s got the right DNA?” Steven sat in the middle of the crowd, his head down, but I saw the spark of smugness in his eyes. Childish. I slowly scanned the room. When I ignored Jax, he slammed his hand on the desk. “Look at you. Low-class trash. No manners. It’s clear your ‘parents’ were just uneducated peasants who didn’t teach you a thing.” The dean shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. In this school, the students’ parents owned the buildings. He wasn’t going to stick his neck out for me. I let my expression shift—from calm to a fragile, wounded dignity. “I won’t let you insult the people who raised me,” I said, my voice trembling with controlled rage. “They may have been poor, but they were the best people I’ve ever known.” “What? What are you talking about?” Jax sneered. “I wasn’t talking about the Rossi family!” I looked confused, then horrified. “But… Steven and I were switched. The people who raised me were his biological parents…” “Shut up!” I snapped my mouth shut, looking guiltily at Steven, who had gone deathly pale. “Steven, I’m so sorry,” I whispered loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t mean to out you.” I wasn’t sorry. I was the biological heir; why should I help them hide the truth just to save Steven’s social standing? Steven hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. He felt every pair of eyes in the room land on him like a spotlight. He panicked. The “saint” instinct took over. “I’m sorry, Dominic!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to steal your life. Please don’t be angry. It’s all my fault. Mom and Dad just love me too much to let me go back to poverty… if you hate me that much, I’ll leave right now!” As he stood up, he pitched forward, his eyes fluttering shut, and collapsed in a dead faint. The room erupted. The truth about the switch was instantly forgotten as everyone rushed to his side. They carried him to the infirmary like a fallen martyr. And I? I became the villain again. “Even if you’re the real one, how could you be so cruel?” “Exactly. Who cares about blood? Martha and Harriton love him more anyway. You’re just jealous.” “He’s like one of those evil twins from the movies.” One “faint” and the narrative flipped. My “brother” was a pro. News of our little drama spread through the city’s high society like wildfire. Everyone knew the Rossis had a biological son who was a nightmare and a fake son who was a saint. People started whispering that the Rossi family was “unstable.” The consequence? When we got home, the atmosphere was lethal. Martha and Cordelia looked at us with pure disappointment. Harriton, however, looked like he was ready to kill. He marched up to us, his face a mask of cold fury. Slap! Slap! My ears rang. My cheek burned with a white-hot sting. I looked at my father—the man who, days ago, had promised me “the best.” I was stunned. Steven, however, seemed used to it. He apologized instantly, his voice a flat, rehearsed monotone. “Dad, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let the family become gossip. It’s my fault. Dominic is new; he doesn’t understand how things work yet.” Harriton glared at me. “Don’t let your petty jealousy ruin this family’s reputation. Steven is my son. If I hear about you bullying him or embarrassing this name again, I’ll break your legs.” Martha stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “What can you expect? Those people who raised him… they didn’t know anything. We’ll just have to train him better.” She spoke about the people who loved me, who gave me everything they had, with nothing but disgust. They had never laid a finger on me. I looked at the floor, silent. Cordelia caught my eye and signaled to our parents. Martha quickly moved to hug me. “Dominic, don’t be mad at your father. He’s just stressed. In a family like ours, everything is connected. He’s doing this for the good of the house. For your good.” Harriton waved his hand dismissively. “Enough. Go to your rooms. Reflect. You’re grounded until further notice.” For a week, Steven and I were locked in that gilded cage. We didn’t stop our little war behind closed doors—he played his part, I played mine—but my soul was starting to wither. I missed my old life. I missed being alone. Then, one afternoon, Harriton came home and told us to get ready. “There’s a gala tonight. Be ready in three hours.” We were poked, prodded, and dressed by a team of stylists for three hours. By the time we arrived at the ballroom, the sun was down. Martha and Cordelia were already there, glowing under the chandeliers. For the first hour, we were paraded around like prize horses. Hypocrisy at its finest. Martha dabbing at fake tears, Cordelia playing the protective sister, Harriton playing the proud patriarch. A perfect, loving family. I touched my right cheek. The ghost of the slap still lingered. Just as I thought the night was just about “brand management,” the real reason for the gala emerged. The people we were being introduced to were getting younger, and my parents’ posture was getting more desperate, more servile. We were rejected by three different groups. My parents’ faces grew tighter with every “no.” Finally, we reached two women. They didn’t look at our faces; they looked at our bodies with a predatory, cold interest. Like they were appraising furniture. Instead of being offended, my parents looked relieved. They were beaming. I smiled back, but my internal alarm bells were screaming. When we finally got home, Harriton called us into the study. “The women you met tonight—Ms. Diana Blackwood and Ms. Morgan Blackwood. You remember them?” Steven and I exchanged a look. We remembered. They were the two who had stared at us like we were meat. “Good. Because from now on, your only job is to please them. Do whatever it takes to make them want to marry you.” “What?!” “Why?!” We spoke at the same time. Harriton’s expression darkened instantly. Steven recovered first. “Dad, I’m only twenty. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to leave you.” “Marriage doesn’t mean you’re gone. And twenty is old enough. You’re an adult.” “But—” Harriton cut him off, his eyes drilling into us. “Did you hear what I said?” I gritted my teeth. “Dad, I don’t even like them. Can’t we—” Slap! Another one. This time, the insults followed. “You think you’re something special? You’re a tool. My company needs their backing. Whether they want to marry you or just use you is up to them, and the only reason you even got a foot in the door is because I set the meeting.” “Let me be clear: if we don’t get this merger, this family is finished. If you two screw this up, don’t expect me to remember you’re my ‘sons.’” He stormed out. I stayed on the floor, hand to my face, eyes turning to ice. Steven’s hands were shaking at his sides, clenched into white-knuckled fists. That night, I tossed and turned, running through escape plans. I couldn’t stay here, but they wouldn’t let me go easily. A soft knock at the door startled me. Knock, knock, knock. I opened it and raised an eyebrow. “You?” It was Steven. The “saintly” mask was gone. His eyes were burning with pure, unadulterated resentment. “Going to let me in?” I stepped aside and shut the door behind him. “I’m not in the mood for games, Seb. If you don’t have something useful to say, get out.” Steven smirked. “Let’s work together.” My eyes widened. I looked him up and down. “Did you hit your head? We work together?” Steven’s cold laugh was jagged. “What choice do we have? You really want to throw your life away so they can buy another yacht? I’ve known since I was a kid that this family only cares about the bottom line. I played the perfect son because I thought they loved me. Then you showed up, and they didn’t even look back. They threw me away to go find their ‘real’ son.” He looked at me with a twisted sort of empathy. “I thought maybe it would be different for you. But look at your face. You’re just a different currency to them.” I kept my face flat. “Go on.” Steven took a deep breath. “I refuse to be discarded like trash when I lose my value. Let’s team up and burn this house down. Unless, of course, you’re actually attached to this ‘family’?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Not even a little.” The two slaps had cleared any lingering sentimentality. “What’s the plan?” I asked. “We can’t just run. They’ll find us. We’re still ‘valuable’ to them.” “We need leverage,” Steven said. He pulled out his phone and pulled up a file. I scrolled through. It was a dossier on the elite families of the city—the ones at the very top. “We find a patron they’re too scared to touch,” Steven whispered. “We find someone who can protect us so we can leave through the front door.” “And how do you guarantee any of these people will help us?” “That’s where our ‘charms’ come in, brother.”

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On the day of our eighth wedding anniversary, I lost our baby in the crushing anonymity of the Chicago L-train. Someone shoved me—a frantic commuter, a faceless blur—and I went down. By the time I reached the hospital, the white tile floor was the last thing I saw before the world went dark. When I woke up, my husband, Bennett, wasn’t there. He told me over a crackling phone line that a “crucial client” required his undivided attention. He left me to sign the surgical consent forms with a shaking hand, alone in a room that smelled of antiseptic and grief. While I lay in that narrow cot, my body hollowed out and aching, I saw the notification pop up on my phone. Lacy, Bennett’s “childhood best friend”—the girl he’d spent a lifetime protecting—had posted a series of high-gloss photos on Instagram. She was leaning against a brand-new Porsche, its metallic paint gleaming under the dealership lights. The caption read: “When a man loves you, you don’t have to ask. His heart is wherever his checkbook is.” I looked at the photo. There was Bennett in the background, handing her the keys with a look of doting adoration I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat. With a numb thumb, I tapped the heart icon. I liked the post. Seconds later, my phone screamed to life. It was Bennett. “What is wrong with you, Brooke?” he barked, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Lacy is the face of this company’s branding. I bought her a company car to maintain our image. What’s with the passive-aggressive ‘like’? Who are you trying to embarrass?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. “If you’re so bored that you have time to stalk her socials, get your ass into the office and actually do some work. Stop looking for drama where there isn’t any.” He hung up before I could tell him our child was gone. Then, he blocked my number. In the silence of the recovery ward, something inside me finally snapped. It wasn’t a loud break; it was a quiet, clean severing. Love without reciprocity isn’t a relationship—it’s a debt that can never be repaid. And I was done being the creditor. … I stayed in that hospital bed until the sun dipped below the skyscrapers, turning the city into a grid of cold, neon lights. Bennett never called back. Lacy, meanwhile, was having the night of her life. Her stories were a non-stop loop of “sweet moments.” More photos of the car, a video of them clinking champagne glasses at a rooftop bar. The comments were flooded with envy. Bennett’s comment sat at the top, pinned: “Money is meant to be spent. As long as you’re happy, Lacy, it’s worth every penny.” I stared at that sentence until the words blurred. I thought about my own bank statements. For three years, I had taken the train every morning and every night to save money for his startup. Five dollars a day. That’s what my life was worth in his ledger. Did he forget? Did he forget he had a wife who was six months pregnant, struggling through the morning rush while he played Prince Charming for another woman? I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My head spun, but I forced myself to stand. I checked myself out against the nurse’s advice and walked straight to a dealership. I didn’t go to Porsche. I went to the luxury boutique downtown and used Bennett’s black card—the one he gave me years ago “for emergencies”—to buy a custom pink Range Rover. Totaled, upfront, no financing. When I got home, Bennett was actually there, which was a rarity. He smelled like expensive gin and Lacy’s perfume. He pointed a shaking finger at the sales contract on the kitchen island. “Brooke, have you lost your mind?” he screamed. “You spent six figures? On a car?” I looked at him, feeling nothing but a dull, heavy vacuum where my heart used to be. “You’d have to work ten years at your little job to earn that kind of money,” he sneered. “You think you’re in the same league as someone who deserves a car like that?” When Bennett first started his firm, I worked three jobs to keep us afloat. When he landed his first major contract, he got down on one knee and gave me that card. He told me his money was my money. He told me to never worry again. I had been so careful. I had squeezed every penny because I wanted him to succeed. I had squeezed myself into a tiny, quiet corner of our life so he could have the whole room. And now, he was asking if I was worthy of the money I had helped him make. “I had a miscarriage today,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I’m not in the mood for the subway.” Bennett froze. A flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or just the inconvenience of the truth—crossed his face. But he quickly smothered it, grabbing the contract and crumpling it. “This is because of Lacy’s car, isn’t it? You’re throwing a tantrum like a child.” He stepped closer, his eyes scanning my face with disgust. “Look at yourself, Brooke. You’re haggard. You don’t wear makeup, you don’t dress up. You’re going to look like a joke driving a car like that.” His words were like a serrated blade, sawing at the remains of my spirit. I took a slow, shallow breath. “You’re right,” I said. “I’ve let myself go. I’ve spent too many years worrying about your needs. That stops now.” A sharp, tearing pain spiked in my lower abdomen. I turned away from him, clutching the counter, unable to even catch my breath. He let out an annoyed huff and tossed a set of keys onto the table. “Look, business hasn’t been great lately. We need to be smart. Lacy heard you were struggling with the commute and she offered to let you use her old sedan. Be grateful for once.” I looked at the keys. They were attached to a faded keychain with Lacy’s initials. A hand-me-down. A victory trophy. She had the million-dollar upgrade; I got her scraps. In the past, I would have screamed. I would have demanded he see me. Now? It didn’t matter. I managed a thin, cold smile. “It’s only fair, I suppose. She’s taking my secondhand husband; I might as well take her secondhand car.” Bennett’s face turned a violent shade of red. “Are we still on this? Lacy brings value to the company. What do you do? I’m out there killing myself, and you can’t even keep a pregnancy viable! Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life!” He slammed the bedroom door. Minutes later, I heard him snoring. I sat on the sofa in the dark, hands pressed against my stomach, until the clock hit midnight. Then, Bennett’s phone chimed from the bathroom. He’d left it on the counter. He scrambled out of bed to get it, but I was already sitting in the shadows of the hallway. I heard Lacy’s voice, a saccharine pout, leaking through the speaker. “Are you still awake? Are you… with her?” Bennett’s voice was a low, desperate whisper. “Of course not. I wouldn’t touch her. I’m just thinking about how much I’d rather be with you right now, you little brat.” The pain in my gut flared, a white-hot agony that spread to my fingertips. My phone slipped from my hand, clattering against the hardwood. Bennett jumped, spinning around to see me sitting there. “What the hell is wrong with you? Creeping around in the dark like a psycho!” He yelled to cover his embarrassment. Then, seeing I wasn’t fighting back, he tried a softer, patronizing tone. “Look, I’m stressed. Clients are calling at all hours. Just… stop the drama, Brooke.” “Okay,” I said. The simplicity of my answer caught him off guard. He walked over, trying to put an arm around my shoulders. The scent of him—the history of us—made me physically ill. I pushed him away. “I’m not fighting, Bennett. Truly.” His face heated up again. “For god’s sake! If you’re going to be this cold, then just leave! Stay if you want, or get out. I don’t care anymore!” He threw on a jacket and walked out, the front door nearly rattling off its hinges. I let the tears come then. They soaked into the sofa cushions, hot and heavy. For eight years, I had sat in the dark waiting for him. I had swallowed my pride and my identity, hoping he would eventually come back to the man I fell in love with. But that man was a ghost. Or maybe he never existed at all. As the sky turned gray with the coming dawn, I pulled out my phone. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in nearly a decade. “Mom?” I whispered. “I was wrong. I want to come home.” On the other end of the line, my mother started to cry. “Oh, honey. My girl. Don’t cry. I’m sending a car. Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. You have me. You have us.” I broke down. When I married Bennett, my family had been horrified. They wanted someone from our world, someone who understood the weight of our name. I had been so “empowered” by my love for him that I cut them off. I moved to a city where I had no one, just to prove I could build a life from nothing. And now, I was left with exactly that. Nothing. My phone rang again. It was Bennett. “I’ve got a cold and I need some food,” he said, his voice flat, as if the night before hadn’t happened. “Make that seafood chowder I like and bring it to the hospital. Lacy’s checked in—she’s feeling under the weather too. No onions.” I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white. “Fine. I’ll be there.” Years ago, when we were dating, Bennett pulled me out of a kitchen fire at my dorm. He’d bought me a bowl of soup to stop my shaking. I’d bring him this one last bowl. Consider it a receipt for a debt finalized. I wrapped myself in a heavy coat and went to the hospital. When I walked into the private suite, I saw Bennett sitting on the edge of the bed, peeling an apple for Lacy. Lacy looked at me, biting her lip with a performative shyness. “Oh, Brooke. I’m so sorry. I’m just so congested, and I can’t stand the hospital food. Bennett was so worried, he insisted you bring your homemade stuff. You aren’t mad, are you?” She didn’t look sick. She looked triumphant. I set the thermal container on the table and looked at Bennett. He wouldn’t meet my eye. “Lacy’s stomach is sensitive,” he muttered. “Since you were up anyway, it wasn’t a big deal.” I stood by the door, waiting. I wanted to end it here. But Lacy wasn’t done. She leaned into Bennett, complaining about the temperature, demanding he feed her the soup like she was a helpless child. I checked my phone. My mother had sent Sebastian, the son of her closest friend and the man I’d grown up with, to pick me up. He’d just texted that he was downstairs. As I started to reply with my location, a group of women burst into the room. Lacy’s “squad.” High-maintenance, loud, and clearly looking for a target. “There she is!” the leader shouted, pointing at me. “The little home-wrecker!” Before I could speak, a hand slammed across my face. The force of it sent me stumbling back. Then a foot caught me in the ribs, sending me to the floor. “You ugly, pathetic bitch!” they screamed, their kicks landing indiscriminately. “How dare you try to steal Bennett from Lacy? Look at you—you’re nothing! You’re a ghost!” “I saw her harrassing them on the street last week,” another hissed. “She’s obsessed with him. She made Lacy sick with the stress!” I curled into a ball, trying to protect my stomach—the stomach that was still cramping from the surgery. “I’m his wife!” I screamed through the blood in my mouth. “Lacy is the one you should be looking at!” A heel came down hard near my hip. The pain was blinding. I felt a warm rush of fluid between my legs—the after-effects of the miscarriage turning into a hemorrhage. They dragged me by my hair into the center of the room, forcing me onto my knees in front of Lacy’s bed. “Bennett isn’t married, you delusional slut!” they laughed. “Tell her, Bennett! Tell her who she is!”

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When I was 18, Shadowblade Pack was attacked by Rogues and suffered heavy losses. My brother Liam—Shadowblade Pack’s young Alpha—set out alone on the path of revenge. Before leaving, he entrusted me to a friend in another pack, since my wolf had fallen into a deep sleep due to injuries. The first time we met, Alpha Nathan couldn’t take his eyes off me. From that day on, I worked as his assistant at his company during the day. At night, I was his most intimate bedmate. For four whole years, he never told anyone about our relationship. His explanation was that he worried enemies would hurt me if they knew I existed. But four years later, his former Mate returned to the pack, and he rushed to greet her. Just an hour earlier, he’d been kissing me in my bed. Now he held another woman in his arms right in front of me: “Chloe, four years ago you were the one who crawled into my bed while I was drunk.” “Acting so unreasonable now is really pointless.” The way he looked at her was so tender, while his mockery toward me was especially earnest. Enduring the pain, I contacted my brother Liam, who had long since completed his revenge. I told Liam I was willing to marry Darkclaw Pack’s Alpha. Then I looked up and smiled at Nathan: “Fine then. Goodbye.”

Liam replied quickly. He was relieved that I’d finally let go of the mysterious man I’d liked for years. A year ago when Liam completed his revenge and called me back to his side, I’d used that as an excuse to refuse him. To this day, Liam doesn’t know that the person who made me suffer so much in love is his best friend—Nathan. After ending the call, the next thing I needed to handle was the mark Nathan had left on me in bed. It wasn’t a formal mark, after all we’d never held a bonding ceremony. Black market witches had ways to solve all kinds of problems, so I found one and paid her a large sum of money. In the end, I obtained an ancient contract. The witch told me, “Have him sign his true name here. When the ink dries, the mark’s connection will be severed. But remember, he must sign willingly. Any coercion will cause the contract to backfire on you.” Holding the contract, I felt a deep pain in my chest. Nathan. Him again. Even my final departure couldn’t avoid him. I gripped my phone tightly and walked to the end of an empty corridor to dial that familiar number. The phone rang for a long time. Just when I thought no one would answer, the call connected. A strange, satisfied and lazy female voice came through: “Hello? Looking for Nathan? He’s in my bed right now… worn out and asleep. Do you need me to wake him?” Nathan, in her bed. Those words pierced my heart like needles laced with wolfsbane, densely packed. So I hadn’t been heartbroken about leaving him just now. It was his betrayal that brought me pain. Yet my voice was exceptionally steady: “No need. Thank you.” Without waiting for her response, I hung up directly. The phone screen darkened, reflecting my bloodless face. But less than two minutes later, the phone vibrated urgently again. I stared at Nathan’s name for a few seconds before swiping to answer. “Did you need something?” On the phone, his voice carried a businesslike coldness. But just last night, he’d been pressed against me, calling my name over and over. I gripped the contract tightly, my knuckles turning white: “Nathan, there’s a document that needs your signature.” Nathan made an acknowledging sound, then seemed to remember something and said: “Oh, and go back to the house later. Pack up all your things, she’s moving in. But I have an empty apartment in the western suburbs—you can move there. After all, I promised Liam I’d take care of you.” Four years ago, he drunkenly pulled me into bed and gave me the status of “bedmate.” Four years later, he’s giving me a place to live in the name of being a good friend. His thoughtful handling of the situation seemed both laughable and utterly meaningless. I smiled: “No need, Nathan. I can take care of myself.” Besides, once he released the mark on me, these absurd four years would all be over.

I kept my eyes open until dawn in my temporary lodging, yet I felt more clearheaded than any morning I’d woken up beside Nathan. I called a car to return to the villa I’d lived in for four years. The moment I pushed open the door, the searing pain in my chest nearly consumed me. My favorite cup from the coffee table had been thrown in the trash. On the sofa I’d carefully selected lay a woman’s underwear and dress. The white stains on the underwear made it clear what had happened last night. “Sophia likes it this way.” Nathan’s voice came from behind me. Seeing me look at him, a trace of distress crossed his face. “She came over yesterday and wasn’t happy seeing your things. She kept me up all night.” It wasn’t until he led me to the storage room that I understood what that sentence meant. In the corner, all my luggage was piled up like garbage. The jewelry Nathan had given me was shattered into pieces scattered on the floor. A pair of mugs we’d made together with our own hands lay smashed to bits. Nathan sighed. “They weren’t worth anything anyway. Throw them out. Whatever you need, I’ll buy you new ones.” Not worth anything? I looked at a password notebook on the floor, half-burned by fire. That was my diary. Ever since I came to Silvermoon Pack at 18, I’d recorded my feelings in that diary every day, hoping to show it to him someday after becoming his mate. But now, my heart was as destroyed as that burned heart I’d drawn in the diary. I silently threw all this garbage into the trash bin. Nathan’s brow furrowed instantly. But I smiled: “You’re right. Worthless things that get dirty or broken should be thrown away.” Including my foolish, ill-timed feelings. I no longer looked at his suddenly ugly expression, lowering my head to take out the contract I’d kept in my bag. “Nathan, please sign this…” Before I could finish, Nathan’s phone rang. Sophia’s voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet storage room. “Nathan, I’m trapped at Moonlight Bar by some bad guys. Come get me quick.” The emotion on Nathan’s face vanished instantly. Without even looking at the document in my hands, he signed his name directly at the signature line. “Leave on your own. Send me a message when you get there.” After Nathan drove away, I didn’t linger for a moment either. The villa was halfway up a mountain where I couldn’t get a ride, so I had to walk down alone. On the way, Liam messaged me saying he had some things to handle and asking me to wait one more day. I replied okay, then booked a hotel nearby. However, just as I reached the foot of the mountain, a figure suddenly rushed out from the shadows of the nearby trees, reeking of alcohol. It was clearly someone who’d drunk too much. Before I could react, he lunged at me. One hand roughly grabbed my shoulder while the other tried to cover my mouth. “Little beauty, all alone? Keep me company…” His strength was too much. I was knocked to the ground. His drunk body pressed down hard on me, his alcohol-stinking mouth trying to force itself on me. “Get off!” I drove my elbow hard into his ribs while simultaneously slamming my forehead into his nose. “Aaaah—!” He let out a scream, curling up while clutching himself. I quickly scrambled up, clutching the bag with the contract tightly. The drunk lifted his head, face covered in blood, looking at me with eyes full of disbelief and shock. “No… impossible… your wolf, Shadowblade’s Chloe, your wolf has been asleep for so long, hasn’t it? How could you… have this kind of strength?!” He stumbled to his feet and fled quickly. Only after his figure completely disappeared did I finally breathe a sigh of relief. My knees and elbows burned with pain—scrapes from struggling and falling earlier. He was right. My wolf had been in a deep sleep due to serious injuries for a long time, only recently beginning to awaken. But very few people knew about this. I didn’t know who told him, but my instinct told me it was related to Sophia. So I sent Sophia a message. [If there’s a next time, I’ll bite through your throat.]

After the contract took effect and the mate bond was severed, I felt an emptiness inside, but more than that, relief. After all, I would no longer feel pain when Nathan slept with someone else. Now I just needed to wait for Liam to come get me and take me home. But in the middle of the night, I received a message from Nathan: [Get to Moonlight Bar now!] He seemed very angry. Nathan was Silvermoon Pack’s Alpha after all. If I offended him, it wouldn’t be easy for me to leave here. After thinking it over, I decided to go see what this was about. When I walked into the bar’s private room, Sophia was draped over Nathan, sobbing with teary eyes while Nathan gently comforted her. Over the past four years when I suffered because my wolf was asleep, he’d only frowned and told me: as Alpha Liam’s sister, I shouldn’t be so fragile. But ridiculously, I had once completely agreed with that statement. I had no interest in watching their performance of this deep affection act, so I interrupted coldly: “Nathan, what did you need from me?” Nathan looked at me with an expression I’d never seen before, then questioned: “Why did you send a threatening message to Sophia?” I paused, then frowned slightly. “That’s not it, she was the one who sent people…” Before I could finish, Sophia turned to look at me and suddenly spoke. “You’re… Alpha Liam’s sister?” Immediately after, Sophia slapped me across the face. My ears rang and my cheek swelled rapidly. Nathan shot to his feet, shock in his voice. “Sophia, what are you doing?” But the woman’s eyes instantly reddened as she pointed at me and cried to Nathan: “Shadowblade Alpha’s sister! She’s the one who sent people to bully me, warning me to stay away from you! Those people said so themselves! You said you’d get justice for me! Or can’t you bear to punish her?” The air froze instantly. Nathan’s complex gaze flashed across me, then he gently pulled Sophia into his arms, helping wipe away her tears. His tone held some helplessness mixed with obvious indulgence. “I’m not reluctant. I just thought I should ask clearly first. After all, you’re the most important person to me.” A flash of triumph crossed Sophia’s face. She nestled into Nathan’s embrace and said coquettishly: “Then punish her, make her apologize to me!” Nathan’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, as if hesitating for a moment. Seeing this, Sophia pointed at the alcohol on the table: “Make her serve as my waitress!” Nathan looked at me and said coldly: “Chloe, come pour Sophia a drink!” I didn’t know what they were talking about and didn’t want to argue. I just wanted to leave here as quickly as possible. So I silently poured Sophia a drink and handed it to her. Sophia took the drink, sipped it, then suddenly clutched her chest and pointed at the glass, screaming: “Nathan! This drink… there’s poison in this drink! She’s trying to poison me!” Nathan’s expression changed drastically. He supported Sophia with one hand and pushed me back with the other: “Chloe! You dared to poison her?!” I fell to the ground, shards from the glass cutting my arm. Before I could explain, Nathan called his Beta James over. “Chloe dared to poison Sophia. Lock her up right now and don’t let her eat until we confirm Sophia is okay!” Beta James quickly glanced at my disheveled state and said cautiously: “But Alpha Liam has already contacted us…” Before Beta James could finish, Sophia suddenly cried out in pain. “Nathan, if you’re going to protect this person so much, then I’m leaving and never coming back!” Nathan’s pupils constricted. Ignoring whatever Beta James had said, he held Sophia tightly. “Sophia, don’t!” His ice-cold gaze cut into me like a knife, his aura almost murderous: “Chloe, if there’s a next time, get out! Even if Liam himself comes to beg, it won’t help!”

My wolf paced angrily in my mind, but I was leaving soon and didn’t want trouble. I suppressed her, my voice unusually calm: “Don’t worry, I won’t.” Nathan seemed unprepared for this answer. He clearly froze, then withdrew his power. He said nothing more, sweeping Sophia up in his arms. “Let’s go to the hospital.” His gaze swept over my blood-covered arm, his frown deepening. “You come too!” I followed silently. Not because I needed treatment, but because I wanted to figure out whether Sophia had actually been poisoned. Sitting in the back seat, Nathan messaged me: [I was too anxious earlier, but I’ve already lost Sophia once. I can’t lose her a second time.] [If you’re angry, I’ll make it up to you.] I looked at those words, then at Nathan in the front seat fussing over Sophia, and found it laughably absurd. He still hadn’t even noticed that the connection between us had been severed. I looked at my phone coldly and urged my brother to come get me. The next second, a friend request from my arranged marriage partner popped up on the screen. Mason… come to think of it, I’d met him once before. Taking a deep breath, I accepted. The car stopped at the hospital emergency entrance. Just as I pushed open the door, a car suddenly sped toward us from the side. Nathan almost instinctively pulled Sophia into his arms to protect her. I stumbled from the motion and fell into a nearby flower bed. When I got up, I saw Nathan rushing into the hospital with obvious concern, carrying Sophia whose hand had been scraped, even telling his Beta to get a specialist. “Miss, your arm is bleeding. You should get it bandaged quickly…” A stranger beside me handed me a clean handkerchief. I covered my wound, thanked them, and without hesitation walked to the roadside to hail a taxi. … Meanwhile, after Nathan settled Sophia, he remembered me, who’d also been injured. He got wound treatment ointment from a doctor and asked: “Where’s the other woman who came with me? Her name is Chloe. Which room is she in?” The doctor shook his head: “I’m sorry sir, we don’t have any patient registered under the name Chloe.” Nathan froze, his grip on the ointment tightening. He didn’t understand—where else could that woman have gone if not to the hospital, injured as she was? His phone rang. It was Liam. As soon as he answered, Liam’s furious roar burst through: “Nathan! Is this how you take care of my sister? You let her go back alone—do you know how dangerous that is?!” Nathan frowned, instinctively thinking I’d gone to Liam to tattle. His tone grew heavy with displeasure: “Is she with you? Put her on.” “Put her on my ass!” Liam glanced at me beside him, having arrived safely, his voice full of indignation: “If you want to make amends, Chloe’s getting married in two days. You’d better prepare a big gift!”

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On April Fools’ Day, my boyfriend said he wanted to propose to me in a haunted house. But the moment I stepped inside, he yanked out all the electrical switches and locked the door from the outside. The claustrophobia from my childhood kidnapping erupted. A suffocating sensation gripped my throat. I collapsed on the floor, pounding desperately on the door. “Oliver, open the door! I’m scared…” Then I heard a woman’s voice from outside, playful and sweet. “I can’t believe she actually fell for your nonsense about proposing in a haunted house on April Fools’ Day.” “You won this bet. I’m all yours tonight.” My blood ran cold. That voice belonged to Lily Carter, the streamer Oliver had been obsessively watching lately. So this was what ten years of friendship meant to him—a tool to win over another woman. But if I really died in that pitch-black haunted house, what was he crying about? My heart stopped beating. I lay on the cold floor, watching my soul leave my body. Outside the door, Oliver was still laughing carelessly. “Eve, you’re just too timid. Stay in there and toughen up a bit.” “Once you get over your fear, you can join Lily and me for all kinds of extreme sports.” I floated beside Oliver, tears streaming down my face. He had forgotten I had a heart condition. I could actually die. Lily turned on her livestream, pointing the camera at herself and Oliver, smiling as she greeted her fans. “This is today’s male guest.” “Lily bet him that if he could trick his girlfriend with a heart condition into a haunted house on April Fools’ Day…” “I’d be his for the day.” The comments flooded in with praise: “This guy’s got creativity!” “Are you two gonna put on an adult show tonight?” … Lily glanced shyly at Oliver and said coyly, “What are you all saying? This is just an April Fools’ challenge. If Lily loses, can she back out?” Oliver kissed her full on the lips. “No backing out.” I watched them kiss passionately. My heart had already stopped beating, yet it still ached uncontrollably. Half a month ago, both sets of parents urged us to get engaged. Oliver knelt at my feet, promising he’d give me a home soon. I had thought today would be the happiest day of my life. The boy next door I’d loved since childhood was proposing to me, with flowers, applause, and blessings… But what greeted me was his April Fools’ joke. Oliver glanced at the haunted house. He could no longer hear my bloodcurdling screams. He raised his eyebrows at Lily and gave her a thumbs up. “Your desensitization method really works. Eve isn’t scared anymore.” Lily lifted her chin proudly. “Of course. She’s probably already enjoying it, falling in love with the thrill of the haunted house.” The livestream chat started urging Lily to take them on a haunted house adventure. Oliver proactively took the phone and carefully adjusted the angle. As they moved forward, I was pulled along by an invisible force. I tried to go elsewhere, but the moment I drifted away, I was immediately pulled back to Oliver’s side. Oliver and Lily, fingers intertwined, pushed open another haunted house room. A bone-chilling scream suddenly rang out. I instinctively threw myself into Oliver’s arms, but passed through his body without resistance. I smiled bitterly. Right. I was already dead. What was there to be afraid of? I looked up and saw Oliver gently covering Lily’s eyes. “You don’t have to act tough today. I’ll protect you.” And I stood behind Oliver, watching him hold Lily’s hand tightly, carefully shielding her with his body. Once upon a time, he had protected me the same way.

Tears fell unconsciously. Oliver blocked all the staff’s scare tactics for Lily, leading her successfully out of the haunted house. Lily pulled her hand away from Oliver’s, pouting playfully. “Do you protect your girlfriend like this usually too?” I lowered my eyes and shook my head gently. Except for when Oliver and I were kidnapped as children. I covered his escape and got my leg broken, then was locked in a dark room. After I was rescued, he took care of me tirelessly. But in the seven years we’d been dating, he never protected me again. When I was sick, he went drinking with friends. When I had a car accident, he called to yell at me for being brainless. Even last year when I had heart transplant surgery with only a ten percent success rate—I was terrified I’d die without seeing him again, so I begged him to come be with me for the surgery. Oliver didn’t show up because he was celebrating his ex-girlfriend’s birthday. Hearing Oliver’s negative answer, Lily finally let him hold her hand again. The livestream audience didn’t want to watch them being lovey-dovey. More than half left quickly. Lily’s eyes lit up as she shook Oliver’s arm playfully. “I heard you and your girlfriend are getting ready to get engaged. How about showing me your wedding house?” I frantically spread my arms in front of Oliver. “No! That’s the house my dad renovated with his own hands!” Every brick, every coat of paint was infused with my father’s love for me. To create my dream wedding home, he developed severe back pain. His back hurt so badly he couldn’t straighten it. How dare Oliver let someone else trample on my father’s hard work? I desperately tried to stop him, but my body kept passing through Oliver. He drove Lily to the wedding house. The livestream viewer count doubled. “Oh my god, that’s so thrilling! Isn’t this basically bringing his mistress to his wedding house?” “What are you talking about? If he’s willing to bring Lily there, it means Lily is the woman he truly loves.” “Do you guys even understand what true love means?” Lily’s eyes curved into crescents as she turned to kiss Oliver’s cheek. “Right? The one who’s not loved is the real mistress.” “Don’t be jealous, everyone.” I trembled with rage, wishing I could grab the steering wheel and kill this shameless pair. But I couldn’t. I could only helplessly watch Oliver open the door to our wedding house. Lily excitedly held up the camera and rushed into the living room. She ran her hands over the exquisite table and lay on the soft sofa. “It’s so beautiful.” Dad had specially installed a projector in the ceiling. When turned on, it would automatically project a starry sky onto the walls. I threw myself at Oliver, begging him to throw Lily out. “Get out! You’re not welcome here!” A crisp shattering sound pierced my eardrums. I whipped around. Lily stuck out her tongue playfully, pointing at the ceramic shards on the floor. “Sorry, I bumped into it accidentally.” My mind went blank. I knelt down, my fingers trembling as I tried to piece together the broken ceramic doll. Mom had made it with Dad and me the day before she died. She said the ceramic doll would stay with me forever in her place. Tears flooded out like a broken dam. I clutched the fragments and sobbed uncontrollably. Oliver glanced carelessly at the shards on the floor and swept all the pieces into the trash without a second thought. “No.” But he couldn’t hear me. Even if he could, he wouldn’t feel sorry for me. I sat paralyzed on the floor, my eyes empty, wishing I could vanish immediately and find Mom to apologize. I hadn’t protected what she left for me… The next second, an urgent phone ringtone rang out.

Oliver looked at the lit phone screen, his spine stiffening. He gestured for Lily to turn off the sound before answering. “Mom, what’s wrong?” His mother’s anxious voice came through the speaker. “Oliver, where did you and Eve go?” “Her father just called me. He said her monitoring watch sent out a distress alert.” I moved close to the speaker, screaming with all my strength. “Mrs. Bennett, Oliver locked me in the haunted house.” “Please come save me. I’m so scared…” Oliver seemed to sense something and looked in my direction, frowning deeply. His fingers were white from gripping so hard. He tried to keep his voice calm. “Mom, Eve is with me on a date.” “Tell Mr. Harper not to worry. I’ll definitely take good care of her.” My heart felt like it had been torn open, leaving a bloody wound. I grabbed Oliver’s collar, crying as I demanded through blurred tears. “Why are you lying? Tell them the truth!” “My dad will worry. He only has me…” Mrs. Bennett was about to say something more when Lily coquettishly hooked her arm around Oliver’s neck, breathing suggestively. “You’re my boyfriend today. If you mention another woman again, I might get jealous.” Oliver hung up without hesitation. I saw the livestream flood with viewers. They all commented, “So thrilling!” “Lily is like a celebrity, so seductive.” “Lily, please teach a class. I want to change boyfriends every day too!” Even though Oliver hung up, his heart felt inexplicably uncomfortable. He gently patted Lily’s bottom and tried to call me. “Be good. Let me call Eve first to make sure she’s okay.” “Her health really isn’t good. I’m worried…” The phone only rang once before Lily pouted and snatched it, turning it off. “No calling. You’re mine today.” “Besides, doesn’t she have hands? If she’s not feeling well, can’t she call an ambulance herself? Why does she have to bother someone else’s boyfriend?” Lily spoke self-righteously while sharing relationship advice with her livestream audience. “Ladies, getting sick and bothering someone else’s boyfriend instead of finding a doctor—that’s textbook manipulation! If you encounter this situation, just have your boyfriend turn off his phone and ignore her.” I floated in mid-air, sneering contemptuously. Last week, I had a sudden bout of gastroenteritis. Oliver panicked and rushed me to the hospital. Halfway there, Lily suddenly sent him a message. “Oliver, I accidentally cut my finger. It hurts so much…” A photo followed immediately. Lily’s fingers were slender and fair, but without a trace of any wound. Oliver slammed on the brakes and dumped me on the roadside. He frowned anxiously and turned the car around. “Lily cut her hand. I need to go buy her bandages first.” “Go to the hospital yourself. You’re used to it after all these years anyway. But Lily is different. She’s struggling here alone. She needs me right now.” At 3 a.m., I couldn’t get a cab at all. I eventually passed out on the roadside. I don’t know how long it was before a stranger sent me to the hospital. My mild gastroenteritis turned into severe gastric perforation. When I woke up, I cried and asked Oliver if he didn’t love me anymore. But he knelt before me, swearing he would never abandon me again. In his heart, I was always in last place. But now, I truly didn’t care anymore. I only worried about Dad—how sad and guilty he would be when he learned of my death.

After this, the livestream audience urged Lily to show them the master bedroom. Oliver hesitated but still couldn’t resist the girl’s pleading. He pushed open the door. An exquisite Chinese-style wedding dress came into view. The livestream exploded instantly. “Oh my god, that’s so beautiful.” “The phoenix on that Chinese wedding dress looks alive.” Greed flashed in Lily’s eyes. She zoomed in the camera and ran her fingers over the dense needlework. I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Don’t touch it with your filthy hands!” This Chinese wedding dress was passed down through our family. Grandma gave it to Mom, and Mom gave it to me. She said I would be the most beautiful bride when I wore it. I bit the inside of my mouth until it bled, but I could only tremble helplessly. Right now, I was just a soul. I couldn’t touch anything. I couldn’t do anything. Lily couldn’t take her hands off the wedding dress. She even took it directly off the hanger. The livestream started egging her on. “Just have Lily try it on and perform a wedding ceremony with her boyfriend.” “I want to see it! I bet Lily would look absolutely stunning in it.” Lily laughed shyly and threw Oliver a flirtatious glance. “But it’s not mine. How could I just take someone else’s things?” Oliver stared at the exquisite wedding dress. Eve’s smiling face suddenly flashed through his mind. Eve had said just days ago that on their wedding day, she wanted him to personally help her into this Chinese wedding dress. She wanted to become his beautiful bride, carrying her family’s blessings. Oliver’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He grabbed Lily’s hand. “You can’t wear it. She’ll be angry.” Lily froze. She never expected Oliver would refuse her. The livestream erupted in complaints. “What’s wrong with just letting Lily try it on?” “Right? We’re just looking. Nobody else will know.” Lily’s eyes reddened with grievance. Her tears splashed onto Oliver’s hand as she bit her lower lip pitifully. “Oliver, I’ve never seen such a beautiful Chinese wedding dress…” “Don’t you like me? Don’t you want to marry me?” She pushed Oliver down onto the bed and stripped off her clothes. Acid churned in my stomach. I leaned over the bed and retched. I had chosen this bed. I had washed the sheets myself. I thought Oliver and I would sleep together in each other’s arms on this bed. But now, he kissed Lily passionately and pressed her beneath him. The livestream kept sending gifts, urging them on. “Put on the wedding dress! Put on the wedding dress!” “We want to see adult content!” Oliver personally helped Lily into the Chinese wedding dress. His hands roamed across the girl’s back, then pressed down on her nape and kissed her deeply. Tears streamed down my face. I smiled mockingly. He betrayed every promise he made to me. He destroyed everything I cherished. Oliver, I truly regret ever loving you. Oliver held Lily’s hand as they bowed to heaven and earth, then drank from the ceremonial cups. They went through the entire wedding ceremony. Amid the crowd’s cheers, Oliver swept Lily into his arms and placed her on the master bedroom bed. Lily glanced at the photo of Oliver and me on the nightstand and smiled provocatively. As if to say she had won. Any man would fall at her feet. My nails dug deep into my palms. I turned away, trying hard to ignore the sounds beside my ear. Just as they were about to take the next step, the bedroom door was suddenly kicked open. Mrs. Bennett appeared in view. When she saw the naked man and woman on the bed, her face went deathly pale. She rushed past me and slapped Oliver’s head to the side with a vicious strike. “You bastard! Do you know Eve is in trouble?”

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While doing an MRI for a female influencer, I discovered she had a battery-powered sex toy inside her body. Out of my responsibility as a doctor, I kindly warned her. Instead, she slapped me across the face and tearfully told her rich fiancé that I tried to sexually harass her under the guise of examination. Her fiancé flew into a rage and smashed my skull with a fire extinguisher. Not only that, she posted about it online, painting me as a perverted doctor that everyone wanted dead. My wife couldn’t bear the cyberbullying and jumped from the nineteenth floor. My daughter became an orphan. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn—back to the day I performed her MRI. This time, I chose to respect her suicidal fate. “What are you staring at? Never seen a beautiful woman before?” “Hurry up with the scan! I have a product livestream this afternoon!” The shrill female voice pierced my eardrums painfully. I snapped back to reality, breaking out in a cold sweat. Sitting before me was the female influencer who had destroyed me in my past life—Leilah. Right now, she had her arms crossed, her face full of contempt. I instinctively touched the back of my head. The tragedy from my past life felt like it happened just yesterday. Her muscle-bound rich fiancé Ricardo had grabbed a red fire extinguisher and smashed it viciously into my head. “This is what you get for being a pervert!” Ricardo’s furious roar and Leilah’s gleeful cold laughter were the last sounds I heard in my previous life. After I died miserably, Leilah started a livestream online. She cried pitifully, accusing me of not only forcibly pulling down her underwear but also making lewd comments about her private parts. The internet exploded with rage. [Doctors nowadays are so disgusting! Beasts in white coats!] [He must be severely punished! Death is too good for him!] [Protect Leilah! Boycott this hospital!] My name stayed on the trending topics for an entire week. To calm the public outcry, the hospital threw all the blame on me, a dead man. My wife couldn’t bear the cyberbullying and jumped from the hospital’s top floor. And my father, who had worked hard his entire life, had people come to his door cursing him and throwing feces at him. In despair, he drank a bottle of pesticide and died in unspeakable agony. Remembering all this, overwhelming hatred surged in my chest. “Hey! Are you deaf or what?!” Leilah waved her hand forcefully in front of my face and rolled her eyes. “What’s wrong with you bottom-tier doctors? Is your brain damaged? Stop spacing out!” I took a deep breath and forced down my emotions. “Sorry, Ms. Leilah, right? You’re here for a pelvic MRI.” I picked up the metal detector and began scanning her. The moment I scanned her pelvic area— Beep beep beep!!! The detector blared its alarm, red lights flashing wildly. Leilah’s expression flickered, but she quickly forced herself to look calm. “Why’s it beeping? This machine must be broken!” I stared at her coldly. “Ms. Leilah, MRI scans prohibit any ferromagnetic or conductive metal objects.” “Do you have any metal implants in your body? Such as an IUD, bone pins, or… anything else?”

In my past life, this was when I said a few extra words. Having worked in the imaging department for years, I knew this detector’s reaction definitely wasn’t from an ordinary IUD or bone pin. It was clearly from a metal object with a battery and motor. Combined with her slightly odd walking posture when she entered—legs pressed together—and the unnatural flush on her face. I immediately deduced that she had a remote-controlled vibrating toy inside her body. My duty as a doctor wouldn’t let me ignore it. Because the magnetic field inside an MRI chamber is sixty thousand times stronger than Earth’s magnetic field! This meant any magnetic metal entering the chamber would not only turn into a high-speed flying bullet. If the metal was inside the body, it would experience violent displacement from the powerful magnetic pull. At the same time, the magnetic field would cause eddy currents inside the metal, instantly generating temperatures of several hundred degrees. If that thing stayed inside her during the MRI, her intestines and reproductive organs would be instantly cooked and torn apart! In my past life, my well-meaning warning had cost me everything. This life, looking at Leilah’s face—beautifully made up but unable to hide her bitter, mean nature—I only felt cold amusement. Hearing my question, Leilah’s eyes darted away. She instinctively pressed her legs together, then yelled viciously: “What ‘anything else’! Why do you talk so offensively?” “What could I possibly have inside me? This is a titanium alloy bone pin from a minimally invasive surgery two years ago!” “I already asked other doctors—titanium alloy isn’t affected by MRI at all!” “You’re just a radiologist. Do you even have basic medical knowledge? Don’t make a scene here when you don’t know what you’re talking about!” She jabbed her finger at my nose as she scolded me. True, having titanium alloy in your body allows you to get an MRI, because it’s not ferromagnetic. But the detector’s current reaction was definitely not something as simple as titanium alloy. She was lying. But I didn’t refute her at all. I simply nodded obediently. “If it’s a titanium alloy bone pin, then you can certainly proceed.” Leilah snorted coldly, looking smug. “At least you’re not completely blind.” I turned and walked to the control desk, taking out a legally binding “Examination Informed Consent Form” from the drawer. I picked up a pen and heavily circled several key sections. Then I walked to a position directly under the surveillance camera. “Ms. Leilah, although you say it’s titanium alloy, for your safety and per hospital regulations.” “Please confirm once more that you have no ferromagnetic metals, electronic devices, batteries, or non-medical metal objects on or inside your body.” “If you confirm you don’t, please sign here and add your fingerprint.” I handed her the form and ink pad. Leilah didn’t even look at it. She snatched the pen. “So annoying! Such a hassle! Your crappy hospital is so difficult!” “What else could I possibly have on me? Ridiculous!” She scrawled her name on the form, then pressed down hard with her fingerprint. She slapped the form on my desk. “Done! Hurry up and scan me! My husband keeps calling me!” I picked up the signed consent form and carefully verified it. Black and white, with a red fingerprint. This was her death warrant, and also my shield. “Alright, Ms. Leilah.” “Please follow me and lie down on the examination table.” I opened the heavy shielded door and made a “please” gesture. Leilah twisted her snake-like waist and strode into the room that would soon become her hell.

She lay on the examination table, still acting like she owned the place. “Hurry up, this bed is hard as a rock and freezing cold.” “Make sure you get good images. If there’s a misdiagnosis, I won’t let your hospital off easy.” I put on sterile gloves and helped position her body correctly. “Don’t worry, Ms. Leilah. We’ll make sure everything is crystal clear.” I exited the scanning room. As the heavy door closed, the inside and outside became two separate worlds. I returned to the control console, watching Leilah on the monitor. She was staring boredly at the ceiling, her legs trembling slightly and unnaturally. The thing inside her body was probably making her somewhat uncomfortable. Now I could probably guess why she deliberately provoked Ricardo in my past life to have him kill me. Because influencers like her, who built their careers on risqué content, often had sugar daddies behind the scenes. That Ricardo was just one of many men she’d seduced. The toy inside her was most likely something her sugar daddy made her wear for thrills. Framing me to silence me was to prevent me from telling Ricardo. In my past life, she destroyed my entire life just to hide her affair. So this life, I’ll give her all the thrills she wants. I skillfully entered her information on the computer and set the parameters. My finger hovered over the “Start” button. I turned to look at my colleague behind me, intern Diego. “Diego, you saw this patient sign the informed consent form, right?” Diego, who’d been slacking off on his phone, stopped and nodded. “Yeah, I saw it. She signed and fingerprinted it herself. But man, her attitude was really terrible.” Surveillance, witness, handwritten signature and fingerprint. This time, flawless. I took a deep breath and pressed the keyboard. “Beep—hummm—” Accompanied by the dull roar of the machine, the examination table slowly sent Leilah into the chamber. One second, two seconds, three seconds. “AHHHHHHH!!!!!” An extremely piercing scream instantly penetrated the shielded door and exploded in the control room. The sound was filled with absolute terror and indescribable pain. Diego was so startled his whole body shook, and his phone clattered to the floor. “What’s happening?!” On the monitor, Leilah, who had been lying flat, suddenly arched her entire body upward like a live fish thrown into a hot wok! Her hands desperately pressed against her lower abdomen, her legs kicking wildly. “Help! Help me! My stomach! My stomach is tearing apart!!” Even the machine’s thunderous roar couldn’t drown out her heart-wrenching screams. The instrument’s powerful magnetic field had instantly captured the metal vibrating egg inside her. That small metal object, under the magnetic pull, instantly became a bullet trying to break through her body. It twisted, rotated, and tore uncontrollably through her soft intestines and pelvic tissues! Not only that, the metal shell and internal battery were rapidly heating up under the alternating magnetic field. I didn’t even need to watch the screen to imagine that horrifying sensation of flesh being torn apart while simultaneously being seared by a red-hot iron. “Ahh!!! Stop it! Stop! There’s something inside! Something!!” Leilah rolled frantically inside the chamber. Due to the confined space, her head slammed hard against the inner wall of the machine, drawing blood. The intense pain completely broke her. She wailed miserably while desperately pounding on the machine. “I’m dying! Help me!!” Diego’s face turned deathly pale as he stammered, “Quick… quick, hit the emergency stop button!” I pretended to be frozen in shock, deliberately staying still for a few extra seconds. Then I finally reached out and pressed the stop button. The machine’s roar came to an abrupt halt. The examination table slowly withdrew Leilah from that massive cylinder.

The shielded door opened. A strong smell of blood mixed with an indescribable burnt odor hit me in the face. Leilah was curled up on the examination table. Her hands desperately covered her lower body. The hospital gown pants were soaked with large patches of fresh blood. Blood dripped from the edge of the examination table, “drip, drip, drip,” onto the floor—a horrifying sight. “Save… save me… it hurts so much…” Her face was deathly pale, cold sweat plastering her hair to her forehead. Her once-delicate makeup was now smeared into a mess, making her look like a ghost. Seeing me enter, she reached out her trembling hand toward me like grabbing a lifeline. “Doctor… stop it… take it out… it’s so hot…” Looking at her, I felt not a trace of sympathy. “Ms. Leilah, didn’t you just say you only had a titanium alloy bone pin inside?” “Titanium alloy doesn’t react in a magnetic field. What exactly did you hide in your body?!” I demanded loudly, my voice loud enough for people in the hallway outside to hear. Leilah was in so much pain her eyes rolled back, her whole body convulsing. “It’s a toy… with a battery… please save me… I’m begging you…” She finally admitted it, but it was all too late. Just then, chaotic footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. A tall, designer-clad man burst in. It was Leilah’s fiancé, Ricardo. The murderer who killed me with a fire extinguisher in my past life. “Leilah! What happened?! I heard you screaming!” Ricardo rushed into the examination room. When he saw the blood-soaked bed and his fiancée writhing in pain, he was completely stunned. “What the hell! What the hell is going on?!” He spun around, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes, and grabbed me by the collar of my white coat. “What the fuck did you do to my wife?! How does a simple scan cause massive bleeding?!” The fear from my past life made me instinctively want to shrink back. But then I knocked his hand away. “See clearly where you are! This is an MRI room!” “Your fiancée concealed her medical history from the doctor and had a battery-powered sex toy stuffed inside her!” “You ask what I did? You should ask her what she was doing coming for an examination in broad daylight with that thing inside her?!” My voice rang out clearly. Not only was Ricardo stunned, but the onlookers and nurses who came to help were all shocked. The entire hallway fell into instant silence. Everyone’s eyes fell on Leilah’s blood-soaked lower body. Ricardo’s face turned from blue to white. He looked at Leilah on the bed in disbelief. “Leilah… is… is what he said true? You had… something inside you?” Leilah was already in so much pain she was about to pass out. She had no strength left to refute. She just desperately shook her head, tears mixing with cold sweat streaming down. “Ricardo… save me… it hurts so much… my intestines are breaking…” Ricardo might be a brute, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d never made her wear any battery-powered toys. And she was here for a medical exam today! He felt publicly cuckolded. The humiliation made him explode with rage. “You slut! What the hell have you been doing behind my back?” Ricardo rushed forward. Instead of comforting her, he viciously slapped Leilah across the face. “Smack!” The crisp slap echoed through the examination room. “Enough! This is a hospital! If you want to fight, go outside!” I shouted coldly, then turned and yelled, “Get her to the operating room now! Notify the ER and general surgery! Immediate surgery needed!” “Patient has a foreign object in her pelvic cavity, possible intestinal perforation and uterine rupture, massive hemorrhaging!”

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The day before my wedding, my company went bankrupt. Before I even made it home, I received photos of my fiancée Tillman in bed with her uncle Harvey—cheating on me in my own bedroom. I immediately made a FaceTime call. “Did Harvey go bankrupt too? So broke you can only have your affair in my bedroom? Couldn’t afford a hotel?” Tillman covered the red marks on her chest and said impatiently: “You and I are just a business arrangement. I’m giving Harvey a massage—don’t get in the way!” Harvey wore my bathrobe, his mocking laughter particularly grating. “Does he still think he’s some CEO?” I almost laughed in anger and posted the wedding venue location on Ins. “Looking for a new bride. Anyone interested?” On the wedding day, Tillman called me 33 times: “Steve, where did you run off to? My whole family is waiting for you to pick me up!” I looked at the row of heiress daughters in front of me, all wearing haute couture wedding gowns. “I’m getting married. Don’t get in the way!”

“Steve, don’t think you can pressure me with Grandpa Phillips. Sure, he arranged our engagement, but how many years does he have left anyway?” On the video call, Tillman’s fingertips traced across the large water stains on the red sheets as she spoke lazily. Harvey deliberately exposed the scratch marks on his chest and laughed mockingly. “Phillips has terrible judgment. Steve’s already bankrupt and still putting on airs. Tillman’s still willing to marry him—he should be grateful.” A ball of fire burned in my chest. I gripped my phone tightly: “Tillman, you were the one who came to me with that marriage contract begging for help for your family.” “Now you don’t want to get married—fine, there are a hundred ways to do it, but you chose the most disgusting one!” Tillman wrapped her arms around Harvey’s neck, laughing so hard she doubled over. “Who said I don’t want to marry you? If I didn’t marry you, how could I get revenge? I can’t marry the love of my life Harvey anyway, so marrying you is perfect for venting my anger!” My heart sank. “Tillman, you’re going to regret this!” Harvey spat at me arrogantly. “Still daring to threaten Tillman? Can’t read the situation at all. From now on, you’ll be the one on your knees begging my family.” Tillman nodded in agreement, lifting her chin at me. “Bring back a box of condoms. Got it?” With that, she hung up decisively. I slammed my fist into the steering wheel. Did she really think I had no choice but her? Even without SSS Group, there were still plenty of women who wanted to marry me. I pulled out my phone and posted the wedding venue on Ins. “Looking for a new bride. Who’s interested?” As soon as I opened the car door, I ran into Tillman’s parents, their faces dark. “SSS Group is about to collapse, and instead of being busy at the company, you’re wandering around here doing what?” “Don’t even think about getting back those millions you invested in Phillips Group. It’s all clearly stated in the contract.” Tillman’s mother Judy looked at me with complete wariness, a far cry from when she used to call me her good son-in-law. I laughed coldly and handed over my phone. “What am I doing? Catching cheaters.” Seeing the photo of Harvey and Tillman lying in the same bed, their expressions instantly turned awkward. Although Harvey was only adopted by the Phillips family and had no blood relation to Tillman. Judy was the first to react, blocking my path. “Just lying in the same bed doesn’t mean anything. It’s all because you have no charm—otherwise why would Tillman still be entangled with Harvey?” Tillman’s father Marcus handed me a still-warm prenuptial agreement, saying shamelessly: “Steve, if you hadn’t made poor decisions and gone bankrupt, Tillman wouldn’t be like this.” “But our family keeps our word. The wedding won’t change, but you need to sign the prenuptial property agreement.” I stared at their calculating faces and flung the prenuptial agreement into the air. Papers scattered down. “A month ago, when SSS Group’s legal team suggested signing a prenuptial agreement, you two made every excuse to refuse.” “Get out of my way! I’m done being your son-in-law.” Marcus pulled back Judy who was blocking me, his expression dark. “Let him go!” “If he doesn’t want SSS Group to collapse even faster, he should understand—right now he needs this marriage alliance more than we do.” Hearing this, Judy gained confidence and snorted coldly. My steps paused slightly. These past few years, for Tillman’s sake, I’d been too nice to them. They’d long forgotten that without that marriage contract, they wouldn’t even have a chance to meet me!

At my doorstep, the beach wedding photos Tillman and I had taken in the Maldives last month lay on the ground, my face in the photo marked with several shoe prints. Voices came from inside the house. “Tillman, he’s not even worthy of carrying your shoes now. Even after you marry him, don’t let him touch you.” “Of course not. I’ve been saving myself for you all along.” My temples throbbed. We’d been together for three years, and Tillman had always played the innocent role. She said she was a traditional woman, and that sort of thing had to wait until the wedding night. Yet here she was, playing quite wildly with Harvey in my wedding suite. I pressed my thumb on the touchscreen, but the door didn’t open. The password had been changed. I pulled out my phone and called the police directly. “Hello, I need to report a crime. There are people in my house engaged in illegal trespassing and prostitution services.” I gave the operator my exact location, word by word. As soon as I hung up, messages popped up from Tillman’s bridesmaids group chat. They were fawning over a series of intimate photos Harvey had posted. Then came a string of messages @-ing me. “The day before the wedding still counts as being single. It’s not like Tillman’s messing around with someone else—she’s just comforting Harvey. Don’t take it to heart.” Someone forwarded news of SSS Group’s bankruptcy to the group. “He’s just a bankrupt old man who doesn’t deserve Tillman at all. She’s still staying loyal—he should cherish that!” “By the way, bachelorette party tonight!” I gripped my phone, trembling with anger. Back when I was trying to please Tillman, when they were shopping sprees with my black card, they sure didn’t act like this. At that moment, Harvey sent a voice message, his tone extremely arrogant. “Steve, stop pretending. If you really cared about Tillman, you would’ve called off the engagement yourself after going bankrupt. The only reason you’re not breaking it off is because you’re greedy for the Phillips family’s power.” The bridesmaids all cheered in approval. Tillman also sent a voice message, her tone brazen. “I know you can’t bear to let go of my family’s wealth. That floor where my office is needs cleaning—from now on, you can come work at Phillips Group and clean toilets for me.” The Phillips family wealth? What wealth from a family that had always relied on my support? A month ago, when SSS Group was in turmoil, I had assured Tillman it wouldn’t affect our future quality of life at all. Because at that time, the butler of New Jersey’s richest man, Johnny, had found me with a DNA test report. I wasn’t sure what Johnny’s attitude toward me would be, so I hadn’t revealed everything. But she hadn’t listened to a word I said… As I threw that wedding photo into the apartment complex’s dumpster, the wail of police sirens reached the complex. Even as they were dragged downstairs by police and property security guards, disheveled and half-dressed, Tillman was still shrieking: “How dare you touch me! I’m the heir to the Phillips family!” Downstairs, the previously unshakeable Marcus and Judy’s expressions changed as they rushed up to explain for the two. Tillman’s friends who had just arrived for the bachelorette party looked extremely shocked. I raised my phone and captured this wonderful scene. My phone buzzed with a new message. Shakira: I’ll marry you. I was somewhat surprised. Last week, when I went to New Jersey to meet my birth family at Johnny’s house, this woman had suddenly given me a hard time, scaring me into returning to Atlanta overnight. Later, when she learned I was getting married soon, she seemed relieved and flew over on a private jet early in the morning to apologize and congratulate me. I typed suspiciously: Shakira, can you mess with someone else, please? Almost instantly, she sent over a share transfer agreement. “I’m serious. Look, I bought all the shares of SSS Group.” My jaw dropped. I wasn’t even planning to keep the empty shell of SSS Group. Anyone with eyes could see these were junk stocks. She was truly foolish enough. But how could the heir to the Tony family, which rivaled the Johnny family, be a fool? I gradually believed she was serious. “Come to the wedding venue tomorrow. We’ll get married.” As soon as I sent the message, a hand slapped my phone away. The phone hit the ground, the screen shattering into pieces. “Steve, are you sick? You actually called the cops on me!” Tillman glared at me furiously, her chest heaving violently.

Harvey looked at me with venomous eyes. “Tillman, don’t get upset.” “He has no money or power anymore. This is the only way he can force you to come back.” I looked up at him and suddenly noticed the new watch on his wrist looked very familiar. It was the family heirloom watch that Johnny had given me when I met my birth family. I laughed coldly. “Harvey, you talk down about me constantly, but why do you have to steal even a watch from me?” Harvey choked. But in Tillman’s eyes, this scene only made her feel sorry for him. “Harvey, I won’t let him bully you.” She turned, her fury directed at me: “Which watch of yours haven’t I seen? You’re bankrupt—stop trying to make yourself look good!” “Now, apologize to Harvey immediately!” Her bridesmaids held up their phones filming me, their faces full of contempt. “Tillman’s already giving you a way out—hurry up and take it!” “This guy becomes so troublesome when he turns into a pauper. Only Tillman is beautiful and kind-hearted enough to still honor the engagement with you.” “Steve, kneel down and apologize to Harvey!” I looked at Tillman, my eyes ice cold. Three years ago, when the Phillips family was on the verge of bankruptcy, she came to me with a marriage contract. Considering the old generation’s friendship, I had helped her family. She had tearfully sworn to me that she would never betray me in this lifetime. During our three years together, I had never stopped supporting Phillips Group. In the past, forget about just one of my watches—even the outfits I wore to various events were all personally coordinated by her. But a month ago, when Harvey returned from abroad, she changed. She started frequently not coming home because of Harvey. I thought they were just close, but I never imagined they’d end up in the same bed. “Me apologize? Ridiculous.” “You don’t understand the value of this watch or what it represents.” “The police just left, but they can come back. I’ll have them determine whether he’s a thief or not.” I bent down to pick up my phone from the ground. Tillman kicked it away. “I know you resent that I fell in love with Harvey.” “But Harvey is innocent. I won’t allow you to slander Harvey as a thief!” With that, she raised her hand to slap my face. I grabbed her wrist and backhanded her with a slap. “Tillman, if you want to debase yourself, don’t drag me into it.” The crisp “smack” shocked everyone. Tillman froze for a second, covering her face in disbelief: “You… you dare hit me?” “For what you’ve done, don’t you deserve to be hit?” I knew what she was thinking. I had promised I would protect her for life. But she was the one who broke that vow first. She tried to rush at me again, but when she met my icy gaze, she stopped dead in her tracks. Since I mentioned the watch’s extraordinary value, Harvey had been continuously fidgeting with it. He grabbed Tillman’s hand, indignant with righteousness: “Tillman, his brain’s been damaged since going bankrupt. He’s insisting my watch is his. I won’t hold it against him.” “But he dared to lay hands on you today—you can’t marry a domestic abuser! Three years ago, this is exactly how he schemed against our family!” I laughed coldly: “My unconditional investment of millions is called scheming against your family?” Tillman paused but still raised her chin. “Isn’t it? When you invested in our family, weren’t you betting that we’d make a comeback and become industry leaders?” I looked at her in shock. Tillman and Harvey held hands even tighter. She stared at me. “Steve, I don’t care that you’ve been using me all these years, but I absolutely won’t let Harvey suffer even the slightest grievance.” “If you won’t apologize, our wedding is off!” At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I was using her? She actually had the nerve to say that. The Phillips family—these ungrateful wolves—belonged in the trash. My gaze swept over Tillman and Harvey who was putting on quite a performance beside her. “Cancel it then. I don’t want to marry you anyway.” Tillman froze, probably not expecting me to agree so readily. She wanted to say something, but was interrupted by a shout. “No! The engagement can’t be cancelled.” Marcus and Judy, having just seen off the police, returned and grabbed Tillman’s arm excitedly. “SSS Group’s plummeting stock has started rising!”

Harvey snatched the phone, his expression looking like he’d eaten shit. I immediately understood—it was because of Shakira acquiring SSS Group shares. Tillman also glanced at the phone, her eyes widening, but stubbornly said: “It’s just showing an upward trend. It’s been falling for a whole month.” Watching the stock continue to climb, Marcus and Judy panicked, desperately giving her meaningful looks. Tillman bit her lip, her expression changing repeatedly, then forced out a smile for me. “Alright, Steve, I was just joking with you.” “Those photos were just me and Harvey fooling around. Don’t be angry.” She playfully scolded me and reached out to grab my arm. “You had a backup plan for SSS Group all along. Why didn’t you say so earlier?” I coldly avoided her. Tillman’s smile froze. Harvey’s expression also changed. He put on an innocent smile. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m an elder—how could there be anything real between Tillman and me?” Afraid I wouldn’t believe him, he took off the watch and offered it to me like a treasure. “If Steve likes this watch of mine, I’ll give it to you.” I almost laughed at his shamelessness. “Steal my watch and then give it back to me? Are you even speaking human language?” Harvey’s hand froze in mid-air. Tillman’s anger flared up again. “Enough!” “I haven’t even blamed you, and you’re still calling Harvey a thief!” Tillman’s bridesmaids pointed and gossiped about me. “Harvey is so magnanimous, unlike someone whose true colors show after going bankrupt!” “The stock stopped moving anyway. Don’t get cocky.” Hearing this, Harvey shot me a venomous look and viciously smashed the watch on the ground. “Oops, my hand slipped.” “This was a gift Johnny gave me!” My eyes blazed with fury. I instinctively moved to pick it up, but Tillman’s stiletto heel stomped down on it. She gritted her teeth, seeming very annoyed about the stock’s brief rise, and announced the cancellation of our engagement on Twitter right then and there. “Steve, unless you kneel and apologize, don’t even think about marrying me!” I stared at the shattered watch, stunned for a full two seconds. When I raised my head again, my eyes were ice cold. “I already told you—I’m not planning to marry you. Also, you’re all dead.” With that, I strode away, ignoring the mockery behind me. “Hilarious, running away with his tail between his legs.” “Just wait and see. Tomorrow he’ll be on his knees begging to marry Tillman.” The next day, at the wedding venue. Johnny sent a message saying he’d prepared a surprise for me. I didn’t think much of it until Johnny’s butler helped me push open the church doors. In an instant, a row of brides looked at me with shining eyes. The butler whispered in my ear, “Mr. Johnny knows about you and Tillman breaking off the engagement. He spread the word that you’re looking for a new bride.” “Rest assured, these young ladies all volunteered to marry you. You can choose one for a marriage alliance.” “A surprise? This is a shock!” I steeled myself and searched for Shakira but couldn’t find her. “Also, Johnny didn’t need to go to all this trouble. The one I want to marry is Shakira.” The butler opened his mouth somewhat awkwardly. “So you already knew about the childhood engagement between you and Miss Shakira, but everyone knows Miss Shakira swore never to marry because of her lifesaver.” “Never to marry?” Shakira had agreed so readily yesterday—was she playing me? In my uncertainty, I accidentally answered Tillman’s call that had been ringing non-stop. I held the phone away from my ear. Angry shouting came from the other end. “Steve, what are you trying to do by not coming to pick me up? My whole family is waiting for you!” Harvey fanned the flames on the side. “Tillman, if this bastard really doesn’t want to marry, he should cancel the wedding. But I heard all the notable people in the city were invited.” Tillman sneered. “Steve, I’m waiting for you to beg me.” My gaze swept over the row of heiress daughters in haute couture wedding gowns, and I smirked. “Tillman, who said you were my bride?” I hung up the phone. When Tillman arrived at the wedding venue with her entourage, ready to demand an explanation, she found rows upon rows of luxury cars with New Jersey license plates parked on the lawn. The bride who stepped out of the last luxury car glanced at her disdainfully. “Another one. What poor family’s daughter is this? If you want to marry Harvey, get in line at the back!”

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On the first day of school, my daughter was punished for taking a sip of water in class. The teacher ordered her to buy snacks for the entire school for a whole year. My daughter was terrified, crying hysterically and apologizing desperately. But Miller wouldn’t let it go. She threw my daughter’s water bottle on the floor and jabbed her finger at my daughter’s nose, scolding her: “How dare you sneak food in my class? I don’t care what your excuse is. In my classroom, you follow my rules.” “Since this is your first offense, I’ll just punish you by making you buy snacks for the whole school for one year.” But when I actually delivered the items to the whole school, she fell to her knees begging me to take back the punishment. I smirked. “A year is a year. There are still 364 days left. Not one day less.” “Buy snacks for the entire school for a whole year?” I cried out in disbelief. Even if my daughter had actually broken some rule, the punishment shouldn’t be this extreme. And all she did was take a sip of water in class. Seeing my reaction, my daughter nervously clutched the corner of her shirt, her eyes brimming with helplessness and fear. Noticing her small gesture, my heart ached. I pulled her into my arms and whispered soothingly: “It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. Even if the sky falls, I will hold it up for you. I’m going to message Miller right now and get to the bottom of this.” Knowing my daughter would have to study under this teacher for three years, I suppressed my emotions and inquired as politely and calmly as possible: “Miller, a class is only forty-five minutes long. It’s perfectly normal for a child to get thirsty.” “Even if Emma drinking water in your class disturbed you somehow, surely it doesn’t warrant punishing my child by making her buy snacks for the entire school for a year.” Five minutes passed with no response on the chat screen, but the parent group chat suddenly exploded. “This parent, when someone makes a mistake, they deserve to be punished. At your age, there’s no need to throw your weight around with me.” “If you can’t even afford a few dollars’ worth of snacks, I’ll sponsor you two bucks so you can take your kid home on the bus.” Miller publicly tagged me, acting as though she’d suffered some terrible injustice. Seeing this, other parents chimed in one after another in support. “I’ve heard Miller is famous for being a strict teacher who produces excellent students. I feel confident leaving my child in your hands. I’m not like certain parents who can’t handle things properly. You can discipline my child however you see fit.” “Why have kids if you can’t afford them? If you can’t pay this little bit, then tell your kid to behave and not break the rules.” “Miller, don’t let this upset you.” The disparaging messages jumped out at me, making my whole body tremble with anger. Every other comment mentioned money. I laughed coldly to myself, suddenly understanding. This Miller was targeting me specifically. The night before school started, Miller had posted a payment link in the parent group chat for a ten-thousand-dollar luxury watch, calling it an “opening day gift.” All the parents fought tooth and nail for the privilege of paying for it. Only I remained silent and didn’t respond. Unexpectedly, Miller called me out directly, graciously bestowing the “opportunity” on me. “Emma’s parent, you’re the only one in the group who hasn’t said anything, and you haven’t messaged me privately either. So this opportunity goes to you.” I found this behavior distasteful and politely declined. The group fell instantly silent. Miller didn’t respond, and I thought the matter was settled. Turns out she was waiting for this moment. There was no point in further discussion. I crouched down and gripped my daughter’s hand tightly: “Don’t be afraid, Emma. You didn’t do anything wrong. I paid your tuition, and tomorrow I’m personally taking you to school. You just focus on your studies. I refuse to believe there isn’t a single reasonable person at that school!” My daughter hesitated, then nodded. The next day, I didn’t leave until I watched my daughter enter the classroom with my own eyes. However, two hours later, Miller called again. The moment I answered, I was hit with a barrage of scolding. “Emma’s mom, you need to come to school immediately and take your child home. This is outrageous. At such a young age, she’s already bullying her classmates…”

Bullying classmates? I frowned. I knew my daughter’s personality better than anyone. She was gentle and introverted. She’d be lucky if others didn’t bully her. Remembering yesterday’s incident, a bad feeling washed over me. I rushed to the school without delay. Outside the office door, My daughter was kneeling on the ground, sobbing and pleading repeatedly. Miller sat with her legs crossed, pointing at my daughter’s nose and cursing angrily: “Like mother, like daughter. School just started and she’s already into this bullying crap. If she doesn’t want to study, she can get the hell out.” “Don’t stop! Keep kowtowing until your mom gets here, until your classmate forgives you…” My daughter’s forehead was covered in bruises. Sharp pebbles had broken through her tender skin, leaving shocking streaks of bright red. My blood boiled. I rushed forward and pulled my daughter up. Seeing me, Miller acted as though she’d finally caught me red-handed. She jumped up, grabbed a little boy standing nearby, and lifted his hand for me to see: “Emma’s mom, look at this. Your daughter caused such a big wound on this student’s right hand. What kind of dark heart does this child have?” “This student is going to Harvard someday. If she delays his education, can you take that responsibility?” The boy had a faint scratch on his pinky finger that would heal completely in a few more minutes. I rolled up my daughter’s sleeve without saying a word. Her wrist and forearm were covered in bite marks of varying depths. The deepest ones were purple-black and blue, overlapping densely in a way that was unbearable to look at. Miller gave an exaggerated “Oh!” as if just noticing, then made a show of helplessness, poking my daughter’s head with her index finger: “Why didn’t you tell me about this, child? But you can’t blame others either. Just because you have a special constitution and it looks more serious doesn’t change the fact that you bullied someone.” “Out of all these people, why did he single you out? You must have done something bad to make him have no choice but to take action.” Hearing this, the boy was instantly emboldened, standing in front of Miller like a Chihuahua with its owner’s backing: “It’s all your fault! Why won’t you buy us snacks? My mom told me the whole school could’ve had snacks, but you ruined it!” “Why should your family get special treatment? If you don’t follow Miller’s rules, you have to pay the price!” I was furious and about to explode when my daughter pitifully tugged at the corner of my shirt, pleading: “Mom, it doesn’t hurt. I did something wrong and broke Miller’s rules. Let’s just accept Miller’s punishment.” “I want to play with my classmates, to be like everyone else…” My daughter wiped away her tears, her eyes full of pleading. I was instantly speechless. The words that had reached my lips simply wouldn’t come out. From the day she was born, my daughter had been the treasure of our entire family. She’d never been wronged like this before. But looking at my daughter’s teary eyes, my anger deflated like a punctured balloon, suddenly softening. I forced myself to swallow this humiliation and squeezed out a smile: “Okay, I will order the snacks right now.” I pulled out my phone on the spot and called to pre-order a truckload of snacks. My daughter jumped up excitedly: “Now everyone will forgive me! I can finally play with everyone!” Seeing this, Miller raised her eyebrows smugly and mocked sarcastically for a while before suddenly remembering something, her tone loaded with meaning: “Should’ve done this from the start. Acting like you’re some pure lotus flower above it all.” “Turns out you’re pretty generous when you want to be. Before, you were so petty about every little thing. I thought your family couldn’t even afford to put food on the table.” “The payment link in the group expires tomorrow. You know what to do.” I pretended not to understand, casually deflecting with a few words without mentioning buying the watch, then turned and left with my daughter. After we’d gone far enough, Miller’s eyes couldn’t hide her disgust. She ground her teeth and cursed under her breath: “Damn it, won’t even buy one watch, you cheap bastard.” “If you won’t spend the money, then don’t blame me for what happens next.”

A quiet week passed. My daughter occasionally shared fun stories from school, and my anxious heart finally relaxed. It was precisely at this moment. Ring ring ring. My phone rang persistently. I saw it was my daughter calling, and an ominous feeling arose. Sure enough, as soon as I answered, I heard my daughter’s tearful voice: “Mom, please come pick me up. I don’t want to go to school anymore. I want to come home. Mom, please let me come home…” My heart jumped. My daughter had always been so sensible. For her to say this, something terrible must have happened. I rushed to the school in a panic. The moment I entered the classroom, the originally noisy room fell eerily silent for an instant. Then everyone looked at my daughter and me with strange eyes, occasionally turning away to whisper: “That must be her mom, dressed so slutty. Maybe her mom gave her that infectious disease.” “Yeah, yeah, I heard her dad got so disgusted he left. Who knows where they get their money from.” “Ew! So shameless. Miller was right. Both of them have that kind of contagious disease. My mom says that disease is so dirty. We need to stay away from them. It’s terrifying.” My daughter looked up with a sob, her eyes swollen red from crying. The classmates immediately burst into laughter. My daughter’s waist-length hair had been chopped into a ragged mess, and chewed gum was stuck to the top of her head. I quickly shielded my daughter and flew into a rage, slamming my hand on the desk and demanding: “Who did this?” Several kids giggled and shoved each other, completely unconcerned: “We all did it together! You did this kind of thing and you still have the nerve to ask?” “Think you can buy us off with a few snacks? No way.” “Hurry up and get your daughter out of this school. This class doesn’t welcome her!” My blood rushed to my head. I charged forward, ready to slap them hard across the face and teach them a lesson on behalf of their parents. The instant I raised my hand, Miller, who’d been absent until now, conveniently appeared. She grabbed my wrist and said leisurely: “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s this parent doing? Trying to hit someone else’s child? This is a school, not a marketplace. It’s not a place for you to throw tantrums.” Miller watched smugly as those kids ran behind her to tattle, as if she’d once again caught me in the act. She made a show of starting to scold me for not being a qualified parent. “This parent, I advise you to calm down, or I’ll have to call the police.” My heart was bleeding, but my extreme anger actually made me calmer. I looked calmly at the gloating smiles on everyone’s faces: “Making up vicious rumors about my daughter and me without any evidence. As a teacher, is this your attitude toward educating students?” Miller frowned slightly. She shook her head for a moment before putting on an innocent act: “Children certainly don’t lie, but they do have vivid imaginations. They inevitably say things that don’t match reality. Do I really need to verify every single word they say?” “Flies don’t land on uncracked eggs. Sometimes people should spend less time blaming others and more time reflecting on themselves.” “Besides, I manage dozens of students. Of course I can only pay extra attention to the ones who behave well, right?” I stared at her expressionlessly for a moment, realizing she was determined to get revenge for my not buying her that watch. She wanted me to back down. I suddenly lowered my head and softened my tone: “Miller, I didn’t think it through. Actually, the opening day gift and the snacks can be delivered this afternoon. I’ll personally hand them to you.” Seeing me finally come around, Miller felt the frustration that had been building in her chest for days finally dissipate somewhat. She waved her hand in satisfaction: “Fine! Then I’ll be magnanimous and not hold this against you.” I smiled gently, calmly switching the snack order to watermelons. That afternoon, ten large trucks loaded with watermelons rumbled toward the school. The trucks displayed prominent banners reading: “Day One of Miller Treating the Whole School to Snacks.”

This grand spectacle drew nearby residents out to watch. “Is that the award-winning teacher Miller? How generous. This must cost quite a bit.” “The banner says ‘Day One,’ so does that mean there’ll be a Day Two and Day Three? What a wonderful teacher, spending her whole salary on students.” “Students these days are so lucky. We never had these conditions back in our day.” On her way to the office, Miller received numerous admiring and respectful looks. She felt rather pleased with herself. Upon seeing me, she cleared her throat pretentiously and criticized condescendingly: “I’ll let you pass for today, but you’re really being cheap. Watermelons cost so little. You could’ve at least sent king crab or something.” “And you put my name on it, making me too embarrassed to show my face. Don’t do this again next time.” I lowered my posture as much as possible and pleaded quietly: “My daughter was only thirsty and took a sip of water in class, but she has to be punished by buying snacks for the whole school for a year. Now I’ve delivered the items, and we’ve accepted the punishment we deserved. Please, I’m begging you to let my daughter off the hook.” Hearing this, Miller looked somewhat displeased. She deliberately held out her empty right hand and impatiently deflected: “Are you even human? Can’t you understand plain English? I’ve told you how many times. It depends on your performance.” I lowered my head, my voice carrying a hint of tears: “I really can’t afford the ten-thousand-dollar luxury watch you want. I’m a single mom, and my daughter depends entirely on me. Could you please…” Her wish unfulfilled, Miller exploded in rage and cut me off. She scolded furiously: “Are you fucking with me? Don’t give me all that useless crap. Without that watch, you can expect to send snacks for another year!” “You better think carefully. As long as your daughter is under my control for even one day, I’ll target her for that entire day. Let’s see who outlasts who.” “This time you only sent cheap, crappy watermelons. Next time it better be king crab, or it doesn’t count. Understand?” I suddenly raised my phone and pointed it at Miller’s face, raising my voice as I cried helplessly, each word filled with anguish: “Please, everyone, help us. She’s trying to drive us mother and daughter into a corner. Just because I can’t afford to give Miller the watch she wants, she’s encouraging the whole class to isolate and bully my daughter…” Miller hadn’t expected me to pull this move. She froze instantly, her expression still frozen in the greedy, ugly look she’d worn while threatening me. The vast army of internet users didn’t disappoint me either. The livestream’s popularity skyrocketed. Bullet comments rolled past, with netizens cursing angrily: “And she calls herself a teacher? Taking one sip of water in class means sending snacks for a year. So if a student bends down to pick up a pen, should they send a house?” “This person is insane. Openly demanding gifts, and a ten-thousand-dollar watch at that. Does she think parents’ money grows on trees?” “Where’s the Department of Education? They need to give us an explanation. Single mothers raising children work so hard. How can we feel safe entrusting our kids to schools?” Miller instinctively covered her face. After a few seconds, she snapped back to reality and rushed toward me, cursing as she tried to grab my phone. “Stop!” An authoritative voice came from the doorway. “Who the fuck are you to order me around?” Miller, focused on grabbing the phone, turned back dismissively. When she saw who it was, her face went pale, and she immediately stopped. The principal’s face was ashen: “Want me to show you my ID? Should I throw in a box of salmon while I’m at it?”

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When I weighed 180 pounds, I fell for Ethan. Sarah weighed 98 pounds. His eyes lit up when he looked at her. When he looked at me, there was only polite avoidance. I started running, lifting weights, dieting. When I hit 130, he said, “Not bad.” When I hit 110, he said, “Sarah looks good even without losing weight.” I didn’t stop. A talent scout discovered me. I signed with an agency. Milan, Paris, New York. I walked my way onto the supermodel rankings. Sarah told Ethan she was the one who introduced me to that scout. Ethan sent me a message: “You really have Sarah to thank for that. Without her, you wouldn’t be where you are today.” Last month, a major brand approached me for an endorsement deal. One million dollars. Sarah texted me: “Could you let me have this one? I’m just starting out.” Ethan also tried to persuade me: “It’s just one commercial. It wouldn’t hurt to help her.” I looked at the number on the contract. My agent pressed me: “Are you signing or not?” I answered without hesitation: “Sign.”

“Congratulations.” Holly tucked the signed contract into her briefcase, smiling so wide the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes smoothed out. “One million, exclusive annual contract. You’re worth it.” I didn’t respond. My phone screen was still lit. Ethan’s message hung in the notification bar—“It’s just one commercial. It wouldn’t hurt to help her.” Sarah’s voice messages were stacked above it. Three of them. The last one was seventeen seconds long. I didn’t play them. I long-pressed the conversation. Deleted. Blocked. Then I opened Ethan’s chat. Same operation. Two people. Two seconds. Holly’s hand froze mid-air, coffee cup in hand. “You just—” “Cleaning up my contacts.” She didn’t ask further questions. She made a call: “Yes, contract confirmed. Million-dollar endorsement deal, North American exclusive—” The door pushed open. Jessica from the company’s PR department walked in holding a printout, her expression twisted. “Wanda, you need to see this first.” I took it. A media press release template. The headline read—“Brand Announces Spokesperson Wanda Sullivan, Grateful for Family Support Throughout Her Journey.” The third paragraph stated boldly: “According to sources, Wanda Sullivan’s supermodel career wouldn’t have been possible without Sarah’s strong support. Sarah not only introduced Wanda to a renowned talent scout in her early stages but also accompanied Wanda through every critical milestone.” I stared at those lines for three seconds. “Who wrote this?” Jessica swallowed. “Someone from Sarah’s team contacted our PR department last month. Said it was an agreed-upon press release framework between both parties.” “She said you approved it.” Holly leaned over to look. Her expression changed. “Last month?” Holly’s voice rose half an octave. “She contacted our PR department—who authorized this?” “She dealt directly with a new intern on the team. They went back and forth through three versions.” Jessica scrolled through her phone records. “She even sent over her own bio and headshots, saying the press release needed to include her information for future resource coordination.” I put the press release back on the table. Last month. Last month, Sarah sent me voice messages, her voice all soft and sweet, saying “Wanda, could you let me have this one?” But the press release had started coordination last month. In other words, she never planned to wait for me to give it up. She was just going through the motions. “Has the brand seen this draft?” Jessica nodded. “Sarah copied the brand’s marketing department directly. The brand was pretty happy about it. Said the sisters-supporting-each-other angle was a good hook, very marketable for promotion.” My phone vibrated. Unknown number. I hesitated, then answered. “Wanda, it’s me.” Sarah’s voice. She’d called from a different number. Her tone was steady. None of that pitiful, clingy quality from the voice messages. “You blocked me.” “Yeah.” “Did you sign?” “Yes.” Silence for a moment on the other end. Then she laughed. Softly, like she was talking about something trivial. “Then you’ve seen about the press release too.” I didn’t say anything. “Wanda, the brand already approved that draft. It goes out Monday. If you insist on pulling it, the brand will think you can’t even manage your own team.” “Whether this endorsement deal stays intact or not, you should think about that.” Her pace was slow. So slow that every word felt carefully weighed. “Ethan’s right. You really should thank me. Without the narrative I built for you, why would the brand choose you? Some 180-pound girl who ran off the weight?” “A supermodel’s resume needs to look good. You understand that better than anyone.” Holly heard the voice on speakerphone. Her face turned pale. She opened her mouth to speak. I pressed down on her hand. “Are you done?” “Wanda, I’m helping you.” “Helping me? By fabricating events that never happened?” “I’m helping you package—” “Pull the press release. Before Monday. Otherwise my lawyer will contact you.” I hung up. Holly stared at me. Silent for a long while. “Wanda, what she said… about introducing you to the scout, is that true?” I put my phone in my bag. “Holly, the scout who discovered me is named Liam. He found me by the half-marathon route outside Central Park. I weighed 160 pounds then.” “Sarah was vacationing in Miami that day.” Holly took a deep breath. “Then why would she—” “Because that’s how she’s always been.” I picked up my bag and headed out. “She doesn’t need to do anything. She just has to say ‘I helped,’ and everyone believes it.” Holly followed me out. “What about the brand? The press release already got approved.” “I said it. Pull it.” “What if the brand thinks you’re difficult—” “Holly.” I stopped at the elevator. “When I weighed 180 pounds and people avoided me, I survived. When I was 130 and people said ‘not bad,’ I survived that too.” “I won’t let a fake press release define me.” The elevator doors opened. Holly’s voice came from behind me, very soft. “Okay. I’ll negotiate with the brand.”

“You and Sarah have a pretty good relationship, right?” The stylist clipped a hairpin into my hair while making casual conversation. I didn’t respond. “She came here for styling last time and mentioned you. Said you got your break because she helped introduce you to a scout. You two have such a great sisterly bond.” The hairpin pinched slightly when it went into my hair. “When did she come in?” “Last week. Said she wanted to do a set of headshots to try her hand at modeling too.” “She also told us you promised to mentor her.” I looked at my face in the mirror. From 180 pounds to now. My features hadn’t changed. But my facial structure was carved out knife by knife. Through three years of running, two years of weight training. Not because someone mentored me. My phone lit up. A message from my mother. “Sarah cried all night. Why can’t you just give in to her? You’ve competed with her since you were kids. Now that you’re successful, you look down on her even more.” I didn’t reply. The second message came right after. “Ethan even called asking why you blocked him? He’s always looked after you two. What kind of attitude is this?” The third was a voice message. I played it. My mother’s tearful voice: “Your father says if you don’t apologize to Sarah and Ethan, don’t come home for the holidays.” Holly pushed the door open. “Ready? The MODE interview is about to start.” I turned off my phone. MODE. One of the top fashion publications. Getting featured in their profile interviews—many supermodels run for ten years without that opportunity. The interview was in the lounge area next to the photo studio. The reporter was a girl wearing thin-framed glasses. Very polite. “Wanda, first, congratulations on landing the million-dollar North American endorsement.” “Thank you.” “During our preliminary research, we discovered a very interesting angle.” She opened her notebook. “Sarah runs a social media account with over a hundred thousand followers. On it, she’s documented your complete journey from 180 pounds to supermodel.” “She says she introduced you to the scout who discovered you, and that she stayed by your side during your most difficult times.” My fingers tensed on my knee. She had an account documenting me. Over a hundred thousand followers. I knew nothing about it. “So I wanted to ask—” The reporter looked up, her smile professional and earnest. “How do you view the role Sarah has played in your career?” Holly took a light breath beside me. “Could you let me see that account?” The reporter looked surprised but handed over her phone. The account name was “Supermodel Wanda Sullivan’s Sarah.” The profile picture was Sarah’s selfie. The first post was from three years ago. A photo of my back while running. Caption: “Wanda started running today! It was my suggestion~ Hope she can stick with it.” That angle was shot from my family’s balcony looking down. Back then, Sarah was living at home. I ran on the rubber track downstairs. She photographed me from the balcony. Never told me. Second post. A photo of me lifting weights at the gym. The angle was shot through the reflection in the equipment area mirror. Caption: “Wanda’s on the equipment! I found a personal trainer to help design her training plan. It hurts to watch, but it’s worth it for her health!” I never hired a personal trainer. I learned those training movements one by one from YouTube videos. I pulled a muscle three times, injured my shoulder twice. Third post. A photo of me walking out of a building with my head down after a failed audition. Caption: “Wanda didn’t pass her audition today. My heart aches for her. I went to comfort her and bought her favorite hot chocolate. I’ll definitely help Wanda find better opportunities.” I never saw her that day. That day I walked four kilometers home by myself. Because I couldn’t afford a cab. The comments were unanimous in their praise: “Sarah is so warm!” “Wanda’s success is all thanks to you!” “Wanda should be grateful to you forever.” I scrolled down a few more posts. One was a weight loss brand collaboration. The promotional image used my training photos. Caption—“Wanda’s transformation is my greatest pride. Recommending this product to those of you working hard to improve yourselves.” She was using my body to take on advertising deals. I handed the phone back to the reporter. “This content—I’m seeing it for the first time today.” The reporter froze. “Sarah never introduced anyone. The scout who discovered me is named Liam Black. He met me outside the finish line of a half-marathon.” “I don’t know who took those photos. I didn’t know she was using my training content for advertising deals.” The reporter’s pen stopped. Holly quickly interjected: “This topic is too personal. We can—” “No need to skip it.” I looked at the reporter. “You can verify everything. How you write it is your freedom.” “I’ll only say one thing. Every step from 180 pounds to here was mine alone.” The interview ended. Holly looked at me in the hallway. “Are you sure about what you said? If the reporter writes it, you and Sarah will be completely torn apart.” “Holly, the facade broke long ago. It’s just that before, the one getting torn apart was always me.” My phone vibrated again. Someone sent me screenshots in rapid succession. An update to Ethan’s social media. He’d reposted the latest update from Sarah’s account— “Wanda landed the million-dollar deal! Even though I just started out and gave the opportunity to Wanda, seeing her succeed makes me the happiest. Always supporting you, Wanda.” Ethan’s repost caption was just one line. “Kind people always lose out. Sarah, you deserve better.” Holly looked at the screenshots, her voice dropping. “Ethan’s repost… does he really not know, or is he pretending not to know?” I flipped my phone face-down on the seat. “Holly, when I weighed 180 pounds, he never looked at me properly even once. Do you think he’d bother checking whether a story is true?”

“Did you hear? About Wanda Sullivan’s endorsement—Sarah’s the one who really has the skills.” The backstage changing area wasn’t soundproof. I was changing behind a curtain. Two female models were chatting outside. “That Sarah? I follow her. Her followers are growing so fast.” “Yeah. She quietly paved the way for Sarah, and then Sarah turned around and stabbed her in the back.” “Some people are just like that. Get famous and forget where they came from.” When I pulled back the curtain, they saw me. Their expressions stiffened slightly. But only slightly. They didn’t think they’d said anything wrong. Because everyone believed it. Holly was waiting for me in the car. “The brand scheduled a creative concept meeting for 3 PM.” “Okay.” “But there’s something you need to know first.” Holly hesitated. “The brand marketing department said… Sarah will also be there.” I turned to look at her. “She proactively contacted the brand’s marketing director and pitched a campaign direction called ‘Sisterly Transformation.’ The brand thinks the topic has strong potential and wants you to listen in together.” “I’m not going.” “I also want you to refuse. But the brand’s wording was very firm—if you don’t come, they’ll reevaluate the partnership direction.” My phone vibrated. Unknown number sent a text. “Wanda, see you this afternoon. Ethan’s coming too. He connected with the brand’s investment department. Might be one big family soon. —Sarah” 3 PM. Brand headquarters. I pushed open the conference room door. Sarah sat on the right side of the long table. Cream-colored knit dress. Hair down. Makeup so light it looked almost bare. Her 98-pound body curled in the chair like a piece of porcelain ready to shatter at any touch. Ethan sat beside her. When he saw me, his expression looked uncomfortable. But he still nodded politely. That kind of politeness I knew too well. Not the politeness of seeing a person. The politeness of avoiding something. The brand’s marketing director, Chris Lewis, stood up. “Wanda, please sit.” I sat directly across from Sarah. “We’ve asked both of you here today to discuss a new creative direction.” Chris opened the PowerPoint. A set of concept images appeared on screen. The frame split in two. Left side: a blurry 180-pound silhouette from behind. Right side: the profile of a slender girl reaching out her hand. The slogan at the bottom read—“She walks ahead, I push from behind.” “Sarah proposed a ‘Sisters Moving Forward Together’ narrative framework—with you as the primary spokesperson, and Sarah appearing as the behind-the-scenes guide. Telling the story of how she helped you complete your transformation.” “Very strong potential for social media promotion.” Sarah kept her head down, her voice soft and steady. “Wanda, I’m not trying to take your position. I just want people to see how hard it was for you.” “And that I’ve always been there.” Ethan chimed in: “Right. Sarah has no ulterior motives. She just feels for Wanda.” I looked at the concept images on the PowerPoint. That blurry 180-pound silhouette on the left was taken from the first post on Sarah’s account. Shot secretly from the balcony. “Wanda, what do you think of this direction?” Chris looked at me. The conference room was very quiet. Sarah looked up at me. Eyes slightly red, lower lip gently bitten. Ethan also looked at me. His gaze heavy, carrying a kind of gentle pressure. That kind of “you should be understanding,” “you shouldn’t make Sarah look bad” silent coercion. I’d lived under that kind of gaze for over ten years. Lived from 180 pounds to now. “Director Lewis. I don’t agree with this creative direction.” Sarah’s expression froze for an instant. Ethan frowned. “The endorsement contract is with me. The decision on creative direction lies with me and the brand. Not with a third party.” Chris looked troubled. “But from a promotional perspective—” “I’ll say it again. I don’t agree. If the brand insists on this direction, I can terminate the contract.” The air solidified. Sarah’s tears fell. Fell at just the right moment. “Wanda, do you really hate me that much? I just wanted to help you.” Ethan stood up. “Wanda, can you not be so extreme? It’s just a creative direction. Sarah’s doing this for your own good.” “Why are you always like this? When people are good to you, you always think the worst.” I picked up my bag. “Director Lewis. Give me an answer within three days. Original plan, or termination.” As I reached the door, Sarah’s voice came from behind. No longer that soft, pitiful tone from before. Very light. But every word crystal clear. “Wanda, you’re forgetting—without my story, you’re nothing.”

“The brand responded.” Holly’s voice came through the phone. I’d just wrapped from a cover shoot. Still hadn’t finished changing. “What did they say?” “Partnership temporarily on hold.” My hand on the clothing rack stopped. “What’s the reason?” “The brand VP said… they received some supplementary background materials about you. They’re internally reassessing the risk.” “What materials?” Holly paused for a few seconds. Like she was searching for the right words. “Ethan sent an email to the brand investment department’s senior management.” “In the email, he said you’ve had long-term emotional entanglement with him. That you’ve had multiple emotional breakdowns out of jealousy toward Sarah.” “He suggested the brand—carefully evaluate the spokesperson’s psychological stability before signing.” My head buzzed. “He also attached screenshots of messages you sent him when you were a teenager.” Sixteen years old. 180 pounds. Heart and eyes full of nothing but Ethan. I’d sent him message after message. Careful, humble. Like begging for a response that would never come. Those messages I’d almost forgotten myself. He kept them all. Not because they were precious. Because they were useful. Useful right now. “Holly…” “I know. I’m angry too. But the brand doesn’t care whether you were sixteen or twenty-six. All they see is an emotionally unstable label.” My phone vibrated again. My mother forwarded a Twitter link. Sarah’s new post: “I just wanted to help Wanda, but she blocked me and also blocked our best friend since childhood.” With three screenshots attached. First: the screen showing I’d blocked her. Second: the screen showing I’d blocked Ethan. Third: the latest post on the “Supermodel Wanda Sullivan’s Sarah” account—“I’ve been hurt, but I still wish Wanda well.” The comments exploded again. “Wanda Sullivan is way too much, right? Sarah spent three years documenting her growth journey and didn’t get a single word of thanks?” “I went through Sarah’s account. Photos, videos, complete timeline. How could this be fake?” “Some people float away when they get famous. Forget who their stepping stone was.” My mother’s message came again: “Look at what people are saying about you online! Don’t you know how much Sarah’s done for you? Your father’s blood pressure shot up again from anger. Hurry up and apologize to Sarah. You still have other work. She has nothing.” I stared at the screen. That exhaustion I’d felt since sixteen surged up again. No matter how hard I worked, I wasn’t seen. Lost weight to 130. “Not bad.” Lost to 110. “Sarah looks good even without losing weight.” Made it onto the supermodel rankings. “Without Sarah, you wouldn’t be here today.” Landed a million-dollar deal. “What’s wrong with giving it to Sarah?” Signed the contract. Ruined by message screenshots from ten years ago. Holly called again. “Wanda, there’s one more thing.” “Tell me.” “The MODE interview came out. The reporter ultimately… didn’t use your version.” “What do you mean?” “The article headline is—‘Supermodel Wanda Sullivan: Sarah Is My Greatest Benefactor.’” “They said, based on Sarah’s three years of social media documentation, complete timeline, photos and videos all there, the editorial board judged that version more credible.” I didn’t speak. Three years. She spent three years weaving this story. And I spent three years dragging my 180-pound self onto the runway. When she was crafting her story, I was running. When she was secretly photographing me, I was at the gym. When she was writing captions, I was eating plain grilled chicken breast alone. But the story won. Not the sweat. “Wanda. The brand investment department met with Sarah separately.” Holly’s voice was very low. “They’re considering signing Sarah as a secondary line spokesperson. And… terminating your primary contract.” I closed my eyes. My phone rang again. Not my mother. Not Sarah. Not Ethan. A completely unfamiliar number. “Wanda? This is Zoe, the brand’s creative director.” “I’d like to meet with you.” “About this partnership, I think… some people have gotten things wrong.”

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