Author: Momo Chan

After realizing I was the villainess in an e-sports novel, I stopped using my position as team manager to control Jax Thorne. When the true heroine joined, I quickly handed over my duties and moved to a new club. During the Spring Split, our two teams clashed. Jax was out for blood. Before the match, I offered a few words of comfort to our rookie mid-laner. Jax dove under towers, relentlessly hunting the mid-laner. The commentators: “This must be a strategic play Jax discussed with his teammates!” The broadcast switched to the TNG team’s voice chat. Teammate: “Jax, are you crazy?! Get back to your jungle!” Jax, eyes red: “Didn’t you see? Harper just touched his shoulder!” Teammates: … Commentators: … 1 I was the manager for Jax Thorne, the legendary jungler. For half a month, I’d woken up early to make yam porridge for him, bringing it to the club every day to soothe his stomach. Jax would grimace, chewing and grumbling, “Summer Hayes, aren’t you annoying? This stuff tastes terrible.” Just as I was about to insist he finish every bite, a series of comments popped up in my vision: [How is this villainess such a simp? She doesn’t even know the male lead is allergic to yams?] [No wonder Jax has been so quiet these past two weeks. Yam allergies make your tongue numb…] [Jax doesn’t deserve this. He’s been taking allergy medicine for half a month to spare the villainess’s feelings.] [Other players train 13 hours a day, and Jax is groggy from his meds.] [Thank goodness the heroine is coming online tomorrow. Jax is finally escaping his misery!] My jaw dropped as I stared at Jax. He was still frowning, spooning the porridge into his mouth. I quickly reached out and snatched the container. Turning, I handed it to Leo Vance, a passing youth trainee. “Leo, you eat this. You look like you’ve lost weight recently.” The air instantly went still. Jax, spoon in hand, froze. A few seconds later, his tense shoulders slumped, and he leaned back into his gaming chair. A cold sneer twisted his lips. “Fine. Looks like I dodged a bullet today.” His words really stung. Allergy aside, how many hours of sleep had I sacrificed to make him that porridge every day? And his allergy? That wasn’t my fault. What kind of normal person would suffer for half a month without saying anything? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I snatched the spoon from Jax’s hand and gave it to Leo. Leo slurped a big mouthful, his eyes lighting up. “Manager Hayes’s porridge is so fragrant and soft, it’s amazing! If Jax doesn’t want his in the future, can I have it all?” I was about to say there wouldn’t be a “future.” Jax’s expression stiffened. With a loud clatter, his gaming chair was kicked back. Leo and I both turned. Jax strode over in a few steps, snatching the container back from Leo. “That’s enough! I haven’t even had breakfast yet!” He then tipped the container directly into his mouth, his cheeks bulging as he chewed furiously. I stared at him like he was the biggest idiot on Earth. Seriously, what was wrong with this guy? The comments called him a dog, and he was really guarding his food like one. [??? No way, why is Jax so desperate? Is he addicted to allergy meds?] [Maybe he’s got rabies now] [LOL, I’m dying. Jax’s masochistic tendencies are an old problem, huh?] [Dogs don’t deserve this. My dog even knows not to eat chocolate…] 2 Thanks to the comments, I roughly understood the plot. Turns out, I was the villainess in an e-sports novel. Using my privileges as team manager, I’d been secretly pestering Jax. The true heroine, Harper Miller, loved gaming, and after joining TNG, she quickly became close to the team and a playful rival with Jax. They’d reach the peak of love and career together. As for my fate: fueled by hatred, I’d collude with an opponent, betraying information, and be driven out of the e-sports world. …Oh, come on, fate! You didn’t even treat me like a decent human being! I wake up earlier than a rooster and go to bed later than a dog, only to end up losing everything? What kind of justice is that? 3 To resist the storyline, I avoided bothering Jax the entire day. Around eight in the evening, the boss told me Jax had “gone on strike” today and asked me to find him. I drove to the industrial park bar Jax frequented. Sure enough, in a private room, Jax’s long frame was slumped in a sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The comment section was filled with lamentations about how handsome “Jax the dog” was! I pursed my lips; he didn’t even drink alcohol; he was just sitting there, purely for show. Suddenly, I heard someone loudly ask Jax: “Jax, is that yam-porridge manager of yours still bothering you?” Yam-porridge manager… I really wanted to twist the heads off these rich kids and kick them around like balls! But I was so smitten, my hand reaching for the door involuntarily slowed by half a beat. Unfortunately, Jax didn’t say anything. His friend beside him spoke first. “If it weren’t for the club’s sake, Jax wouldn’t have put up with her for so long, right, Jax?” Jax’s hand paused, and he didn’t deny it. It was the reaction I expected. I pinched my palm, then, with a burst of resolve, pushed open the private room door. Everyone’s gaze turned to me. Jax’s expression stiffened for a moment, then quickly reverted to his usual cold demeanor. I pretended not to notice, walked over, and tossed his team jacket onto the coffee table. “Review meeting tomorrow at eight AM. Now, get up and come back to the base with me.” He lifted his slender eyelids to glance at me, but didn’t move. The rich kid with dyed blonde hair blew a smoke ring and scoffed. “Seriously, Manager Hayes, who exactly are you to Jax? Even his own mom doesn’t boss him around this much, does she?” The room erupted in laughter. I remained unmoved, simply tapping my wrist and looking at Jax. Bang! The whiskey glass in his hand hit the glass table, liquid splashing. The laughter instantly choked. Jax grabbed his team jacket, stood up, and placed himself between me and the blonde-haired guy. His face was cold, his tone casual but laced with aggression: “I’m happy to pay someone to manage me. You got a problem with that?” Without waiting for the blonde-haired guy’s scowl, he pulled me out of the private room. 4 In the parking garage, Jax got into the car first. He leaned back in his seat, irritably tugging at his collar, his tone displeased. “Summer Hayes, can you stop treating me like a child in front of outsiders?” “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “I won’t anymore.” I didn’t linger by his side as usual. After closing his car door, I slipped into the passenger seat. “Driver, please take us back to the base.” The car was silent for a few seconds. Jax’s eyebrows furrowed, his tone becoming even more agitated. “Summer, what’s with the attitude? Is it because of that damn porridge this morning? I ended up eating the whole pot, didn’t I?” He thought I was still sulking about the morning incident. I turned my head to look at the streaking night outside, not bothering to argue. Jax stared at me for a long moment, then let out a cold scoff, closing his eyes to sleep. The driver, accustomed to this, kept his eyes on the road. I laughed at myself internally. The blonde guy was right, actually. I did micromanage Jax too much. 5 The entire e-sports world knew I was Jax Thorne’s “nanny.” Jax was the highlight of my career. He was also the first successful player I’d managed. He’d raked in trophies from domestic and international tournaments, and my salary had increased six or sevenfold because of him. But as talented as Jax was, he had just as many quirks. Low blood sugar, tenosynovitis, and nervous gastritis—all at once. If he missed even one meal, I worried he’d die in his gaming chair… But I didn’t want Jax to die. I didn’t want anything to happen to him. I couldn’t remember when exactly, but I started cooking for him in various ways, coaxing him to eat. Jax was quite unhappy about it. Everyone in the circle admired my patience. “Summer, you deserve to earn that money!” Even Jax asked me, “Why are you so shamelessly managing me? Are you afraid I’ll die and no one will win games and make money for you?” They thought I’d thrown away my dignity for money. But to be honest, most of the money still went into the boss’s and players’ pockets. My self-appointed care for him, the biggest reason was to repay a debt of gratitude from two years ago. 6 The year I entered the industry, the club was just starting out. Everyone wore multiple hats, and I was often dragged by the boss to liquor events to drink on his behalf. One investor, Mr. Davies, loved to use a profile picture of his family of four while sending lewd messages to young women at the table. Later, he did invest a good deal of money. I couldn’t block him, so I just put him on do not disturb, out of sight, out of mind. Jax joined the club not long after and saw the messages on my computer. He averted his gaze, his brow furrowed so deeply it looked like it could trap a fly. “Why don’t you delete them? Is Julian forcing you?” Julian was the club owner’s name. I didn’t even look up, working as I spoke, “He’s an investor. No need to offend him. Just don’t reply.” He looked at me intently, but said nothing more. At the intercontinental championship celebration, that investor was also present. He clapped Jax on the shoulder, praising his youthful ambition. Of course, he didn’t care about the player’s achievements; he just wanted to use Jax to get closer to the Thorne family. Jax sat at the head of the table, not even touching his drink. His gaze suddenly swept across the crowd, then he put on an innocent, somewhat troubled expression: “Manager, can I drink?” 7 I was lost in thought when my name was suddenly called. Everyone turned to look at me. Catching Jax’s eye, I understood and played along. “No drinking. Your stomach just recovered.” Jax didn’t hesitate for a second. His lips curved, his tone regretful, yet his expression was utterly dismissive. “My apologies. Our manager has spoken, and I have to listen to her.” The investor’s jowls stiffened, then he immediately forced a fawning smile: “Yes, yes, of course, Young Master Thorne’s health is precious, no need to drink!” From that day on, I never received another harassing message on my phone. I knew it was a simple favor for Jax. In fact, he’d probably forgotten all about it. But he truly had, effortlessly, resolved a tricky problem for me. I owed him, and I desperately wanted to be good to him. The comments said my behavior was “simp-like,” and that I was a burden to Jax. Honestly, I still don’t understand. For example, why was my “goodness” to Jax so clumsy? Perhaps I never learned how to better express gratitude or love for someone. No one had ever taught me. My phone buzzed, pulling my thoughts back—a message from the boss. “The Miller family’s daughter wants to check out our club. Can you show her around?” I mechanically opened the attached resume. Harper Miller, a delicate face, eyes like stars. Her name matched the heroine’s name from the comments. 8 The next day, as soon as I entered the base, my assistant, Chloe, rushed over to me as if I were a savior, tears in her voice. “Summer, help! You’re finally here! This morning, Jax was sitting there with a grim face, clutching his stomach, not saying anything. He probably got gastritis again from staying up late. The rookie team is so scared they don’t even dare to type. You need to go calm him down…” Before she finished speaking, the frosted glass door of the training room opened. Jax walked out, wearing an oversized gray hoodie, his face cold. The area instantly fell silent; the players all uniformly bent their heads, furiously typing on their keyboards. He walked directly to me, leaning in slightly, his tired face close to mine. “Summer Hayes, you’re fifteen minutes late today.” Then he opened his long, slender palm. “Where’s my porridge?” [No way, a second round? Bro really thinks he’s a divine farmer, testing poisons, huh?] [It expresses some of the male lead’s hunger…] [Didn’t they say the male lead has anorexia? This greedy boy might actually have regained his appetite because of the villainess?] I took a half-step back, creating a safe distance between us. “No porridge. And there won’t be any in the future.” With that, I pulled out a strip of stomach medicine and half a pack of soda crackers from my bag, and slapped them into his arms. Jax lowered his head, staring at the items in his arms, his expression bewildered. “Summer Hayes, are you serious?” 9 The knuckles of his hand, clutching the crackers, were slightly pale, and his voice held a hint of urgency. “What did I do to upset you?” [Jax, please donate your brain. You don’t remember what your friends were gossiping about the villainess last night?] [Super dense male lead, but it’s good to let the villainess give up, saves her from future heartbreak…] [Whatever, hurry up and get offline, villainess, I want to see a sweet romance!] Jax frowned, staring at me. In the past, I would have been heartbroken for a long time. Then I’d have gone to sleep alone, comforted myself, and continued to stubbornly manage him and stick to him. But this time, I suppressed the ache in my heart and calmly spoke: “Jax, I’m the manager, not a nanny. Making porridge isn’t part of my job. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to work.” With that, I walked past him without a backward glance, heading towards my office. Behind me, I heard hushed whispers: “Is Manager Hayes in a bad mood today?” “Didn’t you see the group chat? Miss Miller just joined… Manager Hayes is probably being sidelined.” I pushed open my office door. The “Miller family daughter” my colleague had been mentioning was sitting proudly in my office chair.

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My company clawed its way up from a back-alley workshop to an industry titan, and it was all thanks to me – the cornerstone who raked in billions. The entire company treated me like royalty. My boss, overflowing with gratitude, publicly promised me free rein over any resource I wanted, no questions asked, no corporate red tape. But the new agent didn’t get the memo. She didn’t just reassign all my high-end endorsements to a rookie; she even made me hold the train of her new favorite starlet on the red carpet. Her reasoning? “Washed-up old-timers should make way for new talent. You’re just a background player now.” I nodded, posted a quick message on social media, packed my bags, and walked out. The next day, my boss rushed back overnight, bringing her along, and they both knelt outside my door. My social media post had been liked and pinned by the CEO of a rival media company, rocketing to the top of the trending topics. 1 “V&G’s global ambassador for this fall’s collection? The company’s decided to sign Lily next month.” Eliza Braga. A golden-ticket agent who’d parachuted into the company three days ago. She slid a termination agreement across the table towards me. V&G – a top-tier luxury brand I’d represented as their Asia-Pacific face for five years. And Lily? She’d only just made a tiny splash after two web series. A fresh face the company had just signed. Eliza saw I was still leaning back in my chair, unmoving, and lifted her chin. “Summer Hayes, you’ve peaked. But for the company to grow, we need to cultivate new talent.” “Lily has immense potential. This endorsement will help her quickly gain national recognition. As a member of this company, you have an obligation to cooperate.” I finally lifted my gaze to meet hers. “Is this Arthur’s decision?” Arthur Price. The company’s CEO. Back when Starlight Entertainment couldn’t even make payroll, I worked grueling shifts for zero pay, filming countless projects back-to-back, pulling the company back from the brink of bankruptcy. I alone was responsible for ninety percent of the company’s revenue. It’s safe to say Starlight wouldn’t be where it is today without me, Summer Hayes. Just last year, at the annual gala, Arthur had publicly declared to the entire company that I could use any resource I wanted, with no one to interfere. But Eliza, seeing me invoke the CEO’s name, merely scoffed. “Mr. Price is a busy man. For trivial matters like this, I, as an agent, can decide. He entrusted your contract to me, which shows his faith in my professional judgment.” She pulled out a rather simple script from her bag and placed it on top of the endorsement termination agreement. “Of course, the company won’t mistreat you. There’s a short series project here; you can pick any role you like. While it’s a short series, the production team is quite competent. Do well, and you could still make waves.” Me, a top-tier, multi-award-winning actress, starring in an unknown short series? The audacity. I couldn’t be bothered with her. I just picked up my phone and dialed Arthur’s number. It rang five or six times before he picked up. “Summer, why are you calling so early?” I cut straight to the chase: “The new agent has pulled my high-end endorsement, saying she wants to use it as a stepping stone for Lily. I just want to confirm, is this your decision?” There was a noticeable pause on the other end. After a moment, Arthur cleared his throat. “Summer, Eliza mentioned this to me yesterday. You know, the company needs to nurture fresh blood. You’re not short on endorsements, are you? It’s not worth arguing over a little piece of the pie with a young girl.” The back of my hand, gripping the phone, tensed, veins protruding. “Arthur, are you really going with this?” He chuckled awkwardly. “Eliza’s new; you should give her some respect, don’t always act like the untouchable star. Let’s think about the bigger picture. I’m still with some investors on the golf course. We’ll talk when I get back to the office later, alright?” The call was abruptly ended. Eliza watched me, perfectly composed, a smirk playing on her lips. “Hear that?” “Your track record used to be impressive, but this year’s just begun. You need to face reality and stop thinking the company can’t function without you. Mr. Price handed me your full contract, so I have the authority to plan all your work. This endorsement, you will give it up today. And this series, you will join the cast.” Eliza and her entourage stormed out. I stared at Arthur’s name on my phone, then removed him from my starred contacts. Afterward, I instructed my assistant, Ashley: “Find my contract and all associated agreements from over the years. Every single one.” 2 The next day, at the Starlight Gala red carpet. In previous years, my gown would be the top design of the season, flown in and attended to by personal stylists. But this year, my dressing room was still empty moments before it was time to leave. Ashley was frantic, making countless calls, only to get the same reply: “Agent Braga is arranging it; please wait.” Just then, the dressing room door swung open. Eliza walked in, her heels clicking, followed by Lily, resplendent in a shimmering, starry gown. I recognized that dress—it was the very same top-tier haute couture piece confirmed to me in photos, a global exclusive. Lily smiled at me, her face brimming with smugness. “Summer, isn’t this dress just gorgeous? Eliza said I’d shine on the red carpet tonight.” Eliza eyed her creation with satisfaction, then pulled out a garment bag. “Considering Lily’s commercial value, the company decided, after careful deliberation, to give the haute couture to her. This is your gown. Time’s almost up, hurry and change!” Ashley took the bag and opened it. Inside was a black, long dress, outdated in style, and utterly unremarkable. It had even been worn before by some third-rate actress. Ashley’s eyes welled up with anger. “Agent Braga, what is this? Summer can’t wear this!” “And why not?” Eliza’s face immediately darkened. “The company treats everyone equally. Given her current status, this is perfectly suitable. What’s wrong with an older design? It’s still haute couture, paid for by the company. Smaller companies would kill for it! The red carpet is about to start. If you don’t change, the damage to the company, you won’t be able to afford even if you’re all fired!” “You—” I pulled back a fuming Ashley, merely gazing at my reflection in the mirror. Fifteen minutes later, I had changed into the black dress. Eliza scrutinized me, then sneered. “Not bad. This color will be perfect for accentuating Lily.” I ignored her. But unexpectedly, just before we were about to go out, she grabbed me again. Eliza pointed to Lily’s gown. “Lily’s train is too long. The red carpet will be crowded, and it wouldn’t do for someone to step on it. You’re just a plus-one today, so you can help her hold up her train. Taking care of junior colleagues is also something you should do.” At her words, the room fell silent. Ashley’s face flushed crimson, her fists clenched. “Eliza Braga, don’t you dare go too far! Make a top-tier star hold the train for a rookie, in front of everyone? You’re deliberately trying to humiliate Summer!” I stopped Ashley from exploding. Looking at Eliza, I asked, each word deliberate, “Is this Arthur’s decision too?” Eliza smirked, her triumph evident. “Mr. Price specifically instructed that all red carpet arrangements tonight are to be handled by me. Your job is to be a background player, to fully support the new talent. The company’s PR statements have already been sent out. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have no choice but to freeze all your endorsements and contracts for insubordination. Summer Hayes, everything you have is currently in the company’s hands. I don’t care what privileges you had before; from now on, you must comply with all company decisions.” I clenched my jaw. I dialed Arthur’s number again. The phone rang for a long time, but no one answered. This was the first time in all these years that he hadn’t picked up my call. Meeting Eliza’s triumphant gaze, I lowered my eyes and nodded. “Alright.” As soon as the red carpet event ended, the topic “Washed-up Star Summer Hayes Holds Train for Rookie” soared to the top of the trending topics. On social media, my fans and Lily’s fans were engaged in a fierce war of words. Yet, the company’s PR department did nothing, allowing the controversy to escalate. In just one short hour, Lily’s followers surged by several million! 3 The red carpet drama was still unfolding. The next morning, Eliza called me into her office again. She was in excellent spirits and even offered me a cup of tea. “Last night’s event was quite effective. Lily’s national recognition skyrocketed overnight.” Next, she pushed another script towards me. “Strike while the iron’s hot. This series, I want you to mentor her through it.” The script’s cover bore two bold words: Chasing Light. The author, Clara Vance, was a dear friend of mine for ten years, and now one of the hottest literary sensations in the online fiction world. Every story she penned became a hit, making her work incredibly valuable commercially. Chasing Light was her passion project, and also a gift she wrote for my thirtieth birthday. She explicitly stated that the film and TV rights would only be sold to my company, and only I would play the leading role. Eliza clearly knew the weight of this series, a smile playing on her lips. “Clara’s team has confirmed; the rights will be signed to Starlight. The company has decided to make this series a top-tier, S+ project this year.” She paused, tapping her finger on the script. “However, for the leading lady, the company has new considerations. Lily’s image aligns very well with the character’s early stages, so the company plans to cast her. As for you, you can play the supporting female lead. It’s a very likable character, and it shouldn’t be too challenging for you.” I almost laughed at her audacity. Using a gift from my friend to promote a rookie, and then expecting me to play second fiddle to her? “Eliza Braga, you’re dreaming.” “This is the company’s decision,” she said, unfazed. “As a member of the company, for the company’s growth, you must comply.” Soon after she left, my phone rang. It was Clara, her voice filled with barely suppressed fury. “Summer, is that Eliza Braga at your company insane? She just called me, saying Chasing Light is for Lily to play the lead, and for you to play the second lead! I refused on the spot, told her no one but you would play the lead in this script, or I’d rather let it rot on my computer! And then guess what that woman said?” “She said I’d already sold the rights to Starlight, so Starlight calls the shots now. And that I’m just a writer, I shouldn’t think too highly of myself!” Clara was panting with rage. “Not only did she insult me, she also said you’re a washed-up actress now, lucky to even get a role, so I shouldn’t be picky! The worst part is, I called Arthur, and he actually played coy with me! Said it was all for the company’s development??? Has he forgotten how the company started? What an idiot!” I gripped my phone, my knuckles white from the pressure. I remembered years ago. Back then, I was a nobody. The company was on the verge of bankruptcy. I landed a cosmetics endorsement and excitedly called Arthur to share the good news. That day, he was even more thrilled than I was, getting completely drunk at the celebration dinner. He grabbed my hand, his eyes red-rimmed, repeating over and over: “Summer, you’re the savior of our company! From now on, the company is your home, and I’m your big brother! Do whatever you want, and if anyone dares to give you a hard time, I’ll be the first to go after them!” His excitement and sincerity back then felt like yesterday. But now, it had become so alien. At this moment, the last shred of sentiment I held for him was completely severed. “Clara, don’t be angry yet. Chasing Light was just a verbal agreement back then; I deliberately delayed the paperwork. Since they’re being dishonorable, don’t blame us for finding another company to work with!” After hanging up, I scrolled through my contacts to another name: Danny Vance. The CEO of Stellar Media, and Starlight Entertainment’s biggest competitor. For three years, he’d tried to poach me no less than a hundred times. The phone was answered almost instantly, Danny’s deep voice coming through. “Summer Hayes? What a rare treat.” I got straight to the point: “Mr. Vance, I’m bringing Clara and all the rights to Chasing Light to sign with Stellar. There’s only one condition: I must be the lead actress in this series.” Silence on the other end for three seconds, followed by a soft chuckle from Danny. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for three years. I agree to all your conditions. Just come, without worry.” 4 The next morning, the news of Chasing Light officially announcing Summer Hayes as its lead actress, personally released by screenwriter Clara Vance, instantly captivated the entire internet. My fans celebrated, overjoyed to tears. The general public also expressed immense anticipation for this explosive combination. The topic quickly climbed, directly topping the trending charts. Arthur Price, on a business trip in a neighboring city, saw the news—my photo with Clara and the overwhelming praise. He immediately messaged me: “Summer, such great news about Chasing Light having a press conference, why didn’t you tell me in advance? As your boss, I must be there to support you.” I looked at the message, didn’t reply, and just turned off my phone. The next morning, at the press conference. I was holding the microphone, thanking Clara for her trust and the company for its support, when the back door of the venue suddenly opened. Arthur, with Eliza Braga in tow, strode in confidently, beaming. He walked directly onto the stage and naturally took the microphone from the host. “Hello everyone, I’m Arthur Price from Starlight Entertainment. Summer is our company’s most outstanding artist, and Chasing Light is our most important core project this year. Starlight will spare no effort to invest all resources to present the best possible work to everyone.” He spoke with grandiloquent enthusiasm, but the media in the audience exchanged bewildered glances. Finally, a reporter couldn’t help but raise a hand and ask, “Mr. Price, aren’t you mistaken? As far as we know, the production company for Chasing Light is Stellar Media. And today’s press conference is also hosted by Stellar Media.” Arthur’s smile froze. He stared blankly at me, then at the massive Stellar Media logo below the stage. Just then, Danny Vance slowly emerged from backstage and stood beside me. He took the microphone, offering Arthur a slight smile. “Mr. Price, I believe you are mistaken. Today, Stellar Media is holding a welcome ceremony and new series launch press conference for our newly signed actress, Ms. Summer Hayes.” Danny paused, his gaze sweeping across the entire room. It finally settled on Arthur and Eliza’s pale faces. “Oh, and by the way, I’d like to extend a special thanks to Mr. Price. If it weren’t for your short-sightedness, your self-sabotage, in handing over such an excellent actress and such a top-tier project to us, Stellar would never have had the chance to pick up such a massive bargain.”

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Everyone said I married into the Thorne family purely on the strength of a pretty face and a well-timed bout of amnesia. That was until Professor Kyle Gilbert, A-University’s genius, invented a time machine and publicly suggested to my husband: “Aren’t you curious, Mr. Thorne, what your immaculately backgrounded wife looked like at eighteen?” My face paled. I forced a smile: “Don’t we all look a bit rough at eighteen? Nothing worth seeing. Let’s go, Sebastian.” I assumed Sebastian Thorne, with his usual composure, would flatly refuse such a farce. But the man simply didn’t move. His gaze swept past Kyle, finally resting on my stark white face, and he nodded: “Alright.” 1 Sebastian Thorne’s agreement caused a considerable stir in the room. I paused, slightly stunned. Then, I tried to lift the corners of my lips. “These newly invented machines, don’t they carry some potential risks? Maybe we should wait a few years until they’re safer to try…” My words were cut short by the genius’s calm interjection. “Mrs. Thorne, are you questioning my expertise?” Kyle Gilbert, A-University’s most brilliant graduate in recent years. Young, yet he had published numerous top-tier papers, at the forefront of various research fields. The time machine was his passion project, an invention he had poured years of effort into, presented to the public only after multiple tests. I breathed out a small smile: “Not at all.” “I just feel it’s unnecessary.” I looked at Sebastian, my voice soft: “You know, my parents passed away early, and I’ve finally gotten through that tough time. Of course, I don’t want to revisit those painful memories. Besides, all those forgotten memories between us, you’ve already taken me to relive them, haven’t you?” Sebastian was actually a calm and somewhat languid person. Five years my senior, he rarely forced me to do anything. But at this moment, he remained still. His eyes were fixed on my face, then calmly dropped to observe the tense lines on the back of my hand. He spoke with a casual air: “Eighteen-year-old you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her.” I was momentarily stunned. Eighteen. The image that flashed in my mind wasn’t carefree youth. It was the spinning fan in the classroom, under which I could never comprehend the problems. The lewd jokes of boys, the teacher’s disdain, my boyfriend’s indifference. And my cousin’s cruel, beautiful face. What Sebastian wanted to see was my cousin, his vibrant young fiancée. The pretty girl who occasionally did unkind things, but with a sweet smile, she could win everyone’s affection. I never liked dark chocolate. Sebastian once asked me why. I just said I’d eaten too much as a child and grew tired of it. The truth was, when I was ten, my cousin had poured a whole cup of hot cocoa over my head in the bathroom, sweetly laughing: “Didn’t you tell Mom and Dad you wanted chocolate? Can’t let it go to waste!” Her followers held my head down. That was my first taste of chocolate, scalding hot and melting. It was sickeningly sweet, choking my throat, making me unable to utter a sound. Only tears streamed down. Looking up, all I could see were the four walls and her dazzling, radiant smile. My eyes looked very much like hers, so much so that even the small mole at the corner of my eye was in the exact same spot. This was why I later succeeded in impersonating her. Sebastian, after the fact, most loved to kiss the redness at the corner of my eyes. He always said that even though I’d been lost for so many years, those eyes were still as beautiful as when he first saw them. For five years of marriage, I had never been exposed. I composed my emotions, took a deep breath: “Just eighteen, we have photos at home, don’t we? I’ll dig them out for you when we get back.” “But I want to see for myself,” the man’s gaze shifted from the miniature time machine back to me, his voice slightly rising at the end, as if genuinely curious, “A well-behaved, studious girl, sounds quite appealing.” 2 “Well-behaved, studious.” I smiled, watching Sebastian Thorne’s Maybach drive further and further away towards his company, then my expression completely crumbled. Every single word of that description was utterly unlike me. Turning around, I saw the A-University genius. His silhouette was even more imposing than before, dark, messy hair covering his prominent brow. Only that cold, detached aura remained unchanged. This machine was clearly aimed at me. I followed him to a secluded spot. The man’s tall frame completely blocked the last ray of light in the corner. “What exactly do you want?” I pushed him hard, but couldn’t budge him. Instead, he grabbed my wrist and pressed me against the wall. Kyle Gilbert’s gaze traced every inch of my features, his eyes churning with dark, unreadable emotions. After a long moment, he coldly uttered two words: “Get back together.” For a moment, I didn’t understand what he meant. He deigned to repeat it, his voice clear and cold: “I said, break up with him, and then we get back together. I can accept you standing by my side.” I found it absurd. “Kyle Gilbert, do you know what you’re saying?” “Of course,” he stared at me, emphasizing calmly, “Iris Hayes, only I know who the real you is. As long as you break up with him, I can guarantee that the time machine won’t expose your secret.” In the silent, breathless staring match, I abruptly pushed him away. “Kyle Gilbert, what do you take me for?” I glared at him, my breath slightly trembling, confirming each word: “Wasn’t it you who coldly said we should break up back then?” He pressed his lips together, silent, his dark eyes showing little emotion. That same indifferent expression, just like ten years ago. Back then, when my cousin and I tied for first place in the English competition, as the student council president, he gave the scholarship to my cousin. He said Olivia Thorne had just lost her parents, and her family was penniless; she needed that money for college. And my grades were so poor that I was destined not to stand at the same level as him. “Iris Hayes, neither I nor anyone else has an obligation to bear your useless and wasteful life.” “If your college entrance exam results come out and you don’t get into the same university as me, then we’re destined not to be on the same path.” At that time, I truly hated Kyle Gilbert, so much so that whenever I thought of it later, I wanted to loudly question him. If the definition of a partner was a like-minded fellow traveler, then why did he pursue me, the bad student? Seeing me bring up old matters, Kyle Gilbert’s eyes merely flickered, his voice still showing little fluctuation: “I just made the best choice at the time. That money, even if I gave it to you, would only be thrown into your mother’s exorbitant medical bills. What would be the point?” He was still so rational to the point of cruelty, stating his reasons so openly, as if certain I wouldn’t care. “Get back together with me, and all my money can be yours. I’ve achieved enough; I don’t need a partner to stand by me. I just need you.” The man’s gaze was fervent and dark. But I only found it amusing, so amusing that my heart didn’t even ache. I pushed his hand away, and through the haze of tears in my eyes, stubbornly told him: “Then you’re wrong, Kyle Gilbert. That scholarship, I cared about it deeply. I’ll never get over it.” I pushed him away and turned to leave. The man stared at my retreating back and suddenly spoke: “What if I gave you the justice you wanted?” People always romanticize the path not taken. Kyle Gilbert always believed that was the best choice back then. But since I found it so hard to accept, he wouldn’t mind letting that event replay, letting me get what I called “absolute fairness.” 3 Back at the mansion, Martha had already filled the bathtub with hot water. When Sebastian returned, I still had my head submerged in the now-cold water. The man’s distinctly veined hand gripped the back of my neck, pulling me up, a hint of amusement in his narrow eyes: “Trying to drown yourself?” I didn’t speak, so he asked, “Still mad?” I turned my face away awkwardly. “No.” “Then why are you so resistant? After all, aren’t you curious what kind of person you were before you lost your memory?” Seeing that I still wouldn’t utter a sound, he simply good-naturedly ruffled my head, casually reminiscing: “Speaking of which, the first time I saw you at nineteen, you also used to sulk like this often, willful and unrestrained. You insisted on fulfilling our family’s engagement and marrying me, and even wanted to follow me to study abroad. If it wasn’t for later—” He stopped there. If my cousin hadn’t fallen into the ocean on our engagement day. They would have already walked down the aisle. It wasn’t until a few years later, while he was on vacation on a small island, that he unexpectedly found me, disguised as his amnesiac cousin. The bathroom was filled with mist. The man’s palm gently rested on the back of my head, drawing us closer. His voice was low: “Do you know, Olivia, I can never quite connect the current you with the you before your memory loss.” “I’ve always wondered what kind of trauma made you such a careful and gentle person, so gentle that I can no longer read your heart.” He gently rubbed his forehead against mine, almost a whisper: “Was your former personality a pretense?” “Perhaps by understanding more of your past, I can know which version of you, the former or the present, loves me more?” The miniature time machine lying in his palm glowed red. My pupils constricted. I had no time to stop him. The next second, his long finger moved. Click. We both plunged back ten years. 4 How did that time machine end up in Sebastian’s hands? I gazed at my own delicate, childlike face in the mirror, closing my eyes in despair. Taking off my wedding ring, I walked out of the restroom. Two or three students in school uniforms chatted and joked in the hallway. I pursed my lips and walked through them, inevitably hearing the boys’ lewd whistles. “Iris, class is starting! Hurry!” The class president called to me from the door of Class 18. —Iris Hayes. My mind wavered. My mother gave birth to me in the lush midsummer. She hoped I would always be as vibrant as the grass and trees. How long had it been since I heard someone call my name? It seemed to have started when I decided to impersonate Olivia Thorne and marry into the affluent family. But life with Sebastian Thorne wasn’t actually too bad. He was assertive and unyielding at work, but at home, he was a lazy, aloof cat. On slow afternoons, he loved to curl up with me to watch movies, tend to the balcony plants, or nap on my lap. Sometimes, he was even willing to learn a dish I wanted to eat, step by step, following a tutorial. I truly couldn’t say anything bad about him. Except, the person he loved wasn’t me. Outside, the sunlight was blinding. I suppressed the slight bitterness in my heart and walked into the classroom. The oppressive, narrow space carried the sweaty smell of boys who had just finished gym class, and even the cicadas outside sounded particularly monotonous. This was my most hated eighteen. In English class, I wasn’t paying much attention, just propping my head up, annoyed, trying to figure out how to avoid meeting Sebastian. A few girls in the back row were whispering, discussing how the organizer of this English competition was a young, wealthy, repatriated entrepreneur who had even visited our school that morning. “I just passed by and glanced. He’s really an expat, so tall and handsome. The principal arranged for him to be given a tour by a school history guide, and as soon as he got the list, he picked Olivia Thorne’s name.” “Why not Iris? Didn’t those two tie for first in the English competition?” Someone snorted, disdainfully: “Olivia Thorne is so excellent, isn’t it logical to pick her? Unlike this one in our class, who attracts too much attention, she really thinks getting high scores qualifies her as the top student.” I slowly blinked, finally realizing the exact time period. It was precisely when Olivia and I had participated in the English competition, tied for first place, and were deciding who should get the scholarship. But in my memory, this entrepreneur never appeared. 5 In the VIP lounge. The principal was pouring tea for the distinguished man before him, apologizing with a smile: “Mr. Thorne, you didn’t notify us of your early arrival; our preparations are quite inadequate.” The man’s gaze was fixed on the tea leaves floating in his cup, as if deep in thought: “It’s nothing. I only came to see someone, to confirm something.” Soon after, the class president brought back news, saying that Olivia Thorne was resting in the dorm due to menstrual cramps and couldn’t serve as the school history guide. The principal apologized, asking, “Would you like to choose someone else?” Sebastian Thorne looked at the two high-scoring exam papers on the table, then reached out and flipped over the other one, noticing the boldly written name. He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Iris Hayes?” “Yes, Iris Hayes,” the principal quickly smiled. “Although she’s in the lower-achieving class, her English is excellent. She even tied for first place with Olivia Thorne in this competition.” “And according to other students, she’s been memorizing vocabulary in the hallway every morning at 5:30 AM for the past few months! A very diligent child; she won’t disappoint you.” The man pondered for a moment: “Two first-place ties, but why did only Olivia Thorne receive the scholarship?” “This… this… to be honest, we were just about to address that matter.” Seeing the principal hesitate, Sebastian lost interest in pressing further. After all, he wasn’t someone who particularly liked to meddle. Three days, for him, was still too short. Sebastian glanced at his wristwatch and suddenly asked his assistant, “What’s the date today?” “August 1st, Mr. Thorne. Is there something wrong?” Early August. Not quite the same time as his wife’s menstrual cycle. But she had fallen into the sea and suffered shock-induced amnesia. Sebastian didn’t dwell on such details. The man paused in thought, then instructed, “Go buy some brown sugar water and heat patches.” “You mean to say?” The principal asked hesitantly. The man tucked in his long legs, stood up, and politely nodded: “I won’t tour the school history museum. You have important matters to attend to, so I won’t disturb you.” “I’ll meet the scholarship recipient, and then I’ll leave.” 6 The bell for class dismissal rang, and I was hesitating whether or not to go find Kyle Gilbert. After all, just sitting around waiting wasn’t an option. He had promised me he wouldn’t expose my secret. Suddenly, the class president tapped me, asking me to go to the office. As soon as I entered, all the teachers and students were there—the principal, the homeroom teacher, the invigilator, the students who sat around me at the time, and Kyle Gilbert. The young man wore the student council president’s uniform, his shoulders broad, his legs long, as cold and aloof as I remembered. He merely glanced at me, then brought up the surveillance video from that day on his computer, displaying it for everyone. “Since Iris Hayes has an objection to this scholarship evaluation, we will re-evaluate it, with no favoritism towards anyone.” With just one look, I recognized him—Kyle Gilbert, also from ten years in the future. The fairness I had tearfully demanded years ago, he was now specifically giving me with a time machine. In the office, the young man’s voice was not loud. He looked at me, questioning me clearly, word by word: “After the listening portion of the recording ended, the invigilator had already announced to stop answering. Iris Hayes, why didn’t you put down your pen?” My breath caught; I froze. 7 Under everyone’s piercing gazes, I slowly, inch by inch, clenched my fingers: “I was checking if I had filled in the answer sheet incorrectly.” “And if you had found a mistake, what then?” Kyle Gilbert’s voice was flat, yet his words were almost accusatory, “Were you going to violate exam rules and make alterations?” “No,” I said. As soon as the words left my mouth, Kyle Gilbert expressionlessly tossed my answer sheet onto the table, pointing at the still-unwiped pencil marks, and said: “For the last question of the listening comprehension, you originally chose A, but the moment before the invigilator collected the papers, you glanced to the left front, then secretly changed it to B, just like Olivia Thorne.” “Iris Hayes, do you admit this point?” The bit of ignoble secret in my heart had nowhere to hide under the bright, fervent sunlight outside the window. I remained silent, unwilling to speak. Kyle Gilbert asked me one last time, his gaze scrutinizing: “Yes, or no.” In the quiet, spacious office, my gaze was fixed on the floor, and I painstakingly uttered: “No.” In the face of such evidence, any defense seemed pale. But I still slowly and stubbornly spoke: “I didn’t peek at Olivia’s paper.” “I was just looking at the clock. The exam room clock was half a minute fast, and I was checking if there was still time to make changes.” “Looking at the clock? Iris Hayes, how much credibility do you think that excuse has?” Kyle Gilbert sneered, pressing closer, as if he wouldn’t stop until this accusation was pinned on me. Even the principal, at this moment, sternly spoke: “Malice will only harm yourself in the end, Iris Hayes. I hope you’ll be honest.” “I didn’t, the exam room clock was half a minute fast, you’re being unfair!” My voice was loud, my eyes red-rimmed, as if I wanted to vent all the years of indignation. Again, the word “fairness.” Kyle Gilbert beside me impatiently closed his eyes. But where in the world is there absolute fairness? “Then is that half-minute you overran fair to Olivia Thorne? And fair to the other students? The surveillance now shows you cheated in violation of regulations. Do you want to tell me what ‘fairness’ even means?” The young man’s questions came one after another, so sharp they left me speechless. I stared at him blankly, my eyes slowly welling up. I suddenly found I couldn’t understand him anymore. “Didn’t you say it, Kyle Gilbert?” My voice was very soft, stubbornly confirming this with him. “Our school clock was half a minute fast.” The atmosphere dropped to zero. The young man’s thin lips gradually tightened into a cold, flat line. The homeroom teacher hesitantly spoke: “Didn’t Kyle already have someone adjust that clock?” The silent air was broken by that sentence. My face went pale, my body rigid. I couldn’t utter another word. The fairness I had desperately pursued suddenly seemed ridiculous at this moment. Just then, a student suddenly ran in, breathless. “Principal, Mr. Thorne is back. He said he wants to see you again.”

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After Luna died, Damon hated me for four years. So, when I was reborn back to the night of the fire, I deliberately stepped deeper into the choking smoke, calling out to my husband, the Special Operations Fire Captain: “Don’t look for me. Save Luna first.” In my previous life, Luna, my best friend, and I were trapped on different floors of the towering inferno. As the blaze raged, Damon only had time to save one person. He rushed to me. I was carried out of the burning building, unharmed, but Luna was incinerated alive on the twenty-third floor. Damon, once an elite firefighter, developed pyrophobia, a crippling fear of fire, and could never again step into a burning building. Then, on New Year’s Eve, he smiled as he tied a crimson string bracelet around my wrist. I thought he had finally moved past it, but the string had been soaked in an accelerant. As the fireworks ignited my wrist, I asked him why. Damon only stared at the flames licking my skin, his eyes reflecting a cold, dead light. “Luna burned to death. Why do you get to live, completely untouched?” I opened my eyes again, back to the moment the fire alarm blared. 1 “Damon! Trapped civilians on the seventeenth and twenty-third floors! The fire is spreading upwards!” The dispatcher’s voice crackled, hoarse with urgency through the walkie-talkie. Thick smoke billowed, turning the entire high-rise into a dying beast, groaning with the metallic shriek of twisting steel. Damon turned back to look at me, his eyes bloodshot. I stood at the end of a corridor on the seventeenth floor, behind me a fire door already scorched through. In the last life, he hadn’t said a word. He’d just charged forward, slung me over his shoulder, and carried me out. Luna, on the twenty-third floor, had screamed for forty-seven minutes, unanswered. The autopsy report later read: “Ninety percent full-body burns, found in a curled, self-protective posture.” Damon hadn’t spoken for three days after reading that report. From then on, he never looked me in the eye again. This time, I wouldn’t let him make that choice. “Damon, go to the twenty-third floor first. Save Luna.” He froze. “I’m fine. This floor still has a buffer zone. I can hold on.” “You…” “That’s an order.” I offered him a small, wry smile. “Captain’s wife’s orders – still good?” Damon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He wanted to say something, but another urgent call came over the radio. “Twenty-third floor civilian in distress, suspected heavy smoke inhalation!” Damon clenched his jaw, then finally turned and sprinted towards the emergency stairwell. The moment his silhouette vanished into the smoke, I took two steps back. The floorboards beneath my feet were already soft and scalding. Leaning against the wall, I doused my wet towel with more water, clamped it over my mouth and nose, and crouched down. Last time, I’d emerged without a scratch. This time, I likely wouldn’t be so lucky. It didn’t matter. The crimson string burning through my wrist in the last life had hurt far more than this. The smoke grew thicker, my consciousness blurring. The last voice I heard wasn’t Damon’s. It was an unfamiliar, raspy male voice. “Seventeenth floor, trapped civilian found! Female, disoriented, extensive burns to face and arms!” Someone lifted me from the floor. The rough fabric of a protective suit brushed against my face. Dazedly, I opened my eyes and saw a face mostly obscured by a mask. Not Damon. The man looked down at me, his voice steady. “Don’t move. I’ll get you out.” I lost consciousness amidst violent jolts. When I woke again, I was on an emergency stretcher. An oxygen mask covered my mouth and nose, and a tearing pain flared in my right arm. I turned my head and saw another stretcher nearby. Luna lay on it, only faint smudges of smoke on her face. She was alive. Damon stood by her stretcher, one hand still gripping her wrist, as if checking her pulse. I couldn’t clearly see his expression, but his back was to me. Just like in the last life. No, in the last life, his back had been to Luna’s corpse. Suddenly, the burns on my arm didn’t hurt so much anymore. The firefighter who’d rescued me removed his mask and knelt by my stretcher, filling out an injury report. His face was mostly smudged with ash, revealing only his eyes. “Name?” he asked. “Audrey.” He paused his pen, glanced towards Damon, then back at me. Without a word, he resumed writing. His name tag read “Lucas.” The lights in the ICU were blindingly white. I spent eleven days in the burn unit, undergoing two skin graft surgeries on my right arm and back. Damon visited three times. The first time was to sign off on the surgery; his hand trembled as he wrote his name. The second time, he dropped off a bag of clean clothes, leaving them on the nightstand before walking out. The third was the day my bandages were removed. He stood at the doorway of my room, his gaze lingering on the winding scars on my arm. His lips moved, but he ultimately only managed to say, “I’m stepping out to take a call.” He never came back. Luna, on the other hand, was a frequent visitor. She was discharged on the third day and came to see me daily thereafter, carrying flowers and fruit, her eyes red-rimmed. “Audrey, I’m so sorry, it’s all because of me…” “You’re so hurt, I feel incredibly guilty…” “Did Damon… did he only save me because you told him to?” As she spoke, her tears fell in perfectly spaced drops. I used to think Luna’s crying was beautiful. Now, looking at it, each tear seemed precisely measured. “It’s okay. We’re sisters. Your safety is what matters,” I said. She lunged to hug me, directly pressing against the fresh skin graft on my back. I gasped in pain. She immediately pulled back, her face a picture of alarm. “Oh my goodness, I forgot about your back!” But the speed with which she withdrew her hand was half a second faster than her apology. This was a detail I wouldn’t have noticed in my last life. This time, I saw it clearly. That afternoon, Damon came to pick up Luna. He said he was “passing by,” but the hospital was in the east of the city, our home in the west, and the fire station in the north. Three different directions, not a single one “on the way.” As Luna left, she glanced back at me, then naturally slipped her hand onto Damon’s forearm. “Captain Reid, I’ve been having terrible nightmares lately, dreaming of the fire…” Damon didn’t shake her off. He turned his head slightly to look at her, saying, “It’ll get better. Try to rest.” He had never spoken to me in that tone. I looked down at my bandaged arm, and a small smile touched my lips. Just then, Lucas came in for a follow-up. He pushed the door open and paused when he saw me smiling alone at the ceiling. “Any discomfort from the wound?” “No.” He flipped through my medical chart at the foot of the bed, frowning slightly. “There’s a risk of infection in the grafted area. Dressing changes cannot be missed these next few days.” “I know.” “Your husband?” “Busy.” Lucas didn’t ask further, putting down the chart and turning to leave. He stopped at the doorway. “Family signature is required. If he’s busy, you can find me for the next dressing change.” “You’re a firefighter, not a doctor.” “But I’m the one who carried you out of the seventeenth floor.” He didn’t turn back. “See things through.” The door closed. Silence returned to the room. I slowly tightened my grip on the bedsheet. That night, after the nurse’s rounds, I opened my phone and found a post on social media. Luna had just posted it. The accompanying picture was a bouquet of white roses, geotagged to this hospital. The caption read: “After surviving the ordeal, grateful for everyone who fought to pull me through.” The first comment below was a like from Damon. The second was from an unfamiliar account, leaving a message: “Luna, you’re so brave.” Luna replied with a hugging emoji. I put my phone face down on the bed and closed my eyes. Good. The drama of this life was unfolding even faster than the last. On the day of my discharge, Damon came to pick me up. The car was quiet; he didn’t say a word the entire drive. It wasn’t until the car pulled into the neighborhood parking garage that he spoke, his voice muffled. “Why did you tell me to save her first?” My hand, clutching my discharge bag, paused. “Because she was on the twenty-third floor, six levels higher than me, and in greater danger.” “But you almost died in there.” I looked at his profile, unable to tell if his words held concern or accusation. “But she lived, didn’t she?” I pushed open the car door. “And you didn’t become a broken firefighter.” He whipped his head around to look at me, his gaze complex. I didn’t explain, taking my things and heading upstairs on my own. In the days that followed, I used my recovery as an excuse to cut back on all social engagements. But Luna wouldn’t leave me in peace. She came to the house two or three times a week, bringing soup and dishes, portraying herself as the most dedicated best friend in the world. Each visit, she would subtly bring up Damon. “Audrey, Damon’s under so much pressure lately. You should pay more attention to him.” “I heard he was criticized by the higher-ups because of the fire. There’s an investigation into the collapse of the fire escape.” “When he saved me that day, he carried me down four flights of stairs… he truly fought so hard.” Every one of her sentences emphasized the same thing: Damon had fought for her life. I listened with a smile, pouring her a cup of tea. That night, I found Damon’s work phone. He never took this phone on missions, and the password was still our wedding anniversary. Luna was pinned at the top of his messages. The most recent chat history began the day after the fire. Luna: “Captain Reid, I had nightmares again tonight. I dreamt I was trapped in the fire, unable to escape.” Damon: “Don’t be scared. That fire is out.” Luna: “But every time I close my eyes, I see the flames. I’m so afraid.” Damon: “Would you like me to recommend a therapist?” Luna: “No, just talking to you makes me feel better. You’re the one who saved me. Hearing your voice makes me feel safe.” I scrolled down, message by message. The conversations grew longer, more frequent. They talked about nightmares, childhood, work, and life. The patience and tenderness Damon displayed in these messages were something I had never witnessed from him. I scrolled to the latest message. It was a voice note from Luna. I tapped it. Her voice was soft, gentle, with a hint of deliberate tremor. “Captain Reid, Audrey is truly so brave. She told you to save me first… But sometimes I wonder, if you had gone to the seventeenth floor first that day, maybe she wouldn’t have been hurt?” Damon replied with four words: “Don’t overthink it.” But he didn’t say, “I should have saved her first.” I turned off my phone and put it back where I found it. The next day, I invited Luna for coffee. I chose a window seat, where the sunlight perfectly illuminated her face. She wore light makeup, her complexion healthy, not at all like someone tormented by nightmares. Halfway through our conversation, she took a call and walked to the entrance. Through the glass, I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but when she returned after hanging up, her expression seemed off. I pretended not to notice, stirring my coffee. She sat down, silent for a few seconds. Then, she looked up and spoke in a tone I had never heard from her before. “Audrey, you don’t have to work so hard.” “What do you mean?” “The situation between you and Damon… you don’t have to force it.” She took my hand, her fingertips cool. “You deserve better.” The words sounded like concern. But the fleeting something in her eyes wasn’t. I lightly patted her palm. “Thank you, Luna.” When I got home, I made a call. “Is this the Fire Department Headquarters? I’d like to obtain the accident investigation report for last month’s commercial building fire.” Lucas helped me get the report. He didn’t ask why I wanted to see it, simply handed me a manila envelope. “Are you sure you want to look?” “Yes.” “Some things, once seen, you can’t unsee.” I met his gaze. His expression was calm, but as he spoke, his eyes lingered on my face for a second, as if to confirm I was ready. I tore open the envelope and flipped to the fire cause analysis page. Origin: Twenty-third floor, unit 2307, east storage room. Cause: Initially determined to be a short circuit from aging electrical wiring. I continued reading. In the on-site investigation remarks, there was a handwritten line: “Trace amounts of unusual chemical residue detected in unit 2307 storage room; components await further analysis.” My finger stopped on that line. Unit 2307. That was next to the conference room where Luna had her meeting that night. I kept flipping and found the attached chemical analysis report. Residue components: High-concentration isopropyl alcohol mixed with paraffin-based accelerant. This was not something aging electrical wiring would produce. This was human-made. A sudden image flashed in my mind. New Year’s Eve, last life. When Damon tied the crimson string on me, there was a faint, sweet smell in the air. I’d thought it was the scent of fireworks. Now, I realized it was the distinctive smell of paraffin-based accelerant when heated. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to calm down. A thought formed, absurd and terrifying, yet utterly clear. That crimson string in the last life wasn’t Damon’s own preparation. A week before New Year’s, I’d seen an unmarked small package in the courier locker outside our home. When Damon opened it, I’d glimpsed it – a red braided string bracelet with an attached card. I hadn’t paid attention to the handwriting on the card then. But now, recalling it, it was Luna’s handwriting. Rounded, with a little flourish on the tails of the letters. I recognized it. She used that same script every time she wrote me a birthday card in college. The crimson string was sent by Luna. The accelerant was soaked by Luna. And that fire, the one that gave Damon pyrophobia, the one that made him hate me for four years— It was also started by Luna. I snapped my eyes open. The chemical analysis report before me contained cold, precise data. The same formula as the crimson string that had burned through my wrist in the last life. The sunlight outside was blinding. I slowly closed the report, my fingertips tracing the paper. No trembling. In the last life, Damon asked me, “Why do you get to live, completely untouched?” Wrong. From beginning to end, the one who wanted me dead wasn’t him. He was merely a sharpened blade. And the one who handed him the blade was Luna, the woman I’d called my best friend for twelve years. I put the report back into the envelope and took out my phone. Scrolling through my contacts to Luna’s name, the profile picture was an old photo of us from college. She had her arm around my shoulder, smiling brightly. I stared at that smiling face for a long time. Then I exited the contacts and opened a new memo. The title read: “Evidence Chain.” I didn’t tip my hand. For the next two weeks, I acted more subdued, more silent than before. In front of Damon, I was a wife self-conscious about her scars. In front of Luna, I was a poor soul gradually losing faith in her marriage. They both bought it. Because that’s exactly what they expected to see. Wednesday afternoon, I placed a divorce agreement on the dining table. When Damon came home and saw it, his car keys dropped to the floor. “What does this mean?” “It means exactly what it says.” I leaned against the kitchen doorway, my voice flat. “Just sign it.” He picked up the keys and walked over. “Audrey, can you please not be like this?” “I’m not.” “Then tell me what’s wrong?” I looked at him, and a sudden urge to laugh welled up. I’d asked him the same question in my last life. He’d answered me with a crimson string soaked in accelerant. “Damon, have you ever considered something?” I said. “After that fire, you saved Luna, but I was disfigured. Did you secretly feel a sense of relief?” “What are you talking about?!” “I’m not talking nonsense.” I unbuttoned my cuff, revealing the still-healing scar on my arm. “Every time you see this, you look away.” His gaze indeed shifted. Even if it was subconscious, he didn’t realize it himself. “I don’t want to make things difficult for you anymore.” I pulled my sleeve back down. “I haven’t asked for anything in the agreement that isn’t mine. Just sign it.” I turned and started towards the bedroom. He suddenly grabbed my wrist from behind. My right wrist. The place where the crimson string had burned in my last life. My entire body stiffened as if electrocuted. That memory of pain was too deep, so deep that even across a lifetime, it made me instinctively tremble. Damon felt my trembling and let go. “Audrey…” “Don’t touch there.” My voice was hoarser than I expected. “You can’t touch there.” He didn’t understand why I reacted so strongly to my wrist—there were no burns there. But he didn’t know what happened in the last life. He wouldn’t know in this one. I closed the bedroom door, leaned against it, and slid to the floor. It took a long time to steady my breathing. My phone lit up. Luna’s message. “Audrey, how have you been lately? Captain Reid said you’re not doing well, I’m so worried.” I stared at the screen. Damon had told her about our impending divorce. How interesting. Having an argument with his wife, his first confidante was another woman. It was just like that in the last life. Step by step, she had transformed herself into an indispensable part of his life. And I, from wife, became enemy. I replied: “I’m fine, just the wound hurts a bit, being dramatic.” Luna instantly replied: “You’re not dramatic at all! You suffered such a terrible injury, it’s normal to have emotions. How about I come over and keep you company soon?” I typed: “Sounds good, I actually have some things I want to talk to you about.” After sending that message, I opened my memo. Seven items were already listed under “Evidence Chain.” But it wasn’t enough. I needed concrete proof. Ironclad evidence that would leave her no room to maneuver. I started digging into Luna’s past. It was easier than I expected. Because she never imagined anyone would investigate.

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After my husband died, I saw the comments: [The male lead faked his death to test the second female lead.] [The second female lead will soon be unable to stand the loneliness and cheat, and the male lead will be the female lead’s, darling!] [I can’t wait to see the second female lead outside, drenched in rain, begging the male lead not to leave her, only to discover the female lead inside, playfully begging him to stop kissing her. So satisfying!] I was utterly wronged and swore I would never waver. But on the day of the funeral, my idol appeared. He held an umbrella for me, his voice a low murmur: ” Scarlett, my brother is gone, but you still have me.” Wait, is this a test? 1. I went to a fortune teller. The fortune teller said, “You are destined for two husbands. This current one is not the one you truly love.” “Nonsense!” I snapped, furious. A shadow enveloped me from behind. A long, slender, bony hand reached over and snatched the fortune stick from my grasp. I turned, meeting John’s eyes. “Darling, don’t believe it.” He smiled ever so faintly, absently turning the fortune stick in his fingers. His face was devoid of expression. I knew he didn’t care. His marriage to me was merely a compromise. Many pursued him; given his stature, he could find someone better if he left me. I was simply the one who pursued him the longest. If he couldn’t marry the one he loved most, he’d marry the one who loved him most. I just didn’t expect him to settle the score with me in bed that night. There was none of his usual tenderness. His advances were fierce, utterly beastly. I knew that arrogant expression all too well. He didn’t love me all that much, but I was only allowed to love him. “John,” I softened, “I only love you.” I swore repeatedly that I would love him for as long as he lived. He asked, “What if I die?” I paused, “…I’d still love you.” He caught the few seconds of hesitation in my voice. One eyebrow arched. My foot, which had been idly kicking his chest, instinctively recoiled, but he seized my ankle tightly. He said, “Scarlett, if I die, you can only love me.” Deep in the night, John, clad only in trousers, leaned against the window sill, legs crossed, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he answered his phone. “The news of your faked death will be out tomorrow.” The person on the other end gave him instructions: “You’ll stay on the island for six months. Once the mole here is caught, you can return.” John grunted vaguely. The person asked again, “Are you really not going to tell your wife you’re faking your death?” John wasn’t telling me, both for work and to make a gamble. When John was seven, his mother ran off with another man, taking his younger brother but leaving him behind. He loathed betrayal. He wanted to bet on whether I would truly remain faithful, only then would he fully accept me. “Did you find anything?” he asked the person on the other end. “Followed her for half a month,” the person said. “Your wife has no other men.” “Always from home to work and back, she’s a steady woman.” “Honestly, everyone knows she loves you most,” the person couldn’t resist quipping. “John, are you really worried she’ll go looking for someone else if she thinks you’re dead?” “Let her, if she wants to.” He scoffed, dismissing it. “She’s not the only one who wanted to marry me.” John hung up, unconsciously feeling the fortune stick in his pocket. He clenched it in his palm, staring for a few seconds. He ruffled his hair in annoyance, then slightly tilted his head to glance at me, sleeping soundly in the room. With a backhand, he tossed it into the trash can. The next day was our anniversary. I waited for him at home all day, only to receive news of his death. I listened numbly as people around me spoke of an incident during a mission. I returned home alone, seeing his black coat, worn just last night, draped over the sofa. I picked it up, intending to wash it, but then realized there was no longer any need. The realization brought with it a suffocating heartache that spread from my icy neck to my fingertips. I clutched his coat, unable to recover for a long time. Until the day of the funeral. I saw the scrolling text: [Here it comes, here it comes! The male lead faked his death to test the second female lead.] [The second female lead will soon be unable to stand the loneliness and cheat, and the male lead will be the female lead’s, darling!] [The stupid second female lead can’t resist temptation, thinking she’s found a treasure, but when the male lead returns, she’ll regret it terribly.] [The female lead is completely the male lead’s ideal type. They’ll fall in love on the island over time. The male lead is stubborn but can’t resist!] [The second female lead fawned for so many years, and the female lead gets everything just by standing there!] [I can’t wait to see the second female lead outside, drenched in rain, begging the male lead not to leave her, only to discover the female lead inside, playfully begging him to stop kissing her. So satisfying!] I looked at the comments, finding them ridiculous and deeply unfair. So, I was the second female lead. No wonder no matter how good I was to John, I could never warm him up. But I couldn’t accept that I would cheat! And the comments even said I cheated at the funeral. God as my witness. I was a respectable, honest woman; how could I possibly betray my husband before his memorial week was even over?! The most infuriating part was that, looking around, no one at the funeral was as handsome as John! We simps only simp because we’re obsessed with good looks! [It’s hilarious to think that the second female lead will wake up every morning to that ugly man’s face.] [No wonder she’s unwilling, but what good is it? The hot guy is the female lead’s.] [Wait, who’s that handsome man?] [Oh my god, what long legs!] I looked up. Amidst the bowing mourners, through the swirling incense smoke, a resolute, handsome face stood out. After offering three sticks of incense, the crowd parted. A fine mist of rain fell, and he approached me, holding a black umbrella. He stood before me, his voice a low murmur: “Scarlett.” “My brother is gone, but you still have me.” A few steps behind him hung his brother’s newly placed black-and-white portrait. 2. Felix. My idol. The singer I had loved for ten years. In high school, I used to secretly listen to his songs under the covers of my dorm bed to fall asleep. In my most sacrilegious dreams, I dared not even imagine his face. Now, he was less than half a meter from me. “This is John’s younger brother.” Someone beside me whispered that he was the brother John’s mother had taken away, the brother John despised most. That’s why, in all our years of marriage, I had never met him. I was Felix’s sister-in-law. … In a fleeting few seconds, my mind raced with thoughts like: Even though I know my idol will eventually date, if he actually does, I’ll want to die, hating any sister-in-law flaunting herself in front of me. What? You say I’m the sister-in-law? Heh heh, I’m the sister-in-law. No, no, not that kind of sister-in-law. Dammit. I was flustered and nervous, my throat tightening as I faced my idol’s close-up face, losing my voice entirely. But I couldn’t let the moment drop. I had to greet him, I had to— “A-quack.” My constricted throat ultimately produced a duck-like squawk. So embarrassing. I wanted to faint on the spot. But I was just the second female lead, and my body was robust. Ten minutes later, I found an undisturbed, dim corner in the stairwell to wallow in self-pity. “Have you seen Scarlett? Felix is looking for her.” Outside, two of John’s relatives passed by, their voices growing closer. “Hey, I heard John didn’t leave Scarlett a penny?” “That’s right, a man’s money is where his heart is. That gold-digger ended up with nothing.” “Don’t say that, I think Scarlett is a good, honest girl too. Her eyes are all red from crying.” The footsteps faded. The comments on screen still flashed scenes from the island: [Ahhh, the male and female leads met!] [What does it mean that the male lead keeps staring at the female lead?] [The male lead’s dog likes the female lead. Dogs are more honest than people!] I took a deep breath, twisted the doorknob, and prepared to go home. The moment I opened the door, a force pulled me back. The person let go and looked down at me. “Found you.” In the narrow stairwell, the door was half-open, pushed by the wind, letting in only a small corner of light. “Are you hiding from me?” Felix’s face was obscured in the darkness, his voice growing clearer. “Do you hate me, like my brother does?” I took half a step back and shook my head. “I don’t hate you.” Heaven knows I found it hard to breathe just looking at his face. But then, he was even taller than his brother, completely blocking me, leaving me nowhere to hide. He asked, “Then… do you like me?” Someone passed by, and the door was pushed open a bit further by the airflow. I instinctively recoiled deeper inside. He was amused by my action, raising a hand to block the draft for me. When the person outside left, light streamed back in, and I saw his dark, warm eyes. “Do you remember me?” he asked. “We were in the same class in freshman year of high school.” Felix’s name permeated my entire school life. He transferred schools and debuted in his sophomore year of high school. He became famous overnight, winning countless awards. The year of the college entrance exam, I struggled to get into a regular university. On the first day of orientation, my roommate lay in bed talking about her favorite singer named Felix. Later, after graduating college, my roommate had stopped following celebrities, but I was still listening to his music. Tickets to Felix’s concerts sold out in seconds. The one time I finally managed to snatch a ticket, I was called back to the office for urgent overtime. I couldn’t help but cry at my desk. I thought, I’m not sad because I can’t go. It’s because in that moment, I clearly realized that he and I lived in two different worlds. I might never meet him in this lifetime. “I remember.” I looked up at him. “It’s quite a coincidence. I didn’t expect you to remember me, and even less that we’d become relatives.” I tried to keep my voice from trembling. “Who would have thought I’d see you again, sitting at the same table at my husband’s funeral?” He heard me call his brother my husband, saw my red-rimmed eyes. He remembered this was his brother’s funeral. “Oh.” He turned sideways, creating a bit of distance between us. Fine raindrops, mixed with a diagonal wind, slapped against the door, chilling my exposed forearms. He had briefly touched me there just moments ago. “My brother was quite unfair.” He didn’t look at me. “How could he do that to you?” Felix had been famous for years, low-key, without scandals, and always maintained a good reputation. Even years later, at a class reunion, someone would say, “I was being harassed by some guys from outside school, and Felix, who I’d barely spoken to, silently called the police and helped fight them off.” “He’s truly a good person.” I thought, Felix must be a kind-hearted person. That’s why, with that face that made my imagination run wild, he looked at me with an earnest, gentle expression and asked: “What do you want?” “As my brother’s family, I will compensate you.” I was truly terrible. In that moment, I clearly realized I was a villainous second female lead. My mind was filled with: If he slept with me, would it be like sleeping with a fan? Would it affect his career? Maybe not. Control yourself! I lowered my head and said, “No, thank you.” But then, his deep voice asked again, “Are you really sure?” “No, thanks. You don’t owe me anything.” “Oh.” Tree shadows swayed outside the window, and the door was fully blown open by the wind. Someone outside the stairwell was looking for me. I turned to leave. He watched me go, then leisurely said, “Scarlett.” “Then can I ask for some compensation?” Confused, I turned to look at him. “What?” “Marry me.” He said, “I’ll take care of you on his behalf.” 3. Felix and I returned to the wake one after the other. People around us ate, some glancing my way, continuing their previous conversation. “Do you think John will regret it?” “Regret what?” “If he’d known life was so short, he should have married someone he truly loved, not the one in front of him.” Someone subtly hinted for him to stop, but couldn’t resist scrutinizing my expression. [The second female lead doesn’t know yet, does she? The female lead just ignored the male lead slightly, and he’s already getting uncomfortable.] [The second female lead is currently scouting for an affair partner. Wonder which ugly guy she’ll pick.] [When the male lead returns, won’t he be furious comparing them?] [Who told her to cheat?] The comments scrolled, and people around me whispered. I should have been devastated. But now, staring at John’s portrait on the wall, I had only one thought: Marry my idol? Is this a test? Oh. Oh. Oh. It had to be this way. I couldn’t help it. I raised my hands to my face and began to cry. The more I cried, the more my mouth twitched at the corners. What else could I do? I was merely a morally corrupt second female lead, incapable of resisting temptation. Darling, you’re gone. And my wish came true. The people who had been whispering saw how pitifully I cried and couldn’t bear to mock me further. In the corner, the person who had called John that night watched my reaction and sighed. He took out his phone and sent a message to an unknown number: “John, don’t play too hard.” “Scarlett loves you so much; she almost cried herself speechless at the funeral today.” A few seconds later, the reply came: “Got it.” “I’ll just sweet-talk her when I get back.” 4. Six months later, John was preparing to return. The mole was dealt with. Everyone knew he wasn’t dead. But he waited all night and received no call from me. “Your wife must be mad, she cried so much at the funeral.” His brother urged him to call me. But he wouldn’t. He was accustomed to me being the one to give in. “Spoiled her too much. She can call or not.” However, he didn’t expect me not to meet him at the airport. I used to go, even in the middle of the night. He waited for half an hour at the airport, watching the comings and goings, but I wasn’t there. He clutched the gift he bought for me, an inexplicable irritation bubbling up. “Home.” The driver asked, “Which home?” John raised an eyebrow. “Wherever my wife is, that’s where I’m going.” The driver paused, then hesitantly said, “Madam has already moved out.” He frowned. “Moved where?” The driver gave an address. Five minutes of dead silence in the car. John let out a soft chuckle. He leaned back casually in the seat, his eyes cold, dark, and subtly mocking, but the amusement didn’t reach them. “Why are you giving me Felix’s address?” The driver blinked, reminding him: “You told us to kick Madam out. She had nowhere to go.” John’s eyes darkened slightly. He knew it was indeed too much to leave me no money and no house. But he insisted on using this to ward off anyone who might try to approach me during those six months. How could an ordinary woman like me, without money, attract anyone to sleep with a widow? The comments exploded with excitement: [Serves the second female lead right! I’ve been annoyed at her spending the male lead’s money for ages!] [Never mind the second female lead, what’s up with the male lead? What happened to falling in love over time?] [On the island, the female lead almost fell for the male lead’s dog and still couldn’t get a word in with the male lead.] [Instead, the male lead kept staring at the female lead, actually thinking she was trying to steal his dog.] [But the male lead is definitely not used to the female lead ignoring him.] [That’s his dog that’s not used to it. The female lead stopped bringing food, so the dog has to eat the male lead’s awful cooking. The male lead has no doubt about his own culinary skills, only that the female lead wants to steal his dog.] [On the island, besides protecting his dog from the female lead, the male lead was just flipping through the calendar every day, waiting to see his wife. He finally came back, and his wife ran off with someone else.] [There’s still hope! The male lead found out the second female lead cheated, so the female lead, darling, has a chance!] The luxury car pulled into Felix’s garage, and John went upstairs. The door was ajar; he slipped in sideways. This feeling of sneaking around made him inexplicably annoyed. He was here to find his wife. But the thought of catching her cheating plagued him, doubling his irritation. The master bedroom was empty. As he expected, Felix himself hadn’t even lived in this apartment. My suitcase was in the guest bedroom. He looked up and saw a brand-new men’s shirt on the table, with a half-written greeting card beside it: “Happy Anniversary, John—” He remembered that day he decided to trick me, so he hadn’t received an anniversary gift. But this shirt looked like something Felix would wear. Too youthful a style. He had always been dismissive of the things I gave him, mocking my taste, calling them cheap junk. But when I pushed open the guest room door, I saw that “junk” on him. John leaned against the window, and the first thing he asked me was, “Why didn’t you come to pick me up?” He and Felix did resemble each other, but their temperaments were strikingly different. When I first met John on our blind date, I instantly fell for him. But now, that face didn’t attract me as much anymore. I dodged his hand. He froze. Before, whenever he returned from a mission, I would always excitedly rush to hug him, and he would always wear a disgusted expression. Now I was avoiding him. “Mad?” “Didn’t I come back?” I pulled my hand away. “Give me back the shirt.” He wouldn’t let me dodge, gripping my wrist tightly, his tone turning cold. “That’s enough.” I said, “It’s not for you. I bought it for someone else.” The room was silent for a moment. He gave a soft chuckle, but his eyes were mixed with frost. “Who did you buy it for?” “I’ve only been dead for half a year, and you’re already buying clothes for other men?” I said, “When you died, I became single. I wanted to buy it the day of the funeral.” His mouth twisted. “You didn’t even wait for the memorial week. You’re something else.” John turned to leave. “Hey—” He paused, then heard me say, “My clothes.” His face darkened further, and he laughed, infuriated. He slowly undressed, revealing his sculpted abs. I turned my face away. He seized my hand, and the more I struggled, the tighter he held, forcibly pressing my hand against his firm muscles. “Do you touch others like this too?” With that, he disgustedly flung my hand away. “You sicken me.” He smiled like a bastard: “I’m incredibly glad that no matter how long you tried, you never made me fall in love with you.” “With your terrible taste, just like you, who’d want it?” He threw the changed clothes at me and slammed the door as he left. After that day, John never contacted me again. I heard he threw several parties to celebrate getting rid of me. Before, I used to try to control him; his popularity made me insecure. But the more I tried, the more he went out. He never comforted me when I was jealous. He even deliberately played mean, half-joking, half-serious, saying he’d seen too many women prettier than me, that I didn’t even rank with him. “Can you control me? Jealousy is useless.” Good thing, I wasn’t trying to control him anymore. John, who rarely posted on social media, posted a photo of himself eating at home, a party of over a dozen people. The girl holding a small dog behind him was exceptionally pretty. [Tears in my eyes, the female lead finally got into a group photo.] [Finally, the second female lead gets to see a photo of the male and female leads. Regret it now!] [Does anyone know who the second female lead cheated with? Is he so ugly he doesn’t even have a name, haha?] [Second female lead, just disappear. Does she think the male lead will still look back?] A few days later, I ran into John at a private club. He was in the private room next door. Amidst the clinking glasses, I avoided his gaze, and he didn’t spare me a single glance either. Men, when they fall out of love, truly move on quickly. That’s for the best. I just didn’t expect to run into him again at the restroom entrance. He leaned against the wall, dressed in a black silk shirt, a trench coat draped over his arm, his expression cool and nonchalant. Like he was waiting for a lady. He watched me go in, saying nothing. When I came out, he was still standing there. I walked straight past him. He let out a faint scoff. A long, slender hand gripped the back of my neck, pulling me back with a sudden force. Behind me was another dark, empty private room. He ignored my struggles, slamming the door shut with a “thud” that made me jump. He lowered his head, pressing against me with extreme aggression, grinding his lips against mine. I dodged, he pursued. The more I struggled, the more he recklessly tried to mold me into his body. His Adam’s apple bobbed; he had been holding back for a long time. There was a sense that he wanted to suffocate me, then suffocate himself. This was the real him, a total jerk. Blood seeped from his lips, his breathing was ragged, the corners of his eyes flushed. He raised a hand to wipe my mouth. His voice was low, hoarse, and chilling: “I forgive you for cheating.” “Tell me, who is that shameless mistress?” I glared at him. “He’s not a mistress.” John froze slightly; he was familiar with this expression of mine. It was the expression I used to instinctively protect him in front of outsiders. It belonged only to him. Now, he was the outsider. John’s heart gave a jolt, and he laughed, infuriated: “Is he worth defending so fiercely?” “Did my kiss feel better, or his?” Although I had never kissed Felix, I answered without hesitation: “His!” John’s face instantly became cold and sharp. “Don’t mention him!” I sneered, “You’re the one who asked.” Before I could finish, he grabbed my jaw and kissed me again. I slapped him hard. He was stunned. He knew I loved his face most. “You’re my wife,” his voice held an unmistakable note of grievance. “He seduced you, what else is he if not a mistress?” “I’m not your wife anymore. I’ve remarried.” I said, word by word, “You’re the one acting like a mistress.”

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I’m an embalmer at the Southwood Mortuary, gifted with a peculiar sensitivity—I can hear the final words of the departed. When an unidentified young woman’s desperate cry, “Nathaniel Carr… help me… don’t kill me!” pierced my ears, a chill seized me. It was the exact name of my sister’s fiancé, whom she had just brought home yesterday. My family branded me a jealous lunatic, smashing teacups to silence me. As the wedding bells chimed, my sister smiled on the altar, and the groom approached me, a wine glass in hand, his gaze behind his spectacles like a viper’s: “I hear… you can speak with the dead?” 1. I am an embalmer at the Southwood Mortuary. For three years in this profession, constantly dealing with the deceased, my parents considered me cursed, and my sister, Stella, found me an embarrassment. What they didn’t know was that I possessed a unique gift: a special sensitivity. At the moment of suturing a body or applying makeup to a deceased person, I could hear their last words left on Earth. Today, an unidentified young woman’s body had arrived. She was found wedged in the rocks by the sea. The seawater had distorted her features, and her limbs were already showing the early signs of adRusselld decomposition, a truly gruesome sight. The coroner had ruled it an accidental drowning. But the instant I picked up the powder puff and touched her cold, swollen cheek, a piercing, desperate voice shot straight into my eardrums. “Nathaniel Carr… help me… don’t kill me!” “The ring… it’s in his fish tank… I’m the ninth…” The powder puff slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. Nathaniel Carr. That name was all too familiar. Just yesterday, my radiant sister, Stella, had brought her new fiancé home. He was a refined gentleman with gold-rimmed glasses, the CFO of a successful company, named Nathaniel Carr. My parents beamed with approval, and Stella preened like a proud peacock, showing off to me about her impending marriage into wealth. And now, that man’s name echoed in the dying words of an unknown woman, a name twisted into a chilling spectral warning. “The ninth…” A shiver of dread ran through me. If this young woman’s words were true, Nathaniel Carr was not only a murderer but a serial killer. And my own sister was about to become his wife. That evening, I returned home to an atmosphere thick with celebration. The living room was piled high with luxury gifts – Nathaniel had sent them over as engagement presents that afternoon. Mom was holding a pearl necklace to her throat, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, the quality of this! Let’s see how old Mrs. Miller’s daughter next door can compare now. Stella really has a knack for things, unlike some people who spend all day with the dead, bringing back bad luck.” Stella was on the sofa, manicuring her nails, and rolled her eyes at Mom’s comment. “Mom, why bring her up? As long as she doesn’t show her face at my engagement party and embarrass me, that’s all I ask.” I took a deep breath and walked to the coffee table, blocking the television light. “Sis, you can’t get engaged.” I looked into Stella’s eyes, trying to keep my voice steady. “Nathaniel Carr is dangerous.” The room fell into a deathly silence. Three seconds later, Stella let out a snicker, as if she’d heard the funniest joke imaginable. “Celeste, are you crazy? What’s wrong with Nathaniel? Is it because he’s too rich, or because he loves me too much, and it’s driving you insane with jealousy?” “It’s not jealousy.” My fists clenched, nails digging into my flesh. “Today, an unidentified young woman’s body came into the mortuary. Before she died… she spoke to me. She said Nathaniel Carr killed her, that he’s a serial killer! The body is in Mortuary Cabinet 3. Sis, just believe me this once, at least look into his background!” To make them believe, I had to describe my inexplicable ability to “hear last words” as a “dream” or an intuition. Suddenly, an exquisite bone china teacup came hurtling towards me. 2. The teacup shattered at my feet, porcelain shards spraying, one slicing my ankle. Mom had thrown it. She stood up, pointing a finger at my nose and screaming, “Celeste! Are you deliberately trying to ruin your sister’s happiness? Huh? You’re an unwanted embalmer, spending all day with corpses, has your brain rotted too?” “Making up stories about your future brother-in-law? A murderer? Why don’t you just say he’s an alien?!” Stella stood up, her heels clicking as she strode over, looking down at me. The disgust in her eyes almost spilled over. “Celeste, I know you’ve always been a dark soul. When we were kids, if I wanted a new dress, you’d say it would rain and get dirty. Now I’m marrying into wealth, and you’re cursing my fiancé as a killer.” “Has your mouth sewn up so many dead people’s mouths that it only spits venom?” “I’m not cursing you!” My eyes reddened with urgency. “The young woman said Nathaniel Carr has a ring hidden in his fish tank! That’s proof! If we just check—” “Enough!” Dad slammed his hand on the table. “Nathaniel took us to his villa just this afternoon. That huge fish tank has expensive Koi carp, worth thousands! You want us to go rummage through it? Do you want our family to become the laughingstock of the entire city?” “Get back to your room!” Mom pushed me. “You’re such bad luck! What if Nathaniel finds out tomorrow and thinks we have a lunatic in the family? From today on, you’re not allowed out, and you’re certainly not allowed at Stella’s engagement party!” I was shoved into my small, north-facing bedroom. From outside, their joyful laughter echoed, discussing tomorrow’s hotel menu, debating whether to honeymoon in the Maldives or Switzerland. I leaned against the door, the young woman’s desperate cry reverberating in my mind. “The ninth…” Sister, if you become the tenth, who will be there to hear your last words? Early the next morning, I slipped out of the house while everyone else was still asleep. I couldn’t just stand by and watch Stella walk into danger, no matter how much she humiliated me. I decided to go to the police station or look for clues related to the unidentified young woman. But I had no evidence. Besides the voice in my head, I had nothing. If I went to the police now and said, “The body told me Nathaniel Carr killed her,” they would most likely send me to a psychiatric hospital. It would only tip off Nathaniel Carr and make him cautious. I returned to the mortuary. Just outside, I saw a black SUV parked. A man in a black trench coat was crouched on the steps, smoking, a scattering of cigarette butts at his feet. He looked disheveled and fierce, his eyes bloodshot, but his face was remarkably handsome, with sharp, defined features. He saw me approaching in my work uniform, extinguished his cigarette, and asked in a hoarse voice, “Are you the embalmer in charge of the young woman in Cabinet 3?” I nodded. “Are you family?” The man closed his eyes in pain. “I’m her brother. I’m a private investigator. I’ve been looking for her for three months… I never expected to find her here.” His name was Garrett. I’d seen that name in the news; he was Southwood’s most renowned forensic consultant, having solved many cold cases, but his sister’s disappearance had remained a mystery. Garrett followed me into the morgue. The moment the white sheet was pulled back, this six-foot-plus tough man instantly broke down, falling to his knees and wailing. “Lily… it’s my fault… I couldn’t protect you…” I stood by, watching his unbearable grief, and the impulse within me could no longer be suppressed. This was true love for the departed. Unlike my family, who met warnings of death with only disdain and curses. “Mr. Russell,” I said softly. “Your sister suffered greatly when she passed.” Garrett abruptly looked up at me, his eyes like a wounded beast. “How do you know? The coroner said she drowned…” “She told me she was held underwater until she drowned.” I met Garrett’s eyes, deciding to take a gamble. “The killer’s name is Nathaniel Carr. The evidence is in his fish tank—a ring.” 3. Garrett froze. Any normal person hearing such words would think I was a charlatan. But he didn’t. He stared intensely at me, as if grasping at a last straw. “Are you certain? Do you know what you’re saying? Nathaniel Carr is a rising star in Southwood’s business world. If you make false accusations, you’ll be legally responsible.” “I’m an embalmer.” I pointed to my ears. “I can hear the dead. Your sister said she was the ninth victim. If you don’t believe me, you can check Nathaniel Carr’s fish tank, or look into whether his previous girlfriends all mysteriously disappeared.” The air hung heavy for a full minute. Garrett suddenly stood up and bowed deeply to me. “I believe you.” His voice was hoarse yet firm. “For three months, I’ve investigated all of Lily’s social connections. The only one I couldn’t get a full background on was Nathaniel Carr. My gut told me he was suspicious, but I had no evidence, no direction. Ms. Clarke, thank you for giving me a lead.” He pulled a black business card from his coat and handed it to me. “Regardless of the outcome, I, Garrett Russell, won’t forget this. If he’s responsible for nine lives, it’s not just Lily. Ms. Clarke, you know this secret is dangerous. A man like Nathaniel Carr is very perceptive.” I offered a bitter smile. “My sister is getting engaged to him today.” Garrett’s expression instantly changed. “Then your sister is in great danger.” “I tried to warn her,” I said, lowering my gaze. “But she thinks I’m jealous, and my parents think I’m bad luck.” Garrett was silent for a moment, then retrieved a miniature tracking device from his car, designed to look like a simple brooch. “Wear this. If you’re in danger, press it, and no matter where you are, I’ll be there. You’ve brought peace to my sister’s restless spirit, which makes you my benefactor, Ms. Clarke. If your family doesn’t believe you, you can consider me your support.” In that moment, in the cold morgue, I felt a warmth I hadn’t experienced in a long time. My own parents considered me worthless, yet this man, a stranger I had just met, prioritized my safety. I accepted the brooch, looking at Garrett. “Mr. Russell, if you find evidence, could you please not make it public immediately? I want… I want my sister to see that man’s true colors.” “You want to save her?” Garrett asked. 4. I shook my head, remembering the teacup that had shattered at my feet last night. “I want to save myself. Only with Nathaniel Carr’s downfall can I shed the labels of ‘lunatic’ and ‘jealous freak.’ As for my sister… that’s the path she chose.” Half a month later, Stella and Nathaniel Carr’s wedding proceeded as scheduled. During that half-month, my family treated me like a thief, terrified I would disrupt the wedding. I, in turn, enjoyed the peace, moving into the mortuary’s staff dormitory, exchanging updates with Garrett daily. Garrett’s efficiency was astonishing. Instead of directly searching the fish tank, he followed the “ninth victim” lead, using his network to discreetly investigate Nathaniel Carr’s movements over the past decade. Sure enough, Nathaniel Carr would move to a new city every year or so, and around the time of his departure, young women would mysteriously disappear locally. While most bodies were never found or were ruled accidental, with the “core suspect” I provided, all the pieces of the puzzle began to fit. On the wedding day, Mom specifically called me. “Celeste, today is Stella’s big day. I know you’re feeling unbalanced, but you’re still her sister. You have to come today; we’re taking family photos. If you don’t, don’t ever call me your mother again!” I looked at myself in the mirror, dressed in a black business suit, and touched the brooch pinned to my collar. “Okay, I’ll be there.” I went, not for blessings, but to bear witness. To witness how this family, caught in a bubble of vanity, slowly descended into an abyss. The wedding was held at Southwood’s most luxurious five-star hotel. The moment I entered, I received countless strange glances. In a sea of guests adorned in evening gowns and glittering jewelry, my all-black attire stood out jarringly, almost as if I were attending a funeral. “Oh dear, is that the younger daughter from the Clarke family who works at the crematorium?” “So ill-mannered, dressed like that for a wedding. Isn’t she just trying to upset her sister?” “I heard she even spread rumors that the groom was a murderer. Clearly, something’s wrong with her head.” Stella, in a custom-made gown worth a fortune, clung to Nathaniel Carr’s arm, looking like a haughty queen. Seeing me, her smile faltered, then she adopted a magnanimous, forgiving expression, speaking into the microphone: “Thank you all for coming to my wedding. Although my sister, due to her work, has a rather… peculiar personality, and even some misunderstandings about me, I’m still very happy she could make it.” These words made her seem gracious while simultaneously confirming my supposed immaturity. Nathaniel Carr pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up, his gaze falling on me. That look—cold, slimy, like a snake crawling up my spine. He smiled as he walked towards me, raising a glass of wine: “Celeste, isn’t it? Stella tells me you have some ‘special’ thoughts about me? I hear… you can speak with the dead?” The surrounding guests erupted in laughter. Boom! The last thread in my mind snapped. I sharply looked at Stella, who stood not far away. She was looking over here with a shy, adoring expression, utterly oblivious that in her eagerness to please this man, she had revealed my professional habits and past warnings as amusing anecdotes to curry favor! She had personally handed my ace card into the devil’s grasp. Nathaniel Carr watched my pale face, the smile on his lips deepening. He gently tapped my rigid wine glass, producing a sharp clink, like the prelude to a death knell. “Don’t be nervous. I’m quite interested in ‘bodies’ myself. If the opportunity arises, I’d truly like to learn… how those speechless dead people manage to accuse you.” 5. I looked at him, unafraid. “Mr. Carr, the dead do speak. And not only do they speak, they also hold grudges.” Nathaniel Carr’s pupils constricted slightly, but his smile remained. “Oh? Then I’d truly like to hear it, given the chance.” “You will,” I said softly. “Soon.” Just then, Mom rushed over, tugged me aside, and hissed in a low voice, “You wretched girl, shut up! If you dare to say another word, I’ll tear your mouth off! Go sit in a corner quickly, don’t be an eyesore!” During the family photo segment, the photographer directed the positions. “Alright, bride and groom in the center, parents on either side, sister… sister, stand a bit to the side, a bit further.” I was pushed to the very edge, half my body out of frame. The moment the flash went off, I saw Nathaniel Carr’s hand resting on Stella’s waist, his long index finger gently tapping the lace of her wedding dress. It was his habitual motion when looking for where to strike. And Stella, her face beaming with happiness, was utterly unaware. After the photos, I skipped dinner and turned to leave. Just as I exited the banquet hall, I received a message from Garrett, with an attached image. It was the DNA comparison result from trace human tissue extracted from Nathaniel Carr’s villa’s drainage pipes. Along with a blurry photo, taken through a floor-to-ceiling window, of a shimmering object under the light at the bottom of the huge fish tank. The caption contained only four words: [The hunt begins.] I glanced back at the brilliantly lit banquet hall. Sister, your dream of marrying into wealth has come true. But your nightmare has only just begun. I took out my phone, cropped my half-body out of the family photo, then blocked Mom and Stella’s contact information. From today, I was the sole witness, and the cold, detached avenger. Since you chose not to believe me, you will bear the price of this “sweetness” yourselves. After leaving that nauseating wedding, my life paradoxically became incredibly peaceful. I blocked everyone in my family and moved into the single dormitory provided by the mortuary. Although it was only a small studio, without endless scolding or my sister’s condescending mockery, it was paradise to me. Garrett became a frequent visitor. He was no longer the disheveled, heavy-drinking man; he had shaved his beard, cut his hair short, and regained the sharp, decisive look he wore as a police consultant. But every time he came to see me, he would bring a hot breakfast or some strange but practical small gift, like pepper spray or a miniature voice recorder. “Morning.” Garrett placed a cup of hot soy milk on my desk, his gaze sweeping over the makeup kit I was organizing. “Work today?” “Yes, an elderly man who died in a car accident.” I put on my gloves, speaking calmly. “His family wants him to have a dignified farewell.” Garrett leaned against the door, quietly watching me work. He never seemed bothered by the smell, nor did he find my job gruesome. This silent companionship brought me an unprecedented sense of peace. When I finished suturing the old man’s wounds, and my fingers touched his cold earlobe, that familiar voice did not appear. The old man had passed away peacefully, with no last words. This, in my profession, was actually the norm. Demons like Nathaniel Carr, burdened with multiple lives, were ultimately a rarity. “By the way,” Garrett pulled a document from his coat and handed it to me. “This is what you asked for.” It contained Nathaniel Carr’s recent movements, and… screenshots from Stella’s social media. Since I had blocked them, Garrett had become my “eyes.” In the screenshots, Stella showcased the pristine blue waters of the Maldives, with the caption: “My husband says he wants to show me the whole world. This is what marrying for love looks like.” Below were Mom and Dad’s comments: “Our daughter is so happy! Your mom is envious!” And various other relatives’ praises. Garrett let out a cold laugh, tapping his finger on the desk. “The photos are edited. Nathaniel Carr never took her out of the country; they’ve been at his villa in Southwood. He restricted her from traveling, using the excuse of a company IPO audit, claiming her passport was confiscated.”

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1 The day I was born, the smiles on my parents’ faces froze the moment the nurse handed me to them. Floating just above my bald head, invisible to everyone else, was a line of numbers. 6570 days. Not one more, not one less. Exactly eighteen years. The nurse thought they were just nervous first-time parents. Only they knew the truth—it was my expiration date. While other families in the maternity ward celebrated new life, my parents were already staring at my end. For the next eighteen years, I was the most precious thing in our house. No matter how poor we were, the eggs were mine, the new clothes were mine, the meat was mine. My little brother could only watch with hungry eyes. “Let your sister have it,” my parents would always say. “She doesn’t have much time.” I understood my place from a young age. I never made a fuss, never threw a tantrum. I was just quietly waiting to die. On my eighteenth birthday, I blew out the candles and said a silent, heartfelt goodbye to the world. The next morning, my parents and my brother walked into my room, their eyes red and swollen, dressed in somber clothes. I rubbed my eyes and smiled at them. “Good morning.” The air in the room went still. The grief on their faces slowly morphed into shock, then stiffened into something cold and hard. … The silence stretched for a full ten seconds. “You… how are you…” My brother, Sammy, hid behind my mother, his voice trembling as if he’d seen a ghost. “I’m not dead,” I said. My father’s expression flickered. He forced a smile. “Not dead. That’s good, that’s good…” He nudged my mother. “Go on, make some breakfast.” Mom stared at me, then gave a numb nod. She walked to the door, then turned back, her eyes filled with a complicated emotion I couldn’t decipher. For the first time in my eighteen years, I felt that something was deeply wrong in our home. Breakfast was thin porridge and a side of pickles. As usual, Sammy placed the single boiled egg in front of my bowl. I reached for it. Smack. My mother slapped my hand, hard. A bright red mark bloomed on my skin instantly. “You’re a grown girl now, fighting with your brother over an egg! Have you no shame?” I pulled my hand back and just ate my porridge. After the meal, I scrambled to clear the table and wash the dishes. In the past, whenever I tried to help, Mom would gently stop me, a loving smile on her face. “You’re our little princess, you don’t need to do this.” This time, she just shot me a cold look and said nothing. After I washed the dishes, I forgot to wring out the dishcloth, leaving it damp on the edge of the sink. When my mother came in and saw it, her face twisted with rage. “Are you blind? You just leave the cloth like that? You want it to grow mold?” I froze, then quickly reached for the cloth. “I raised you for eighteen years!” she shrieked, following me. “Didn’t we give you the best of everything? The eggs, the meat, the new clothes! Did your brother ever get anything new?! All you know is how to take! You can’t even wash a few dishes properly…” “Mom, I did wash them. It’s just the cloth…” “Don’t you dare talk back to me! Who do you think you are?!” She snatched the cloth from my hand and threw it on the floor. “Look at you! Standing there with that miserable face! You’ve lived eighteen years and you can’t even wring out a dishcloth! What good are you?!” My father walked in then. He glanced at my mother’s contorted face, then at my stunned expression. He waved a dismissive hand, as if trying to end a pointless argument. “What’s all the shouting for? Just get on with your day!” Biting my lip, I asked softly, “Mom, Dad… are you like this because I didn’t die?” Their bodies went rigid. My father took a deep breath and managed a strained laugh. “We’re just… not used to it. We need some time… to adjust.” I watched them walk away, hearing them mutter to each other. “How can she just not die? What kind of mess is this?” I didn’t understand. Wasn’t me being alive a good thing? I looked out the window. The sun was the same as always. But when its light hit my skin, I suddenly felt very, very cold. 2 After that day, the atmosphere in the house changed completely. I was moved into the tiny, windowless utility room. Mom said Sammy was a growing boy and needed the sunnier room. She no longer asked me what I wanted to eat. She’d just set the table in silence, putting out two plates, then glance at me and reluctantly add a third. My father spoke even less. Sometimes he’d come home and see me sitting in the yard, and he’d just stop, turn around, and go in through the back door. Only Sammy would occasionally peek at me through the crack of the utility room door, his eyes filled with a strange curiosity, as if he were observing some kind of freak. Before, I was the treasure they had spent eighteen years doting on. Now, I was the scapegoat for everything that went wrong. The faucet was left dripping. My dad’s brow furrowed, his voice stripped of its old warmth. “Did you do this on purpose? Wasting water! Do you have any idea how much the bills are? You’re such a burden!” “Dad, I really didn’t…” “Don’t call me Dad!” he yelled, then turned and walked away. Sammy failed a test by one point. “It’s all your fault, wandering around the house, distracting your brother! We were supposed to have peace, and you ruined everything!” Dinner one night was a little undercooked. My mom slammed her fork down. “It’s because you’re still here! Cursing this house with bad luck! Even the stove is against me now!” I stood there, helpless, my eyes burning as tears streamed down my face. “I thought I was going to die, too,” I whispered. The breaking point came when I flipped a light switch, and the bulb flickered once before dying completely. My mother exploded. “You jinx! Ever since you passed eighteen, everything in this house has been breaking! You’re a curse!” “Eighteen years! Over six thousand days! Your father and I counted every single one of them while we raised you! We gave you everything, and Sammy got nothing! We prepared ourselves to say goodbye, we practiced it in our minds over and over again… but you…” She didn’t finish, but I understood. Their eighteen years of sacrifice, their careful nurturing of a life with a deadline—it had all become a sick joke. It wasn’t that I was alive. It was that they had lost their investment. The sacrifices they made, the things they’d denied my brother, the suffering that was supposed to end with my death… it was all for nothing. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I swallowed my pain and tried to make up for my “mistake,” my parents would soften. They would remember how much they used to love me. I took over all the housework. Laundry, cooking, shopping, cleaning. I was more diligent than any maid, preparing varied meals and keeping the house spotless. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t earn a single kind word or a smile from them. I grew thinner, my face gaunt and pale. The neighbors started to notice. They’d whisper amongst themselves. One of them, Mrs. Gable, tried to reason with my parents. “Don’t be so hard on Annie. She’s your daughter, after all.” But my mother, in front of everyone, spat back with disgust, “We wish we’d never had her. She’s a monster, a bad omen who ruins everything she touches! As long as she’s here, this family will never know peace!” My father stood beside her, nodding. “We raised her for eighteen years. We’ve done more than enough! Now she’s just a leech, dragging us all down!” Their words were like knives, twisting in my heart until I could barely breathe. Every little problem in the house became a reason to attack me, but it was what happened with my brother that was the final blow. 3 One day, it was just Sammy and me at home. I needed to use the bathroom, but the door to the utility room was stuck. It was locked from the outside. Panicked, I pounded on the door. “Sammy! Let me out!” No one answered. All I heard was the sound of crashing from the kitchen, followed by my brother’s sharp cry of pain. The door was finally yanked open by my mother. Her hand came with it, a slap so powerful it sent my head spinning. “You curse! I knew you’d cause trouble!” Her eyes were bloodshot, like a cornered animal. She collapsed to the floor, beating her thighs and wailing. “Why is my life so miserable? I raised a monster for a daughter! She’s ruined our lives!” Just then, my father came home. He saw Sammy on the floor, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. He saw my mother’s hysterical rage, and it was like a sickness that infected him, too. He grabbed me by the collar, dragged me up, and threw me onto my bed. “Annie Reed! You disaster! Why don’t you just die!” My voice was raw from crying as I tried to explain. “Mom, Dad, it wasn’t my fault! Sammy locked me in! He fell because he was trying to steal the candy from the top shelf…” They locked me in the room. No food, no water. I could hear the world outside. My mother cooking in the kitchen, the sound of my father’s footsteps when he came home from work, Sammy crying out that his leg hurt. No one mentioned me. I curled up on the cold mattress, my cheek throbbing and swollen. A fever took hold, my body shivering with cold even as it burned from within. My consciousness began to fade. I guess this is it, I thought. I’m really going to die this time. It’s better this way. Death would be a release. In my delirium, my eighteen years flashed before my eyes like a movie reel. I remembered my parents’ eyes, always filled with a strange mix of pity, helplessness, and sorrow. They looked at me like I was a fragile porcelain doll, one that could shatter at any moment. They never talked about my future. Our whole life was a countdown. When I was five, my brother stole a piece of meat from my plate. My mother caught him and beat him severely. “Why does she get to eat it and I can’t?” he sobbed. My mother didn’t answer. She just kept hitting him. Afterward, she hid in the kitchen and cried for a long time. Later, Sammy whispered to me, “Annie, are you going to die?” “Mom said you’re going to die. I don’t want you to die, Annie. You can have all my meat from now on.” The memory of their faces, twisted with a love born from impending loss, merged with the cold, hate-filled faces of the present. My head throbbed. Did they love me? Yes, they did. But their love had an expiration date. It was built on a countdown. It was a love meant for goodbyes. Eighteen years. The countdown ended, and so did the love. If I had died on schedule, their love would have been preserved in memory, forever gentle. Mom would be lovingly stroking my hair, telling me I was the prettiest princess in my new dress. Dad would be lifting me high, promising to show me the world. Sammy would be secretly saving his yogurt for me. Those memories felt so close, yet impossibly far. I managed to force my eyes open. I was still in the dark utility room. No light, nothing. I twitched my fingers, trying to feel for the letter under my pillow. A letter to my parents and brother. I’d written it a long time ago. A bitter smile touched my lips. I just hadn’t died when I was supposed to. There was also a small pink piggy bank. It didn’t have much, but it was enough to buy Sammy a small toy. I fell asleep again. I hoped when they found me, they’d see these things and maybe they wouldn’t be so angry anymore. This time, my sleep was deep and dreamless. I could hear my own heartbeat. One beat, then another, then another. Then, slowly, slowly… it stopped. The utility room fell completely silent. No one knew. No one came. The little girl who was always waiting to die didn’t have to wait anymore. 4 The moment I left my body, I felt weightless. I floated in the air, looking down at my own stiff form on the bed. So, I thought, people really do have souls after they die. I passed through the wall, finally free from that cramped little room. Lunch was on the table. Three sets of plates and forks. My mother served the food, my father dished it out, and Sammy sat waiting. I took my usual seat, waiting for one of them to ask, “Where’s Annie?” But they didn’t. After they ate, Sammy limped toward the utility room. My spirit soared. Open the door, Sammy! I cried out silently. I won’t bother you anymore! But before his hand could touch the doorknob, my mother’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Sammy! What are you doing?! Get away from there! Does your leg not hurt anymore?!” He flinched and hurried away. That afternoon, our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, came over to borrow some salt. “Where’s Annie? I haven’t seen her for a couple of days.” My mother’s face tightened for a second before she smoothed it over. “She’s not feeling well. Resting in her room.” “Is it serious? I have some medicine…” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. No medicine can help me now, Mrs. Gable. “No, thank you!” my mother said, a little too quickly. “It’s nothing. She’ll be fine after a day or two.” Mrs. Gable didn’t press further. Another chance to be found, lost. After she left, my mother glanced towards the utility room several times, but she never walked over. That evening, my father came home. I spread my arms to block his path. Dad! Please, go check on me! I promise I’ll never make you angry again! The countdown is really over this time! But he walked right through me. “Is she still locked in?” he asked. Mom didn’t answer. “Open the door,” he said. I almost wept with joy. Was I finally going to be discovered? Would they be sad? Would they finally say I was a good daughter? Just as my mother started walking towards the utility room, the phone rang, shrill and urgent. My father answered it. His face went pale, and he swayed on his feet. My mother rushed to his side, steadying him. I sighed. So close. So close to being found. “Let’s go! Back to the old town!” he choked out. “The village called… they said Mom is fading fast!” They grabbed Sammy and rushed out, frantic. The door to my room remained closed. I was forgotten again. Even without a heartbeat, the news about my grandmother pierced me with pain. In all my eighteen years, she was the one who loved me most. Knowing I was on a timer, she’d had countless sleepless nights. I followed my parents back to my grandmother’s house to see her one last time. She lay on her bed, frail and skeletal. She gripped my father’s hand, her words a struggle. “Mark… where’s Annie? I don’t see her.” My father looked away, guilty. “She… she’s at home. She didn’t come…” Grandma’s eyes flew open. “You fool. What did you do?” Startled, my father confessed. “Annie misbehaved. I… I grounded her, wouldn’t let her eat…” Hearing this, my grandmother’s strength seemed to vanish. She mumbled something. “Mom? What did you say? I can’t hear you,” Dad said, leaning closer. “What about Annie? What do you mean she didn’t die?” He pressed his ear almost to her lips. I was too far away to hear what she whispered. But I saw my father’s body go rigid, as if struck by lightning. A look of pure, uncomprehending horror spread across his face. He forgot to even blink. “ANNIE!” His scream was so full of terror it startled me. His face was ashen. Ignoring my mother’s confused questions, he started running back towards our house, chanting, “It was a mistake… a mistake…” What was a mistake? CRASH! The utility room door was thrown open. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the scene inside. My father’s legs gave out, and he nearly collapsed. Floating above, I looked down at myself, curled on the bed. Shockingly thin, my cheek still bruised, my hair a tangled mess on the pillow. I was so quiet. Quieter than I had ever been in life. “What is it?” my mother panted, finally catching up. When she saw my small, stiff body, a terrified shriek tore from her throat. “Oh, God! Annie!” My father reached out a trembling hand to check for my breath, and his face crumbled with utter despair. “What happened? How did this happen?!” my mother screamed, shaking him as she collapsed to the floor. Dad just stood there, frozen, a roaring in his ears. But my grandmother’s faint words echoed like thunder. “Mom said…” He swallowed hard. “She said we were fated to be childless. She… she traded her remaining years of life for Annie… The countdown was hers. The death date was hers…”

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1 The day we finally paid off the mortgage, I cooked a lavish dinner to celebrate. With the paid-in-full notice in my hand, I sat by candlelight and waited for my husband, Mark, for three whole hours. When he finally came home, he reeked of cheap, cloyingly sweet perfume. There was no surprise, no hug. He pulled out a chair and sat, his eyes darting away from mine, but his tone was firm. “Raina, you need to move out of the master bedroom.” The wine glass in my hand froze. I thought I’d misheard him. “What did you say?” He loosened his tie, his voice laced with irritation. “Serena’s back. She’s been diagnosed with severe depression, and she’s in a really bad state.” Serena? Mark’s first love? “She’ll be living with us from now on. I need to spend time with her after work every day. The master bedroom gets the best light; it’s better for her recovery.” A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. A chill ran down my spine. “When did you get back in touch?” He looked up at me then, his eyes holding no guilt, only exhaustion. “Remember last year when you were in the hospital, and I went back to my hometown for money?” “We ran into each other at the station. She was so thin she was unrecognizable, just shivering on a bench. The moment I held her again, I knew. I knew I’d never gotten over her.” … I laughed, a laugh so bitter it brought tears to my eyes. For seven years, I, a senior actuary, had calculated every cent of our mortgage. I’d factored in compound interest, inflation, and every single penny we could save by paying it off early. But I had missed one crucial variable: Mark’s conscience. Or lack thereof. I had been with him since we had nothing, eating the cheapest instant noodles, living in a dark, damp basement apartment. I poured every bonus I ever earned into this house, working myself into the ground until my body gave out. And now, on the very night our mortgage was paid, he was telling me he was moving his ex-girlfriend in. “Mark, what do you take me for?” My voice trembled. “I was the one who worked until I was hospitalized with a bleeding stomach. Don’t you remember that I was in a bad state?” He avoided my gaze, his eyes fixed on the pattern of the rug. “Raina, don’t bring up the past. You were young then, you were strong. You pushed through it.” “But Serena’s different. She’s had a rough few years. She just got divorced, walked away with nothing. She doesn’t even have a place to stay.” He stood up so abruptly his chair scraped back, his voice turning cold and hard. “Raina, for years, what I’ve felt for you is gratitude. I owe you. I know that.” “We were poor back then, but all our friends and family knew we’d made a life for ourselves in the city. I admit, I was vain. I thought I could just… settle, and spend the rest of my life with you. But then she got sick.” “I can’t just watch her die. Don’t you understand?” As he spoke, he walked towards our bedroom and began yanking my things out with brutal efficiency. My skincare products, the scented candle we made together on our seventh anniversary—he tossed them into the hallway like garbage. A bottle of expensive face cream rolled away, the lid popping off and splattering its contents across the floor. “Are you insane?!” I lunged forward to stop him. Just then, the doorbell rang. Mark’s expression instantly softened, his eyes filled with a tender, almost desperate urgency. He shoved past me and strode to the door. Standing on the threshold was a woman in a long white dress, her face pale, a battered suitcase in her hand. This was Serena. The one that got away, the ghost he’d cherished for a decade. She leaned weakly against the doorframe. “Mark, is Raina angry? Maybe I should just go. I can find a spot under a bridge or something. I don’t want to ruin your relationship.” Her voice was as faint as a whisper, but it was enough to make Mark’s face darken. Right in front of me, he swept her up into his arms. He carried her toward the bed we had spent three months choosing together. Our marital bed, where I hadn’t even had the chance to enjoy a single night’s peaceful sleep, free from the weight of our mortgage. Without a backward glance, he carried her into the master bedroom and slammed the door shut. I stood alone in the empty living room, surrounded by the wreckage of my life, a piercing pain in my heart. I gathered my scattered belongings, my hand on the doorknob, ready to leave. But then I stopped. I had bled for this house. Why should I be the one to run away? I wasn’t going anywhere. I would not surrender my home. I was going to see just how shameless they could be. 2 The next morning, I was jolted awake by the acrid smell of medicinal herbs. I opened my eyes on the narrow sofa, my entire spine aching as if it had been twisted out of place. The sound of clattering came from the kitchen. I pushed myself up and walked over. The sight that greeted me made me tremble with rage. Serena was wearing my silk nightgown—the one I’d never even brought myself to wear. She was casually stirring a dark concoction in a pot. “Who said you could wear my clothes?” I snapped. She jumped, startled. The spoon slipped from her hand, splattering black droplets of the brew. “Raina, Mark said you had so many clothes, and I didn’t bring anything to change into. I just grabbed one. It looks pretty old, so I thought you wouldn’t mind.” I stared at her pathetic act, strode over, and snatched the spoon from her hand. “Take it off. And get out.” Her eyes welled up, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Raina. I’ll change right now. Please don’t be angry. My heart starts to hurt whenever I get stressed…” As she spoke, she deliberately nudged the bowl of medicine on the counter. It tipped, and the dark, thick liquid spilled all over the designer handbag I had sitting there—the bag I’d saved for six months to buy as a reward for a promotion. My heart ached. I grabbed the bowl and, in one swift motion, flung the remaining liquid at her feet. “Ah!” she shrieked, collapsing to the floor. The master bedroom door flew open. Mark rushed out, not even bothering to put on shoes. He shoved me aside with such force that I slammed into the corner of the refrigerator. “Raina, have you lost your mind?! You know she’s sick!” He turned and frantically checked Serena’s feet, even though the skin was only slightly red where the liquid had splashed. “Mark, it was my fault. I was clumsy,” Serena sobbed, leaning into his arms. “I accidentally dirtied Raina’s bag… She has every right to be angry with me…” Mark shot to his feet and slapped me across the face. The blow was heavy. My ear rang, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Where are your manners? She’s severely depressed! Are you so cruel you have to bully a sick woman?” I stared at the man I had known for seven years. The man who had warmed my hands and cooked me porridge in our freezing basement apartment now wore the face of a complete stranger. Mark bent down, lifted Serena into his arms, and carried her back to the bedroom, tossing a final, sneering remark over his shoulder. “Wipe that calculating look off your face. It’s disgusting.” I leaned against the wall to steady myself and let out a hollow laugh. I opened my banking app and checked our recent transactions. The five-thousand-dollar bonus that was supposed to go into our joint account was gone. Mark had withdrawn it. I pushed open the bedroom door. He was gently dabbing at the stains on Serena’s feet. “Where is it? What did you do with my five-thousand-dollar bonus?” Mark didn’t even look up. “Serena needs money for her treatments and some supplements. Your bonus was for the emergency fund.” His voice was casual, entitled. “And on your way home from work, pick up some premium nutritional supplements. She’s weak and needs to build up her strength.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. He was using my hard-earned money to support his long-lost love. And now he was treating me like an errand girl. What a perfect plan. I looked at the woman on the bed, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips, and my fists clenched. 3 Before the sting of the slap had even faded, my mother-in-law burst through the door, carrying bags of groceries. Mark had never told me she was coming. She walked in with a wide smile, but it wasn’t for me. It was for Serena, who was just emerging from the master bedroom. “Oh, my poor, dear daughter-in-law! You’ve suffered so much.” She threw her arms around Serena, her voice dripping with affection. I stood to the side, invisible. An outsider in my own home. “Mom, what are you doing here?” I asked coldly. Her head whipped around, and her smile vanished. She pointed a finger in my face. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? If I didn’t come, my grandson would be cursed to death by a wicked woman like you!” She stomped over to me, spitting as she yelled. “Raina, don’t think you’re so special just because you make a little money. You’re just a useless, barren hen who can’t even lay an egg! Mark should have gotten rid of you years ago!” I was shaking with fury. “I made the down payment on this house! And I paid the bulk of the mortgage!” I turned to Mark. “Tell your mother to be clear. Who’s the barren hen?” Mark just scowled, shielding Serena behind him. “That’s enough. Mom’s just looking out for me. Does it really matter who paid for the house?” “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have a foothold in this city! Stop making everything about money. It’s so crass.” Looking at the ugly faces of this family, the last flicker of warmth in my heart died. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice flat. Mark froze for a second, then sneered. “Fine. Get out. You won’t get a single penny.” He was sure I wouldn’t dare leave him. In his eyes, I had nothing and no one but him. I didn’t say another word. I walked into the study and locked the door. With trembling hands, I turned on Mark’s old phone, the one I’d given him when I upgraded. He hadn’t logged out of his social media. Message after message popped up from his family group chat. Skimming through, my blood ran cold. Mark had posted a photo of Serena with a slightly rounded belly. The caption read: We’re finally going to be parents. Below, a chorus of relatives cheered. His mother had sent several large digital red envelopes. So-called severe depression. It was all a lie to cover up a three-month pregnancy. They wanted me to keep slaving away, to pay for the upbringing of their illegitimate child. Just then, a violent wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the bathroom and was violently sick. A strange, sinking feeling washed over me. I put on a mask and went to a nearby private clinic alone. Two hours later, the doctor looked at my test results. “Ms. Reed, you’re two months pregnant. Your hormone levels are a little unstable, though. You’ll need to rest.” I walked out into the long hospital corridor, the flimsy piece of paper clutched in my hand. And there, just down the hall, outside the obstetrics clinic, I saw him. Mark was tenderly peeling a grape and placing it in Serena’s mouth. His mother sat beside them, beaming. “Once we get that Reed woman out of the picture with nothing, we’ll have the wedding,” she schemed. “We need to do it soon. Serena’s belly will be showing, and it won’t look good in a wedding dress.”

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My parents and my brother, Finn, had once again taken Aurora on a trip—this time, to a ski resort in Aspen—and left me at home alone. Just before they left, Aurora had feigned a sigh of regret. “It’s such a shame Ivy doesn’t even know how to ski or rock climb. If I had known, I wouldn’t have picked a mountain resort.” My family immediately rushed to console her, turning to blame me for being so unadventurous. I watched them go, a bitter thought twisting in my gut: I wish she would never come back. I never imagined I would speak it into existence. There was a real avalanche in Aspen. That evening, my parents and Finn stumbled back into the house, looking like ghosts. “Ivy, Aurora didn’t make it out!” My mother threw her arms around me, her body wracked with sobs. “You’re our only daughter now!” But a deep, icy chill spread through me, and I couldn’t feel a shred of happiness. Because just a second before they walked through the door, Aurora—who was supposed to be dead on that mountain—had sent me a WhatsApp message: “Sis! Mom, Dad, and Finn are all dead!” 1 My mother sensed my stiffness and slowly let go. “What’s wrong, Ivy? We’re back now. Don’t be scared.” Her voice was so gentle it felt alien. She only ever spoke that way to Aurora. With me, her tone was always as cold as ice. I stared at the three people standing in the doorway. Though their faces were bruised and their clothes were stained with blood, they were unmistakably my parents and my brother. But why would Aurora say they were dead? No, wait. According to my mother, Aurora was the one who hadn’t escaped the avalanche. So who sent me that message? “Mom, let’s get you out of those dirty clothes. Ivy needs some time to process this,” Finn said, helping our weeping mother into the living room. As they passed me, a bone-deep cold emanated from them, making me shiver. A comment I’d seen under the news report about the avalanche flashed in my mind. “A tourist caught in an avalanche that big is almost certainly a goner. If your loved ones come home safe, you should take a good, long look and make sure they’re… human.” The commenter, who claimed to be a mountain guide, had explained that sometimes victims of a disaster don’t realize they’re dead and will stubbornly try to go home. He was ridiculed until he deleted the comment. Something that bizarre… Was it happening to me? At that exact moment, the last rays of sunlight vanished, plunging the living room into shadow. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but the temperature in the house seemed to drop several degrees. “Ivy, what are you doing standing by the door? Close it,” my father said, his voice raspy. His face was lost in the gloom. The way he turned his head was strange. He didn’t just turn his neck; his entire torso swiveled with his head, stiffly, as if frozen solid. The hair on my arms stood on end. I instinctively took a step back, reaching behind me for the doorknob. My phone buzzed in my palm. It was Aurora. She’d sent a series of photos. Three black body bags, laid out in a neat row. “They just flew Mom, Dad, and Finn’s bodies back. Where are you, Ivy Reed? Didn’t I tell you to call a car to pick me up?” Bang! An arm slammed the door shut behind me. I jerked my head up and met my brother’s gaze as he looked down at me. “Ivy,” he said softly, “who are you texting?” 2 Finn took another step forward. I hadn’t noticed before, but his skin had a strange, grayish pallor, like meat that had been in a freezer for too long. My back was already pressed against the door; there was nowhere left to retreat. I frantically locked my phone and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Grandma and Grandpa were asking if I’d heard anything. I was just letting them know you’re safe.” Finn paused, then nodded, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. “Ah. It’s a shame Aurora was too weak to hold on until the rescue team arrived. You should break the news to them gently.” “Oh, right. I need to let the rescue team know we’re okay, too. I lost my phone. Let me borrow yours.” He snatched my phone and held it up to my face to unlock it. Panicked, I lunged for it. He clearly wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. The phone flew from his grasp and shattered against the wall. “Ivy, are you okay?” he said, scrambling to his feet. Instead of scolding me, which would have been his usual reaction, he anxiously checked to see if I was hurt. “It was my fault. I’ll buy you the newest iPhone in a few days to make up for it.” A pang of emotion hit me. A ridiculous thought surfaced: If they could always be this kind to me, what does it matter if they’re human or not? “I’m fine, Finn. It’s just too dark in here. I’ll turn on the lights.” I took a deep breath and flipped the switch. They say ghosts don’t have shadows, I thought, closing my eyes for a second, praying my fears were just that—fears. Click. The chandelier flooded the opulent living room with stark white light. All three of them had faint shadows stretching out behind them. I felt a wave of relief. My mother warmed some milk for my father and Finn and poured me a glass of juice. “You’re lactose intolerant. You drink this.” Stunned, I accepted the glass. It was cherry juice, my favorite. She used to call my lactose intolerance a “poor person’s disease” and force me to drink milk until I was sick, telling me I just had to “get used to it.” “Ivy, you should move into Aurora’s big bedroom now,” my father said, a trace of guilt on his stern face. Finn looked at me apologetically and ruffled my hair with his large hand. “And remember to lock all the doors and windows. Be especially careful on the first floor.” I kept my head down, sipping my juice. Its sweetness spread from my mouth to my heart. I almost didn’t want to think about Aurora’s messages anymore. Finn was still talking. “Especially tonight. Don’t open the door for anyone. No matter who it is. Especially not for Aurora.” “Who?” I asked, thinking I’d misheard. Just then, the chandelier flickered. And then went out, plunging us into silence and darkness. I could feel three wooden faces turn toward me in the gloom. Three voices spoke as one. “Don’t open the door for Aurora.” 3 “What happened to the lights? Another power outage in the community?” my father muttered, getting up to check. The sudden darkness was unnerving, but their last words echoed in my mind. I forced myself to ask, “Aurora? Why would she be at the door? I thought she was… gone.” There was a moment of silence at the table, followed by my mother’s soft sobbing. “She is,” she choked out. “But before she… passed, she kept asking why. Why it wasn’t you in the avalanche. Why it wasn’t you who died.” She was too overcome with grief to continue. Finn sighed. “We’re worried her spirit won’t be at peace. That she might come back to harm you. It’s better to be safe than sorry. We’ll be careful for now, and then arrange a proper memorial service for her.” I hugged myself tightly, my mind a tangled mess. Their explanation seemed plausible. And even if they had always favored Aurora, the concern they were showing me now was something I had only ever dreamed of. Aurora, on the other hand, had always been terrified of losing her privileged life, of going from a princess back to a nobody. From the day I was brought into the family, she had targeted me at every turn. This trip to Aspen was her idea, specifically chosen after she found out I couldn’t ski or rock climb. Who was I supposed to believe? My father’s footsteps returned, accompanied by his grumbling. “Yep, the power’s out. What do we pay such high community fees for? No emergency generator, nothing. They just leave candles by the door.” He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit four white candles. The wicks caught, casting a sickly, greenish glow. Finn’s face changed instantly. He blew them all out in one breath. “Something’s wrong with these candles! Dad, did someone from maintenance give these to you personally?” “No,” my father said, confused. “They were just sitting on the doorstep. If it wasn’t maintenance, then who…” His voice trailed off. We’d had outages before, but the community association had never handed out candles. Four candles, a perfect match for the number of people in the house. A shiver ran down my spine. Could it be… was Aurora’s ghost really here to cause trouble? Wait. If Aurora was claiming their bodies had been flown back, there had to be an official list of victims online. My phone was broken, but there was a laptop in Aurora’s room. If I could just confirm who died, I could stop scaring myself. “I… I’m going to head to bed,” I said, pretending to be frightened. “Lock your doors and windows, and don’t wander around. Call for us if you need anything,” my mother said, patting my hand. Her palm was so cold it made me flinch. The chill seemed to clear my head a little. Their kindness felt… rehearsed. I could understand a change of heart after losing a child, but would it be this sudden? This complete? I locked the door to Aurora’s room, but her laptop, unused for so long, was dead. I rubbed my throbbing temples. Just my luck. I’d have to wait for the power to come back on. I got up to close the window. The dim moonlight cast my reflection on the glass. And standing in the corner of the room, the reflection of Aurora.

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It was the eighth year since my husband, Vincent, had come back to me. His mistress, unable to wait any longer, had finally married someone else. Vincent drank himself into a bleeding ulcer at a bar and held my hand all night, whispering, “I’m sorry, Layla. I’m so sorry.” Layla was the young woman he’d kept on the side. I had waited her out, from her fresh-faced youth until the first lines appeared around her eyes. Now, her patience had run out. She was getting married tomorrow, and she had deliberately chosen my wedding anniversary to do it. A final, spiteful jab to show me she hadn’t truly lost this war. But I had been waiting for this day for a long time, too. I sent the video of her and Vincent to her new in-laws. Then, I asked Vincent for a divorce. 1 This was the eighth anniversary we’d celebrated since Vincent had returned to our marriage. It had also been eight years since he’d broken it off with his mistress. I was thirty-five now. The mistress was thirty. We weren’t young anymore. I no longer shared the little details of my day with Vincent. I didn’t get jealous. I didn’t check up on him. I had become the perfect, detached wife he’d always wanted. In turn, Vincent had started to love me more and more. He’d even consulted a spiritual advisor to find the perfect burial plot for us to share. On our anniversary, I cooked a feast and called him. He didn’t answer. I called again and again, persistently. I had my eye on a sprawling penthouse, and a sentimental day like this was the perfect time to get Vincent to sign the check. I usually didn’t care where he was or what he was doing, but today, he had to show up. Finally, someone answered. “Sophie, it’s Ben. Vince is in the hospital—bleeding ulcer. You need to get here, fast.” I calmly finished the dinner I’d prepared for myself and texted back, Okay. On my way to the hospital, I got a message from Layla. See? Even though I’m getting married, he’s still thinking of me. I did this on purpose, just to ruin your anniversary. If I can’t be happy, neither can you. You used your dead child to guilt him into coming back to you. You should have known this was coming. When you wake up in the middle of the night, do you ever think about that poor, lost baby? I closed my eyes, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. Soon, I would have justice for my child. 2 When I arrived, Ben, Vincent’s best friend, immediately started berating me for taking so long. “You were here, weren’t you?” I replied coolly. “I’m not a doctor! What was I supposed to do?” “You’re his wife,” Ben said, his voice laced with disappointment. “How can you be so careless? If I’d known…” He stopped himself. I let out a cold laugh and finished his sentence for him. “If you’d known, you would have told him not to come back to me, so he’d still have someone who actually cared about him.” I had heard that line from Ben more times than I could count. He was the one who had convinced Vincent to break it off with Layla and recommit to our marriage. Now, he was the one constantly complaining that I wasn’t taking good enough care of him. His initial relief had soured into a running commentary on my failings as a wife. But I no longer cared what Vincent’s friends thought. Let them say what they wanted. Vincent probably felt the same way, which was why he never stopped Ben, just watched me with a complicated expression. He wanted me to know what he had sacrificed for me. Everyone knew Layla was the one he truly loved. I was just the villain who had stood in their way, ungrateful for what I had. “Get out, Ben. This is between me and your sister-in-law,” Vincent mumbled, his eyes fluttering open. He called me that, even though Ben’s wife was my friend, not his. Ben looked like he wanted to argue, but Vincent’s next words froze him in place. “Layla, I regret it. Don’t leave me. Don’t marry him.” He grabbed my sleeve, his grip surprisingly strong. “I can’t do it. I can’t watch you have children with another man…” It was the first time I had ever seen him cry like this. His sobs were choked and broken, like the sound of a snapped string on an old cello. He mistook me for her. When they were together, everyone had called Layla “the missus.” They’d stopped after he came back, probably to avoid hurting my feelings. Ben looked at me with pity. “Are you happy now? You used your dead child to tie him to you, and now neither of you is happy. Is this the life you wanted?” I smiled politely. “Yes. This is exactly what I wanted. Seeing them both miserable makes me very happy.” “You should have died on that hospital bed with your baby!” Ben stormed out, leaving me alone with Vincent. He was still clutching my sleeve. I sat down on the edge of his bed and slapped him hard across the face. “Are you awake now?” They all wanted me dead. But I was determined to live well—better than any of them. His cheek was already turning red. “Sophie? Why am I in the hospital?” “Layla’s getting married. You were upset, so you and Ben went drinking. You ended up with a bleeding ulcer.” I took out my phone and played a recording of his drunken rambling, including Ben’s tirade. “You still can’t forget her,” I stated. The color drained from his face. “Why don’t you care about my health anymore? When I was sick before, you carried me to the hospital yourself in a storm. Your heels were bleeding.” I was surprised that was the first thing he thought of. It was a long time ago, before Layla. “That just proves how stupid I was back then. I should have just waited for a taxi, like today. Why suffer so much?” He looked down, ashamed. “I’m really over her. Tonight, I was just… thinking about the past. I didn’t know Ben was saying those things behind my back. I won’t see him anymore.” I cut him off. “Sign this.” I handed him the purchase agreement for the penthouse. “You’ve already failed me emotionally. The least you can do is not fail me financially.” He took the pen and paper, a familiar routine. But his hand paused before he signed, the pressure of the pen nearly tearing the page. “Is this all we have left to talk about?” Ever since he had come back, I had moved my things into the guest room. His study was filled with gifts from Layla, and I never said a word. We were like strangers living under the same roof. The only time I showed him any warmth was when I needed him to spend money. “Why won’t you forgive me, after everything I’ve done? What more do I have to do to make you like you were before?” I nodded. “If you heard that I had drunk myself into the hospital on our anniversary because my ex-lover was getting married, and you could remain as calm as I am right now, then I would forgive you.” “…I’m sorry.” I looked at the signature on the contract, satisfied. I couldn’t bring myself to say, “It’s okay.” He pressed his advantage, placing his hand over mine, his eyes pleading. “Let’s have a baby.” “Ben’s wife is already on their second.” A cynical smile touched my lips. Of all the times to bring this up. It was because Layla was about to start a family with someone else. That’s why he wanted a child now. I pulled my hand away. “No.” “I’m not as heartless as you. You may not remember, but I will never forget our child. No other baby could ever replace him.” And I would never have another child with him. “If you really want a child…” “No,” he said, pulling me into a desperate hug, as if afraid I would disappear. “We don’t need one. Just the two of us is fine. We’ll be together forever.” 3 Vincent was restless that night. He insisted on coming home from the hospital, even though he should have been resting. I knew it was because Layla’s wedding was tomorrow. He was afraid I would cause a scene, so he was keeping me under surveillance. Even though he didn’t want her to marry someone else, he still wanted her to be happy. He was always so good to her. When we got home, he saw the empty, clean dining table and froze. “Sophie, it’s our anniversary. Where’s the dinner you made?” “Why did you drink yourself into the hospital?” I snapped. “You weren’t going to eat it, so I gave it to the stray dogs.” He stared at the table in silence. I was tired. I went to take a shower, not bothering to decipher his mood. In the early days, when he was just starting his business, his eating habits were terrible, and he developed stomach problems. From then on, I cooked every meal for him, even bringing lunch to his office to make sure he ate. Then Layla came along, and he started standing me up, one time after another. I would reheat his dinner over and over until it was mush. He would come home, see the cold food on the table, and offer a simple, “Sorry, I already ate.” I’d throw the food in the trash. I stopped saving him dinner after that. But it seemed he was only just now noticing. When I came out of the shower, he was waiting with a glass of warm water. “We’re husband and wife. We can’t keep sleeping in separate rooms.” “Thank you, but no.” “You always have a glass of warm water after your shower. I measured the temperature. It’s just how you like it.” “That cup is part of a matching set you bought with Layla.” I met his gaze directly. “I accidentally broke your cup once. Layla was furious. You didn’t come home for a month. I lost ten pounds. When you finally came back, you asked if I had learned my lesson. This is the second one she bought you. You specifically told me never to touch it, that I was not to disrespect Layla’s feelings.” He flinched and quickly put the cup down. “I forgot.” He looked at me hesitantly. “What is it?” “Are you going to see the new place tomorrow?” When I nodded, he seemed to relax. “I’m free. I’ll go with you.” I snorted silently. He would do anything to make sure I didn’t crash Layla’s wedding. “Fine.” He seemed thrilled. I don’t know if it was what Ben said earlier, but that night, I kept dreaming of the child I lost. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I was about to get up for some fresh air when a pair of warm hands wrapped around my waist from behind. I smelled alcohol. A wave of revulsion washed over me, and I shot out of bed. “Vincent, are you serious? Layla’s getting married, so you can’t keep it in your pants and you decide to come to me?” The anger I’d suppressed for years flared up, and I couldn’t hide the loathing on my face. My expression seemed to burn him. “I just think it’s time for us to move on to the next stage. To turn the page.” I smiled. “Alright.” Before he could react, I unlocked my phone and showed him the screen. “How many children do you want? We can go to the orphanage tomorrow.” The photos were of blind, deaf, and disfigured orphans. “Cheating, emotional abuse, shirking responsibility,” I said. “I’m afraid any child we have will learn from you. Only the ones with no eyes to see would want to be in our family.” He was silent. “Get out,” I said. “Don’t disgust me.” I pushed him out and locked the door.

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