Author: Momo Chan

I was abandoned when I was just five days old. But for some reason, my birth mother left me on the doorstep of the Black Talon gang in Southside. To survive, when I was staring into the fierce eyes of those desperate men, still in my swaddling clothes, I instinctively blurted out “Daddy.” The rough men instantly furrowed their brows. “Maybe… we could keep her?” From then on, I had 108 fathers. But my family seemed to be a magnet for wanted posters. So, to avoid causing trouble for my dads, I lived an utterly ordinary life for over a decade. Until I encountered bullying in high school. A rich girl, Chelsea Thorne, with her cronies, cornered me in the bathroom, doused me with cold water, tore my clothes, and filmed me with a camcorder. “What are you staring at? You charity case, acting all high and mighty! You trash, thinking you can go to college!” But I was hit so hard, I screamed and pulled Chelsea, dragging her with me as I plunged from the third floor. When I woke up, the school nurse, Mrs. Davison, pointed at me and yelled: “She hit you, so you tried to kill her, is that it?! When others hit or scold you, you don’t reflect on yourself, but plot revenge!!” “Get your parents here, now! I want to see them! If they don’t show up, you’ll stay here today and rot!” My hair stood on end. I meekly replied: “Ma’am, are you sure you want to call my parents?” … The words hung in the air, then SMACK, a sharp crack. “Sure? I’m sure your ass!” “You little brat! How dare you lay a hand on my daughter! You will call your parents to come apologize to me!” Chelsea’s dad, Mr. Thorne, slapped me across the face, his eyes blazing with vicious fury. I instantly fell to the ground, half my face stinging with a fiery pain. Mrs. Davison, however, acted as if she hadn’t seen a thing, immediately bowing and scraping, fawning over Mr. Thorne. “Mr. Thorne, rest assured, the school will handle this strictly and without leniency!” She turned her head, screaming at my face. “Willow King! Look at what you’ve done to Chelsea Thorne! Call your parents immediately to pay her medical bills!” I lowered my head, my nails digging deep into my palms. A metallic taste spread in my mouth. “No, it was Chelsea, she was the one who first cornered me in the bathroom with her friends, poured cold water on me, and tore my clothes. I was just…” But I didn’t finish my sentence. Chelsea, lying weakly in the infirmary bed, burst into tears. “Dad! She’s lying! I was just passing by, and Willow King suddenly went crazy and pushed me down the stairs… She’s just a scholarship student, jealous because our family has money. She’s always hated me!” “You clearly…” I immediately retorted. But Mrs. Davison gave me no chance to speak. “Silence! Willow King! The facts are clear; you deliberately assaulted her!” She grabbed me and dragged me out of the medical room. Roughly pulling out my phone, Mrs. Davison slammed it against my face with a smack. “I don’t want to hear your nonsense! Now, immediately! Call your parents! Tell them to get their butts over here and pay up!” Instantly, the eyes of teachers and students in the hallway focused on me, a mix of curiosity and schadenfreude. But I clutched the cold phone, looking at the busy contacts list, yet I couldn’t bring myself to make the call. I had 108 fathers. But Dad One was a gang boss, Dad Three trafficked weapons, Dad Fifteen ran black market loans, Dad Seventy-Eight owned an underground casino… Although they always loved to give me black cards and then stroke my head, saying: “Sweet Pea, don’t cause trouble outside, but if you’re ever in trouble, always come to Daddy. If anyone lays a finger on you, Dad One will make their whole family disappear from the face of the Earth.” “That’s right, if anyone dares to upset you, Dad Three will come with two knives and chop them up!” But they were all Southside’s most wanted criminals. A shiver ran down my spine. I remembered how they always left early and came home late, covered in scars and blood, grumbling about running into “the Feds” again today. I remembered the “Crackdown on Organized Crime” headlines constantly scrolling across the news. I… I couldn’t put them in harm’s way. Looking up again, I tried one last desperate plea. “Ma’am, my dads… they’re all working out of town, very far away, they can’t make it.” “Could I just… write an apology, get a detention, even a suspension, just please, don’t call them?” Mrs. Davison let out a sneer. “Working? No wonder you turned out to be such a shameless child! And they can’t make it?” “No way!” “Chelsea Thorne’s medical expenses, her emotional damages, so much money! You, a child, can pay for that? Call them now, don’t waste time!” She looked at me with utter contempt. “How much? I can…” I was about to say I could pay for it myself, as I hadn’t even touched the black cards my dads gave me. But Mr. Thorne came out and immediately handed Mrs. Davison a bank card. “Mrs. Davison, here’s half a million for the school’s donation.” “My demand is simple: get her parents to come here, apologize, and compensate us!” “Otherwise, I’ll call the police directly! I’ll accuse her of intentional assault! Once she has a criminal record, she can forget about ever going to college!” Seeing the bank card, Mrs. Davison’s eyes instantly lit up. She turned to me, her tone becoming incredibly stern. “Willow King, did you hear that? This is your last chance!” “Either call your working parents now to come pay and apologize!” “Or you get a criminal record and forget about college for the rest of your life!” A criminal record… The two words, like needles, instantly pierced my mind. I couldn’t have a criminal record. I still had to go to college, still had to earn money to support my dads in their old age. Looking at that bank card, looking at Mrs. Davison’s snobbish and ugly face. Tears welled in my eyes. My trembling fingers finally lit up my phone screen. “Ma’am, please! Don’t call the police. I’ll… I’ll call my parents.” My trembling hand touched “Dad One” at the very top of my contact list. Although he was a gang boss, he was still the most “normal” among all my dads. I hoped, I hoped he could pretend to be an ordinary person and get through this. “Beep, beep…” The call was answered the instant it went through. Dad One’s gentle, smiling voice came from the receiver: “Sweet Pea?” “Dad One,” I pressed my lips together and spoke: “My teacher wants me to call you to school. I…” “To school?” He instantly sounded excited: “Oh, my girl won another award, didn’t she! It’s the first time you’ve asked Dad to come get a certificate! Wait for it, Dad’s coming now!” “No…” A pang of sorrow hit me. I was about to say no. But then, a clear gunshot suddenly echoed from the other end of the line. Followed by the screams of unfamiliar men and a series of dull thuds. I froze instantly. I faintly heard a very soft “clean it up.” Childhood memories flooded back—Dad One always came home with blood on him, but he’d lie and say it was ketchup. His breathing seemed a little unsteady, but when he spoke to me again, his voice was still gentle: “No what? Honey?” The thought of him possibly doing something dangerous, or being injured, made my heart pound. The words on the tip of my tongue twisted into: “Nothing… it’s nothing. I can just get the certificate myself. You’re busy, I’m hanging up.” “Hey! You didn’t even say anything, why are you hanging up!” Hearing me, Mrs. Davison yelled and reached out to grab my phone. Instinctively dodging, I quickly hung up. But the next second, “SMACK!” Another harsh slap landed on my face. Mrs. Davison’s face was twisted with fury: “You caused such big trouble and you’re still trying to hide it from your parents!” Mr. Thorne also slammed his fist against the wall, pointing a finger at my nose and cursing: “Don’t think hiding it from adults means nothing will happen! I’m telling you, in this part of Southside, I’m the local kingpin! I have people in the police department! If you dare touch my daughter, I’ll make your whole family of low-wage workers disappear in minutes!” Chelsea hobbled out, limping, and sneered at me: “You’re so pathetic you don’t even dare call your parents, probably because your family is too poor to put food on the table, right? So where did you get the guts to push me? Ridiculous!” I lowered my head, my voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz: “My dads really can’t come… I’m sorry, Chelsea Thorne, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed you.” “I can kowtow to you in front of the whole school, be your lackey for a year, or you can hit me back, but please don’t call the police, okay? I don’t want to be expelled…” Chelsea laughed with disdain, but Mr. Thorne roared and reached out to snatch my phone. “You’re trying to negotiate terms now?” “Give me your parents’ number, I’ll tell them myself!” Mrs. Davison immediately chimed in: “Willow King, give Mr. Thorne your phone! Don’t be stubborn, you need to show a willingness to solve the problem!” The man lunged forward to grab it, but I fiercely protected my phone, backing away repeatedly. Finally, I ended up clumsily kneeling on the ground. My knees hit the cold tiles, a searing pain bringing tears to my eyes, but I kept kowtowing and begging: “…Please, please, don’t go after my dads. Chelsea, please, I’ll do anything I just said—apologize, atone, let you hit me back—just please don’t call my parents, okay?!” Dull thuds echoed on the floor until my forehead was bleeding. Only then did a look of triumphant pleasure appear on Chelsea’s face. Stopping her dad, she raised her voice: “Alright then, just apologizing publicly isn’t enough. Tomorrow, you have to kowtow to me 100 times, until I’m satisfied! Only then will I not call the police.” “Alright.” Clenching my fists, I agreed to all her conditions. My heart bled with humiliation, yet I felt it was worth it, as long as I didn’t implicate my dads. But that evening, when I, wearing a baseball cap, wearily returned to the small apartment Dad Two rented for me. I saw three men bustling in the kitchen, cooking up a storm: Dad Sixty-Six, Dad Seventy-Nine, and Dad Ninety-Three. Seeing me return, they immediately gathered around, beaming. “Sweet Pea’s home!” At the dining table, Dad Sixty-Six chuckled and squeezed my cheek: “Sweet Pea, I heard you’re getting an award at school? Why didn’t you let an old dad go collect it for you? By sequence, it should be my turn, shouldn’t it?” Dad Seventy-Nine expertly massaged my shoulders, refuting him: “My turn, you fool! It’s my turn!” Dad Ninety-Three pushed a bowl of soup in front of me: “Drink up, brain food, so you can get into a good college.” My nose stung, and I almost burst into tears. But I forced a smile and explained: “It’s just a small award, no need to trouble you. I’ll call you for a big award next time.” “Alright, we won’t argue. You eat first, honey.” The men excitedly served me food. As I was eating, Dad Sixty-Six suddenly grew serious and stood up to answer a phone call. But I faintly caught a few words. “That shipment… being watched again… jumped into the river… Damn it, this money is so hard to earn…” Instantly, my heart tightened again. Fearing they might get caught, I took a deep breath and put down my chopsticks. “Dads, in the future… can you… can you stop doing that kind of work? I’m grown up now. I’ll get into a good college and support you.” “So, can you find some stable jobs?” The three big men froze simultaneously, then, deeply moved, burst into tears and promised they would. Two hours later, the three of them gave me a few more instructions, left me three black cards, and then quickly departed. I stood at the doorway, watching them disappear down the hallway, my eyes stinging. “Remember to change jobs!” “Got it!” But the moment the door closed, old Dad Sixty-Six looked at his brothers beside him, puzzled. “Strange, our daughter doesn’t like my nuclear submarine research…?” The other three were equally bewildered. And I, closing the door, looked at the group chat on my phone, “Loving Family (108),” which already had 999+ messages. My dads were all asking: “Sweet Pea, are you tired from studying today?” “Do you have enough money? Don’t skimp, Daddy has plenty!” My eyes warmed again. I sniffed, and finally typed a line into the chat box. “I’m fine, everyone. Don’t worry. Dads, you’re busy with work, please also pay attention to your safety.” Send. The next second, staring at the constant stream of caring messages popping up on the screen, I made up my mind. I would never cause my dads any more trouble. Willow King, you must hold on. Just until after college entrance exams, everything will be fine. On Monday’s flag-raising ceremony, a dense crowd of students packed the field below. I knelt on the ground, mechanically confessing my sins. “It was I who, filled with resentment, pushed Chelsea Thorne down the stairs… I was jealous of her, I’m a worthless person…” My voice echoed across the sports field, but every word felt like a knife cutting my throat. Chelsea sat in a wheelchair, pushed to the very front by a few classmates, watching me with a smug look, her eyes filled with excitement as I knelt and kowtowed, apologizing. Beneath the stage, whispers coalesced into a buzzing din of noise. “I heard her family is really poor; she’s here on scholarship.” “Such a malicious mind, just jealous of their money.” “Look at her pathetic, penniless self, serves her right.” “Born without a mother’s raising, just no upbringing.” All the malicious words were like needles pricking my flesh, a bone-chilling pain. But I was already numb. Done reciting, I slowly bent at the waist. Thud. The first kowtow, on the cold platform. … Fifty kowtows, one hundred kowtows. I slammed my head down, again and again. My forehead went from numb to agonizing pain, then to a warm stickiness. Blood streamed down my brow, blurring my vision, plunging everything into darkness. The ground was covered in crimson. When the confession was over, I walked off the stage, my face covered in blood. The crowd parted for me as if I were carrying a plague. Chelsea, surrounded by her entourage, deliberately walked past me. She said in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft: “Ugh, some people are just lowly. An apology isn’t enough, is it? From now on, when you see me, you call me ‘Grandma.’ Got it?” Clenching my fists, my nails dug deep into my flesh. I said nothing. I just silently returned to my seat, took out a wet wipe, and vigorously tried to rub off the red paint from the table. But the paint had already seeped into the wood grain, spreading and smearing with each wipe, like ugly scars. All day long, I was surrounded by malice, until the dismissal bell rang, and I couldn’t hold back anymore, rushing out of the classroom. Afraid to use the main entrance, I took the secluded alley behind the school to leave. But after only a few steps, at the alley entrance, Chelsea and her three cronies were already blocking the way. She stood up from her wheelchair, stretched her limbs, and walked towards me, step by step. “Didn’t you say you’d be my lackey? The boss hasn’t left, but you’re running fast, are you messing with me, Willow King?” “Sorry, you didn’t call me…” “Whether I call you or not, you’re going to follow me around like a dog!” Chelsea pulled out her camcorder, aiming the lens at my disheveled face. “Come on, apologize again. Say, ‘I, Willow King, am trash, and I shouldn’t have forgotten to be Chelsea Thorne’s dog.’” I bit my lip, motionless. Chelsea became even more excited, launching into a new round of torment. Cold mineral water poured over my head. My soaked school uniform was torn by them. Lipstick was haphazardly smeared across my face. Chelsea held up the camcorder, laughing maniacally. “Come on, smile for the camera, say, ‘Thank you, Sister Thorne, for the lesson,’ otherwise, I’m calling the police and letting your unspeakable dads have a nice chat with the precinct?” My mind buzzed. I stared at her, disbelieving. Did Chelsea know about them? But I couldn’t risk it. I could only endure my whole body trembling, my voice hoarse as I repeated her words. “Thank you, Sister Thorne… for the lesson.” Only after I said it dozens of times did Chelsea smile, satisfied, kicking me once before leaving. “Wouldn’t it have been better if you’d been this obedient earlier? From now on, after school every day, wait for me here, got it? Whatever I want you to do, you have to do!” “Alright.” She left with her cronies. Instantly, I was alone in the alley. I don’t know how long passed before I slowly crouched down. On the ground, a soaked math test, the vivid red “100” glaringly obvious. Frantically, I fought back the welling tears, reaching out to pick up the mud-stained books and test papers. However, the moment I looked up. At the mouth of the alley, four or five men had appeared. Leading them was Dad One. And behind him, another four or five dads. At this moment, their faces were dark and grim, all staring intently at me, silent. The air in the alley seemed to freeze. After a long moment, Dad One crouched down, his rough fingers wiping away the bloodstains on my face. “Who did this?” I turned my face away, not daring to meet the anger in his eyes, and whispered: “Nothing… I just fell accidentally.” “Fell?” Dad Five snatched up the math textbook, crushed and mud-stained, pointing at the dirty shoe prints on it, and roared: “This is falling? This is stomping her to death!” Dad Three adjusted his glasses, his eyes behind the lenses sharp as blades: “Sweet Pea, tell us. If you say the word, Daddy will blow up Southside and kill those people.” But I bit my lip tightly. I couldn’t say it. Mr. Thorne was rich and powerful. Chelsea said even the Southside police listened to her family. My dads were wanted men; I couldn’t get them… sent to prison. I shook my head stubbornly, but tears refused to obey, welling in my eyes. Time ticked by, second by second. Finally, Dad One sighed, gently gripping my cold hand, yet with an undeniable strength. “Sweet Pea, do you remember that year when you were five, the chubby kid from the next street stole your candy, and you cried all night when you came home?” “The next day, that chubby kid’s entire family moved out of Southside.” “Your dads aren’t good people, but our family rule is, whoever touches you, dies!” The wind in the alley instantly stilled. Seeing my dads silently gather around me, their eyes filled with extreme suppressed rage and heartache. All the humiliation, fear, and shame of these past days instantly broke through my tightly strung nerves. “Dad—” I flung myself into Dad One’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping out everything that had happened: “It was Chelsea… Her dad is Mr. Thorne, he owns mines… She said Southside is all their territory… She bullies me every day… Today she even filmed it…” Dad Five’s latest model phone, in his hand, CRACKED! He had crushed the screen! “A mine owner, how dare he!” “Damn it, that bastard Thorne! When I helped him get started back in the day, he was licking my boots!” “He’s gone too far! How dare he touch our Sweet Pea!” My dads’ curses rose and fell, but I listened, stunned. Dad One simply patted my back, then pulled out his phone, dialed a number, his voice cold as ice. “Send out the word. All brothers, drop what you’re doing.” “One hour, everyone to Southside.” “Our girl, she’s been bullied!” Early the next morning, Dad One told me to go to school as usual. I nodded, going alone. Sure enough, at the school gate, Chelsea was again waiting by that flashy luxury car. Seeing me, she deliberately raised her voice, her face full of sarcasm: “Oh, isn’t this the one who knelt and kowtowed to me yesterday…” But before she finished, I walked straight past her, my eyes calm, as if she were just air. Chelsea instantly froze. “Willow King!” She flared up in anger, lunged forward, and tightly grabbed my backpack: “Did I say you could leave? Didn’t learn your lesson yesterday, did you? You trash!” She raised her hand to slap me. “I’m giving you face—” But remembering Dad One’s words, my heart was now filled with unprecedented confidence. The next second, her wrist was clamped tightly in my hand, stopped mid-air.

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The day before our engagement party, Bella, my heiress girlfriend, seemed distant as we walked through the city. I bought a cheap sandwich and offered it to her, but she slapped it to the ground. “Cole!” she snapped. “The Lancasters need someone who fits in. This is embarrassing. How can my parents ever accept you?” Humiliated, I tossed the ruined sandwich away. For the sake of our four years together, I just said, “Whatever you say.” The next day, she called off our engagement to marry Spencer Croft. “Cole, Spencer tried to die for me,” she claimed tearfully. “Once he’s stable, I’ll come back to you.” Again, I only replied, “Whatever you say,” and ended it. Four years later, she appeared at my small house, wearing the ring I’d given her. “Cole, Spencer finally agreed to divorce! We can be together now!” she announced, beaming. “I told you I’d return once he let go of his obsession!” I frowned, annoyed by her performance. Of all days to run into her here. Pushing her toward the door, I said, “Move. You’re making me late to pick up my son from school.” 1. Bella followed me out. “I’ve checked, Cole. No other woman has set foot in this house in four years. What son are you talking about?” She softened her tone. “I know you’re angry. I’ll take you home with me right now. I know your family is poor, just scraping by with that chicken farm, but I’ve already convinced my parents. They won’t look down on you anymore.” I turned, my brow furrowed. “I’ve told you before, it’s a free-range poultry business. It spans three mountains.” Bella scoffed. “It’s still just chickens. For heaven’s sake, don’t mention that in front of my parents. It’s so… provincial.” I gave up. There was no getting through to a clueless urbanite like her. She had no concept of the value of a massive, organic, free-range operation. That business had lifted my family out of poverty and made us wealthy long ago. I quickened my pace. I didn’t want to be late picking up Noah. Bella hurried to keep up. “I can take you back to the Lancaster estate right now. The villa is huge. Spencer hasn’t moved out yet, but there’s plenty of room for you. Just… be nice to him. He’s very sensitive, so you’ll have to be the bigger person and not provoke him.” “What the hell?” I stopped dead, staring at her. “You’re not even divorced, and you’re coming on to me, asking me to move in with your current husband? What am I, your side piece? Your kept man?” “Are you insane?” I yanked open my car door and slid in, desperate to get away from her. She, with a familiarity that was both infuriating and chilling, opened the passenger door and got in. “I always told you to lock the doors as soon as you get in. For safety,” she chided, as if no time had passed at all. “Still so careless after all these years.” Seeing her sitting there, so comfortable, so entitled, sent a surge of pure rage through me. “Get out. Now!” She clicked her seatbelt into place, a smug look on her face. “Weren’t you going to pick up your son? You’d better get driving, or you’ll be late.” I glanced at the time. She was right. If all the other kids were gone, Noah would be sad waiting all by himself. I stomped on the gas, peeling out of the driveway. “When you see my son,” I growled, “don’t you dare say anything stupid.” “Fine, I won’t,” she said breezily. “You’re really committed to this act, Cole. Let’s see where you conjure up a son from.” As I drove, I forced myself to calm down. At a red light, staring at the gridlocked traffic ahead, I spoke. “Bella, why were you so sure that after four years, I’d still be waiting for you?” My low, serious tone seemed to finally get through to her. A flicker of unease crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by her usual arrogance. “After knowing me, what other woman could possibly measure up?” she said with a shrug. “Besides me, what kind of sophisticated people could you possibly meet? If you weren’t waiting for me, who else would there be?” I let out a long sigh. So that was it. In her mind, I wasn’t worthy of meeting anyone better. That’s why she could leave without a second thought and come back with such unapologetic entitlement. The light turned green. I hit the gas. As we cleared the intersection, I said quietly, “Bella, I’m not joking. I’m married. I have a child. When I park, you need to get out and leave. I don’t want you interfering with my life.” She frowned slightly. “Cole, do you really think you can fool me with this? I know you’re angry. You can throw whatever tantrum you want. I’ll be right here with you until you’ve gotten it all out of your system and you’re ready to come back to me.” 2. If words wouldn’t work, maybe the truth would. “Daddy! You’re late today!” Noah ran towards me, his arms outstretched, a sweet smile on his face. “Daddy had to go to the old house to get something. Sorry to keep you waiting, buddy. How about I make it up to you with some fries when we get home?” “Okay!” he cheered, hugging me tightly. Bella stared, speechless. She clearly hadn’t expected me to actually have a child. Her face soured. “Cole, there’s a limit to your jokes. You can’t just grab some random kid off the street. This is kidnapping! Do you want to go to jail? Take him back right now.” She grabbed Noah’s arm, intending to drag him back to the school. I slapped her hand away and pulled my son into my arms. “What are you doing?” One of the teachers saw us and walked over. “Oh, you must be Noah’s mom! We see his dad all the time, but we’ve been so eager to finally meet you.” Bella’s jaw dropped. She looked from the teacher to me. “He’s really your son?” “Of course.” I started to leave, but she blocked my path, her eyes fixed on the teacher. “How old is he?” she demanded. “Noah just turned three.” Three years old. Bella looked at Noah, who was a head taller than most of the other kids his age. Her hands shot out and gripped my arms. “Cole, his age… you’re lying, aren’t you? He’s supposed to be four. Our premature baby… he didn’t die, did he? You hid him from me all this time!” I looked at her, my voice flat. “If our child had lived, would you have still married Spencer?” “I…” She was at a loss for words, then her face crumpled. “I had to. Spencer would have died.” I sneered. “You don’t have the right to even mention our child.” “Cole, I’m taking you and our son home. Right now.” Her voice was firm, resolute. “My parents have been hoping for a grandchild for years. If you bring our son home, they won’t care about our families’ status anymore.” I could feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head. “Who wants to go with you? I told you, he’s not your son. Are you deaf?” “Stop this, Cole. I will not allow a Lancaster to be raised out here in the world like this. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? How could you let our son attend a school like this, in such a rundown, crowded area? How is he supposed to get a proper education here?” I looked at the school, then back at her. This was one of the top-rated state schools, a direct feeder for the best magnet programs in the city. What did her snooty, overpriced “elite” private school have on that? Ava had specifically transferred Noah here so he wouldn’t grow up with the arrogant, entitled attitude of kids like Bella. To hear her belittle it like this… I was suddenly profoundly grateful I’d never married someone so shortsighted. “Stay away from us,” I said coldly. “This has nothing to do with you.” “If he’s not my son, then whose is he?” She turned back to the teacher. “You, tell me. Who is listed as the mother on his records?” To protect our privacy, we’d left the mother’s information blank on the school forms. The teacher didn’t know who Noah’s mom was. When Bella heard this, she became even more certain. “Cole, it must have been so hard for you, raising him all alone. You’ve had your fun. Now, come home.” Noah didn’t understand what we were arguing about. He just whispered in my ear, “Daddy, what about my fries?” Bella reacted as if he’d said something monstrous. “Cole, how could you let my son eat that garbage? You were always eating that cheap street food, and now you’re feeding that filth to him? What if he gets sick? Can you take that responsibility? He is the sole heir to the Lancaster family!” My son wanted me to make him fries at home, with our private chef. How was that unhygienic? I ignored her and carried Noah to the car. She blocked the door. “Don’t get into this piece of junk. It’s not good enough for my son.” To keep a low profile, I drove a modest sedan. It wasn’t fancy, but the back seat was completely customized for Noah’s safety and comfort. If Bella had bothered to look inside for even a second, she would have seen that I had a child and that he was cherished. But she never paid attention to any detail about my life. She just pointed to her Mercedes. “Cole, stop pretending. Only I can give you and the boy the life you deserve.” Just then, Spencer walked up, dressed in a ridiculously expensive designer suit that was completely out of place on the bustling street. He picked his way through the crowd with a look of distaste. “Bella, darling, I thought you were picking up Cole. What’s the delay? We have that meeting with the mysterious new CEO of Westwood Corporation, remember?” The moment Bella saw him, her expression softened. “I remember, Spencer, don’t worry. I won’t forget what’s important to you. Cole is being a little difficult, but I’ll handle it and be right with you. You look so handsome today, you’ll definitely charm Ms. Westwood. She’ll be lucky to have you as a husband. The Westwoods are one of the most powerful families in the country, even bigger than ours. You’ll be so happy, Spencer. Just give me a minute, okay?” I stared at them. Were they serious? Spencer was fine with Bella chasing her ex, as long as Bella helped him land a new rich wife? And Ms. Westwood… surely they didn’t mean my wife?

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Lord Ashton Hall, the heir to the Capital Circle, heard me mention male escorts on the day of our divorce? Ashton Hall looked at the papers on the table, his hand, which usually fingered prayer beads, paused. I lowered my gaze demurely, my voice choked: “His sister is back, I don’t want you to be in a difficult position, Mr. Hall. Let’s part ways amicably.” Inside, I was ecstatic: [Sign it! A billion! Male escorts! Jerry’s abs!] The next second, the string of prayer beads in Ashton’s hand suddenly snapped, scattering the beads across the floor. He sharply looked up, his eyes bloodshot, fixated on me. “Monica Hall, you want to use my money to feel whose abs?” I silently scoffed inwardly: [How did this bastard know I wanted to feel abs? Is he bluffing?] Outwardly, I cried even harder: “No one… I only have you…” 1 “How can you accuse me?” I wiped away tears, reaching for his sleeve, my fingertips trembling, playing the part of utter helplessness. Inside, I cursed: [What a big show-off!] [We’re getting a divorce, why does it matter whose abs I touch?] [Forget Jerry, once the money’s in my account, I’ll book Tom and Jack too!] [Every night, they’ll take turns giving me a striptease!] Ashton’s mouth twitched violently, his expression grim. He flung my hand away, and I nearly crashed into the coffee table. “Fine, very well,” he gnashed, his voice cold and cutting. “Tom? Jack? Monica, your appetite isn’t small.” My heart skipped a beat: [What the hell? How does he know about Tom and Jack?] [Has my club membership been exposed?] [No way, I used my mom’s ID for that!] Panic flared inside. But I firmly believed that as long as I didn’t admit it, he had no proof. I looked up, my swollen eyes bewildered and wronged. “Ashton, what are you talking about? What Tom? Is that his sister’s cat?” Ashton took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, those eyes blazed with consuming fire. He picked up the divorce papers and shredded them. Confetti of paper rained down. I froze. [My billion! My happy place!] [Ashton Hall, you son of a bitch! If you’re not signing, why tear the paper? Printing costs money!] Ashton strode forward, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look up at him. His thumb was rough, calloused from years of fingering prayer beads, and it chafed painfully against my skin. “You want to take the money and leave? To go hire male escorts?” He leaned in close, his hot breath fanning my face, possessive and aggressive. “Monica, you can forget about that for the rest of your life.” With that, he pulled out his phone, dialed his assistant, his voice chilling. “Cancel all supplementary cards under Monica’s name, including her mother’s.” “Also, find out all the ‘Jerrys,’ ‘Toms,’ and ‘Jacks’ in every club in Eastlake City, and blacklist them all.” Me: “…” [Ashton Hall! Damn you to hell!] The call ended. My heart bled. The money was gone. The escorts were gone too. Sorrow welled up in my heart. This time, I genuinely cried. Cried with heartfelt sincerity. “Ashton Hall, you can’t do this to me! I’ve already stepped aside, why do you still humiliate me?” I collapsed to the floor, weeping tragically. Inside, I cursed viciously: [May you never get it up! May you be cuckolded! May you clog the toilet when you poop!] Ashton’s face darkened, veins throbbing at his temples. He suddenly bent down, sweeping me up from the floor. He strode upstairs. The world spun. I screamed in terror: “What are you doing! Put me down!” Ashton kicked open the bedroom door, roughly tossing me onto the large bed. Before I could scramble up, his tall frame pressed down on me, and with one hand, he untied his tie, binding my wrists above my head. Those eyes, usually cold and ascetic, were now tinged with intense desire and ruthlessness. “Cursing me to never get it up?” He sneered. His knee forcefully pushed my legs apart: “Monica, tonight I’ll show you who’s truly ‘incapable.’” “As for that Jerry, he’d better pray I don’t find him.” “Otherwise, I’ll let him know what ‘truly exquisite touch’ feels like.” 2 I closed my eyes, bracing for the storm. However, just as his kiss was about to descend, the phone on the bedside table suddenly rang. The ringtone was shrill, a death knell and a lifeline at once. Ashton froze, his brows tightly furrowed. The desire in his eyes hadn’t faded, tinged with annoyance. I seized the chance to slip out from under him, wrapping myself in the duvet and shrinking into the corner of the bed, my face terrified. [Answer it! Pick it up!] [A late-night call, who else could it be but that pure-hearted Lily White, Clara Reed?] [Thank you, Clara Reed! Thank you, Telecom Company! Thank you, heavens!] [As long as he leaves now, I’m willing to kowtow to Clara Reed three times!] Ashton’s hand, holding the phone, stiffened. He gave me a deep, unreadable look. But he answered the call anyway. “Ashton… I’m so scared… there’s thunder, can you please come see me?” The voice on the other end was soft and sweet, trembling, clearly audible in the dead of night. It was her, indeed. I immediately put on my understanding, magnanimous, and virtuous wife face, sniffing but my voice still tearful. “Is that his sister? She just returned to the country, she must not be used to it. You should go be with her, don’t worry about me…” Inside: [Go! Go now! Preferably to her bed and don’t come back! I want this huge king-sized bed all to myself!] Ashton sneered. He ignored Clara on the other end and hung up the phone directly. “You’re quite generous,” he threw the phone back onto the bedside table, making me flinch. “Since you want me to go so badly, I absolutely won’t.” He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, stripped naked in front of me, lifted the duvet, and climbed into bed. He reached out, pulling me into his embrace. “Sleep.” Me: “…” [You’re insane! Your ‘pure love’ is calling, go to her!] [What are you doing here? If you don’t leave, how can I hire escorts!] That night, I spent it tightly held in Ashton’s embrace. The next day, I was woken by commotion downstairs. Going down, the living room was piled high with expensive luggage, as if someone was moving in. Clara Reed, wearing a hospital gown and looking as if she might faint at any moment, was sitting on the sofa, wiping away tears. Seeing Ashton and me descend, she immediately stood up, swaying slightly. “Ashton, I’m so sorry… I was just too scared last night, so I had to bother you two.” Her eyes were red, and she looked at me pitifully: “Monica, you don’t mind, do you? I’m not well, and Ashton doesn’t feel comfortable leaving me alone outside.” I sneered inwardly: [Mind? Like hell I mind!] [You moving in will not only share Ashton’s perverse intensity, but you might even push me out, then I can legitimately split the assets!] [Quick! Quick, say you want the master bedroom! Steal that bastard Ashton!] I immediately forced a smile even weaker than hers, walked over, and took her hand. “How could I, sister? This was always… your home. Ashton and I treat you like a real sister.” Ashton, in the middle of fastening his cufflinks, paused and looked up at me, his gaze chilling. Clara was clearly surprised by my easygoingness, she froze for a moment, then smugly looked at Ashton. “Ashton, Monica is so understanding.” Ashton said nothing, walking directly to the dining room: “Let’s eat first.” At the dining table, the atmosphere was strange. Clara naturally sat to Ashton’s left—that was originally my seat. I didn’t care at all, cheerfully taking the seat opposite. A maid served breakfast: plain congee and side dishes. Clara took a sip of the congee, then suddenly frowned, clutching her chest and gagging. “What’s wrong?” Ashton asked blandly. “Nothing, it’s just this congee tastes a bit fishy.” Clara leaned weakly towards Ashton: “Ashton, you know, I’m used to Western food from abroad. This kind of Chinese… my stomach isn’t feeling well.” I rolled my eyes inwardly: [Fishy? How could seafood congee not be fishy?] [Who are you putting on an act for? Your stomach isn’t upset, your brain is bubbling.] [If you don’t like it, don’t eat it. Better to starve to death than waste food.] Ashton’s hand, holding the spoon, trembled. He suddenly picked up a spoonful of cilantro, which Clara hated, and placed it in my bowl. “If you don’t like it, don’t force it,” he said to Clara, then turned to me, his tone significant: “Monica isn’t picky. Eat more.” I looked at the pile of green cilantro, my face grim. I nodded tearfully: “Thank you, darling. I love cilantro.” Then, with a look of resignation, I shoved the wad of cilantro into my mouth, swallowing it without even chewing. Inside, I was furious: [Ashton Hall! Damn you!] [You just wait, next time I’ll add something extra to your bowl too!] [I’ll spit in your coffee! Make you drink it like an idiot!] Ashton’s hand, reaching for his coffee, paused mid-air. He looked at the coffee cup, then at my seemingly obedient face. He placed the cup on the table, coffee splashing out. “What’s wrong, Ashton?” Clara jumped. Ashton’s face was livid. He poured the expensive Blue Mountain coffee directly into the nearby trash can. “Not drinking it.” He stood up, looking down at me. His voice squeezed through gritted teeth: “It’s disgusting.” I blinked innocently: [This is enough to be disgusted? He must hate Clara’s perfume. That smell is deadly.] Clara’s face fell, she bit her lip. She seemed utterly wronged: “Ashton, did I do something wrong?” Ashton ignored her, simply dropping a cold remark: “There’s a party tonight. You both come.” With that, he strode away. I wanted to slip away too. Just as I stood up, Clara called me. She dropped her pretense of fragility, her eyes contemptuous, scanning me up and down. “Monica Hall, do you know the caliber of tonight’s party?” She walked over, reaching out to adjust my collar, a familiar gesture. Her voice oozed superiority: “That’s a top-tier event in the Capital Circle, attended by old money families. You, a country bumpkin who’s never even touched a piano, will only embarrass Ashton if you go.” Me: “…” [Oh? Can’t keep up the act anymore?] Clara leaned close to my ear, whispering viciously: “If you know what’s good for you, give up the position of Mrs. Hall.” “Otherwise, tonight I’ll make you lose face in front of all the city’s elites.” I looked at her twisted face and smiled. “Sister is right,” I stepped back, bowing respectfully, “I truly don’t understand anything. I’ll have to rely on sister to look after me tonight.” Inside: [Excellent! Hurry up and make me lose face! The more, the better!] [Hopefully, Ashton will be so embarrassed he’ll divorce me on the spot tonight!] [You said it. If you don’t mess up my divorce plan tonight, you’re a loser!] Clara smiled, satisfied, thinking she had intimidated me. But she didn’t see Ashton, who had already reached the door, suddenly stop. He looked back, his gaze falling on Clara’s smug face. Then he swept his eyes over my demure expression, a cruel curve playing on his lips. “Want a divorce?” he murmured, so softly only the air could hear. “Dream on.” 3 A top-tier private club in the Capital. The lighting was ambient, seductive. Clara, in a designer gown, held a wine glass, intimately walking beside Ashton. I followed demurely behind, playing the part of the long-suffering, overshadowed wife. A group of bejeweled socialites gathered around. Clara smiled gracefully, proactively taking my hand and introducing me to everyone. “This is Monica,” she emphasized, “Though she grew up in the countryside and hasn’t seen much of the world.” “But she’s extremely talented, skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.” A ripple of suppressed laughter spread through the crowd. The socialites whispered, their gazes brazenly scrutinizing me, filled with disdain. Clara then pointed to a vintage harp nearby. Her smile was radiant: “Monica, why don’t you play a tune for everyone to liven things up?” I immediately recoiled, waving my hands frantically. My eyes instantly reddened. “Sister, I really can’t… I’ve never learned the harp,” my voice trembled, fully embodying the self-conscious, timid country girl. Inside, however, I was on fire: [Play what, you idiot!] [I used to be a star DJ at ‘The Nightclub,’ my hand speed was so fast I could spark!] [Even the boss had to light my cigarette!] [What’s a harp? I refuse to play!] [Hurry up and make fun of me! The more the whole room laughs, the better!] [Make Ashton feel like I’ve utterly shamed him, and tonight he’ll sign the divorce papers!] Ashton was holding a wine glass, exchanging pleasantries with someone. Hearing my inner thoughts, his wrist suddenly stiffened. He turned, his gaze fixed on my intertwined hands, which looked tense and helpless. Seeing me motionless, Clara relentlessly walked over, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the harp. “Monica, don’t be shy,” her grip was incredibly strong, her nails almost digging into my flesh. “Even a simple tune is a gesture. Ashton wants to hear it too.” I stumbled, tears almost falling. [Pinching me? You old manipulative witch, you dare pinch me?] [When I get my billion, I’ll hire ten burly women to dance in front of your house every day, deafening you!] Ashton strode forward. He grabbed Clara’s wrist, ruthlessly pulling it away. Clara gasped in pain, her smile freezing. Ashton directly pulled me back behind him, his actions forceful. He coldly scanned the room, his gaze finally settling on Clara’s pale face. “She’s not playing,” his low voice boomed through the noisy hall. Silence instantly descended. “My wife, Mrs. Hall, has delicate hands,” he took out a handkerchief, wiped his hand, and tossed it into a trash can. “Only suitable for counting money, not for playing music to entertain others.” Everyone fell silent. A few socialites who had laughed earlier turned pale. I, hiding behind Ashton, was completely stunned. [What’s gotten into this bastard? He actually stood up for me?] [No, he must be afraid I’d play terribly and embarrass him! Yes, that must be it!] [Capitalists care most about their reputation!] Ashton’s erect back stiffened. He sharply turned to glare at me, his eyes threatening to devour me. I quickly lowered my head, continuing to play the part of a timid quail. Just then, a waiter passed by with a tray, on which lay an intricately carved pure silver cufflink. This cufflink was a distinctive mark of Ashton’s family, rumored to be hand-polished by the top craftsmen of the Hall family, symbolizing the family’s honor and legacy. Only direct core members were allowed to wear it. Clara’s eyes lit up, and she looked at Ashton with tenderness. “Ashton, this cufflink is so beautiful,” her voice was very soft, full of implication. Ashton’s face was expressionless. He picked up the cufflink directly. “You like it?” he asked. Clara shyly lowered her head, extending her hands, ready to receive it. “Thank you, Ashton…” Her words were cut short. Ashton walked directly past her, picked up the cufflink, and tossed it into my lap. The force of it made my chest ache. “Play with it,” Ashton looked down at me, his eyes ruthless. “If it’s not enough, I’ll have someone make you more when we get back.” He leaned close to my ear, his voice barely a whisper. “Don’t spend all your time thinking about those worthless trinkets.” Clara’s hand froze in mid-air. She stared disbelievingly at the cufflink in my lap, her face pale, her lips trembling slightly. All eyes in the room were fixed on me. I clutched the heavy cufflink, my mind a blank. [It’s not for her? It’s for me?] [If we divorce, can this thing be considered my personal property? How much could it sell for?] I hadn’t even had time to mentally appraise it. Clara’s finger trembled, and her goblet tilted. More than half a glass of dark red wine splashed onto my gown, flowing down my collarbone and deep into my neckline.

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Forced to marry the powerful Grant Covington after my twin sister eloped, I faced a double life. By day, as his assistant, he was ruthlessly critical. By night, he was a demanding lover, whispering about my sister’s shortcomings. When she returned, demanding her life back, Grant fired me, accusing me of seduction. I left, taking a fortune from them both. Months later, on a beach, my sobbing sister called. Grant wouldn’t touch her; she begged me to return and have his baby for them. I hung up, one thought lingering: how was a man as insatiable as Grant surviving three months without it? 1 I’m Grant Covington’s executive assistant. And I’m about to quit. Who would’ve thought that the same Mr. Covington who’s the picture of cold, professional restraint by day, turns into an absolute freak in bed at night. During meetings, his long, elegant fingers tap against the polished table, his expression sharp, radiating an almost suffocating pressure. All I can think about is how last night, he was wearing my black silk lingerie, hooking a leg around my waist and purring, “Baby, come on, faster…” “June! Ms. Shaw!” A nudge from my colleague snaps me back. Grant is calling my name. I jump to my feet. “I’m so sorry, sir. I was just…” “You were what? Spacing out during a board meeting? Am I paying you a six-figure salary to daydream?” His face is a mask of disdain. “Do you not sleep at night? You walk in here every day looking like death warmed over. And since when did Apex Global’s dress code permit… that?” I blink, confused, then follow his gaze. He’s staring at the faint purple mark on my neck, a kiss I’d failed to cover completely with my silk scarf. My cheeks burn. “I’m sorry, sir. I…” “I don’t want your excuses,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the silent room. “Let me be clear, Ms. Shaw. If it weren’t for your sister, you wouldn’t have a place here. So you and your boyfriend need to tone it down. I don’t want to see this kind of trashy display in my office again. One more time, and you’re fired.” He slams a file onto the table, ignoring the humiliation burning its way through me, and declares, “Meeting adjourned!” 2 The reprimand stings, but I’m too exhausted to feel much else. I barely slept three hours last night, and my head is pounding. I drift back to my desk in a fog. When lunchtime rolls around, I stumble out of the building and into the luxury apartment next door. From the walk-in closet, I pull out a designer dress and a breathtaking diamond necklace. Under the dim light, the yellow diamond glows like a drop of solidified amber. It’s the one Grant bought for his wife at an auction last month. A ten-million-dollar piece that made the society pages. And now it’s in my hands. I tap it against the table, just to hear the sound. That’s right. I’m the wife he adores. And I’m the assistant he can’t stand. He thinks we’re twin sisters. But it’s always just been me. The “trashy” mark on my neck? He put it there himself. Six months ago, right after I started at Apex Global, my parents summoned me home. My twin sister, Seraphina, had run off with her rocker boyfriend, leaving a void in the arranged marriage with the Covington family. They wanted me to take her place. To marry Grant Covington under her name. “Your sister will regret this one day,” my mother pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “We have to leave a path open for her to come back!” “June, you’ve always had it easy, growing up with us in the city. Seraphina was stuck in that small town with your grandparents. She didn’t even finish high school. Think of this as… paying back a debt you owe her. Please?” She threatened to kill herself. I had no choice but to agree. I figured it would be a marriage of convenience. We’d be polite strangers, like most couples in our circle, living separate lives. And at first, it was. But then, it was like Grant was possessed. He became an insatiable demon in the bedroom, clinging to me every night. If I ever said no, his eyes would turn red-rimmed and wounded. He’d wrap his lean thighs around my waist and whisper hoarsely, “Baby, don’t you love me anymore? Did you find someone else? Don’t leave me… I can’t live without you…” What could I do? He was the one begging for it. So, I reluctantly indulged. At first, it was a thrill. But lately, I just want to castrate him. This past month, I’ve been averaging three hours of sleep a night. The exhaustion is making me sloppy at work, and the constant tongue-lashings are grinding me down. This double life—working for him by day, and working for him by night—is killing me. I run my hands through my hair and collapse onto the bed, my mind a swirling mess. Before I can even begin to think of a way out, I’m dead asleep. 3 An hour later, my alarm shrieks me back to life. Filled with resentment, I force myself through a makeup routine, pin up my hair, and transfer my takeout into a chic bento box. Then, I head back to the office to play the role of the doting wife bringing her husband lunch. He’s on a video call, his brow furrowed as he listens to a report from the European division. When he sees me, he gestures for me to come over and pulls me onto his lap. “What took you so long?” he murmurs into my neck, a hint of a pout in his voice. “I thought you weren’t coming today.” The formal presentation is still playing from his laptop speakers. Even though his camera and mic are off, my face flushes with heat. I try to push him away gently. “You’re still in a meeting. Stop it.” “What’s there to be afraid of? We’re married. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.” “Isn’t it… unprofessional?” I shoot back. He freezes, then his expression darkens. “Did your sister complain to you again?” “She’s just a young woman, Grant. Being yelled at like that in front of everyone… it must have been humiliating. Could you please try to be nicer to her?” Grant goes quiet. After a long moment, he kisses the corner of my mouth. “I know you have a good heart, darling, but don’t you see? She’s trying to be you.” “What?” He unmutes his mic, tells his team to postpone the meeting until the afternoon, then turns back to me. “Even for twins, it’s impossible to have the exact same mannerisms, the same tastes. You love pearls, so she wears pearl earrings every day. You have a bubbly personality, so she practically skips into the office. The way your voice lilts up at the end of a sentence… she does that too. It’s a deliberate, calculated act.” “So you’re saying…” “She’s imitating you to seduce me,” Grant says, his voice laced with conviction. “I’ve seen women like her a thousand times. They use your trust as a weapon to try and steal what’s yours. You’re just too kind to see it. She’s always been jealous of you, and your parents always took her side. You have to be careful, darling.” As he speaks, his fingers trace lazy circles on my waist, his tone that of a worldly husband schooling his naive, sheltered wife. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” I manage a weak smile. “June isn’t like that.” “I knew you’d say that,” he sighs, his disappointment palpable. “Baby, I’m the one closest to you. Why do you trust her over me?” I can only force a laugh. I have no words. Thankfully, he drops the subject, giving me a tender kiss before we start eating, with me still perched on his lap. As I leave, he pulls me in for a long, passionate goodbye kiss. I’m barely out of the Apex Global tower, wiping the sticky residue of his lips from mine, when my phone rings. It’s him. The moment I answer, he unleashes a torrent of abuse. “Are you a child? You get scolded and you have to run and tattle to your sister? And what the hell is this quarterly report? It’s riddled with errors! If you can’t do the job, then get out! You’re useless!” For a split second, my face contorts into a mask of pure rage. Then, another call comes through. Fuming, I snap, “I said I’m on my way back, stop calling—” “June.” The voice is soft and familiar. “It’s me. I’m back.” 4 My relationship with my sister is… complicated. We’re twins, but we didn’t grow up together. I was with our parents in the city while they built their business; she was left with our grandparents in a sleepy coastal town. They’ve carried a crushing guilt over it ever since. When they finally brought her to the city, they showered her with affection and demanded I give in to her every whim. Any conflict was met with the same refrain: “You stole the love that should have been hers! You owe her this!” Later, when Seraphina failed to get into a good high school, they shipped her off to a boarding school abroad. I stayed home. We were practically strangers. So, hearing her speak to me with such warm familiarity now feels… wrong. “What do you want?” I ask bluntly. “Mom told me about the situation… with you and Grant.” Realizing her sweet act isn’t working, she cuts to the chase. “Now that I’m back, don’t you think it’s time you returned the title of Mrs. Covington to its rightful owner?” “So you’re back to reclaim your throne? What happened, did the rocker dump you?” “Don’t push it, June!” she hisses, her voice dropping. “And don’t you forget, the only Mrs. Covington the world knows is Seraphina Shaw. You’re just an imposter. Who are you to act so high and mighty?” She has a point. The daughter the Shaws married off, the wife Grant introduced to the world… that was always Seraphina. Sometimes, when Grant was in the mood, he’d whisper her name in my ear, calling me “Sera” or “my sweet Seraphina.” It made my skin crawl. “But I didn’t clean up your mess for free,” I retort. “What does that mean?” “A million dollars. Or we can go have a little chat with Grant and see who he thinks the real Mrs. Covington is.” I say it with a saccharine smile. “A million dollars for the Covington fortune. It’s a bargain, my dear sister.” Because of their guilt, my parents cut me off financially the moment I turned eighteen, funneling all their resources to her. While I was working three jobs to pay for college, she was living it up in Europe. I’m owed a little compensation for my suffering. But as much as they doted on her, they wouldn’t have given her their entire fortune. A million would hurt her. Badly. She hesitates for a long time. “You’re sure? You take the money and you disappear?” “If you don’t trust me, I could just go see…” “Don’t! I’ll give it to you!” she blurts out, her decision made. “But you have to promise you will never, ever show your face in front of Grant again.” I agree instantly. Hanging up, my mood lifts considerably. I wipe off every trace of makeup, change into a simple blouse and skirt, and admire myself in the mirror. I think about Grant’s accusation—that I was imitating her to seduce him—and let out a short, bitter laugh. It’s absurd, but I don’t want any more trouble. I swap my pearl studs for a pair of sapphire ones and pull a long trench coat from the closet, hiding my curves completely before heading back to the office. 5 Seraphina wanted me to quit and move to another city. Not a chance. This was my first real job, one I’d earned after five grueling rounds of interviews. Leaving after only six months would look terrible on my resume. After she failed to persuade me, she resigned herself to just taking my dedicated “wife” phone. She spent a few days at our parents’ house, grilling me for every last detail about my life with Grant, all of which I shared honestly. With my nights finally free, I’ve been sleeping like a baby. I feel human again, greeting my colleagues with a cheerful smile and even buying a round of coffee for the team. When I run into Grant in the elevator, I can even muster a bright, “Good morning, sir!” He, on the other hand, looks like hell. His face is pale and drawn, a sickly white. He never looked this bad, not even after the all-nighters we used to pull. “Sir?” I ask, a flicker of concern rising. “Are you feeling alright?” He doesn’t look at me, his voice a flat line. “None of your business.” “…Right.” I have a productive morning, and I’m just starting to think about lunch when I see Seraphina gliding into the office, carrying an insulated lunch box. She’s fully embraced the gentle, doting wife persona I created, dressed in a pink Chanel suit with a silver butterfly clip in her hair. Her smile is perfectly serene. I watch as she disappears into Grant’s office. It’s been a week since she moved back in. They’ve definitely slept together by now… and even though I never loved Grant, the thought of Seraphina having what was mine makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a bug. I press my fingers to my temples. Just as I’m about to head out, Grant’s line buzzes. “Bring in two coffees.” Grant has a sweet tooth but loves the rich aroma of coffee, so the ratio of sugar to cream is very specific. I prepare them just the way he likes and carry them into his office. Seraphina’s syrupy voice fills the air. “Darling, you have to eat. I made all your favorites.” She sees me and falters for a moment, her composure slipping before she plasters on a smile. “June, what are you doing in here? My husband and I are having lunch.” “Just dropping off the coffee,” I say, wanting to avoid a scene. Grant is still at his desk, so I place one cup there and bring the other to Seraphina on the sofa. She reaches for it, a sly smile touching her lips just as my fingers let go. Then she deliberately tips the cup, sending the scalding liquid cascading over my forearm. The skin instantly turns an angry red, blistering before my eyes. “Oh, June, are you okay?” she cries, her face a mask of frantic concern. “You were so clumsy! Oh, I hope it doesn’t scar.” She looks like she’s about to burst into tears. Grant rushes over, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, it wasn’t your fault… Let’s get you to a hospital,” he says to me. “I’ll cover the medical bills.” “Oh, darling, you’re the best,” Seraphina coos, melting into his embrace. “I feel so terrible. If June scars because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.” Hidden in the safety of his arms, she shoots me a triumphant, mocking smirk. The same one she used a thousand times as a child to manipulate our parents. I just smile back. I leave the office, quickly treat the burn in the breakroom, and then wait by the elevators. When Seraphina emerges, beaming, I beckon her over with a crooked finger. I grab her arm, and without a word, I slap her hard across her perfectly powdered face. “You—” CRACK. The other cheek gets the same treatment. Her face is already swelling, her expression a mixture of shock and fury. “How—how dare you—” “I played along for Grant’s benefit, but I’m not about to take that kind of abuse for free.” I cross my arms, smiling sweetly. “Add another two hundred thousand to the tab. Have it in my account by tonight. And from now on, keep me out of your twisted little games. You really don’t want to piss me off.” Seraphina clutches her face, her eyes burning with a hatred she can’t voice. She knows pushing me too far has consequences. She remembers the pool, three years ago. The feeling of my hands on her head, holding her under the water, the burning in her lungs as she fought for air… If a maid hadn’t screamed, she would have died. My parents may adore her, but I’m their daughter too. She’d never go to the police. She’d just have to swallow it. “Just quit, June,” she says, taking a deep breath. “The world is a big place. Why are you so obsessed with your sister’s husband?” “If you can’t stand the sight of me, then get away from me. Leave the city. Disappear. Wouldn’t that be better for everyone?” It clicks into place instantly. “You’ve been whispering in Grant’s ear.” She just gives me that same challenging smile. I take a deep, shaky breath, a vein throbbing in my forehead. The feeling of being played like this, of being so utterly manipulated—it makes me want to scream. I shove her, hard. And then I turn and storm back into Grant’s office.

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My mother was forced into a divorce. The woman who destroyed our family was my aunt. My mother, who only wanted to keep her child, was coerced into leaving with nothing. On the day of the court hearing, in front of everyone, I announced that I would live with my father. I was twelve years old. My revenge was just beginning. 1 The woman who clawed her way to the top was my mother’s own sister, Isabelle. She was only twenty-six then, with a stunning face and a body that moved with a dancer’s grace. Her eyes held a sly, fox-like charm. A woman like that should have been married, but she wasn’t. The most likely reason was the little girl always at her side—my cousin, whose father was a mystery. My grandparents had worried themselves sick over her. On their deathbeds, they made my mother promise to always look after her “immature” little sister. My mother, honoring their final wish, took Isabelle in, only for Isabelle to crawl into my father’s bed. My mother, a woman of gentle and refined character, couldn’t bear the sight. The betrayal shattered her, and she fell ill. I can still see Isabelle’s tear-streaked face at my mother’s bedside, a pathetic performance of remorse. “Eleanor, I couldn’t help it… I truly couldn’t,” she sobbed. “And… Richard and I… we’ve had feelings for each other for years.” Then, the final blow: “Besides, this isn’t the first time he’s strayed.” A paternity test obliterated the last vestiges of love my mother held for my father. It turned out that my cousin, the girl with the unknown father, was my own half-sister. The double betrayal from her husband and her sister was too much. My mother’s health collapsed. Isabelle was still Isabelle, but I could finally see the wolf hiding beneath the sheep’s clothing. In that moment, it felt as though I grew up overnight. That summer, Isabelle was a constant presence, always weeping, begging my mother to “think of the children” and not make a scene. My mother, believing there might still be a shred of decency in her, considered settling things quietly for my sake. But that wasn’t what Isabelle had in mind. “Just divorce him, Eleanor,” she said, her tone suddenly devoid of tears. “Your daughter has had ten years of a happy family. Isn’t it my Sophie’s turn?” “Sophie, darling, go ask your auntie.” She pushed my five-year-old cousin toward the bed. “Auntie Eleanor, please,” Sophie whimpered, her performance as flawless as her mother’s. “You already have Hope. Can’t you please give me my daddy back?” She even managed to squeeze out real tears. Shameless. Utterly shameless. 2 My mother was cornered, and the shameless vulture knew it. Isabelle quit the job my mother had found for her and moved into our house, refusing to leave until she got what she wanted. “The child is here,” she’d declare, shoving Sophie forward. “Do what you want with us.” “Auntie, please don’t hurt me,” Sophie would wail, her eyes like faucets she could turn on at will. The house filled with the constant noise of a child’s crying and my aunt’s histrionics. It was suffocating. Under this constant assault, my mother’s spirit began to crumble. In the days that followed, I overheard her arguments with my father. The ugly truths they screamed at each other painted a filthy picture of the adult world. Sleep became impossible. I’d wander the halls of our old family mansion at night, a ghost in my own home. My father’s family had been in business for generations, and by his time, we were wealthy. My parents had lived in this house, inherited from my grandparents, since their marriage. It was a beautiful old place, and my father was sentimental about it. When parts of the woodwork began to decay, he’d sooner seal off a room than have it replaced. “This house holds all my childhood memories,” he used to say. “Tearing it down would destroy the soul of this place.” He was a man who cherished the past, and he had always been tender and devoted to my mother. I once dreamed of marrying a man just like him. But with the rose-tinted glasses shattered, the real man was uglier than I could have imagined. One night, I saw him sitting alone at the bar downstairs, nursing a drink. The past few days had aged him. “Richard, why are you still up?” A soft, feminine voice drifted from the shadows. It was her. Isabelle, draped in a pale green silk nightgown, stretched languidly in the dim light, a picture of seductive grace. “Can’t sleep. Care to join me for a drink?” she purred, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a delicate glass in the other. Years later, I would often wonder how my father fell for her trap. The only answer I could ever come to was human weakness. The more focused a person is, the more susceptible they are to distraction. There is no such thing as absolute rationality, especially when temptation is dangled so perfectly. Never fight a battle against human nature. You will always lose. 3 After Sophie’s parentage was revealed, Isabelle moved in for good. My mother grew paler each day, but all she could do was cry. Isabelle, with terrifying speed, put down roots. She replaced the maids and the driver. By the time my mother realized what was happening, she was completely isolated. My father, likely tired of the fighting, retreated to his office, leaving my mother and me alone to face the siege. At the dinner table, Isabelle and Sophie acted like the true mistresses of the house, even taking my mother’s and my seats. “What do you want from me?” my mother finally whispered, her spirit broken. Isabelle just smiled. “I only want a better life for Sophie, Eleanor. You’re a mother. Surely you understand.” Her fox-like eyes twinkled, but there was a coldness in them that was terrifying. The invasion wasn’t limited to my mother. Sophie began her own subtle campaign against me. She decided she liked my room and simply moved in, insisting we share it. After dinner, she would make a show of calling my father’s office, only to hang up abruptly the moment I walked in. “You know, Hope,” she’d say, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “I was always so jealous of you. Every time I visited Grandma’s, you had a new dress.” “I used to wish you’d grow up faster, so I could have your hand-me-downs.” She held up a long, floral dress. “But now, I get new clothes too.” It was my size. Her behavior was bizarre and unsettling, a constant, low-level torture. Finally, my mother couldn’t take it anymore. She sat Isabelle down and demanded to know what it would take for her to leave. I expected a screaming match, a final, ugly confrontation. But what happened next shocked me. “I’m leaving this afternoon. I’ve already bought the tickets,” Isabelle said, her voice crisp and final. My mother was stunned. So was I. “Take care of yourself, Eleanor,” she added. “Are you really…” “Yes. I’m a woman of my word. You couldn’t drag me back here if you begged.” The next day, she and Sophie were gone. It all happened so fast, and the relief was intoxicating. “Hope, darling,” my mother said, her smile weak but genuine. “It’s over now. Everything that happened… it’s in the past.” The past few months had been a nightmare. An autumn breeze blew in through the open window, carrying a chill. The potted plant Isabelle had brought as a gift had grown, its leaves swaying in the wind. Would she really leave so easily? My question was answered three days later. My father, who had been avoiding the house for weeks, came home. He came home to fight with my mother. It turned out Isabelle had filed an anonymous tip with the SEC. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I’m in?” he roared. “If my friend on the inside hadn’t warned me, I’d be ruined! Can you just stay away from your sister? All you do is cause problems!” He was genuinely terrified. So terrified that he’d completely forgotten why Isabelle had come to our house in the first place. Defeated, my mother called her. Isabelle didn’t answer all day. Late that night, the phone finally rang. “You were looking for me, Eleanor?” “What do you want, Isabelle? Where are you? Let’s just talk this out.” “So you’re asking me to come back? Is that it? Fine. Then we do this on my terms. A divorce. You get to keep your child. Nothing else.” Compared to my mother’s strained, anxious voice, Isabelle’s was light and airy. In the dead of night, it sounded otherworldly, like a death sentence whispered by a demon. It was the sound of my mother suffocating. 4 The result was exactly what Isabelle had demanded: a divorce. My mother left with nothing. My father, in a magnanimous gesture, said my mother could take me with her. He understood the bond between a mother and child, he said. Left with nothing? Even at my age, I understood what that meant. Isabelle wanted my mother out on the street, without a penny of the family fortune that was rightfully half hers. My mother could have sued, could have charged my father with bigamy, but she didn’t want me to have a father with a criminal record. She chose to endure it. I begged her to fight. I didn’t care about my father’s reputation. But she insisted I was too young to understand the consequences. So, at the custody hearing, as the judge made his final ruling, I looked my mother in her shocked, disbelieving eyes and chose my father. I had to protect her. She couldn’t be left destitute. Because she didn’t get custody of me, she was forced to renegotiate the settlement. In the end, she walked away with a small but significant portion of my father’s assets. My courtroom stunt had thrown Isabelle for a loop. Her perfect plan was marred by my sudden defiance. But she recovered quickly. “You can still call me Aunt Isabelle, if you like,” she told me later, a triumphant smile on her face. “Or whatever you prefer.” “In this house, you call people by their proper titles,” my father interjected, already completely under her spell. “Then Hope can call me Mom, just like I do,” Sophie chimed in, her eyes wide and innocent. After my mother left, I saw the full extent of Isabelle’s cunning. When it came to understanding my father, my mother never stood a chance. My mother’s concern was that of a wife; Isabelle’s was that of an employee managing her boss. She could manipulate his moods with ease, making her requests at the perfect moment. She was like the proverbial frog in boiling water, slowly tightening her control. For my father, she provided emotional validation. For me, she provided endless psychological abuse. She would parade their “happy family” in front of me, then mock me viciously the moment my father was out of sight. But I had learned to control myself. When things became unbearable, I would visit my mother. As long as I had her, I could endure anything. For her, I had the courage to persist. Isabelle would grow old. I would grow up. One day, I would be strong enough to protect my mother. With that goal in mind, I threw myself into my studies. I excelled, winning awards and competitions. But it wasn’t long before Isabelle, under the guise of “concern for my health,” began to cut back my extracurricular classes. With no way to pay for them myself, I had to give up the things I loved. Sophie, meanwhile, took my place, becoming the star pupil of my former teachers. Even then, Isabelle worried I was “overworking my brain.” The year I started high school, she took an uncharacteristic interest in my grades. Without my consent, she changed my academic track from humanities, which I loved, to science. “It’s for your own good,” she’d say after every blow, smiling that serene, chilling smile. I watched as faint crow’s feet appeared around her eyes, but the cruelty in them only sharpened with time. I knew she was only holding back because she hadn’t yet secured the ultimate prize. Six months into the school year, I heard the news. “Hope,” Sophie announced, her voice filled with glee. “I’m going to have a baby brother.” This time, she didn’t even bother with the pretense of “we.” It was her brother. I later found out Isabelle was already seven months along. Despite her age, she had been meticulous, and the pregnancy was stable.

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My husband, a pilot, had to work on New Year’s Eve. So I decided to surprise him, secretly booking tickets for me and our daughter on his flight. In business class, our daughter hugged her doll and asked brightly, “Mommy, can I go see Daddy fly the plane?” Before I could answer, the woman in the next seat laughed. “Is the little one’s dad a pilot?” I nodded. “What a coincidence! My husband’s a pilot too,” she said, beaming. “But he’s an ace captain. Promoted ahead of everyone, even though he’s so young!” Looking at her proud expression, I offered a small smile. “My husband works hard, too. He’s finally earned his position.” A few moments later, my husband’s deep, steady voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking…” A warmth spread through my chest, but then the woman leaned closer. “That’s my husband,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Doesn’t he have a wonderful voice?” My entire body went rigid. The woman then casually flicked her wrist, showing off a luxury watch. “He felt so bad he couldn’t be with me on New Year’s, so he spent all of last night making it up to me. He gave me this and insisted I fly with him today to keep him company.” My eyes locked on the watch. I recognized it instantly. It was the promotion gift I’d given my husband just two days ago…

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At five, I ran away. My stepmother said, “Your mother is dead. This house doesn’t want you.” My stepsister tossed my toys, calling me a stray. My dad? In a meeting, phone off. I packed my bag with my eight dollars and started a livestream, as Mom taught me. “Hi, I’m Molly Geller, five. My mommy’s dead, my daddy doesn’t want me. I’m running away. Can you talk to me?” Viewers jumped from zero to a hundred thousand. Comments exploded: “Whose child is this?!” “Call the police!” “Wait, isn’t that Riverside Estates behind her? A Geller Corp project? And her last name is Geller?!” That night, the whole internet searched for Molly Geller. My father faced a press mob: “Is it true your daughter ran away?” “Your new wife is seen abusing her online, any comment?” “Your daughter says you abandoned her. What do you say?” I saw his face then—pale as paper. 1. I Decided to Run Away My name is Molly Geller, and I’m five years old. Mommy gave me my name. Molly, like a little sprout, she’d say. She hoped I would be tenacious like a blade of grass, able to grow anywhere. But now, Mommy is dead. Three months ago, a big truck took her away. And just like that, I went from being my mommy’s daughter to the Geller family’s “stray.” The Geller house is huge. It has a garden, a swimming pool, and so, so many rooms. Mine is the smallest one, at the very end of the hall. The window looks out onto a brick wall, so I have to keep the light on even during the day. My stepmother calls it the “guest room.” But I’ve been a guest for three months. The real daughter, Sophie, is eight, three years older than me. Her room is across the hall. Her window overlooks the garden, where the sun is so bright it could give you a tan. Every day, she tells me the same thing: “This is my house. You’re just a stray. What gives you the right to live here?” I never know how to answer. Because she’s right. This isn’t my home. My home used to be a tiny forty-square-foot apartment. But Mommy always made my little bed so soft, and she’d leave a piece of candy on my pillow. She’d kiss my forehead and whisper, “Goodnight, my love.” That little bed is gone now. Sold for forty dollars. Stepmother said it brought bad luck. Today is my birthday. My fifth birthday. When I woke up, I tied my hair in pigtails in front of the mirror. Mommy taught me how—two little sprouts, one on each side. Super cute. I didn’t do a very good job. One is higher than the other. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t see them anyway. Pigtails tied, I put on my little backpack. It’s pink with a little white bunny on it, a gift from Mommy. Inside, I have the eight dollars I’ve saved for three months, a picture of my mom, and a piece of candy—the last one she ever gave me. I haven’t been able to bring myself to eat it. I opened my door and went downstairs. At the top of the stairs, I heard my stepmother on the phone. “Yes, the party tonight is all arranged. Sophie will wear that little Chanel princess dress… That stray? Don’t worry about her. Just make sure she stays in her room. We can’t have her embarrassing us.” I waited on the landing until she hung up, then continued down. Stepmother frowned when she saw me. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Out to play,” I said. “Play? The house is busy today. Don’t go running around.” She waved her hand dismissively, like she was shooing a fly. “Go back to your room.” I didn’t move. “Ma’am,” I said, looking up at her. “Today is my birthday.” Stepmother paused for a second, then laughed. It was the same smile she always wore for guests, but since we were alone, it looked different. Wrong. “Your birthday?” She looked me up and down. “What birthday? Your mother’s dead. Who’s going to celebrate with you?” “I’ll celebrate by myself,” I said. This time, she laughed even louder. “Fine, you do that. Now get out of here. You’re in the way.” I started for the front door. Halfway there, a voice called from upstairs. “Hey, stray!” I looked up. It was Sophie, still in her pajamas, her hair a mess. “What’s that in your hand?” I clutched my backpack tighter. “It’s my backpack.” “Let me see it.” I stayed put. She stormed down the stairs, grabbed the strap of my bag, and yanked. She was bigger than me, and the backpack was ripped from my hands. She unzipped it and dumped everything onto the floor. Eight dollars in coins scattered everywhere. My mommy’s picture landed face down. And the candy rolled under the sofa. “Is that all?” Sophie sneered. “Pathetic.” She picked up the photo. “Who’s this? Your mom? She’s ugly.” “Give it back,” I said. She ignored me, holding the photo high above her head. “Come and get it. If you can reach it, it’s yours.” I jumped, but I couldn’t reach. I jumped again. Still too short. At eight years old, she was a whole head taller than me. “Can’t get it, can you? Haha!” She laughed and ran outside. “Catch me if you can!” I chased her out, through the yard, into the garden, all the way to the edge of the swimming pool. She stood there, dangling the photo of my mom. “Call me ‘big sister.’ Say it, and I’ll give it back.” I didn’t say anything. “You won’t, huh?” Her hand opened. The photograph fluttered down, landed on the water’s surface, and slowly began to sink. I froze. It was the only picture I had of my mommy. She hated having her picture taken. This was from my third birthday, at the park. In the photo, Mommy was smiling so happily, holding me, making a peace sign for the camera. Now it was at the bottom of the pool, the image blurring. “You give me back my mommy!” I screamed, shoving her with all my might. Sophie lost her balance and fell backward onto the ground. She stared at me for a second, then burst into tears. Stepmother rushed out of the house. “What happened?! What’s wrong?!” Sophie pointed at me. “She pushed me! She tried to drown me!” Stepmother’s face turned black with rage. She lunged forward, grabbed me by the collar, and lifted me off the ground like a kitten. “What do you think you’re doing?! You dare touch my daughter?!” I dangled from her grip, my feet kicking in the air, struggling to breathe. “My mom… my mom’s picture… she threw it in…” “I don’t care about some stupid picture!” she shrieked, throwing me to the ground. “You listen to me. Your mother is dead, and this house doesn’t welcome you! If you want to stay, you behave. If not, then get out!” I landed hard on the stone patio. Pain shot through my knee, and tears welled in my eyes. But I didn’t cry. Mommy said crying doesn’t help. You have to be strong. I pushed myself up, brushed the dirt off my clothes, and walked to the edge of the pool. I stared at the photo, a faint shape at the bottom. The water was too deep. I couldn’t reach it. Sophie was still wailing. Stepmother was hugging her, cooing and cursing at me. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went back inside. I picked up my coins, one by one, and put my empty backpack on. Then I walked out the front door. No one stopped me. At the gate, I glanced back. Stepmother was still comforting Sophie. She hadn’t even looked my way. The gate was huge and ornate, black iron with gold filigree. I pushed it open and stepped through. A long road stretched out before me, lined with villas even bigger than ours. I didn’t know which way to go. But Mommy always said, just keep walking forward. You’ll always find a path. 2. I Started a Live Stream After about ten minutes, my legs got tired. I sat down on a small planter by the side of the road, hugging my backpack. The sun was warm on my skin. A little cat was napping nearby, its eyes squeezed shut, looking perfectly content. I remembered what my mom taught me. “Molly, if you ever get lost, or if you run into a bad person, you open this.” She had pointed to an icon on my phone. “It’s called a live stream. You press it, and people will be able to see you. You have to tell them who you are, where you are, and what’s wrong. People will help you.” That’s what she said. I took out my little phone—the one she left me. It was old, with a crack across the screen, but it still worked. I tapped the icon. My face appeared on the screen, pigtails and all, one high, one low. I looked into the camera and said: “Hi, Misters and Misses. My name is Molly Geller, and I’m five years old. My mommy is dead, and my daddy doesn’t want me anymore. I’m going to be a runaway now. Can you talk to me so I’m not lonely?” In the corner of the screen, the number of viewers changed from 0 to 1. Someone was here. A comment floated across the screen: ??? Another viewer joined. Whose kid is this? Why is she all alone on the street? And another. Little girl, where are your parents? I read the comments and answered them one by one. “I don’t have parents anymore. My mommy’s dead, and my daddy… my daddy doesn’t want me.” “I’m at… I don’t know where this is. There are lots of big houses.” “I have my backpack, with eight dollars inside. I’m going to be a runaway.” More and more comments started to appear. OMG this poor baby! Someone call the police! Can anyone get a location?! Wait a second, that villa behind her… isn’t that the Riverside Estates? The Riverside Estates? Isn’t that a Geller Corporation development? Geller Corp? As in, Richard Geller’s company? What did she say her name was? Molly… Geller? Her last name is Geller?! I looked down at the screen. I didn’t know a lot of the words. But I knew they were talking about me. “Geller Corporation is my daddy’s company,” I said. “My daddy’s name is Richard Geller.” The chat exploded. ????? Richard Geller?! The real estate tycoon?! Wait wait wait, doesn’t Richard Geller only have one daughter? The one who was in that magazine, Sophie something? That’s his stepdaughter! Is this one his biological kid? That can’t be right, Richard Geller’s first wife died, right? I remember seeing it in the news… Is this kid telling the truth? I was a little confused. The comments were moving too fast for me to read. But I saw one: Sweetie, what’s your dad’s phone number? I can try calling him for you. I thought for a moment and recited a string of numbers. I had memorized it. Mommy taught me to call it if I was ever in trouble. But every time I called, it just said, “The number you have dialed is currently busy.” It never went through. A comment appeared: I called it! It’s ringing! No answer! Another one: Keep calling! Don’t stop! I watched the number of viewers on my screen climb. 17 people. 35 people. 82 people. 196 people. It just kept growing. A man in the chat said: Little one, don’t move. I’m calling the police for you. An officer will be there soon. “Okay,” I said. “Thank you, Mister.” A woman wrote: Molly, are you hungry? Are you thirsty? I touched my tummy. “I’m hungry.” I hadn’t eaten anything all day. There’s a convenience store! Do you see it? With the blue sign! I stood up and looked. There it was, a little store with a bright blue sign shining in the sun. “I see it.” Go there! I’m ordering you a delivery! Just wait! I didn’t know what a “delivery” was, but I did as she said and walked toward the store. A kind-looking woman was standing behind the counter. She looked surprised to see me. “Are you all by yourself, sweetie?” I nodded. “Where are your parents?” I thought for a moment. “I don’t have any.” Her expression softened, and she didn’t say anything else. I sat down on a little bench outside the store and waited for the “delivery.” The stream was still running. The comments kept flying by. I just followed her! This is heartbreaking! Took a screenshot! Posting to social media! Get more eyes on this! People are already spamming the Geller Corp official accounts! Go upvote! I didn’t understand most of it, but I knew they were trying to help me. The delivery really came. A young man in a yellow uniform pulled up on an electric scooter, holding a bag. “Who’s Molly Geller?” I stood up. “That’s me.” The man handed me the bag, his brow furrowed. “Are you all by yourself, kid?” “Mhm.” He knelt down and lowered his voice. “Did someone hurt you?” I didn’t know how to answer that. The chat went wild. Way to go, delivery guy! Get the details! Ask her where she is! Look at her eyes! Her expression! Something definitely happened to her! The delivery man glanced at my phone and saw the comments scrolling by. He blinked. “Are you live streaming?” I nodded. His expression grew more and more serious as he read the chat. “Okay, kid. You stay right here. I’ll wait with you for the police.” I nodded. The bag smelled so good. Inside was a hamburger and a can of Coke. I sat on the bench outside the convenience store, taking small bites. Someone in the chat commented: Look at the way she’s eating. She was starving. Another wrote: My heart is breaking for this little girl. And another: Richard Geller is human garbage! I’m going to his social media page right now to tear him a new one! The delivery man was squatting next to me, watching the stream on his own phone. After a moment, he looked up. “Kid,” he said. “You’re famous.” 3. The Whole Internet Was Looking for Me I didn’t know what “famous” meant. But I knew that more and more people were showing up outside the convenience store. First, it was a woman, filming me with her phone. Then, a group of teenagers, pointing and whispering from a distance. And then, a white car with red and blue flashing lights pulled up. The police were here. A tall, thin police officer walked over and knelt in front of me. “Are you Molly Geller, little one?” I nodded. “Did you come out here all by yourself?” I nodded again. He looked around, then glanced at my phone. “Can I see your phone for a second, sweetie?” I handed it to him. He looked at the comments scrolling across the screen, and his expression changed. “Okay, little one. How about you come back to the station with me? It’s too hot out here.” “Do you have food at the station?” I asked. He paused for a second, then smiled. “Yes. We have food.” I stood up, dusted off my shorts, and followed him to the police car. The delivery man in the yellow uniform ran over and pressed a slip of paper into my hand. “Here’s my number, kid. Call me if you need anything.” I took the paper and said thank you. As the police car pulled away, I looked out the window. A huge crowd was standing outside the convenience store, all of them holding up their phones, filming me. The kind woman from inside the store was standing in the doorway, wiping her eyes. “Why is that lady crying?” I asked the police officer. He was quiet for a moment. “Because she feels bad for you.” “I don’t need anyone to feel bad for me,” I said. “I just need my mommy’s picture.” And then I remembered. My mommy’s picture was still in the swimming pool. “Mister,” I said, tugging on his sleeve. “Can you take me to get my mommy’s picture?” “What picture?” he asked. “My mommy’s picture. My sister threw it in the swimming pool.” He froze. He exchanged a look with the officer who was driving. Then he took out his phone, looked at something, and his face became very complicated. “Sweetie, does your dad… does he know you’re out here?” “No,” I said. “He never answers my calls.” He fell silent again. We drove for a little while and stopped in front of a small building with a sign that said “Police.” I followed the officer inside. It was full of people. Some were in uniform, some were in regular clothes, and some were holding big cameras. The moment I walked in, everyone turned to look at me. A woman officer rushed over and knelt in front of me, taking my hand. “You must be Molly. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Cold?” I shook my head. “I just had a hamburger.” She paused, then shot a glare at the people with the cameras. “Who let you in here? Get out! Don’t scare the child!” The men with the cameras backed out of the room. The officer led me into a small office, sat me on a sofa, and brought me a glass of water and a box of cookies. “Molly, can I ask you a few questions?” I nodded. “What’s your name and how old are you?” “Molly Geller. Five.” “What’s your mother’s name?” “Lily Reed.” The officer wrote in her notebook. “And your father?” “Richard Geller.” Her hand paused. “Are you sure?” I nodded. She was quiet for a few seconds. “Why did you leave home by yourself today? Where’s your mother?” “My mommy’s dead,” I said. “A big truck hit her three months ago.” The officer’s eyes grew red around the edges. “And… who do you live with at home?” “My stepmother, and my sister.” “Are they nice to you?” I thought about it, but I didn’t know what to say. The officer looked at my face and seemed to understand. She stood up, went outside, and spoke quietly with some of the other officers. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they all looked very serious. A little while later, she came back. “Molly, are you hungry?” “I just ate.” “Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap?” I was a little sleepy. I had woken up very early, walked for a long time, and my tummy was full. I nodded. The officer led me to a small room next door. There was a little bed with clean sheets. “You can sleep here. I’ll be right outside. Just call if you need anything.” I lay down on the bed, hugging my little backpack. Inside was my eight dollars, and my mommy’s picture… No. My mommy’s picture was gone. My sister threw it in the pool. Suddenly, I wanted to cry. But I didn’t. Mommy said crying doesn’t help. You have to be strong. I closed my eyes. Just before I fell asleep, I heard people talking outside. “…it’s the number one trending topic on social media…” “…the Geller Corp official page is getting destroyed…” “…has he responded yet?” “…their PR team is trying to bury it, but they can’t…” I didn’t understand it all. But I knew they were talking about me.

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1 My husband, Archer, has changed lately. He stopped wearing cologne, claiming the scent was too strong. His phone had become an extension of his hand; he’d frequently smile at it, lost in thought. I suspected he was seeing someone. After tucking our two kids into bed, a message popped up from his mistress. “The unloved one is the home-wrecker. I advise you to divorce Archer now.” Another message immediately followed. “I’m pregnant with his child! He’s head-over-heels in love with me right now.” I feigned ignorance, deleted the messages, and blocked her number. He was just cheating, not bankrupt. And frankly, his infidelity was a good thing. … Then, his mistress showed up at our doorstep, her several-months-pregnant belly thrust forward in a brazen display. “If you don’t divorce him, I’m staying here. You’ll even have to care for me after the baby’s born.” My expression remained flat, her provocations stirring no emotion within me. “No need,” I said calmly. “Archer will hire you a confinement nurse. He’s got money to spare.” I pulled out my phone, intending to activate the robot vacuum, but stopped. I didn’t want her to fake a fall and cause trouble. So, I just sat opposite her and called Archer. “Your girlfriend, with her baby bump, is here.” Archer rushed home from his office, a whirlwind of disheveled hair. His usual gentle demeanor was replaced by a strained look. He stood in the entryway, a mix of guilt and annoyance at his mistress’s impulsive visit etched on his face. The mistress stared at me, dumbfounded. She hadn’t expected me, the wronged wife, to be so calm. “Aren’t you angry?” she demanded. “Your husband cheated, and you’re calling him to deal with me?” I ignored her, turning instead to Archer. “Handle this. Don’t let her cause a scene; it could be bad for the company.” I paused, my gaze sharp. “By the sound of your call, you left something important unfinished at work? I’ll go clean up the mess for you.” As I walked past him, he grabbed my wrist. His mouth opened, then closed, as if searching for an excuse – a reason I might accept, one that could somehow justify his very pregnant mistress. I gently pushed his hand away. “No explanations needed.” I took his car keys from him. “Trust me, the company’s affairs are in good hands.” I gave him a pointed look. “Don’t forget to switch on the robot vacuum.” I closed the door, faintly hearing his mistress’s escalating protests. My footsteps quickened to the car, and the sounds from inside faded away. The company was Archer’s brainchild. I had started as his secretary. With my fair skin, pretty face, and solid business skills, I caught his eye. He pursued me relentlessly. Our engagement, then our marriage, made us the picture of a perfect couple in everyone’s eyes. He used to be so romantic. He’d fuss with his hair before going out and dress up specially for our shopping trips, saying he wanted to be worthy of me. My messages were answered instantly; if I ever ignored him, he’d bombard me with texts. He worked out daily, promising to keep his abs for me to touch. When I was busy with company affairs, he’d pull me aside, insisting I just sit and watch, saying even that was tiring enough. “He loved me,” I thought, “that’s what he said.” But then he stopped loving me. Company matters were unceremoniously dumped in my lap, and any mistake earned me a public dressing-down. Outings with me became a chore; he’d stare at his phone, dress carelessly, and make no effort. So, when he recently started primping again and doing push-ups at home, I knew. He had found someone else to love. “Ms. Thorne.” “Ms. Thorne.” In the conference room, the executives rose to greet me. I began to sort out Archer’s mess. As dusk settled, Archer entered his office, quietly shutting the door, his eyes discreetly observing me. “I picked up the kids,” he said. 2 I threw myself into work. Though it was his company, I benefited too. Every success meant more money for me, more security for my two children. Seeing my preoccupation, Archer pulled up a chair and sat beside me. “I’m sorry. I was wrong,” he began, his voice laced with regret. “I never thought she’d come directly to you. I warned her not to. But she insisted on confronting you, using her pregnancy to demand a divorce.” I paused, turning my head to face him. “So, do you want a divorce?” Without a second’s hesitation, Archer shook his head. “No, I don’t. I truly love you. What happened with her was just a moment of weakness.” I curved my lips into a faint smile. “Then you just handle it.” His expression was etched with anxiety. “You… you’re not angry?” Before I could answer, he quickly added, “I know you must be furious. I wronged you. What do you want? A house? A car? A house for your parents? Or company shares? Anything you want.” Watching his contrite face, I said, “Shares, then. Not for me, but for our two children. For their future.” Archer’s guilt deepened. He grasped my hand, weeping for a long time. I honestly didn’t understand. He was the one who cheated. Why was he crying? Archer owned 80% of the company shares. He built the company from the ground up, and only gave up a fraction of shares when it went public. He was brilliant, with an astute business sense. Whatever he touched turned to gold. That’s what I valued about him—even if he went bankrupt, he had the ability to rise again. He allocated 20% of the shares to me, and 10% to each of our children, promising, “There won’t be a second time. I know you worry about the children’s inheritance. I’ve already had the lawyer draft a will; our children will inherit the bulk of my assets. Her child… a smaller portion, okay?” Archer asked cautiously. I still didn’t grasp the extent of his guilt. He felt guilty, yet he still cheated. Wouldn’t it be simpler to be unburdened by guilt and just own it? After all, it was his money. He could give it to whomever he pleased. Would he really refuse to give his mistress’s child shares if I told him not to? I indulged his performance. “Fine, whatever you say.” My compliance seemed to ease his discomfort, his expression visibly less constrained. “Just don’t let it affect the company,” I added after a moment’s thought. That night, his mistress texted me, gloating: Don’t think Archer isn’t divorcing you because he loves you. It’s just bad for the company! He’ll divorce you eventually! Even if he doesn’t, my child will have an inheritance! I deleted the message without a second thought. Because her child wouldn’t inherit a thing. 3 If his mistress didn’t cause trouble, I generally didn’t meddle in his private life. We had been married for ten years, and our relationship had long since evolved into something akin to familial affection. Our eldest was in middle school, and the younger was about to graduate from elementary school. Juggling the kids’ schedules alone was exhausting. Add to that our social obligations, maintaining ties with his parents, and mediating between friends and business partners within our social circle—these demands consumed most of my energy. But then his mistress targeted my eldest son. I found out when he called me, saying some woman claimed to be his stepmother. I rushed over immediately. I could be indifferent to most things, but not when it came to my children. I arrived at the school gates to find his mistress standing next to my son, a smug smile on her face as she looked at me. I walked over, placing myself in front of my son. “What do you want?” She folded her arms, facing me. “Just introducing myself to your son as his future stepmother. Is there anything wrong with that? Archer is only postponing the divorce with you for now. He promised me he’ll divorce you eventually.” This involved my son, and potentially the company’s reputation. After all, this was an expensive private school. Only the wealthy and influential sent their children here. Several business deals had actually originated through my son’s classmates, through gradual introductions. Already, a few curious onlookers were starting to observe us. I snapped. “Get lost.” Seeing my anger, she surprisingly backed down, a smile playing on her lips. “Well, well, Ms. Thorne, I never thought you’d lose your temper. I thought you were made of paper, never showing any emotion.” Slightly provoked, I said coldly, “If you don’t leave now, I’ll have someone take you to the hospital for an abortion.” She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare! Archer wouldn’t let you get away with it.” I lifted my chin, lowering my voice in a menacing whisper. “If you don’t disappear, the media will suddenly swarm this area, and your story will be plastered everywhere. Guess which is more important to Archer: you, or his company’s reputation?” She panicked. She glared at me, unwilling to give up but afraid to make a move. She was after money. If Archer’s company ran into trouble, she’d lose out. And Archer would hate her. After she left, I turned to my son, my expression complex. My eldest son gestured for me to get into the car. Once inside, he said, “Be careful with our sister. I’m worried she might try to harm her.” I nodded. That evening, during dinner, after our daughter had finished eating and gone upstairs, he spoke up. “Dad, someone came to see me today and told me to call her my stepmother.” Archer immediately guessed who it was and said, looking uncomfortable, “She’s just crazy. Don’t worry about her. Nothing like that will happen again.” My son nodded calmly. “Hmm. I don’t want our sister to know.” Archer made a quick exit, leaving my son and me in a silent understanding. I guess I’m a gold-digger too.

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1 All of Saint Christopher knew about Damien Shepherd, the ruthless enforcer of the Shepherd crime family, and the untouchable “golden canary” he kept. She was a blind social worker, living in the squalor of the city’s poorest district, yet as pure as a white magnolia blooming in hell. This purity made Damien, who had risen from the brutal streets of the city’s underworld, dote on her like a precious gem. And I, his lawful wife, was nothing but a detested ornament. “Anastasia Vance, sign this. Those two mansions in the Highlands and the casinos in Port Royal are yours.” I refused to divorce him, so he resorted to his most vicious tactics. He threw me off the Port Royal docks, and one after another, my family’s cargo ships mysteriously sank. Finally, he kidnapped my parents, cementing them into pilings at the bottom of the Port Royal Bay. “Sign the papers, or watch them be cast alive into the foundations. Your choice.” I knelt, begging him, my forehead bleeding from hitting the ground, but the roar of the cement mixer swallowed my parents’ desperate faces. “No!” Then I opened my eyes again. I was back on the very day I first learned of Penelope’s existence. This time, I would grant his wish and leave for good. But when I truly died before him, Damien Shepherd lost his mind. … In my past life, I’d only ever heard a single voice message on Damien’s encrypted phone. It was a soft, timid female voice calling him “Damien, darling.” Reborn, I wanted to see for myself. What kind of woman could make a cold-blooded monster, forged in the depths of Saint Christopher’s crime underworld, learn tenderness? “Uncle Fitz, arrange for my parents to leave for England via a secret route within three days. I’ll join them as soon as I can.” After instructing my trusted old family retainer, I contacted Saint Christopher’s top lawyers to draft divorce papers. I needed to sever all ties with Damien and reclaim my offshore assets. I had less than a month. Then, I went to the Lower Quarter. This was the poorest, most chaotic part of Saint Christopher, rife with gambling dens, street gangs, and sex workers. At the end of a narrow, sewage-strewn alley, Penelope stood before a cramped, dilapidated community welfare center. Holding a white cane, she smiled, handing out free boxed meals to several homeless people. She wore a faded white dress, her eyes unfocused but clear and bright. “Slowly now, there’s enough for everyone. Today, we even have extra pulled pork.” Her voice was soft, starkly out of place in the murky, squalid district. No wonder Damien cherished her. “Blind hag! Watch where you’re going! You’re in my way!” Suddenly, a deranged thug overturned a table. The broken neck of a beer bottle lunged directly at her. I stood nearby, instinctively wanting to step aside. But Penelope, acting on pure instinct, shielded the children who were grabbing for food. “Chink!” The shattered glass deeply pierced her shoulder, crimson blossoming rapidly on her white dress. But she didn’t cry. Instead, she fumbled to reassure the terrified children clinging to her. “Don’t be scared, Penelope isn’t hurt. Someone will protect us.” I froze. That blinding red brought back memories of my parents, ground into the cement mixer in my past life. Back then, I cried until my eyes were nearly blind, and Damien only offered me a cruel, retreating back. In the welfare center’s makeshift first-aid room, I watched her pale, serene face, and finally, I couldn’t stop myself from stepping forward. “You’re a social worker? This place isn’t for you. These people don’t deserve your help.” I spoke coldly. She recognized that my voice wasn’t from the neighborhood and smiled, shaking her head. “Madam, Mr. Shepherd says that as long as I have a kind heart, the heavens will watch over me. These people are just sick, not bad.” Mr. Shepherd. Damien Shepherd. The man who, in the Port Royal Bay area, had carved up dozens without a flicker of emotion, was teaching someone about benevolence? “Beep, beep” Her custom wristwatch chimed. I’d commissioned that watch from a Swiss master years ago for Damien; it had the most advanced real-time vital sign monitoring. He’d found it too bothersome and thrown it into the trash without even opening the box. Now, it graced her slender wrist. She pressed to answer, and Damien’s voice, usually cold enough to make one shiver, now held an undeniable tension. “Your location shows an abnormal heart rate and dropping blood pressure. What happened?” Penelope’s face flushed, her tone flustered. “Damien, I’m fine. Just a little scratch. Everyone at the welfare center is very kind. It was just my own clumsiness…” “Wait for me.” The call ended. A mere five minutes later, the roar of an engine echoed from the street. Damien’s Rolls-Royce had traveled from Midtown to the Lower Quarter in just five minutes. He was always resourceful, and his radar seemed to pinpoint only her. And me, his lawfully wedded wife of five years? Last month, I was kidnapped by his rivals, nearly assaulted in an abandoned warehouse. I hid in a water tank, calling him for help, but he only sent a subordinate with a message: “A Shepherd wife who can’t even protect herself deserves to die. Damien Shepherd has no use for weaklings.” That was the difference. “I have something else to attend to. I’m leaving.” I tossed a wad of cash onto the table, considering it payment for the meal, and turned to go. One month. If I could just make it through this month, I could completely disappear from this world. 2 Some time later, I went to the top floor of Shepherd Group with the divorce papers. I needed to get his signature while his attention was entirely on Penelope. This way, I could smoothly disentangle my assets and prepare for what was next. “Mrs. Shepherd, Mr. Shepherd is in an important meeting and isn’t seeing anyone.” The bodyguard, a formidable presence, blocked my path like an iron tower. A meeting? I peered through the half-closed blinds, past the bulletproof glass door. I clearly saw the man who never took painkillers even for bullet removal, kneeling beside Penelope. With the finest tweezers, he was meticulously picking tiny shards of glass from her wound. Penelope flinched in pain. He immediately stopped, his breathing even softening. He pressed his forehead against hers, soothing her with a tenderness I had never heard. “Penelope, darling, it’ll be over soon. From now on, I’ll assign ten men to follow you. If anyone ever makes you bleed again, I’ll wipe out their entire family.” Was that Damien Shepherd? The uncrowned king of Saint Christopher? I once took a rival’s blade for him, earning thirty-nine stitches on my back. His only response then was a cold glance: “If it hurts, endure it. Don’t play pitiful in front of me.” After that, I never dared to cry out in pain. “Madam.” The bodyguard looked uneasy. Maintaining a blank expression, I handed the documents to him. “When he has a moment, tell him to sign these.” I expected him to send his legal team to fight over the assets, given the intricate intertwining of Shepherd and Thorne interests. I had even prepared to give up seventy percent of my fortune. But five minutes later, the bodyguard returned with the signed papers. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the specific terms, simply scrawling his signature, bold and unhesitating, on the last page. His signature cut through the paper, devoid of any lingering sentiment. Holding the thin document, I felt an incredible lightness. At eighteen, my father had offered me as a sacrifice to this emotionless madman, a pawn to ensure our family’s survival in the business wars. He had no sense of pain, no bottom line, no understanding of love. I had tried to prepare his meals daily, to tend to him when he returned late at night, smelling of blood. I had even unhesitatingly stood by him during the internal power struggles of the Shepherd family, only to be kidnapped and nearly drowned by his political enemies. I thought my five years of devotion would melt the iceberg. It turned out, icebergs do melt. Just not for me. The divorce cooling-off period still had half a month left, and Damien hadn’t returned to our estate in the Palisades once. This conveniently allowed me to transfer my remaining assets. To avoid arousing his suspicion, I continued my routine of shopping and afternoon teas, contacting my people in London only in secret. One day, passing an old-fashioned tea room in Port Royal, I unexpectedly saw Penelope. She was in a corner with a sharply dressed man, who seemed to be pulling at her. “Sister!” Though blind, Penelope’s hearing was exceptionally acute; she recognized the click of my heels. She pulled her hand free from the man and fumbled her way towards me, clutching my sleeve tightly. Seeing the bodyguards trailing me, the man cursed under his breath and walked away. “Who was that?” I coldly shook her hand off, not wanting any contact. Her eyes reddened, her voice trembling. “He’s an old acquaintance I once helped. He developed a gambling addiction and keeps asking me for money. Today, he even tried to lay hands on me… Sister, could you just have a cup of tea with me? I’m a little scared.” In my past life, Damien had called her a lotus blooming in the mud, the purest light in Saint Christopher. I hadn’t believed it then. But seeing her now, looking so frightened, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of certainty. I initially wanted to refuse. But glancing at my watch, I had an hour until I was due to pick up a fake passport from a contact in the black market. So, I took her to a nearby private dining restaurant. I just wanted her to stay safe and out of trouble, so it wouldn’t eventually fall back on me. We had just settled into the private room, and the food hadn’t even arrived, when she suddenly clutched her stomach, her forehead covered in cold sweat. 3 “What’s wrong?” I stood up. “Sister, I’m so sorry.” She clutched the tablecloth, gasping for breath. “I’m pregnant. It’s Damien’s.” Pregnant. My heart lurched, a sharp blade twisting inside me. “He’s been pushing himself so hard lately, trying to quell the opposition from a few of the Shepherd family’s elders. I didn’t want him to be distracted because of me, so I never told him.” Penelope’s lips were bitten raw from pain. Damien Shepherd had never touched me in our five years of marriage. He said he found women’s touch disgusting and deemed procreation a tedious charade. Turns out, he just found me disgusting. If I didn’t leave immediately, and Damien discovered her pregnancy, and then realized I was still in Saint Christopher and knew everything. Given his suspicion and ruthlessness, he would undoubtedly repeat the tactics of my past life, striking first by targeting my parents! I immediately excused myself to the restroom and called Uncle Fitz. “Uncle Fitz! Rebook our flight for tonight! Forget the luggage; we’re taking a boat to international waters to switch ships immediately!” But just as I hung up, a sharp scream suddenly pierced the air outside the private room. This was followed by a “Bang!” a gunshot! A dozen thugs, armed with machetes and iron bars, kicked open the restaurant door. “Kill the blind girl! Damien Shepherd took down our boss’s stronghold; today we’ll take his woman’s life in return!” The scar-faced leader immediately zeroed in on Penelope in the private room. Clearly, they were well-prepared and had already tracked her movements. Penelope shrieked in terror, stumbling blindly, knocking over a chair. I could have escaped through the back door, but the horrifying image of my parents being buried alive in my past life flashed through my mind. I knew Damien too well. If anything happened to Penelope in front of me today, whether I was involved or not, Damien would pin the blame on me. He would assume I, out of jealousy and hatred, had hired these thugs. To ensure my parents’ safe departure, I gritted my teeth. I grabbed a red wine bottle from the table and, with a “Crash!”, shattered it against the corner of the table. “Run!” I pulled Penelope, desperately fleeing towards the kitchen’s emergency exit. But I’d forgotten she was blind, and now, pregnant and utterly terrified. Just as we were about to reach the door, she tripped hard, dragging me down with her. “Run? Well, Mrs. Shepherd is here too. Perfect, a two-for-one deal! Let’s take care of both of them!” The scar-faced thug grinned menacingly as he caught up, kicking me hard in the back. I felt as if my spine was about to snap, a mouthful of blood rushing to my throat. Several heavy steel pipes swung down. “The blind girl is pregnant! Boss, why don’t we cut her belly open and send Damien Shepherd a grand gift?!” A junior thug suggested venomously. Penelope cowered in the corner, letting out a desperate plea. “Don’t touch my baby, please!” The scar-faced leader grabbed my hair, dragging me. “Let’s deal with the lawful wife first! The high-and-mighty Mrs. Shepherd of the Shepherd family, let’s see what she’s really made of!” Several dirty hands tore at my clothes. I tried to fight back, but after the heavy blow, I was utterly defenseless. Just as my coat was completely ripped open, and despair threatened to engulf me, a deafening barrage of heavy gunfire erupted from the doorway! “Boom! Boom! Boom!”

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1 On my first date with billionaire’s son Leo Maxwell, he mocked my $200 dress—saved from months of part-time work—calling it cheap polyester that would “shock” him. He made me take it off and burned it. Left shivering in the snow in a thin top, I endured laughter from him and his cashmere-coated friends. The next day, he blocked me with his Ferrari at school, loudly apologizing with a Van Cleef necklace. “Country folks aren’t picky about fabric. Use this for better clothes, or my card.” Amidst stares and whispers, I refused the gift and broke up with him. He smirked. “Still upset? Name your price.” I pushed past him. “I want nothing. Just leave me alone.” All I wanted was my dignity. … Leo didn’t respond. His gaze swept over my roommate, Grace, who stood behind me. He casually placed his hand on her shoulder, his tone dismissive. “Hailey, your temper is getting out of hand. All I did was call your name once. You never talked about breaking up when I used to buy you gifts.” He paused, his eyes flicking towards me, then back to Grace. “Look at her, she’s so unreasonable compared to you. How about you be my girlfriend?” My heart pounded. Grace didn’t push his hand away. Instead, she leaned closer to him, smoothing things over with a smile. “Hailey’s just being dramatic, Leo. Don’t be mad.” Leo chuckled, deliberately raising his voice. “Mad about what? If someone doesn’t appreciate me, there are plenty who will.” He turned to Grace, his fingers kneading her shoulder. “Be my girlfriend, and next week I’ll buy you that new designer bag. What do you say?” Grace’s eyes lit up, and she was about to speak when Leo suddenly gestured to me with his chin. “What do you say, give in now, and I’ll pretend this never happened. Otherwise…” He deliberately paused, his hand sliding down to clasp Grace’s wrist. I sniffled. I looked at the hand that had held mine countless times, and suddenly, my tears stopped. My voice was steadier than I expected. “No, thank you. When it’s over, it’s over. I wish you both well.” I turned and walked away. Leo’s smile froze on his face, then he let out a scoff. “Don’t act tough. You’ll be back to me within three days. But for today, I guess I’ll just have to spoil my new darling.” He deliberately drew out his words, his eyes fixed on me. He was waiting for me to turn back. I heard Grace’s laughter blend with his words, growing fainter with each step I took. Back in my dorm, I sat on my chair, and the tears I’d held back finally streamed down. It was the weekend, and my roommates were out. I cried for a long time before I recovered. I packed up the necklace, the plush toys, and other small items he had given me, sealing the box and placing it by the door, intending to return them in a few days. By the time I finished tidying up, it was evening. I opened my phone to see a photo he’d posted. Grace was in the passenger seat of his car, holding a bubble tea and smiling. The caption read, “New beginnings.” On the dashboard was the acrylic plate Leo had once put there to appease me, inscribed with “Hailey’s Spot.” I stared at the photo for two seconds, feeling a heavy ache in my chest. I called my best friend, Mia, then turned off my phone and left. Mia was waiting for me at the hotpot restaurant. Seeing my swollen eyes, she didn’t ask questions, simply spooned meat into my bowl. Halfway through the meal, when my emotions had stabilized, she quietly asked, “Why did you really break up? Was it just because he came to school for you?” I lowered my head, stirring the soup in my bowl, and gently shook my head. “No.” 2 When I first met Leo, I had no idea who he was. He rolled up to me in a beat-up old van, and my younger brother, mistaking him for a kidnapper, gave him a good beating. Later, I found out his luxury car had been scratched by a farm vehicle, and he was given the van to drive while his car was being repaired, which was how he ended up in our village. He stayed at our house to recover, occasionally plucking wildflowers by the roadside to give to me. One day, as I was picking corn in the fields, he leaned in, smiling. “You look beautiful picking corn. Go out with me, and you won’t have to do this kind of work anymore.” I thought he was joking and casually agreed. It wasn’t until he recovered and came to pick me up in his luxury car that I realized he was a rich young heir. Mia put down her chopsticks. “So why the sudden breakup?” “He always drives his fancy car to school to block me. Students gather around, whispering about me being a ‘gold-digger.’ He hears it but never explains, even joking with his friends, ‘She’s the one who threw herself at me.’” I pursed my lips, lowering my gaze, my nose tingling again. “Last time, I saved two months’ salary to buy a dress, spent two hours doing my makeup to meet him, and he didn’t even glance at it. When he pulled me towards his hotel, the dress snagged on his watch, and he tore it right off, annoyed.” “He always does this. Afterwards, he buys me a plush toy or a necklace as compensation.” I looked down at the cooling soup in my bowl. “This time, he called my name at the school gate again, and everyone was staring. I suddenly woke up. Eight years. I don’t want to coddle him anymore.” Mia sighed, not pressing further. After dinner, she dragged me to a karaoke bar. I sang until my throat was hoarse, but at least I didn’t cry any more. In the private room, I had two beers, and my head started to feel heavy. Mia, seeing my state, didn’t stay long, dropping me off at the dorm around ten. The hallway lights were off. I fumbled in the dark, pushing open the door. Seeing Grace’s bed empty, my heart sank. Thankfully, I was too exhausted to think much else. I took off my coat and collapsed into bed. I wasn’t woken until noon the next day by my phone ringing. I answered without checking the caller ID. On the other end, it sounded like one of Leo’s friends, his voice frantic. “Hailey, get to Leo’s house now! He drank so much last night, saying he didn’t want to live without you. He’s really bad!” My mind reeled, my heart pounding. I hung up, didn’t comb my hair or change my clothes, and jumped on my scooter, rushing to Leo’s house. On the way, I was so flustered I took a wrong turn, and a truck almost hit me. I didn’t catch what the driver yelled, but I gripped the handlebars and sped on. Finally, I arrived at Leo’s apartment building, breathless from running, wanting only to be faster. But the moment I pushed open the door, I froze. A room full of people surrounded the sofa, laughing. Leo was lounging in the middle, and Grace sat on his lap, feeding him grapes. He naturally opened his mouth to take them. He used to always say he didn’t like grapes, preferring me to peel mangoes for him. But when I’d cut and brought them to him, he wouldn’t eat them, just ruffle my hair and say, “So obedient.” Leo saw me, raised an eyebrow, and turned to his friends, chuckling. “I told you she’d come. I won won the bet.” 3 Someone laughed and handed him an envelope filled with money. He took it and gave it to Grace, then looked at me, his eyes full of mockery. “Hailey Vance, you really can’t live without me, can you? You heard something happened to me, and you rushed over without even washing your face?” The others joined in the teasing. One guy laughed and called out, “Hailey, Leo already said he doesn’t like you. You’re broken up, and you’re still chasing after him? Is no one else interested in you?” Another chimed in, “Leo, look how desperate she is. Maybe she wants to come back and continue serving you, hoping to get back together!” “Yeah, right, wasn’t she acting all high and mighty before? Now she’s practically throwing herself at him?” “What breakup? I bet she’s just playing hard to get…” I stood there, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks. Seeing me cry, Leo’s mockery deepened. He pushed Grace off his lap and walked over to me, pinching my face, forcing me to look at him. “What are you crying for?” He leaned in, his breath heavy with alcohol, and lightly touched my lips, his tone flippant. “Now you regret it? Beg me, and I’ll…” Before he could finish, I slapped him. “Smack!” The laughter in the living room instantly ceased. Everyone gasped. Leo’s face froze, his eyes instantly turning cold. He frowned and pushed me away. “Hailey Vance, you dare hit me? Over such a trivial matter?” Grace immediately rushed over, pulling on Leo’s arm, soothing him softly. “Leo, don’t be angry. She’s just jealous, she’s gone crazy.” Then, she glanced at me. “She was always like this in the dorms, always getting too close to guys in class, deliberately trying to make people misunderstand. Didn’t she just want all the guys to fawn over her? Now she’s trying to act innocent.” I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand, my eyes bloodshot, my voice rising. “Leo Maxwell, I must have been blind to ever be with you. From today on, I will never look for you again. If you die, it has nothing to do with me!” Leo froze for a moment, a flicker of panic in his eyes, but then he scoffed. “Last time you threw a tantrum, didn’t you come back to me within three days, clutching the plush toy I gave you? Now you’re trying this again? Fine, I’ll wait. But when you regret it, don’t come begging me.” He leaned back on the sofa, pulling Grace closer, then whispered something to his friends, utterly convinced I’d return. He didn’t even glance at me again. I didn’t watch the merriment in the living room anymore. I turned and walked out. Just downstairs, I saw my scooter lying crooked by the roadside, its back tire flat, punctured by someone unknown. I struggled to push the bike towards the dorm, the path dark, with one or two drunk people occasionally passing by. My heart pounded, and I quickened my pace. Thankfully, I made it back to the dorm safely. The boxes were still by the door. I grew angrier the more I thought about it, kicking them into a corner before collapsing into bed. 4 The next morning, I carried the boxes to the post office. When I tried to pay by scanning the QR code, my phone repeatedly flashed “Insufficient balance.” I clicked into my transaction history and saw it clearly: yesterday afternoon, Leo had used the shared payment feature to transfer the only two thousand three hundred and fifty dollars left in my account—money I had painstakingly saved from two months of part-time work. “Miss, stop dawdling! There are people waiting behind you!” The post office worker’s voice was impatient. Several students in line looked over, and some recognized me, whispering. “Isn’t that the little bird who broke up with her sugar daddy? I heard she used to spend all of Leo’s money. Now that she’s been dumped, she’s broke.” Another student, sounding scornful, spoke louder. “What ‘little bird’? They call them ‘golden canaries,’ but really, she’s just a prostitute. And I heard this kind of person even won some award, right?” … Those words pierced my ears, incredibly harsh. I instinctively gripped my phone, told the post office worker, “Give me five minutes,” and ducked into the alley behind the post office to make a call. “Mom, I want to borrow some money…” My mother’s voice, booming through the phone, hurt my ears. “You ungrateful wretch! I told you not to mess with rich people, but you wouldn’t listen! Now they’ve dumped you, and you’re coming to the family for money? I say you deserve it! You little hussy…” I bit my lip, not daring to reply. Hanging up, I had no choice but to carry the boxes towards Leo’s house, my arms aching from the cardboard digging into them the entire way. A few items fell out as I juggled the boxes, and I clutched them in my hand. Just as I reached the entrance of his complex, I saw Leo’s car pull up. Grace was in the passenger seat, surrounded by several luxury shopping bags. She deliberately held them up when she saw me. The car stopped, and Leo rolled down the window. He glanced at the boxes in my arms, a subtle sigh of relief, then raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “I told you you couldn’t live without me.” He then pointed to a bench nearby. “Here, wait here. Grace and I are going to buy a bag up ahead. I’ll be back for you later.” Before I could say, “I’m here to return your things,” he hit the gas, and the car sped off. Grace poked her head out the window, waving triumphantly at me. … I dumped the boxes at Leo’s front door and turned to leave. I needed to make money. That two thousand dollars, I decided, would just be his payment for all the meals he’d bought me. I wasn’t going to ask for it back. That afternoon, the department suddenly announced a commendation ceremony for the “National Scholarship” recipients. My advisor had called me the day before, asking me to prepare a speech, saying I’d speak as a representative. But the one who walked onto the stage to receive the award was Grace. She wore a new designer dress Leo had bought her, her face even paler than usual. She held a certificate in her hand and, as she came down, deliberately walked over to me, whispering, “Hailey, someone reported you for misconduct, so you can’t blame me for getting the award.” Seeing my frown, she continued in a low voice, “I failed five courses, you know. Leo helped me contact the professors to change my grades. Seriously, without him, how would I ever graduate?” She then added, “Oh, Leo also told me to tell you that your hard work means nothing compared to his word.”

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