Category: English

I was seeing a new man behind my first patron, Aaron Nash’s back, when I unexpectedly got pregnant with the new man’s baby. Just as I was fretting, I discovered Aaron had always been secretly in love with his step-sister. Without a second thought, I decided to find a stand-in for him. I finally found a college student, Lily Evans, who looked about 70% like Aaron Nash’s step-sister. She signed a contract with me: if she successfully took my place, she’d give me half of her monthly allowance. As expected, Aaron was drawn to her, and I, the ‘difficult’ girlfriend, was swiftly shown the door. Watching the cold, hard numbers in my bank account grow each month, I smiled. If I couldn’t have a man’s heart, I’d certainly have his money! … The third time I called Aaron Nash back from work for some frivolous reason, he finally snapped. “Viola Bernard! Can you please stop being so dramatic? Do you have nothing else to do all day? You’re so idle!” I covered my face, feigning hurt. “Aaron, you’ve changed. You weren’t like this before.” He used to patiently indulge my every whim, treating me like a pampered, delicate trophy wife. Aaron was utterly fed up. “Viola, I’m warning you, know your place. Don’t get carried away by a little kindness. Understand your position and stop overstepping.” Aaron was truly angry. Before, I would have backed down, appeased him, and kept him from getting upset. But today, I was breaking up with him. “Aaron! You don’t love me anymore! I want to break up with you!” Aaron’s voice was volatile. “Then break up!” He pointed at me. “Viola, do you honestly think we were in a relationship? You were nothing more than a plaything. Stop flattering yourself.” Aaron’s words were too harsh, and I, being overly emotional, genuinely started to cry. “Pack your things tomorrow. Move out immediately.” I choked back a sob. “What about severance?” I instinctively clutched my belly. Raising a child costs a fortune. I needed to fleece him for as much as I could get. Aaron couldn’t possibly be that stingy, could he? He had indeed become stingier. He tossed a card at me. “Here’s five million. Take the money and get out.” It used to be at least eight million. Aaron left. I quickly packed my things, and on a whim, sold all the expensive furniture in the house. Anything Aaron had given me, even the costly mattress, I took with me. My bank account instantly swelled with cash. Just then, Lily called. “Sister, did you break up with Mr. Nash?” “Yes, yes, just now.” Lily let out a sigh of relief, her voice light. “Sister, don’t you worry. From now on, even if Aaron only gives me a dollar, I’ll give you fifty cents.” “Good. That’s very thoughtful of you.” I couldn’t help but advise her, “Remember to keep Aaron’s preferences and dislikes firmly in mind, and really grasp his step-sister’s personal style.” “I absolutely will.” Lily was very eager. As long as she could live a life of luxury, she’d do anything. After hanging up, I single-handedly cleared out the entire walk-in closet, my back aching from the effort. Lily was the new trophy wife I’d found for Aaron. A month ago, I had discovered I was pregnant, and the child wasn’t his. Coincidentally, I also found out that Aaron was deeply, yet subtly, in love with his estranged step-sister. To protect the baby inside me, I had no choice but to take a risk and personally find a stand-in for Aaron. I finally chose Lily, who bore a striking resemblance to his step-sister. As expected, Aaron took an interest in Lily, and I was finally free to exit. My belongings filled four large moving trucks. Seeing all my treasures, I was so excited I wiped away tears. The housekeeper spoke up, “Miss Bernard, perhaps you should be a little more amenable with Mr. Nash. He still cares for you deep down.” No, no. Aaron had become stingy lately. Even if I blamed the baby in my belly on him, I wouldn’t get much out of it. Even without Lily, he would eventually lose interest over time. This variable was better controlled by me, and I could earn double the money. The housekeeper sighed, and the next second, he saw Aaron and Lily by his side. Lily clung to his arm like a delicate bird, looking at me with feigned unfamiliarity. The housekeeper stammered, “Mr. Nash, Miss Bernard is moving out.” Aaron’s tone was cold. “Viola, once a breakup happens, there’s no going back. Don’t be so stubborn.” Lily looked nervous, clearly afraid I might change my mind. My eyes reddened. “Aaron, you changed your mind a long time ago, didn’t you? Is this woman your new favorite?” Aaron forced a smile. “I don’t need only you.” “Butler, from now on, Lily will live here. Don’t ever mention Viola Bernard again.” I clenched my fists and covered my face, barely stifling a laugh. This was perfect! Feigning distress, I got into the passenger seat of the moving truck, continuously covering my face. Below, Aaron’s expression was complex, a flicker of pain in his eyes. I had never traveled in such a common vehicle before. I was always chauffeured, never letting my feet touch the ground if possible. Aaron said, “Once the arrow is shot, there’s no turning back. Take care of yourself.” I nodded vigorously, hoping we would never cross paths again. He handed me another card. “This is the last time I’m giving you money. Take care.” I hadn’t expected to receive more money, and I felt a bit guilty. Yesterday, I’d complained about the small severance and sold all the furniture. Now the villa was empty. The housekeeper probably thought I was being petty, selling everything just to spite Aaron, as if I actually needed the money. The truck driver pulled away, and I let out a huge sigh of relief. Before I even reached my new home, I received a transfer from Lily: five hundred thousand. [Lily]: Sister, how did you make Mr. Nash love you so much? My monthly allowance is a million. I’ve never seen so much money in my life. I really want to be this rich forever. I gave her serious advice. [Me]: Do your job well and mimic Anya Nash, but whatever you do, don’t let him find out you’re deliberately imitating her. Otherwise, he’ll turn on you. Lily was obedient and took my words as gospel. Back home, I popped open a bottle of champagne for myself as the moving company slowly put everything in its place. The next day, I woke up in Leo Hayes’s arms. My consciousness hadn’t fully awakened, but my face was nestled comfortably in Leo’s chest. “Baby, you finally moved in here.” “Honey, I was just so busy before. From now on, I’ll be with you every day.” Saying this, I kissed Leo’s face. He was my second patron and the biological father of the child in my belly. The economy might be in a slump recently, which was why Aaron had become less generous. I was afraid of being dumped by him and struggling, so I decided to prepare a backup plan and found a new patron. Leo made me breakfast, and I checked my bank balance while I ate. Aaron had spent more money on Lily. Lily was quite honest; the first thing she did after getting the money wasn’t to enjoy it, but to split it with me immediately. “Baby, who are you chatting with?” I casually brushed him off. “Just a friend.” Leo reached out and pinched the flesh on my cheek. “You seem to have gained a lot of weight recently; you look quite plump.” “Isn’t being a little plump good? You used to say I was too thin.” I hadn’t told Leo about the pregnancy because I was afraid he’d drag me to a clinic for an abortion. I didn’t dare to gamble on the consciences of these wealthy men. I would only tell him about the child’s existence when I was further along and everything was settled. With this child, I would be set for life. Leo kissed me. “I love you no matter how you look.” After breakfast, Leo left for work. Almost immediately after, Lily called me, her voice excited. “Sister, last night I slept with Aaron, and he called out Anya Nash’s name in my ear.” “Good thing I pretended to pass out from pleasure, otherwise I wouldn’t have known how to act.” I chuckled. “Next time, just pretend you didn’t hear it, or directly ask who that person is.” Aaron would smooth it over anyway. He and Anya could never be together, constrained by their identities and by convention. “The world of the rich is so messy! He was pretty angry yesterday when he saw the empty villa, and he even cursed at you a bit.” “What did he say about me?” I felt a little surge of excitement. How could Aaron be like that? Couldn’t we have ended things amicably? Why did he have to curse me? Lily repeated all the insults. “He called you a drama queen, materialistic, and high-maintenance.” Hearing this, I let out a sigh of relief. This wasn’t really cursing me; this was just my true nature. When I first met Aaron, he liked my straightforward, uncomplicated personality. He said he could see right through me, which made him feel secure. So people change so quickly; one moment they like you, the next they despise you. My acceptance was high, just as I, upon discovering Aaron was spending less on me, immediately sought out a new patron. “Sister, don’t worry, I’ll be your eyes and ears and relentlessly extract money from him.” I cautioned her, “Don’t be too greedy at first. If he gives it to you, take it, but don’t constantly ask for more; it makes you look cheap.” “He’s most accommodating in bed. Just seize that opportunity to ‘rob’ him.” Lily spoke sweetly, then started showering me with compliments. “Sister, you’re still the best. No wonder Aaron is so obsessed with you.” She went on and on, eventually complimenting my looks and figure. “Sister! You’re a goddess descended from heaven. A beautiful woman like you, even I’m in love with you!” I rolled my eyes. “Alright, stop. You get back to work.” After hanging up, I secretly went to the hospital for a check-up. If I could, I’d check every day. Just as I got my results, I ran into Aaron. He walked towards me. “Viola Bernard, what are you doing here?” He subconsciously glanced at my medical report, which I quickly hid. “None of your business. You and I are ancient history.” Aaron chuckled. “Viola, you’re not still throwing a tantrum, are you? I pampered you too much all these years, that’s why you’ve gotten so audacious.” “Last night, Lily and I slept together.” Aaron was trying to find regret or sorrow on my face. But he was clearly disappointed. I was perfectly fine with it. Not just after the breakup, but even if I had known he was with other women while we were still together, I wouldn’t have been particularly sad. I’d only be scared of being dumped unprepared. “That’s great. I wish you happiness.” I clutched the report, eager to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you suddenly at the hospital?” I found Aaron’s words very strange and casually brushed him off. “Just a check-up.” I pulled free from his grip and walked away. His gaze behind me was so intense that I didn’t dare to look back. I couldn’t let him know I was pregnant, or I’d be completely ruined. Getting pregnant after a breakup was one thing; getting pregnant before was cheating on him. No man would tolerate that. Aaron’s face was grim. He felt Viola had lost a lot of weight. He pulled out his phone and made a call. “Check on Viola Bernard, why she’s at the hospital, and send me her medical report.” When I got home, I found a strange woman in my living room. I couldn’t help but be wary, asking her flatly, “Who are you? How did you get into my house?” Autumn Hayes scrutinized me. “So you’re the woman my brother’s keeping?” It turned out to be Leo’s sister. I breathed a sigh of relief; as long as she wasn’t some random woman, it was fine. Even if Leo changed his mind, it had to wait until the baby was born. “Hello, sister. I’m Viola Bernard.” Autumn looked disdainful. “Don’t call me that. A woman like you isn’t fit to enter the Hayes family home.” I smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare. Your brother is just having some fun with me, a temporary novelty.” Hearing me say this, Autumn’s expression was odd, as if she were uncomfortable. She’d thought it would take some effort to make Viola understand her place. Autumn’s voice rose. “Good that you know!” I kept smiling. In my line of work, you had to have a good mindset. Without it, you couldn’t do this job. You couldn’t have it all. A few minutes later, Leo returned. He saw Autumn, his brows slightly furrowed. “What are you doing here? Haven’t I told you not to just walk into this house?” Autumn looked a little angry. “Brother! Are you afraid I’ll disturb your little hideaway?” “Good that you know.” Leo glanced at me, then quickly pushed her out the door. “Go quickly. Are you out of things to do, or just bored?” Autumn clung frantically to the door, shouting, “I’m not leaving! I don’t want to leave!” I sighed. “Leo, let her in. It’s not too late to eat dinner before she leaves.” Leo relented, and Autumn quickly scurried in, giving me a look that said, “You’re smart.” To maintain my image as a reasonable person, I voluntarily went into the kitchen to cook. Leo was touched, kissing me. “So thoughtful. I’ll bring you a gift tomorrow.” As I was cooking, I didn’t realize my phone, left in the living room, was ringing. Autumn picked it up without thinking. “Hello? Who is this?” The caller said, “Let Viola answer the phone.” Autumn frowned. “What do you want? What’s your relationship with her?” Aaron’s voice was complex. “I’m her husband. She’s pregnant, and the child is mine.”

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At my high school reunion, Bennett Hayes, the guy I’d crushed on for three years, actually showed up. I didn’t say a single word to him all night. By the time the party wound down and everyone had drifted away, I was the only one left to haul his drunken self back to his hotel. In the room, watching him sprawled on the bed, I fought a internal battle for a long time. Eventually, I managed to keep my baser instincts in check. I didn’t expect him to show up at my front door the next morning, looking hurt, asking: “How did you hold back?” I was completely lost. “Weren’t you wasted?” He took a step forward. “I was drunk. “I was faking it. “You, on the other hand—you watched me for so long, and you still just left.” 1 Our class president started organizing this reunion months ago. Everyone was signing up. Then, the former sports captain tagged Bennett Hayes in the group chat. 【@Bennett are you coming?】 【Whoa! If Bennett’s coming, then Clara Sterling will be there too, right?】 【The dream team! My high school OTP is finally going to be in the same room again!】 Scrolling through the messages, a bitter pang hit my chest. Clara was the “It Girl”—stunning, wealthy, and effortless. Standing next to Bennett, they looked like they belonged on a movie poster. Meanwhile, back then, the most I ever got was a smirk from Bennett when the teacher announced the test results. “Our Academic Rep really is something else,” he’d say. My crush was a secret I kept buried deep. I didn’t even have the courage to speak to him. I was terrified a single look would give me away. Finally, Bennett replied with a simple 【1】. I immediately messaged the president to confirm my spot. On the night of the party, I sat in a corner, chatting with some girls about college. Then Bennett walked in. Clara was right behind him. The room erupted into cheers. “Bennett and Clara look so good together!” “Only Clara could actually pin down a guy like Bennett!” Clara gave a shy smile and rolled her eyes at everyone. “Alright guys, pipe down.” Bennett’s face suddenly went cold. “Stop talking trash,” he snapped. He pushed through the crowd and sat directly next to me. The room went dead silent. Every eye was on us. I stiffened and turned my head, meeting Bennett’s dark, unreadable eyes. “Long time no see, Academic Rep.” I folded instantly. I just nodded at him, barely a greeting. He was all legs and broad shoulders. To avoid touching him, I scooted as far toward the wall as I could. Bennett glanced at me out of the corner of his eye but said nothing. My friend Jenna texted me under the table. 【Holy crap, why is Bennett sitting next to you? Since when are you guys tight?】 【I have no idea. Maybe because I’m wearing black and he didn’t see there was a human being here?】 【…Nobody is that blind. Look at Clara. If looks could kill, you’d be a crime scene.】 I glanced at Clara. She looked miserable. I told Jenna I’d rather be a ghost than a target. The class president pulled Clara into a seat. People started reminiscing about high school, and the tension eased. Suddenly, Clara walked over with a glass of wine. She leaned down and smiled at me perfectly. “Suzy, mind if we swap seats?” I looked up. Finally, an exit! “Oh, sure! I’ll swap with you.” I grabbed my orange juice and started to stand up. A heavy weight hit my shoulder. Bennett had pinned me down. I froze, slowly turning to look at his long, pale fingers on my shoulder. Then I looked at Clara. Her eyes were flaming. Bennett didn’t even look at her. He just flicked his gaze up and said coldly: “She’s sitting right here. Find another spot.” I broke into a cold sweat. I wanted to shake his hand off. But then I realized that making a scene would just make it look more intimate. I tried to play it cool. “It’s fine, I’ll swap. I don’t really want to be against the wall anyway.” Bennett tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “In high school, didn’t you always fight for the wall seat?” The smile on my face vanished. I had no idea what game he was playing. The room was silent. Clara, completely ignored, had tears brimming in her eyes. “Bennett, do you really have to humiliate me in front of everyone?” Bennett’s aura was heavy. “Humiliation is self-inflicted,” he said flatly. “She’s sitting here comfortably. Why should she move for you?” Clara couldn’t take it anymore. She set her glass down and ran out. Bennett didn’t move an inch. Eventually, the class president went after her. Every eye in the room moved from Bennett to me. I felt like I was sitting on a bed of needles. Oh my god. I have nothing to do with this! 2 After Clara left, Bennett started drinking heavily. To anyone watching, it looked like a lovers’ quarrel. I didn’t dare speak to him for fear of making things worse. I huddled in the corner with my juice, mentally counting how many glasses he knocked back. In three years of high school, we’d never been this close. He’d taken his jacket off and draped it over the chair. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the sharp lines of his forearms. I tried to control myself, tried not to look. But the faint scent of his rose-wood cologne kept drifting toward me. It had been a year since graduation. His features were more defined now. The boyishness had faded, replaced by something more rugged and masculine. He was even more handsome than before. I couldn’t resist a peek, but I walked right into his gaze. I immediately looked down at my food. A few seconds later, he let out a low chuckle. “Hiding again.” My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. Thankfully, someone else started talking to him, breaking the tension. I poked at my salad, feeling distracted. I kind of regretted coming. Knowing he wasn’t mine but wanting him anyway was a special kind of torture. Suddenly, a chicken wing landed on my plate. I looked at Bennett in shock. He looked away, saying casually: “Serving tongs. They’re clean.” I took a deep breath and muttered a “thank you.” But inside, I was screaming—This isn’t about the tongs! We are not ‘fixing each other’s plates’ close! Luckily, everyone else assumed I was just caught in the crossfire. Even Jenna messaged me: 【Looks like the ship has sunk. Suzy, you are a total casualty today. I can’t save you. Just eat.】 I sent back a “face-palm” emoji. Bennett seemed determined to get trashed. He barely spoke to anyone, and he didn’t look at me again. As the night ended, people started filtering out. I wanted to leave too. But Bennett was leaning back with his eyes closed, his long legs blocking my way out of the booth. “Bennett?” I whispered. “Can you move?” No response. I tugged on his sleeve. “Bennett?” Still nothing. He was out. I looked at Jenna for help. “Jenna, wait for me!” But as she started to walk over, Bennett’s eyes snapped open. A sharp, cold glare fixed on her. Jenna stopped dead and gave a weak smile. “Suzy… maybe you should be the one to get him home?” I didn’t even get a chance to protest. “Mhm,” Bennett grunted. He looked back at me and said politely: “I’d appreciate the help, Suzy.” I: “…Fine.” 3 I opened a room at the hotel next door and asked if he could walk. He braced himself against the table and stood up, stumbling slightly. I caught him instinctively. The sudden contact sent my pulse racing. I wanted to let go, but I was afraid he’d fall. “Maybe I should call a porter to help you?” Bennett straightened up immediately, frowning. “No. I don’t like being touched by strangers.” He grabbed his jacket, looking back at me. “Let’s go. You said you’d get me back.” He started walking out ahead of me. I watched his back, confused. Is he wasted or not? I sighed and followed. “Bennett, wait. Let me call an Uber.” “Is it far?” “Not really—” “Then let’s walk. My head is spinning. I don’t want to be in a car.” He looked pale, his brow furrowed. He really did look unwell. Maybe the fresh air would do him some good. I followed silently behind him. The only sound was the GPS on my phone telling us when to turn. Bennett stopped abruptly. I wasn’t paying attention and nearly walked into his back. My nose brushed against the wool of his coat. “What’s wrong? You going to be sick? I can go to the pharmacy and get you some ginger ale or something?” My dad always drank that when he overdid it. There was a 24-hour pharmacy right on the corner. “Wait here,” I told him. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back—” Bennett suddenly grabbed my wrist and yanked me back, pulling me into a full-on hug. My whole body went rigid. I forgot how to breathe. The hug I’d dreamed about for three years was actually happening. But I was clear-headed. This is wrong. I tried to push him away, but he held on tighter. If anyone saw us, how would I even explain this? “Bennett—” my voice was shaking. He buried his face in my shoulder, his voice low and raspy. “Don’t go. Please. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. Don’t hide from me anymore.” 4 Bennett was definitely gone. He was clearly mistaking me for Clara, saying all these confusing things. I didn’t want to wrestle with him in the middle of the street. I had to play along. “I’m not going. I’m taking you to rest. Just be a good boy and let go, okay?” He gave a soft “mhm,” let go of the hug, but immediately grabbed my hand. He looked at me with those big, puppy-dog eyes. Thank god for my strong moral compass and high emotional intelligence. By the time we walked the two blocks to the hotel, my palm was sweaty from how hard he was gripping it. I stepped into his shadow and muttered, “If you’re this clingy, why did you fight with her in the first place?” Once we got to the room and the door closed, he couldn’t stand anymore. He pulled me down onto the bed with him. His breath was hot against my ear. If I turned my head just an inch, I could kiss him. Who could resist that? Me. Only me. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t. He was drunk, not dead. Taking advantage of him would be disgusting. I pushed my “dark thoughts” down and rolled him off me. Bennett was flat on his back. His throat moved as he swallowed, his pale neck flushed red from the alcohol. My god. If I kept looking, I was going to have a nosebleed. I fumbled with a water bottle and held it to his lips. He drank greedily, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The water spilled slightly, wetting his shirt. I slapped my own cheek. “Get it together, you animal!” I whispered. I pulled the covers over him and finally calmed down. Looking at his sleeping face, I gave myself a mental high-five. Good job, Suzy. You didn’t ruin the guy you’ve loved for three years while he was unconscious. He should stay a dream. Not a messy reality. The doorbell rang. The hangover patches I’d ordered had arrived. I left the medicine, some water, and some tissues on the nightstand. I gave him a little wave and whispered goodbye. “Bye, Bennett. Don’t drink like that again. A guy alone in a hotel needs to be more careful.”

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I possessed the Benevolent Spouse Prosperity System. All it took was a small gift from my husband to trigger a hundredfold surge of luck and fortune for him. For ten years, Grant Kensington ascended from a humble gig-economy driver to the undisputed magnate of Westport, all by being “good” to me. This year, for our anniversary, he promised a surprise luxury getaway. It wasn’t until the plane landed that I discovered his secretary, Brooke, had gambled away everything in Monte Carlo. “Honey, you’re the only one who can save me this time, or Kensington Holdings is finished.” “The casino owner has been looking for a woman who looks exactly like you. If you stay here, all our debts will be wiped clean.” He had no idea that casino was owned by my father. And his act of pushing me forward as collateral was about to trigger the system’s merciless counter-curse: The Husband-Waster’s Penalty: All Prosperity Ceases. 1 The moment we landed in Monte Carlo, Grant rushed me straight to The Golden Citadel Casino. After the heavy soundproof door of the VIP suite clicked shut, I saw Brooke. She was slumped on the sofa, eyes red and swollen, hair a mess. Seeing us, she lunged into Grant’s arms. “Grant! You finally came! I thought you’d abandon me.” It was only then that I fully understood: The surprise luxury getaway was merely a ruse to rescue Brooke from the crippling debt she’d amassed. Grant had brought Brooke to Monte Carlo a few days earlier under the guise of a business trip. She’d insisted on trying the high-stakes tables, and the two had spent three days and three nights in a drunken, losing spiral. Looking at the distraught woman, I didn’t immediately fly into a rage. I simply asked, my voice dangerously calm, “How much?” Grant’s voice shook, barely a whisper. “F-five… five hundred million.” My head exploded in a deafening silence. Five hundred million dollars. That was the entirety of Kensington Holdings’ liquid capital, plus loans secured by mortgaging most of our assets. While my Benevolent Spouse Prosperity System could bring him boundless luck, each activation came at a steep, private cost to me: weight gain and accelerated aging. In the past decade, Grant had gone from a delivery driver to a Westport titan thanks to the system, but I’d paid for every step of his success. I was over a hundred pounds heavier, and despite my best efforts to maintain my appearance, I looked a decade older than my actual age. Paying off $500 million in one go? Even if my body spontaneously combusted, it would be impossible. I took a deep breath and stared at him. “Why am I here? Are you planning to have me gamble it back to save you?” He waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, that’s impossible. I want to—” Brooke cut him off. “Grant, we don’t have time. If you can’t say it, I will.” She walked up to me, shoving a phone screen almost into my face. “The casino owner, Victor Kensington, has been searching for this woman for thirty years. The bounty is still active—whoever provides a lead, or the woman herself, has their debt erased.” Seeing the photograph of the woman in a vintage gown, I instantly recognized her: my mother, who had passed away years ago. My mother had left my father after a terrible argument, taking me with her. But one morning, I couldn’t wake her up. The social worker said she’d taken sleeping pills. I’d spent three decades believing my father’s absence was due to his hatred for us. But now, Brooke claimed he’d been looking for us for thirty years? My silence spurred Grant on. He grabbed my arm, his voice desperate. “Jo, I know this isn’t fair to you, but it’s the only way. All you have to do is agree that you’re her, and play along.” “It’ll only be a few months. Once the heat is off and the debt is cleared, I swear I’ll find a way to get you back!” I looked at him, completely stunned. “Grant, you brought me to Monte Carlo to hand me over to another man? To bail out the massive hole you and your mistress dug?” When Grant and I first married, he was a broke kid. He’d spend $199 of the $200 he earned delivering food on me. One day, he spent his entire month’s paycheck on a gold necklace. That’s when the system’s voice chimed in my head. [Benevolent Spouse Prosperity System Activated] [Detected partner gift: Necklace, valued at $3,500] [Return: Partner Grant Kensington receives a hundredfold surge of luck, lasting 30 days] I thought it was a hallucination. The next day, Grant won $50,000 on a scratch-off ticket. The day after, while on a delivery, he saved an elderly man who was having a heart attack—who turned out to be the patriarch of a major investment firm. A month later, Grant quit his job, used the reward money and the connections from the grateful family, and opened his first logistics company. For ten years, no matter how small the gift, good fortune would cascade upon him. 2 A lipstick secured a multi-million dollar contract. A scarf helped him narrowly avoid a hostile takeover. A home-cooked anniversary dinner led to insider information on a government-backed project. The more expensive the gift, the greater his reward. Grant became a commercial legend, rising from a delivery driver to the new elite of Westport. We upgraded from an eight-hundred-square-foot apartment to an eight-thousand-square-foot penthouse overlooking the harbor. Each system activation meant more weight and more years added to my apparent age. But Grant had never shown a hint of disgust. “Jo, you’re my lucky charm. My woman should be soft and well-fed.” Seeing him transform from a self-conscious young man into a confident titan, I felt it was all worth it. Until three years ago, when he hired Brooke. Within two weeks, Grant was coming home later and later. He missed holidays and anniversaries and, most critically, stopped giving me gifts. It wasn’t until this year’s anniversary that he came home early, promising this trip to make up for his neglect. I was genuinely touched by his seemingly sincere eyes. But the system in my mind remained silent. No chime, no hundredfold prosperity countdown. Still, I said yes. Ten years of marriage—I clung to a thread of hope. Maybe I was overthinking, maybe he was just busy, or maybe the system was gone. Yet, I underestimated the depths of his cowardice. Grant began to argue desperately, his words turning cruel. “Jo, don’t make it sound so awful! This is a win-win!” “Besides, you’re… well, you’re exactly the kind of mature look the photo would have thirty years later, anyway—” Mature look? I laughed, though tears spilled from my eyes. “Grant, for ten years, every time you gave me a gift, I got a little fatter, a little older, and your career soared. Did you ever wonder why?” “From a delivery driver to the new Westport elite, do you honestly believe all of it was due to your superior talent and luck?” His face paled slightly. Brooke sneered. “Jo, are you losing it? What crazy talk is that? Grant’s success is entirely his own!” I ignored her, staring intensely at Grant. “The wife is the family’s true fortune. The Benevolent Spouse brings prosperity.” I leaned in. “But now you’re trying to sell me. You’re the Husband-Waster. Do you know what the penalty is?” Grant didn’t know. He’d never known the system was real. He thought his success was all his own merit. But now, a sudden panic flashed in his eyes. “Y-you’re talking nonsense. What are you going on about?” I didn’t want to waste another second. I turned to leave. The moment my hand touched the doorknob, a sharp sting hit the back of my neck. A cold liquid rushed through a needle and into my skin. I stumbled, turning to see Grant holding a syringe, his eyes a mix of anguish and determination. “Jo, I’m sorry.” “You…” My tongue went numb; my limbs quickly lost all strength. Grant caught my falling body and settled me onto the sofa. Brooke pulled a second vial from her purse. “Grant, Victor has seen every type of woman. You said she was like a dead fish in bed. What if he’s not satisfied?” She shook the vial of pink liquid. “This is something I sourced—a little boost. It’ll turn even a stone-cold woman into an easy conquest. Just to be safe, we should use it.” I widened my eyes in horror, shaking my head violently. Grant was silent for a few seconds. “Give it to her.” I managed to force the words out. “Grant, ten years of marriage… is this how you treat me?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Jo, don’t blame me! I have no choice!” “If I don’t do this, Kensington Holdings will declare bankruptcy tomorrow. I’ll be buried in debt, I’ll fall from the clouds into the gutter, with nothing!” “You’re my wife. We went through the early days together. You should help me!” My heart felt like it was submerged in freezing seawater, sinking slowly, hardening into ice. I scanned their faces, a cold, bitter smile touching my lips as I asked my final question. “You’re trying to trick a man who practically runs Monte Carlo. Aren’t you afraid of being exposed? Or, are you afraid that I am the woman he’s looking for?” Grant’s expression froze. Brooke paused, then covered her mouth and chuckled. “Jo, you’re really getting into character! Everyone knows Victor has been looking for this woman for thirty years. She’d be in her fifties now. You might look a little worn, but you’re only in your thirties. Are you actually dreaming?” She stepped closer, whispering in my ear. “You don’t know the full story, do you? Victor’s rule is: anyone who provides a lead or brings in a woman who fits the description has their debt instantly cleared, regardless of the outcome.” “Whether the woman is real or not…” 3 She drew out the words, her eyes shining with wicked calculation. “That’s your problem to deal with. It has nothing to do with us. Our debt is cleared the second we hand you over.” “I’ve heard the women who were caught lying didn’t end up well. Broken bones were the least of it; some were dumped into the ocean. So, Jo, let’s hope your performance is convincing.” I felt a chill run through my body; my blood seemed to turn to ice. So that was their plan. They didn’t care if I was real or fake, alive or dead. They just needed a credible pawn to clear their slate. I looked at Grant, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “So… that’s what you think? As long as the debt is cleared, you’re safe back in Westport? And if I’m exposed here, tortured, or even murdered, it won’t matter to you?” Grant avoided my gaze. “Jo, don’t think the worst. Victor is a gentleman. Even if… even if he finds out, he’ll just throw you out. He won’t hurt you.” “And once I’m back in Westport, Monte Carlo’s reach won’t extend that far. No one can touch me, and I’ll figure out a way to get you out.” Ten years. A whole decade. I hadn’t nurtured a loving partner or a devoted husband. I had nurtured a selfish man who would sacrifice me without a second thought for his own survival. I finally understood: Some people’s self-centeredness and weakness are innate. Even if you give them the world, they’ll never use it to protect you. I started laughing, a cold, choked sound at my own stupidity. Brooke seized the chance, pinching my jaw and forcing the sweet, cloying liquid down my throat. I choked violently, tears and mucus blurring my vision, unable to speak. Just then, the suite door swung open. Leading the group was a man with a prominent scar on his face. “Grant, Victor sent me to take a look.” He walked to the sofa, leaned over, examined me closely, and compared me to the photo on his phone. His brow furrowed instantly, and his eyes turned hostile. “Grant, you sure this is the woman Victor is looking for? The photo shows a young, beautiful woman with a gentle air. This one is old and fat. You think Victor runs a junk-lot?” Sweat broke out on Grant’s forehead. He quickly stepped forward, forcing a smile. “Bart, it’s been thirty years. Don’t women age and gain weight? It’s completely normal!” “Look closer, Bart. The eyebrows, the nose, the curve of the mouth… aren’t they identical to the picture? She’s just a little older and heavier, but the foundation is all there!” The man, Bart, stared at my face for a long moment, his frown easing slightly. “I guess… thirty years is a long time. Even with the best maintenance, time catches up to a woman.” Then his nose twitched. His expression hardened as he looked at Grant. “You drugged her?” Grant froze. Brooke quickly interjected with a fawning smile. “Bart, it’s just a little something to get the party started.” “Victor is still a vigorous man, but for a reunion after so long, a little mood setting helps. We just wanted to ensure Victor was… satisfied.” Bart stared at Grant, then at my agonizing struggle, and a leering, knowing look passed between them. “Tch. Your woman is pretty well-versed, isn’t she?” He turned, pulled out a walkie-talkie, and spoke quietly for a moment. Returning, he nodded to Grant. “We’re keeping the woman. I’ve notified Victor. He’ll be here once he finishes his current business.” He snatched the betting slip from Brooke’s hand and shredded it. “Grant, your debt is cleared.” He pointed at the door. “Now, get lost.” Grant looked like a man given a reprieve from death. He profusely thanked Bart. “Thank you, Bart! Thank you! We’re going now! Right now!” He practically dragged Brooke out the door without a backward glance. The drug’s effects were intensifying. I tried to use my remaining rationality to speak. “W-wait…” Before I could finish, a thug standing nearby delivered a vicious kick to my side. “Settle down, you! You dare stop Bart when he’s letting someone go? Do you have a death wish?” I stifled a grunt and coughed up a mouthful of blood. 4 Bart slapped the thug across the face. “Are you out of your damn mind?! I told you to watch her, not kill her!” “What if she is the woman Victor’s been looking for? Do you have enough lives to pay for that, huh?! You want a taste of Victor’s methods?!” The thug clutched his cheek, startled and terrified, but a spark of defiance remained. He muttered. “B-Bart… I… I just saw she wasn’t cooperating…” “Besides, so many women have come in over the years—young, beautiful, in great shape… they all looked more like the photo than her, and none of them were real.” He eyed me with disgust. “This one is old and fat. How could she be the one Victor’s been searching for? I bet someone was desperate and brought the cheapest option they could find to fool us…” “Shut up!” Bart snapped at him, but a flicker of doubt crossed his own eyes. He shot a sharp look at Grant’s retreating back, then crouched in front of me. “Woman, I’m asking you one last time. Are you Victor’s woman? Think carefully before you answer.” He paused, his voice low and warning. “Lots of women have tried to pose as her over the years. Their fates weren’t pretty. Broken limbs were the least of it. Some were thrown to the sharks. Tell me the truth now, and I might put in a word for you to lessen your pain. But if Victor finds out you lied, you’ll wish for death.” I looked at Grant and Brooke, whose faces were pale and whose eyes were urgently signaling me to lie. After a long silence, I nodded. “I am.” Relief washed over Grant and Brooke’s faces. They started to leave, but I called out to them again. “Grant, before you go, can you give me a gift?” He stopped, confusion clouding his features. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a single, cheap, low-value poker chip from a slot machine. “Here. A souvenir.” The instant the token landed in my palm, the system’s silent alarm, dormant for three years, finally blared to life. But it wasn’t the familiar [Benevolent Spouse Prosperity] notification. It was: [Detected partner gift under malicious circumstance, intended to use Host as collateral. Husband-Waster behavior confirmed] [The Husband-Waster will have all previously acquired prosperity reclaimed, with the Hundredfold Wealth Drain commencing in one hour, lasting until the end of life.]

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My twenty-year-old stepsister, Poppy Sinclair, suffered from a severe case of “Adult Baby Syndrome.” A grown woman, yet she insisted on crawling around in diamond-studded training pants, demanding to be spoon-fed, carried everywhere, and only drinking from a novelty sippy cup. Each time, she’d offer the same self-satisfied pout: “I’m Poppy, the precious little baby! It’s totally normal for me to be completely helpless, duh!” My parents and my husband, Brock, adored this act, calling her “pure” and “unaffected.” So, when the news broke that I had been bonded with the ‘Irresistible Charm System,’ Poppy threw a tantrum, rolling on the Persian rug and wailing: “Sister, give that system to Baby! Baby wants to be the most captivating little princess in the whole world!” Brock pressed his hand down on my shoulder, his expression full of protective tenderness—for her, not me. “What do you need charisma for, Theo? You’re pregnant,” he sneered. “Hand it over to your sister before she ruins her vocal cords crying!” My parents—Richard and Candace Sinclair—backed him up, threatening to disown me if I didn’t comply, all so they could forcibly strip the system from me and give it to her. I was about to fight them, to claw my way out, when the fetus, only three months old in my womb, suddenly spoke in my mind: [Mom, just give it to her! The zombie apocalypse starts in three days, and a MAX Charisma System is a fatal magnet for the infected. Whoever binds it, dies!] … 1 The fight instantly drained out of me. I slumped back onto the sofa, my gaze disturbingly calm. Brock Hastings gave a cold chuckle and increased the pressure, forcing me back into the cushions. “That’s better, Theo. As the older sister, you need to be the adult here.” “Poppy might be twenty, but she’s psychologically a toddler. She’s the baby in the house.” “How could you ever compete with a baby?” I looked up at the man I’d married. On the rug, Poppy was perched on her hands and knees in the pink, frilly training pants, her backside sticking out. She sucked noisily on a jeweled pacifier, rubbing snot and tears all over the hem of my skirt. Seeing I was no longer resisting, she spat out the pacifier and spoke in a sickeningly high-pitched voice: “Bad, bad sister! Not giving Baby the sparkle! Baby is going to be super mad now-now!” “Unless Sister gives Baby the system right now,” “And gives Baby a horsey ride! Then Baby will forgive you!” With that, she rolled over, her two pale, chunky legs kicking wildly in the air. My mother, Candace, rushed over, scooping Poppy into her arms and patting her back. “Oh, my precious heart, don’t cry, don’t cry.” “Your sister is just being selfish, darling.” “Once you get that sparkle, you’ll be the most captivating little princess in the whole world!” “You’ll have anything you want!” My father, Richard, glared at me, holding a stack of legal papers. “Theo, sign the transfer documents.” “Give the system to Poppy, and we’ll still be a family.” “Refuse, and you’re out of the Sinclair house. Brock will divorce you, and that… thing in your belly will never be born!” Thing? This was Brock’s child, and just because I wouldn’t surrender a system, it was a thing? My baby snorted inside me. [Mom, these idiots. Don’t worry about them. The zombies will teach them a lesson soon enough. Just toss out that ticking time bomb so we can stock up on supplies for our getaway!] I took a deep breath, smothering the chill in my eyes, and spoke softly: “Fine. I’ll give it to her.” “If Poppy wants it so badly, how can I, as her sister, deny her?” Poppy immediately peered out from my mother’s embrace, pouting again. “Hmph, it was always Baby’s anyway. Sister kept it for so long, so embarrassing-bad!” Brock released my hand, his expression softening into approval. “See? Wouldn’t that have been easier? You always have to make things so difficult.” “Wait.” I spoke up suddenly, my voice weak but carrying an undeniable firmness. “If you force the full transfer now, Poppy will die.” That single sentence succeeded in freezing everyone in the room. Brock’s face darkened, and he leveled a vicious glare at me. “Theo Wells, what game are you playing now?” I lowered my gaze and spoke slowly. “The Irresistible Charm System carries a massive amount of energy. A normal body can’t withstand the instantaneous infusion.” “The energy has to transition slowly, bit by bit. Otherwise, the recipient will explode from an energy overload.” I raised my head, looking at Brock, a faint smile curving my lips. “The system requires a controlled process of exactly three days.” “Of course, if you don’t care about Poppy’s survival, you can try to force it right now. I won’t stop you.” “No!” My mother shrieked, rushing over with a look of pure terror. “We can’t risk it! My Poppy can’t take that kind of risk!” “Three days it is! For Poppy’s safety, we’ll wait!” I quietly accepted their decision, hiding the mockery in my eyes. Three days. Exactly when the apocalypse hits. This Charm System amplified the host’s allure by ten thousand times. In peacetime, it might be a miracle. But in the end times, it would be a beacon for every infected creature within range. Since my sister wanted to be the most captivating little princess in the world, and she wanted a gentle, three-day transition period… Then I wished her well. May she be the star of the show in the coming hell, until her very last, glorious moment. 2 The system stripping process began. A faint pink progress bar floated between Poppy and me. With every passing hour, the glow on my skin dimmed, and Poppy’s presence became increasingly, disturbingly alluring. While they fussed over Poppy, I claimed I had a craving for something sour, grabbed my phone, and slipped out. With only three days left, I had to secure provisions for myself and the baby. [Mom, start with water and high-calorie rations. And formula! I’ll need that when I’m out!] I drove straight to the nearest big-box store. My cart quickly filled with protein bars, canned goods, bottled water, and every type of baby formula and diaper. “The total is thirteen hundred and eighty dollars.” I handed the cashier the platinum card Brock had given me. “BEEP. Insufficient funds.” The cashier glanced at me. “Ma’am, this card has been frozen.” I froze. This was the household card and my primary source of funds, with a half-million dollar limit. I immediately pulled out my personal debit card, the one linked to my savings. “BEEP. Transaction failed.” What the hell? Before I could call the bank, Brock called. Over the phone, I could hear Poppy’s whiny cry and Brock’s furious interrogation. “Theo Wells! What is all that trash you’re buying??” “Poppy said she ran out of her specialty goat’s milk—the kind that’s air-freighted from Australia.” “Don’t sign anything! All the money needs to be saved for Poppy’s Baby Fund!” My hands were shaking with rage. “Brock, I’m pregnant! I’m buying essential supplies!” “And that was my debit card! How dare you freeze my own money?” Brock paused, then roared even louder. “You belong to me, so your money belongs to this family. The baby in your belly is only three months old—what’s the rush?” “Poppy is the baby who needs the most care in this house!” The line went dead. The baby kicked me fiercely. [Mom! Dump the trash-dad! When the end comes, I’ll deal with him first! Don’t get mad, I have a plan.] My baby’s voice was clear. [Since they froze your cards, we’ll buy things a different way. Mom, go open several high-limit credit cards. Max out any fast loans you can get.] [Borrow as much as possible!] [The world order collapses in three days. Money will be worthless paper. We don’t have to pay it back!] My eyes lit up. Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that? I abandoned the cart and drove to the financial district. Using my property deeds and perfect credit score, I pulled out nearly three hundred thousand dollars in cash advances and loans by the end of the afternoon. I rented a large moving truck and drove it to a secluded warehouse on the outskirts of town. I bought crates of rice, flour, oil, first-aid supplies, a commercial generator, a high-quality tactical axe, and body armor from an outdoor store. My baby directed me from inside. [Buy extra candy! Sugar will be hard currency in the apocalypse! And feminine hygiene products, those are crucial too!] It was late when I finally stuffed the warehouse full. Looking at the stacked boxes of provisions, I finally felt a sense of security. I got home close to midnight. The moment I walked in, I saw Poppy, still in the training pants, riding on Brock’s shoulders. She was holding a lollipop, tangling his hair into a sticky mess. My parents were clapping and cheering. “Aww, Poppy is so cute! Ride the horsey, darling!” Poppy saw me, her lips curling into a sneer. She tossed the lollipop, wet with her saliva, right onto my face. “Bad sister! Late, late! Baby is hungry! Baby wants warm milk!” “Go make Baby’s formula now!” “It has to be exactly 98.6 degrees! If it’s even one degree off, Baby will throw up, ‘kay?” The sticky candy residue slid down my cheek. Milk, is it? Fine. I’ll make you milk. These will be the last few bottles you ever drink in this life. 3 I was woken the next morning by the sound of hammering and glass shattering. I sat up, instinctively protecting my stomach. “What is going on?” My baby yawned. [What else? My brain-dead father is taking the house apart.] I rushed out of the bedroom. The custom, high-security window bars I had secretly paid a fortune to install yesterday were being ripped out by contractors. I had lied and said I was worried about the recent crime wave, insisting on reinforcing the windows and doors “for Poppy’s safety.” I’d even installed the best soundproofing and ballistic glass. Now, those expensive materials were scattered on the floor. My father was directing the workers. “Tear it all out! I want frameless, floor-to-ceiling glass in here!” I ran over to stop the workers. “Dad! What are you doing? I paid for those for security!” He turned, looking at me as if I were insane. “Security? These iron bars are too depressing! Poppy says they ruin her mood!” “Poppy is a princess, she needs sunlight and openness!” “Throw out this trash and replace it with borderless glass. That way, people downstairs can clearly see her beauty when she stands by the window!” Poppy was on the rug playing with blocks. Hearing the commotion, she looked up and made a face at me. “Na-na-na-na-boo-boo! Sister is a scaredy-cat!” “Baby has the Charisma System! The whole world will fall in love with Baby now.” “Who would ever hurt Baby?” “Those bars are so ugly, they stop Baby from radiating sparkle!” As she spoke, she crawled toward me, backside wiggling. When she reached my ankle, she suddenly opened her mouth and sank her teeth into my calf. A jolt of pain shot up my leg. I instinctively tried to pull away. Before I could move, Brock rushed over and shoved me aside. I hit the wall, my stomach muscles clenching in distress. “Theo Wells! What do you think you’re doing? Trying to kick Poppy?” Brock tenderly picked up Poppy, checking her teeth. “Poppy was just playing with you!” “This is how the baby shows affection, can’t you understand that?” “You have thick skin. What’s the big deal if your sister bites you? You won’t lose a limb.” Poppy sobbed in his arms, pointing at me in accusation. “Sister is mean! Sister doesn’t like Baby! Wah-wah-wah…” “Baby just wanted to taste if Sister was sweet…” I covered my belly, cold sweat breaking out. I looked at the haphazardly demolished windows, at the house now open to the elements. I’d briefly considered that if they didn’t commit suicide, I might lend a hand. Fortify the house enough to withstand the initial wave. But now… Hah. Since you are so determined to seek death, I won’t stand in your way. [Mom, let it go.] My baby’s voice came through. [This house is a lost cause. We’ll pack tonight and hide in the vault. It’s small, but that special steel door is unbreakable. It’ll be safe.] I nodded, leaning against the wall as I slowly stood up. I walked past the family, who were all immersed in their own version of bliss, and quietly returned to my room. The apocalypse was only 24 hours away. System Stripping Progress: 99%. Outside the window, a strange red mist was starting to shroud the otherwise clear sky. 4 The final moment arrived on the third day, precisely at noon. The whole family was gathered in the living room, waiting in anticipation. Poppy sat in the center of the sofa, clutching her sippy cup. “Hurry, hurry! Baby can feel it! The sparkle is coming!” Brock had me pinned in a corner chair. My face was pale. As the final millimeter of the progress bar disappeared, I felt something massive being forcibly extracted from my body. The rush of weakness nearly made me pass out. At the same instant, a pink light shot out from my chest and fused with Poppy’s body. [BEEP! Irresistible Charm System successfully bound! Host: Poppy Sinclair. Charisma level elevated to MAX!] In an instant, Poppy transformed. A strange, compelling magic radiated from her, forcing everyone’s eyes to stay on her. “Oh my God! My Poppy!” My mother, Candace, sank to her knees. “Mama has never seen such a captivating baby!” My father murmured to himself: “Is this the Charisma? She’s perfect. This is the true Sinclair daughter!” Brock crawled over and kissed the top of Poppy’s foot. “Poppy… you are my goddess, my heart…” Poppy stood up and twirled, her ridiculous training pants shifting with her movement. She looked down at me, her eyes full of contempt. “Sister, see? This sparkle was wasted on you.” “Only a natural beauty like Baby deserves it, tee-hee~” “Now Baby is the most irresistible person in the whole world. Are you so jealous, Sister?” I leaned weakly against the chair, observing the dense, sickly pink aura surrounding her. “No, I’m not jealous.” I spoke softly, my voice hoarse. “I just hope you can live with the consequences of that charisma.” “Pff, sour grapes!” Brock shot me a look of disgust. He stood up, ready to shove me toward the door. “Now that the system is transferred, we don’t need this old hag around anymore.” “Get out! Don’t stand there ruining Poppy’s view!” “Poppy gets upset when she sees your face!” My parents watched coldly, making no move to stop him. Just as Brock’s hand was about to make contact with my arm. “ROAR!!!” A deafening shriek erupted outside the window. It was immediately followed by the sound of breaking glass, car alarms, and people screaming. “What was that?” My father frowned and walked toward the enormous, frameless window. The next second, he froze solid. In the street outside the villa, dense crowds of people were running in a grotesque, twisted fashion. They were covered in blood, their skin rotting, biting anyone in their path. But at that moment, as if they had caught the scent of the finest delicacy. They stopped, all at once. Hundreds of pairs of grey, dead eyes fixed themselves on the direction of our house. Poppy hadn’t grasped the severity of the situation. She ran to the window, seeing the frantic mob rushing toward the house, and clapped her hands in delight. “Wow! Daddy, look!” “The system is so good! Baby just got the sparkle,” “And already so many fans have come to see Baby! Open the door, Daddy! Baby wants to sign autographs!” I watched the horde of terrifying, decomposed faces and listened to the mind-numbing sound of them colliding with the glass. The first infected person pressed its face against the window. “BAM!” My father, however, straightened his collar, his face beaming with pride. “That’s my precious girl! Even these avant-garde performance artists are drawn to you! That makeup is so realistic!” “Since they’ve shown us so much respect, we can’t keep them waiting.” To my horror, my father smiled and reached for the front door handle.

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Ten years into my marriage, I had grown accustomed to solitude. Going to the clinic alone, catching a movie or dinner by myself, and even handling the rear-end accident that afternoon—all solo missions. Staring at the birthday cake on the table, I dialed her number, only to be sent straight to voicemail. Aurora—Rory—Knight sent a curt text: “Working.” I lit the single candle, then blew it out, a hollow ritual just for me. My phone screen flared with a trending post: The Dedicated Co-Pilot: Guessing if it’s a honeymoon phase or a married couple? The top comment read: Definitely new love. If it were a husband, he’d be sighing and scrolling through his phone by now. The accompanying photo showed Rory in the driver’s seat, her profile curved into a soft smile. Beside her, a young guy in the passenger seat was taking a mirror selfie. The Saint Christopher’s medal I’d bought for her last year, the one hanging from the rearview mirror, swayed gently in the window. I stared at that familiar, smiling curve of her face for a long time, unmoving. She finally pushed the front door open at two in the morning, placing a sleek watch box on the coffee table. “Happy birthday. Limited edition, I had to pull some strings.” I looked at her, not reaching for the box. “How old is he?” My phone screen was still illuminated with the post. Rory glanced at it, a faint crease forming between her brows. “Zane Abbott is a new project assistant at the firm, very talented. I just happened to be giving him a ride back to his campus. Don’t overthink this.” I stood up, my voice deliberately flat. “How old is he, Rory?” She hesitated. “Twenty-two. He’s in grad school.” I closed my eyes. A dull ache spread through my chest. Ten years. I was thirty-five, and her world now included someone who was barely legal when we got married. “Quite young,” I said, the calmness of my voice foreign even to me. She walked over, pulling me into a hug, a trace of amusement in her tone. “Oh, Wes. Are you actually jealous? He’s just a kid.” A strange, sharp scent—cedar and a hint of citrus—a men’s cologne that was definitely not hers, stung my nostrils. My stomach clenched. I pushed her away. Rory frowned, a flash of impatience in her eyes. “I’ve explained it. Believe me or don’t. I’m exhausted. I’m going to shower.” She was exactly as she always was: no patience left to stay a moment longer or offer a few extra words of reassurance. The bedroom door clicked shut quietly—she couldn’t even summon the energy to slam it anymore. The watch box on the coffee table gleamed with cold light. On impulse, I opened my phone and found Zane’s social media account. His latest post, half an hour ago, was a car-mirror selfie captioned: Thanks, Rory, for the ride home! He was prominently wearing a brand-new mechanical watch. The dial sparkled under the filter. It was identical to the one in the box beside me. She hadn’t even bothered to buy two different watches for her separate lives. That night, I scrolled through every one of Zane’s posts. I also followed a subtle tag to Rory’s burner account, the one I thought she’d abandoned years ago. October 8th: Zane posted a photo of a pair of coveted sneakers, crying emojis attached. Rory’s small account commented: Consider it done. Bringing them by tomorrow. November 3rd: Zane shared a ski resort brochure. Rory commented: Tickets and chalet booked for Chamonix. Taking you over the holidays. December 24th: Zane complained about a tough thesis deadline. Rory replied: Don’t stress. Come over this weekend, I’ll help you structure it. … There was too much. I couldn’t scroll to the bottom. All those nights I thought she was too busy working, too overwhelmed to come home; all her so-called “client dinners” and “emergency meetings;” all the times I ate a cold dinner alone, eventually dumping the untouched portions—they had been filled by another destination, another person who received her softest voice and boundless patience. I used to believe that all marriages settled into this kind of quiet, flat terrain: love morphing into familial comfort, passion receding, leaving only habit and responsibility. We had survived the broke years, living in that cramped studio apartment, sharing a single cup of instant ramen. She’d promised me that once we were rich, she’d give me the best life. Now she was rich. And she was giving the best of her time, her energy, and her resources to someone else. The sky outside began to lighten. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, falling across my body, offering no warmth. Rory emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a sharp power suit, her makeup flawless. Seeing me still on the sofa, clutching my phone, she sighed, her tone weary and faintly accusatory: “You didn’t sleep? Wes, what is it that you want? Do you have to be this suspicious? Maybe… I should just call him over and let him explain everything to your face.” I stood up, my legs stiff. “No need.” Her phone chimed immediately. Seeing the caller ID, “Zaney,” she turned instantly, walking towards the balcony. Her voice, when she answered, was gentle in a way I hadn’t heard in years: “What’s wrong, sweetie?… Take a breath. Just tell me. Your advisor rejected the proposal? It’s fine. The core idea is strong, I’ll look over it tonight, we’ll nail it.” “Mmm, I know that coffee shop. I’ll swing by and grab you a tiramisu latte.” “Good. Now, be a good student, and I’ll see you tonight.” She hung up and turned back to me, her expression instantly resuming its practiced, careful neutrality. “I’ll try to be home early tonight. We’ll go out. Where do you want me to make reservations?” The silence in the room was absolute. Our marriage had become like a stagnant pond. You could throw a boulder into it, and it wouldn’t create a single ripple. Before we married, her contact for me was “My Wes,” pinned to the top, starred as a favorite. Three years in, she claimed she needed to unpin it so she wouldn’t miss client messages. Five years in, my contact reverted to my full name: “Wesley Miller.” She could offer patient solace and hands-on help for Zane’s minor academic setback, yet she wouldn’t spare ten minutes to hear about my day. The luxury car dealership called to say my car was fixed. I walked into the bathroom and looked at my reflection: dark circles, stubble, a tired, ravaged expression. I was thirty-five, my physique hadn’t gone soft, but the light in my eyes had long since dimmed. This marriage felt like a shrinking cage, slowly suffocating me. At the dealership, while signing paperwork, I overheard two young sales associates chatting. “That deal yesterday was smooth. Ms. Knight bought two new models, said one was for her, the other was a gift.” “For who? That’s a huge purchase.” “Some handsome young guy, Zane Abbott? A social media influencer, too. Ms. Knight was smiling the whole time. He even teased her about wanting matching cars in different colors, and she agreed instantly.” My signing hand paused briefly, then completed my signature. Back on the road, familiar city streets flew past. The bitterness in my heart spread, quiet and invasive, making even my breath catch with dull pain. Rory and I met at fifteen in the foster care system and married at twenty-five. We went from being two penniless orphans to owning a home, a car, and a respectable career in this city. She had become sharp, brilliant, and magnetic. I, however, seemed to have stayed put, tending to our home, playing the “man behind the curtain.” I used to take pride in that, seeing it as a different kind of love. Now I understood. The person who stays put is always the one left behind. I pulled over by a quiet neighborhood park and sat on a bench. In the distance, a young couple was flying a kite, the girl’s laughter bright and clear. Youth was a precious thing. Their love could be declared without caution, without calculation, without suspicion. My phone rang. It was Rory. “The insurance company contacted me about the renewal. They happened to mention you had an accident yesterday?” Her voice held a note of tight suspicion. “Yeah, a rear-end. It wasn’t serious.” I watched the couple, my voice even. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her tone held a flicker of actual concern, perhaps mixed with irritation at being kept out of the loop. “I handled it myself,” I said. The line was silent for a few seconds, then the dial tone hummed. There was a time when she was my entire sense of security. Whatever problem I had, she was the first person I thought of. Once, during a hurricane, the windows leaked and the power went out. I called her, terrified. She was on a business trip. “Wes, you’re a grown man. Can’t you handle a minor emergency?” Her voice, strained through the static of the storm, was laced with exhaustion and impatience. “I’m swamped with clients and paperwork. Can you stop bothering me with these trivial things?” After that, I never asked her for help again. When I had acute appendicitis, I signed myself in for surgery. When my father died of a heart attack, I managed the funeral alone. Even the surgery at the beginning of the year… I didn’t tell her about that, either. Dusk was falling. I got home, ordered takeout, and collapsed on the sofa. My body was heavy with fatigue, but my mind was wide awake. A key turned in the lock just after eight. Rory was home early. In the last two years, she rarely walked through the door before nine. Once, we went three months under the same roof without exchanging a single word. She walked towards me and took my hand. Her palm was warm, but the contact made me profoundly uncomfortable. “Wes,” she looked at me, her eyes filled with a complicated mix of guilt and an attempt to control the narrative. “We’re married. Any issues, we need to talk through them, face them together. When you bottle things up like this, it makes my life difficult.” I withdrew my hand. When was the last time we touched like this? I couldn’t remember. Kissing felt like a memory from a past life. We had been sleeping in separate rooms for two years. We were not a couple; we were highly familiar roommates. “Rory, I truly can handle things myself,” my voice remained perfectly calm. She suddenly flared up. “Then what do you want from me? You take on everything yourself! Do you even need me as a wife anymore?” I clenched my fist, fighting to maintain my composure. “Isn’t that what you told me?” “You said it yourself: don’t bother you with things I can manage alone.” “You said that though we are married, we are first and foremost independent individuals who shouldn’t be overly reliant on each other.” Rory looked choked. After a long pause, she rasped, “Because of things I said years ago? You’ve been keeping score this whole time? Wes, when did you get so petty?” It wasn’t that I was keeping score. It was that every time I tried to communicate, she was absent or dismissive. It was that the desire to share had died a slow, painful death through endless silence and deflection. It was that she often ignored my calls, and was always “busy” when I needed her the most. Truly, I had become used to being alone. “Rory,” I looked into her eyes. “Zane needs you more, doesn’t he? He’s young, vibrant, full of potential. He gives you that fresh feeling, that sense of accomplishment. A single call from him, and you drop everything.” Zane’s presence was so complete that, earlier this year, when I was lying alone on the operating table, I had to sign the “Family Member” consent line myself. The anesthesiologist had confirmed right before lifting the needle: “Mr. Miller, is your family member not here…?” “She’s very busy,” I’d said. My words hit her like a physical blow. Her voice immediately rose. “Must you be so cynical? Wes, you were never like this!” “Zane is a valued junior colleague. What’s wrong with me mentoring him, taking care of him as his boss? Must you always assume the worst?” I laughed, a quiet, humorless sound. “Mentoring him by buying him a luxury car? Mentoring him by taking him skiing in Chamonix? Mentoring him while I was unreachable the week my father died because you were taking him to see a musical in London?” “Rory, what’s the point of this self-deception?” Her face flushed crimson, but before she could retort, the doorbell rang. A bright, youthful voice called from the hall: “Delivery! Takeout is here!” I opened the door. It was Zane Abbott. Twenty-two, tall, wearing the season’s trendiest hoodie and ripped jeans. His hair was perfectly styled, his face brimming with youthful energy and collagen. He held my takeout bag, his smile wide and clear—and in his eyes, a flicker of transparent contempt and provocation aimed directly at me. “Mr. Miller? Hi, I’m Zane Abbott, Rory’s assistant.” He extended his hand in a casual gesture. My gaze dropped to his wrist. He was wearing a watch, the dial catching the hall light with a hard, cold sheen. It was my wedding watch. It had mysteriously disappeared six months ago. I’d looked everywhere. Rory had vaguely suggested it might have been accidentally swept into the garbage and promised to buy me a new one. Now, it was on his wrist. Zane followed my gaze, his smile deepening. He shook his wrist slightly. “Nice, right? Rory gave it to me. Said it was a reward for my great performance during the internship.” He handed over the bag. “Your BBQ. Though, honestly…” He scanned me up and down, a show of “concern” masking his malice. “Mr. Miller, at your age, eating heavy, fatty, salty food this late is really bad for your heart and liver. You should really think about healthy eating.” I took the bag. Then, directly in front of him, I walked to the trash can and dropped it. It landed with a dull thud. Zane’s smile froze. Then his eyes welled up, and he turned to Rory, a sudden wave of wounded vulnerability washing over him. “Rory… I was just trying to be helpful… Does Mr. Miller hate me?” Rory instantly stepped forward, shielding him with her body. She glared at me, her eyes blazing. “Wes! What is the meaning of that? Zane was kind enough to bring this up for you, and you just waste it and throw a fit?!” Zane clutched her sleeve, whispering, “Rory, please don’t fight with Mr. Miller. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have said anything…” “He’s young, he speaks without thinking, he meant no harm! Why are you punishing him?” Rory looked at me, her face full of blame and disgust. “Wasting food, treating someone who did you a favor like garbage. Wes, when did you become so cruel?” Cruel. A word heavier and sharper than petty. I looked at her, defending Zane, and felt a chilling desire to laugh. I was twenty-two once, too. Full of fire, pinning all my future and dreams on her. I endured the cold, damp studio apartment, sharing instant ramen. When she came home drunk from client dinners, I stayed up all night, making sure she was safe, brewing hangover tea, massaging her temples. When the pressure of her start-up became too much, I held her and told her, “It’s okay. I’m right here.” I swallowed all my exhaustion, insecurity, and hurt, determined to be her unshakable foundation. Now I was thirty-five. My hairline was receding, I had fine lines around my eyes, and my body was starting to give way from lack of movement and long hours. I had become the hazy backdrop of her success story, the “idle husband at home.” Because I threw away a clearly insulting bag of takeout, she called me “cruel.” “Rory,” my voice was terrifyingly soft. “My wedding watch, the one that was ‘lost’ six months ago. Does it look good on him?” Her eyes flickered violently, avoiding mine. Her throat worked. “That… he found it. I was just about to tell him to give it back.” “Is that so?” I nodded. “What a coincidence. To find it in the bottom of my velvet-lined jewelry box, wrapped in flannel cloth, and to know the combination to wear it.” Zane’s face paled. He instinctively tried to tuck the watch under his sleeve. Rory, embarrassed and furious, snapped. “Enough! It’s just a watch, why are you being so relentless? Zane, take it off and give it to him!” Zane bit his lip, feigning immense hurt, and slowly began to unclip the band. The clasp seemed difficult to open, and he “accidentally” fumbled— Clatter. The watch dropped onto the tile floor, face down. I didn’t move to pick it up. Rory saw my indifference, took a sharp breath, and bent down herself. She picked it up and held it out to me, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Wes, here is your watch! Stop picking fights and making a scene, can you please?” I looked at the watch that once symbolized our lifelong vow. The heart I once had—the one that beat so fiercely and brightly for her—sank, sinking into a cold, black abyss where I could no longer feel any pain. Favoritism needs no reason. The scales of her heart had tipped completely. So whatever I did was wrong; whatever Zane did was understandable, regrettable, and forgivable. I was suddenly, profoundly exhausted. Too tired to say another word. “Keep it,” I said. “Or give it to someone who deserves it more.” I paused, and then I spoke clearly, decisively: “Meet me at the County Clerk’s office tomorrow at 2 PM.” “We’re getting a divorce.”

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I happened to swipe across a street interview video from a popular influencer. “What would you say to yourself five years ago?” In the video, Caleb Sterling was holding his young girlfriend. His voice was steady, his tone doting. “I’d hope the Caleb Sterling of five years ago could have met Lydia sooner.” The girl in his arms blushed, covering her mouth as she chimed in. “Me too.” Netizens gushed over how sweet they were, flooding the comments with blessings. No one knew that five years ago was the day Caleb and I got married. Even he seemed to have forgotten. Until a week later. The same influencer posted another street interview. In the frame, I looked directly into the lens and spoke earnestly: “If possible, Winnie, don’t marry Caleb Sterling. You’ll regret it.” This time, Caleb swiped across it. 01 The day I agreed to the divorce was just another ordinary afternoon. I called Caleb, but Lydia answered. “Hello?” “I’m looking for Caleb.” “He’s in the shower. If it’s anything important, you can just tell me.” Her voice was as chirpy and fearless as ever. There was a faint scent of territorial triumph in her tone. In the past, I would have screamed, hysterically demanding Lydia to get lost, demanding to see Caleb. But now, I understood clearly that Lydia was the only way to reach him. I couldn’t let her hang up like before, leaving me alone like a madwoman. “He mentioned a divorce earlier. I’m agreeing to it.” I conveyed my message calmly. There was a second of silence on the other end before Lydia repeated, disbelief in her voice. “You’re agreeing to the divorce?” “Yes.” The moment the word left my mouth, I heard a rustling sound. Caleb must have taken the phone. His deep, indifferent voice soon rang in my ear. “It’s me.” I knew. Hearing his voice made me feel a bit dazed. After all, since he moved out of our villa six months ago to live with Lydia, we hadn’t been in contact. The last thing he said to me was: “Winnie, let’s divorce. If you don’t agree, I’ll file for separation and then take it to court.” Six months later, I was giving in. “Lydia says you want to divorce me?” Seeing that I was silent, Caleb asked first. I could imagine him frowning as he spoke, his tone laced with a hint of confusion. I didn’t even understand where his confusion came from. Wasn’t the divorce his idea? But I didn’t want to argue with Caleb over “who initiated it” anymore. “Yeah,” I replied. “When you have time, let’s meet and sign the settlement.” With that, I hung up. 02 That was the first time I had hung up first since I discovered Caleb’s affair. Before, I was the one bombarding him with calls and texts. I had used the most vicious words to curse him and the most heartbroken voice to beg him. But every time, Caleb would say impatiently: “Can you stop acting like a lunatic? Talk to me when you’re emotionally stable.” Then he would end the call without mercy. No matter how many times I called or messaged after that, he ignored me. I wanted to stop, but whenever I thought about how our years of history were ending like this, I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to demand why he betrayed me. I wanted to beg him to come back, promising I’d forgive him. But the more I waited, the more I resented. Caleb remained the same. And I gradually became insecure and fragile, exactly as he said. Like a lunatic. I lived in that haze for a long time, drowning in a relationship that only brought me torment. Until three days ago. I came across a street interview video from an influencer called “Time Capsule.” The question was: “What would you say to yourself five years ago?” Some said study harder. Some said spend more time with family. Some said the version of themselves seven years later is great and hasn’t failed their expectations. … In that series of answers, I saw Caleb and his young girlfriend, Lydia. It made me believe this wasn’t scripted. Given Caleb’s status now, even top-tier journalists need an appointment to see him. But this influencer truly seemed to have caught him randomly as a passerby. At the start of the clip, Caleb looked slightly annoyed by the interview. It was Lydia, standing beside him, who looked surprised and full of interest. “This looks fun, Caleb. Let’s do it.” She tugged on Caleb’s arm, acting cute. Caleb looked helpless but gave in with indulgence. The influencer briefly introduced himself and then asked the universal question. Lydia fell into thought. Seeing her struggle, Caleb answered for her. “If possible, I’d hope the Caleb Sterling of five years ago could have met Lydia sooner.” As he said it, he pulled her closer. His voice was cool, but the protective intent for the girl was unmistakable. Lydia looked at him in surprise, then blushed and covered her mouth as she agreed. “Me too.” 03 By the time I saw the video, it already had tens of thousands of likes. The comments were flooded with people gushing over them. [Damn! This couple is so attractive! I ship them!] [Oh my god, a pure love trope! Finally, my faith in humanity is restored!] [So sweet! You two will definitely be happy! 99!] I stared at the video, dazed. Did Caleb really love Lydia that much? Did he forget? Five years ago, we had just gotten married. That was when our relationship was at its peak. Even though we were struggling financially, we felt incredibly happy. And now, in the video, he said he wished he had met Lydia five years ago. I thought I would be as furious as usual, filled with uncontrollable rage. I thought I’d rush to my phone to bomb Caleb with questions. And if he didn’t pick up, I’d smash everything in the villa and scream to vent. But strangely, this time, I just sat there, motionless. The comments that should have stung me and triggered my emotions just scrolled past like lines of code. Suddenly, it felt as if something had been pulled out of my mind and dissipated. I was surprised to find that I no longer felt anything toward Caleb’s behavior. Persistence happens in an instant; moving on happens in an instant, too. That was why I made that phone call. 04 Caleb sent me a message. Against a backdrop of red exclamation marks in our chat history, that white bubble with black text was glaringly obvious. I guess Caleb had unblocked me. I thought to myself with self-mockery. Caleb told me to come to his office on Monday morning. He’d have his lawyer draft the terms. Once we agreed on the terms, we could sign and wait for the mandatory cooling-off period to end. [Okay.] On Monday, I arrived at Caleb’s company as scheduled. Since I didn’t have an appointment, the front desk called up to ask. “Yes, a Ms. Winnie Lane.” After hanging up, the receptionist told me to go to the executive floor; a secretary would receive me. I said thank you and headed straight for Caleb’s floor. The person who received me was a young girl I didn’t recognize. I suppose she was a new hire. After all, I hadn’t been here for six months since Caleb and I separated. “Ms. Lane, please wait here. Mr. Sterling is in a meeting.” The girl didn’t recognize me either. She called me Ms. Lane and led me to a standard waiting room. In the past, I used to go directly to Caleb’s office to wait. His meetings usually lasted at least an hour. I hated waiting. Caleb knew this. Afraid I’d be bored, he kept a lot of books and movies in his office. “You can read or watch a movie. If you’re tired, go wait in the lounge.” That’s what he used to tell me. Until the last time I came. The things in Caleb’s office that belonged to me had all been replaced. The person who could freely enter his private lounge had become someone else. Now, if I wanted to see him, I could only stay in a generic waiting room. But I truly had no heart or energy left to argue over such trifles. So I waited quietly. I had enough time. But what I didn’t expect was that I would wait for two hours. Still, no one came to tell me Caleb was available. “Excuse me, is Mr. Sterling’s meeting over yet?” I couldn’t help but ask the girl who had brought me in. She was evasive. “Mr. Sterling is still in a meeting…” I frowned, about to speak. Suddenly, the sound of laughter and chatting drifted over. “Then let’s go to that restaurant for lunch together.” “Sure.”

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I planned to force my stepbrother into submission. I wanted to drug him. But before I could even act, he found my stash. He exploded: “Who did you plan to use this on? You’re just a kid, why are you so messed up?!” Later, when he found out the drugs were meant for him, he didn’t beat me up. Instead, he lay back and smirked. “You don’t need that stuff.” “Come here, baby. Didn’t you want to cook the rice? Let big brother teach you how. Whatever you want to do… just be direct.” 1 “Let me confirm this one more time. You said you’re going to do what to your brother?” Jayden stared at me, eyes wide, asking again in disbelief. I chugged some water, repeating without changing my expression: “I said, I’m going to drug my brother, rip his clothes off, pin him to the bed, bite his tongue, and then rid—” “Stop, stop, stop!” Jayden looked like he was suffocating. He pinched my mouth shut, glancing around the basketball court like a thief. He lowered his voice and cursed, “Gross. Too gross. Eli, you’re a beast. He’s your brother. Even if not by blood, he’s still your brother.” I didn’t like hearing that. I retorted unhappily, “So what?” I just like my brother, what’s wrong with that? Even if liking my brother is shocking, immoral, and unforgivable, is it entirely my fault? Is my brother innocent? If Caleb Vance wasn’t my brother, I’d just be a normal guy who likes men. How would I become a beast who dares to go after his own brother? The root cause is that he became my brother first, leading to the result of me being a beast. He has to take primary responsibility. Jayden paced anxiously. “Your brother controls you so strictly. Where did you get the drugs?” I said matter-of-factly, “You gave them to me.” “When did I…” He realized and raged, “Eli Xu! You’re immoral enough to drag me into this?” I stared at him silently. Jayden compromised in despair. “Fuck, I really owe you. Let me think of a way. If you get caught, don’t rat me out.” Then he silently took out his phone and started searching “Should I report my bro going down the wrong path” and “General punishment for aiding and abetting.” 2 When I got home, Caleb was cooking in the kitchen. Hearing the noise, he glanced back at me. His gaze fell on my sweat-soaked jersey first, and he spoke with dissatisfaction: “How many times have I said it? Put on a jacket after playing ball. Sweaty all over, it’s easy to catch a cold in the wind. Eli, do you want to drink bitter medicine again?” I leaned against the doorframe, my gaze licking over his back inch by inch. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, perky butt. The pink apron strings were tied in a neat bow behind him, swaying gently. Like a carefully wrapped gift waiting for me to unwrap. I swallowed. My heart itched, my hands itched. I was going crazy with craving. I told you my brother isn’t innocent at all. He probably doesn’t know that every move he makes sets off a stormy sea in my heart. Waiting for no response, thinking I was being stubborn again, Caleb shook his head helplessly. He turned around with a small plate of freshly fried crispy pork and fed me a piece. The smile at the corner of his mouth was indulgent. “Hungry? Go wash your hands, dinner soon.” I leaned in, taking a piece from his hand with my mouth, the tip of my tongue “accidentally” brushing his finger. Chewing the crispy pork, I mumbled vaguely, “Mhm, dying of craving.” I didn’t want to go to this step, really. I also wanted to take the pure love route. But my brother is stubborn and impervious to soft or hard tactics. 3 On my eighteenth birthday, I spoke wild words. “Bro, I like men. I want to spend my life with a man.” My brother is an old-fashioned guy. He once told me personally that every node in his life must be walked accurately, and he would never let himself fall into the mud. So my brother always took feelings lightly. Family and love couldn’t tie him down. As I grew up, he became more mature. Few people came and went, and only I was important enough to talk about. Restraining me, disciplining me, and planning every step of my future. In my imagination, first tell my brother I like men, then tell him the man I like is him. Proceeding in this order, I wouldn’t anger him to death as soon as I opened my mouth. I didn’t get my brother’s eighteenth birthday, but my brother didn’t miss mine. Just as I thought, Caleb’s face was iron green. He asked, “How old is he? Where is he from? Do I know him? When did you meet?” I answered cautiously, “Twenty-five…” I didn’t continue because my brother laughed when he heard twenty-five. He gently patted my head. “Shut up. Say another word and I’ll break your legs.” He acted like nothing happened, thoughtfully waiting until twelve o’clock, when my birthday was over. Then he went crazy, grabbing my ear and asking: “Eli Xu! Where did you meet this old man?! How old is he and how old are you? You don’t know better, but at twenty-five, shouldn’t he? Go stand in the corner and reflect. I’ll pretend I never heard your nonsense.” I refused to submit. “Caleb Vance, my mind is very clear!” I just like you. I want to kiss you, bite you, hug you, fuck you. I didn’t dare say this because my brother looked like he was about to faint from anger. On the first day of being eighteen, I was pinned down by my brother, pants off, rewarded with a belt whipping. The four words “I like you” were thoroughly whipped back into my stomach. But he still couldn’t be cruel. He didn’t really hit hard. Because I didn’t feel pain, only tickles, and my whole body went numb. From childhood to adulthood, he always had so much reluctance, so much indulgence, which is why my guts grew to this size today. All in all, blame him. I stood facing the wall with tears in my eyes for an hour, still not relenting. My brother couldn’t do anything with me. Sighing with a cigarette in his mouth, he scolded grumpily, “Little bastard, how many people have you met to talk about liking or not?” After a moment of silence, he lowered his voice. “Either forget him, or bring him here for me to see. See if I beat him to death or not.” I tentatively asked him, “Bro, I like a twenty-five-year-old man. How do you feel?” Caleb gritted his teeth. “How do I feel? I feel fucking disgusted! I want to hit someone!” Disgusted? All the courage I had accumulated was punctured by these two words. Can I bear the consequences of recklessness? What if… what if my relationship with my brother shatters into pieces because of my liking, unable to be put back together? What should I do? How will my brother see me? A younger brother with dirty thoughts about him. Just imagining the look of disgust that might appear in his eyes makes it hard for me to breathe. Seeing me suddenly silent, Caleb probably thought his words were too heavy and scared me. His tone softened, reasoning with me: “Eli, you’re still young. That man is seven years older than you. What good intentions can he have approaching you? He just sees you’re young and easy to cheat. You can think I’m feudal or annoying, but I will absolutely not agree to you being with him.” Later, my brother locked me up. For the whole summer vacation, he strictly screened everyone around me, even suspecting if I met a pervert online. Only after confirming there were no ambiguous old men around me did he graciously let me go out. 4 My brother said I don’t understand what love is. I do. When I was five, I was led into the Vance family by my unreliable mother. Strange environment, strange people, I cried my heart out. Then, twelve-year-old Caleb squatted in front of me. He took out a handkerchief, wiped away my tears bit by bit, and gently straightened the crooked little bow tie on my neck. He wrapped my hand in his palm and coaxed patiently, “I’m your brother. Brother is here. Little treasure, stop crying, okay?” When I grew older, his lecherous dad and my money-grubbing mom were lovey-dovey, wandering all over the place, unseen all year round. I’ve met many people, but the only word that fills my entire world is “Brother.” What is love? In elementary school, the essay topic was “The Person I Love Most.” I wrote three full pages about how good my brother is—Brother cooks for me, teaches me homework, protects me, puts me to sleep. I love Brother the most in the world. Caleb read it and laughed immediately, picked me up and kissed me hard twice, saying, “Brother loves you too. Our Eli is so good, worth spoiling.” I became increasingly dissatisfied. I’m not satisfied with him just being a brother. I’m not satisfied that his slender fingers are only used to peel shrimp and straighten my collar. I’m not satisfied that his deep voice only says “Eli, behave.” I’m not satisfied that his broad embrace is only open temporarily when I’m sick or have a nightmare. I’m even more unsatisfied that one day he will give this unique kindness, untouched, to another person. I want him to lose control. I want his eyes, hands, arms, and heart to only hold me. Love is being unsatisfied again and again. 5 I was still unsatisfied, so I didn’t give up. On the surface, I acted good, but behind the scenes, I looked for a permanent solution. When I got the drugs Jayden secretly stuffed for me, my hands were shaking. A little scared, but mostly excited. I planned it well: Friday night, my brother usually drinks some red wine to relax. I’ll drug it beforehand, wait for him to react, then pretend to accidentally get close. Unknowingly cook the raw rice. The next day I’ll cry holding his neck, saying my innocence is gone and I can only be his person for the rest of my life, and I won’t have the face to live if I’m not with him. With my brother’s personality of overflowing responsibility, even if he doesn’t like me, he will definitely take responsibility. I know I’m a despicable villain, but Uncle Vance and my mom have already started introducing marriage partners to my brother. I can’t sit still. Returning home after class, my heart surged. As soon as I pushed the door open, I smelled a low pressure like a coming storm. My brother sat on the living room sofa, back straight. On the coffee table in front of him sat the small medicine bottle I hid in my pillow. My heart stopped instantly. I calculated everything, but didn’t calculate that my brother would find that bottle of medicine in advance. My brother looked up at me, expressionless. But I knew he was furious. “Eli Xu, get over here.” I moved over slowly, my brain frantically flashing “It’s over,” “I’m dead,” “Is it too late to run.” “What is this?” He shook the bottle. My legs were a bit weak, wanting to muddle through: “Mela… Melatonin. I’ve been having insomnia recently.” He laughed angrily: “Do you take your brother for a fool?!” Caleb stood up, his tall shadow looming over me, full of oppression: “Eli, kneel!” I shivered and knelt down quickly. “Where did you get it? Who did you want to use it on? You’ve got some nerve!” “Who taught you? You’re so young, yet so messed up!” “A brat engaging in this mess. Did you meet some shady people outside? Speak!” The more he spoke, the angrier he got, his chest heaving. That look was like the cabbage he raised carefully for over ten years not only wanted to dig a pit and jump into the pigsty himself but also prepared to drug the pig for fun.

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My husband’s childhood friend, the one who grew up next door, could never shake her habit of being hopelessly forgetful. This time, she’d left her phone in my husband Jim’s office. When I brought it to her, the screen was still lit up with a search history she hadn’t closed: “How to get a strong-willed wife to initiate a divorce after getting pregnant?” “Is using a married man’s card for a linked family account considered using their joint marital assets?” I glanced at it, a grim sort of admiration blooming in my chest. The young women these days certainly had the schemes to match their ambitions. I locked the screen and took the phone downstairs to her. She seemed surprised that I was the one who brought it. “Oh, Rhiannon, I’m so sorry to bother you again! I heard you were rushing to a meeting. Let me call a car for you.” I gave a casual nod. As she tapped away at her phone, I caught a flash of the payment screen. It was the icon for a linked card, and the familiar profile picture on it was none other than my husband, Jim. 1 A moment later, a voice memo from Jim played from her phone. “Sadie, look at you, getting the hang of the family card.” Sadie shot an embarrassed look my way, her voice sickly sweet. “I’m just getting a ride for Rhiannon.” “I’ll pay you back as soon as I get a job.” I didn’t listen to the rest. The car had already pulled up. I opened the door, slid inside, and left without a word of goodbye. That evening, Jim, who was supposed to be on the night shift, was sprawled on the living room sofa. The second he saw me, the complaints started. “Why did you have to make Sadie call a car for you?” A knot of frustration tightened in my chest, and my brows drew together. “Is there a problem?” The words were barely out before the day’s grievances came rushing back. Jim was always complaining about the hospital cafeteria food, so I had taken my lunch break to bring him a home-cooked meal. I was in a hurry to get back to my own office for a meeting when he called, just as I was getting into my car. “Sadie is in a panic. Can you run her phone down to her? She’ll be there in a minute.” He hung up before I could even answer. Thinking of it now, I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. “Is my time somehow less valuable than hers?” Seeing the storm on my face, Jim quickly changed his tune. “Alright, let’s drop it. I just feel for her. She just graduated, no job, no savings. I worry she’s having a hard time.” “To you, thirty dollars is nothing, but that could be her food budget for the entire day.” A sharp smile touched my lips, my words laced with sarcasm. “Isn’t it your money? Why the heartache?” Sadie was the girl who grew up next door to Jim. After her parents passed away, Jim had even covered her last two years of college tuition. Sadie always used to say, “Jim, I’m not the kind of girl who just lives off a man. I’ll earn my own money and pay you back.” Three months ago, she graduated and moved back to the city, sticking to Jim like glue ever since. Worried I’d get the wrong idea, Jim had rushed me down to city hall to make our marriage official. We were just waiting for his annual leave next month to have the wedding ceremony. So, even though Sadie had zero sense of boundaries, I usually couldn’t be bothered to argue about her. But this time, Jim didn’t try to placate me as I’d expected. Instead, his gaze turned cold. “What’s with the passive-aggressive tone? It’s a linked card with a five-hundred-dollar limit. What’s the big deal?” “And what’s the big deal about me letting her call a ride for me?” I, who normally hated fighting, refused to back down an inch. He had once set up a card for me, too. The limit was three hundred. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a cup of coffee with it, terrified of adding to his financial burden. Looking at his self-righteous expression now, a chill seeped into my bones, erupting into an uncontrollable fire. I held up my phone, Sadie’s search history glowing on the screen. “Don’t tell me you’re going to say there’s nothing going on between you two.” The color drained from Jim’s face. He lunged for the phone. I twisted away, but he grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong, his voice sharp and urgent. “You don’t know anything! Don’t you dare spread rumors. How is she supposed to face people if this gets out?” I froze. Not from the pain. But from the foreign panic in his eyes, a panic born purely for someone else. He stared at me, finally realizing he’d gone too far. His tone softened. “I’m sorry, Ria. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. But we’re married. Why are you getting worked up over my childhood friend? I promise you, I would never, ever do anything to betray you.” “I’ll keep my distance from her from now on. You can just pretend she doesn’t exist.” Just then, Jim’s phone rang. He answered it, and as he listened, his expression shifted dramatically. “You posted this online?” “I just wanted to get some advice from people! I didn’t use any personal information!” He slammed the phone down onto the plush rug. “How old are you? Are you still playing games on the internet?” “Didn’t you see her Google account name in the screenshot?” I pulled out my own phone and saw it. The post, somehow, had started trending. Someone had used the information in her account to dig up her real identity. “Secret Mistress Exposed: Top Surgeon at Seabrook General in Suspected Affair!” Jim’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling. “Are you insane, Rhiannon? Do you want to destroy all of us with public opinion?” I clenched my fists, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s not public opinion that’s destroying you. It’s your complete lack of boundaries.” But he wasn’t listening. He snatched his phone and car keys and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. 2 Jim and Sadie weren’t crucified by the internet. To protect its star surgeon, the hospital spent a fortune suppressing the story. Overnight, all the negative comments vanished. Jim also disappeared for two straight days. On the third night, he finally came home, reeking of alcohol. He didn’t come into the bedroom, instead making a call from the living room, his voice carrying clearly through the door. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help you, and instead, I ended up hurting you.” On the other end, Sadie’s voice was thick with tears. “It’s nothing. I can take care of myself. Not every woman needs a man. I’m fine on my own.” Jim sighed. “It’s a good thing you’re so good-natured. Otherwise, who knows how this mess would have ended.” “This whole thing has just shown me that overly aggressive people really aren’t likable.” Not likable. But wasn’t he the one who once told me he loved my cool-headed rationality? Jim asked Sadie for an address. “You’re studying for your medical boards, right? I have some materials here, I’ll bring them over to you in a bit.” “Also, I spoke with the hospital administration. You can start as an intern with us. You’ll be able to work and study under me.” Her tone on the other end finally shifted from sorrow to a soft, happy laugh. They talked for a while longer before Jim finally remembered to come into the bedroom. The door swung open. He saw me and looked a little awkward. “I got Sadie an internship spot. She can follow me at the hospital and learn. Consider it our apology for what happened the other day.” I let out a derisive laugh but said nothing. I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to be apologizing for. I had planned to wait a few days and find a time for the three of us to talk things out face-to-face. But unexpectedly, I, who was usually perfectly healthy, fell ill. It was a nasty bug that lingered for two weeks. When I went back to the hospital for a follow-up, I passed by Jim’s office. A glance through the glass window showed Sadie sitting inside. Her lab coat was unbuttoned, revealing a miniskirt so short it barely grazed her thighs, a flash of pale legs in the sterile environment. When she saw me, she didn’t even bother to stand up. “Rhiannon, you were behind that whole thing online, weren’t you?” “I never would have guessed. You look like such a powerful, put-together career woman, but deep down, you’re just petty and insecure.” “Do you really think a stunt like that is enough to drive me away from him?” I laughed softly. “Miss Sadie, you give yourself far too much credit. My time is valuable. I don’t have the energy to play your childish games.” She eyed me with a smirk. “But your husband loves these childish games.” “See this skirt? Your husband said only a girl my age could pull it off. Once you’re old and washed up, you lose that kind of vitality.” This was the first time she had looked me directly in the eye, making no effort to hide her hostility. Before, whenever Jim was around, she always acted timid and withdrawn, claiming my success intimidated her and she was too scared to be around me. Now, the fox was finally letting its tail show. 3 Even though I had already seen through Jim’s pathetic, have-it-all nature, Sadie’s words—”Your husband loves these childish games”—still sent a cold stone dropping into my stomach. Weren’t we all “little girls” once? I took a deep breath, quickly steadying myself. Just as I was about to fire back, the office door swung open. A female doctor walked in and sat down across from Sadie, her tone chummy. “It’s rare to see you alone. Where’s your man?” “I heard he practically slammed the table in the chief’s office to get you this internship. That childhood bond is really something else, huh?” “You have to put in a good word for me with Dr. Evans. Maybe I can get a chance to scrub in on one of his surgeries.” Only then did she notice me standing by the door. She scowled impatiently. “It’s not visiting hours yet. Hospital rules say patients wait outside. What are you doing just standing there?” “Some patients have no self-awareness. You’re too nice, Sadie. If it were me, I would have kicked her out ages ago.” Although Jim and I had been together for eight years, I had always believed in giving each other space and rarely visited him at the hospital. So, while many people had heard he was married, few had actually met me. But I recognized this doctor. Her name was Brenda, and she had a reputation for being the hospital shrew—terrible skills, terrible temper, and a classic bully. It was surprising that Sadie, after only a few days, had already fallen in with her. Before I could say anything, Brenda had already opened the door and ushered me out, closing it gently behind her. Through the thin door, I heard Sadie’s cheerful voice pick up the conversation. “Don’t be ridiculous. Whether I get to stay or not depends on my own abilities. You can’t get a foothold at Seabrook General with connections alone.” Brenda’s tone was knowing. “Other connections might not work, but your guy is the top scalpel here. Who would dare cross him? You’re too naive, burying your head in books all day! I heard you’re already carrying his child. Instead of studying, you should just force his hand!” She practically shouted the last few words, as if afraid Sadie wouldn’t hear. “No, the father isn’t him…” Sadie demurred. Brenda cackled. “Oh, I heard all about it! Dr. Evans’s car was in the parking garage the other day… making quite a commotion!” “He only sees me as a sister!” Sadie explained weakly. “No blood relation, what kind of sister is that? A ‘special’ sister? Didn’t he give you his downtown studio apartment to live in? Don’t think I don’t know.” No wonder Jim, who never cared about such things, had suddenly taken his car for a full detailing a few days ago. He’d been using it as a love nest. And he’d lied to me, saying he’d rented the apartment to a young couple, recent graduates. “They just moved to the city, don’t have much money. I told them they could delay their first rent payment.” I’d been surprised at the time. Jim was usually so frugal. I never thought he could be so understanding. It turned out Sadie was the one living there. But that was the apartment I bought with the bonus from my first big project! And I was still the one paying the mortgage! After a bit more chatter, Brenda came out, probably to see if Jim was back. She was annoyed to see me still standing there. “Why are you eavesdropping on our private conversation?” I couldn’t help but sneer. “Calling her ‘Dr. Sadie’ already? She doesn’t even have her medical license yet. And besides, you should probably lower your voices. It’s not like you were discussing anything honorable, were you?” Sadie emerged, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Rhiannon, you didn’t take that seriously, did you? We were just joking around. Jim and I are close, but we’ve never crossed any lines. I know you’re very accomplished, but I’m not so bad myself. I will pass my medical boards, and I hope in the future you won’t speak to me with such a dismissive tone.” I was about to marvel at her Oscar-worthy performance and her bafflingly complex personality—flipping between manic, proud, vicious, and victimized in the blink of an eye. You’d think she was suffering from some strange ailment. But in the next moment, a familiar, angry voice sounded from behind me. “Rhiannon, what are you doing now?” 4 “She doesn’t have an office, so I told her she could rest and study in here. Is that something to be angry about?” “Come on, she’s just a kid. You don’t have to be like this.” My mouth moved, but no sound came out. It didn’t matter. When it came to Sadie, Jim always had the same excuses. She would text and call him in the middle of the night, claiming she needed help with a question. It was obvious what she was really after. One night, we were in the middle of being intimate when her call came through. Jim rolled off me, got out of bed, and went to look up some information for her. Humiliated and furious, I yelled at him. “She’s not even your real sister! Even if she were, this is completely out of line!” Jim just soothed me with his usual line. “She’s just a kid. What’s there to be angry about? We can do this anytime. She’s studying for her boards. That’s a big deal.” Seeing me silent for a long moment, Jim must have thought his authoritative tone had worked. He softened his voice. “Okay, don’t be upset. When I get my vacation time, I’ll take you on that cruise you’ve always wanted to go on.” Sadie chimed in with a saccharine-sour voice, “Jim, you’re so busy and you still have to take care of your wife. You’re such a good man. Rhiannon, you’re amazing, but it’s not easy to find a man who truly loves you. You should learn to cherish him.” I used to think that if my marriage ever fell apart, I’d have a clichéd breakdown, sobbing and demanding to know how Jim could forget his promises. But at this moment, my voice was unnervingly calm. “I’m not upset. And you don’t have to wait for your vacation. I can go on a cruise by myself.” “Let’s get a divorce, Jim.”

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My husband, Alec, and I had been married for three years, and he insisted on splitting every single cost down to the last kilowatt of electricity. The day I found out I was pregnant, he calmly pulled out a calculator. “Audrey, pregnancy expenses will be fifty-fifty. After the baby is born, if you choose to breastfeed, you’ll need to compensate me for my lost work hours. You’d be monopolizing a shared household resource.” I trembled with rage, tears blurring my vision. He handed me a tissue. “Don’t cry. That’s two cents a tissue. I’ll add it to your tab.” I burst out laughing, a hollow, bitter sound, and then, right there in front of him, I booked an abortion. … I stared at the numbers, a dry, bitter laugh catching in my throat. With a flick of my wrist, I screenshot it, saving it. This nauseating message was the final epitaph for any lingering illusions I had about him, about this marriage. I ignored him, hailing a cab straight to the hospital and checking into gynecology. Alec probably thought I was just throwing a tantrum. He sent a new message. Not comfort, not concern, but an Excel spreadsheet. [Monthly Household Expenses]. In the notes, he’d written: “You exceeded your shower time by 5 minutes recently. Water bill increase: 15%.” The words stung my eyes. I turned off my phone. In the hospital corridor, expectant mothers sat around me, their husbands doting on them. Their faces were radiant with unconcealed joy. The men handed them water, peeled oranges and brought them to their lips, constantly checking on their comfort. “Audrey.” The nurse called my name. I walked into the consulting room alone. The doctor looked at my examination results, then up at me. “Where’s the family? We need a family member’s signature for the procedure.” I forced a smile, one uglier than a cry, my voice devoid of warmth. “He’s dead.” The doctor paused, then didn’t press for details. Before signing the consent form, a strange impulse made me want to give him one last chance. I dialed Alec’s number. The phone rang for a long time before he answered. The background was noisy, and a cloying female voice drifted through. “Alec, darling, who is it? Come help me with this project proposal, please.” The voice was sickly sweet. It belonged to Scarlett, his idealized first love, who had just returned from abroad. Alec’s impatient voice came through the receiver. “Audrey? I’m in the middle of a multi-million-dollar deal. What do you want now?” My hand, gripping the pen, trembled violently, the pen’s shaft almost snapping under my fingers. “I’m about to have surgery, and you…” “Handle that minor abortion yourself. Don’t interrupt my important business,” he cut me off, his voice laced with contempt. “A mature adult should know how to manage their own body and emotions.” “And remember to get a receipt. Otherwise, I won’t reimburse my half.” The call ended. Listening to the busy signal, a sudden realization hit me: my three years of marriage had been a colossal joke. My chest heaved. When I opened my eyes again, all hesitation was gone. I signed my name on the surgical consent form, each stroke deliberate and firm. Two hours later, the nurse wheeled me out of the operating room, utterly drained. She handed me a medical waste disposal slip, detailing the disposal of the embryonic tissue. I picked up the paper, still bearing my bloodstain, and with my last reserves of strength, snapped a photo. I sent it to Alec. “Your half? The hospital disposed of it as medical waste. Disposal fee is $50. Transfer me $25.” He replied instantly. “You actually went through with it?” “Audrey, you unilaterally destroyed a shared family asset of incalculable value. We’ll settle this score thoroughly when you get back!” I dragged my aching body back to our so-called home. A cold, dark room greeted me. Alec hadn’t returned. I opened the fridge, looking for something to eat. My half of the fridge was empty. His half, however, was locked shut with a small combination lock. The blood in my veins turned to ice. This was my husband, on the day I miscarried, terrified I might eat one of his eggs. I ordered takeout, a bowl of hot soup. The moment I placed the order, Alec’s message arrived. “You ordered takeout? You’ll be responsible for 80% of the takeout waste disposal fee. I don’t eat takeout, so I won’t generate that trash.” I was too weak to reply. The soup arrived slightly cold. I took two sips, and my stomach churned. The soup, mixed with bile, spilled onto the cold floor. I collapsed onto the sofa, mindlessly scrolling through my social media. One post caught my eye, a sharp stab to my heart. It was from Scarlett. “First day back in the city, thanks to Alec for the welcome dinner! The King Crab was amazing~” Accompanying the caption was a photo of a cracked crab leg. In the background, a woman’s hand was conspicuously visible. On her wrist was a Fendi watch, worth hundreds of thousands. I clicked on the full image, my gaze fixed on that watch. Last year, on my birthday, I had seen the same watch in a boutique and loved it. I wanted to buy it, but Alec pulled me away, righteously declaring, “Married couples should be rational consumers. This money would be better saved as a family emergency fund.” Now, his supposed “cash flow problems” had vanished, reappearing on his idealized first love’s wrist. Meanwhile, I, his lawful wife, had just miscarried his child and couldn’t even stomach a warm meal. I felt no pain, couldn’t cry. My chest was hollow, filled only with cold. I stood up and walked, step by painful step, to his study. I began to search through his computer and filing cabinets. Since he loved keeping tabs so much, I would help him settle the real scores. Late into the night, the lock turned. Alec was home. He carried the heavy scent of perfume, not mine, but the one Scarlett always wore. He noticed my pale face, but offered no concern. Instead, he frowned. “You were home today. Why isn’t the floor swept? We can skip the cleaning service tomorrow. You can do it.” I let out a cold laugh, looking up at him. “How was Scarlett’s King Crab? Was it delicious?” He froze, then bristled, defensive. “That was a client dinner, reimbursed by the company. Audrey, can you stop being so unreasonable?” “I had a miscarriage,” I stated calmly. A flicker of discomfort crossed his face, but he quickly reverted to his cold, detached demeanor. “Your miscarriage was a unilateral decision. The physical toll it took on you is your own responsibility, not mine.” He pulled a printed list from his briefcase and slapped it on the table. “This is a recommended list of nutritional supplements for your recovery. I’ve already compared prices by brand and quantity. You can purchase them yourself.” “Remember, personal expenses. I’m not paying.” The next day, I dragged my still-recovering body to the kitchen to brew myself some herbal tea. Alec followed, like an overseer, his eyes glued to the gas meter. “That pot of water has been boiling for nearly twenty minutes. I’ll note down the gas fee. It’ll be deducted from your account at the end of the month.” I looked at his handsome but cruel face and found it utterly ridiculous. Right in front of him, I opened my banking app and transferred him $0.01. “Here. Keep the change.” His face darkened. “Audrey, what is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing. A tip.” He was speechless with rage, slamming the door as he left. Soon after, my phone vibrated. A message from Scarlett. She pretended to have sent it to the wrong person. “Thanks, darling, for letting me borrow Alec for the day. I absolutely adore this handbag. It’s just so expensive, I feel bad making Alec spend so much.” Below was an image: an Hermes box, next to a receipt. I zoomed in. The total was $120,000. Almost simultaneously, I received a bank alert. Alec’s supplementary credit card had just made a $120,000 purchase at a luxury department store. That supplementary card was one I’d given him, with a shared limit, for his so-called “business entertaining.” It had become his ATM for buying handbags for his idealized first love. In three years of marriage, his most expensive gift to me was a necklace he bought on sale for $999. The money even came from our shared household account. But for Scarlett, just back in the country, it was a six-figure handbag. That evening, Alec returned home. I tossed my phone in front of him. “A $120,000 handbag. Explain.” He glanced at it, not a hint of remorse on his face. “I lent it to her. She’ll pay me back later. Besides, she’s a young woman, just back in the country, unfamiliar with everything. What’s wrong with me helping out a friend?” His blatant double standards infuriated me. “Then I miscarried, and I’m not well. Why don’t you help me out?” His answer revealed his true nature. “You’re my wife, my partner in this household. You should be capable of independently managing risks. She’s different. She’s fragile, she needs protection.” I looked at his self-righteous expression and suddenly lost the urge to cry. It became clear. In Alec’s mind, I, his wife, was merely a partner for splitting costs and sharing risks. His idealized first love, however, was a precious treasure to be doted on without regard for cost. I said nothing more. I quietly returned to my room and closed the door. The post-operative infection hit swiftly and violently. In the middle of the night, I woke up shivering from a deep chill, my body burning like a furnace, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. The thermometer read 104.4°F (40.2°C). I nudged Alec awake, my voice as weak as a whisper. “Alec, take me to the hospital… I feel terrible. I can’t…” He stirred, annoyed, rolling over and glancing at his phone. The glow of the screen highlighted his furrowed brow. I caught a glimpse of a message from Scarlett: “Alec, darling, it’s thundering outside. I’m so scared, I can’t sleep.” He immediately sat up and began dressing. “You can take a cab yourself. I have an urgent matter to attend to.” I used my last ounce of strength to grasp his sleeve. “I might die.” He recoiled in disgust, pulling his arm away with such force that I tumbled off the bed. “Audrey, stop with the melodrama for sympathy. A simple abortion can’t kill you. Can you just be mature?” “Your irresponsible behavior is wasting family rest resources and severely impacting my work efficiency tomorrow!” The door slammed shut, cutting off the sound of his retreating footsteps. I lay on the cold floor, my consciousness fading. I struggled to reach my phone and dialed 911. I next woke up in the emergency room. White ceiling, acrid smell of disinfectant. A doctor was on the phone with a family member, his tone harsh. “Are you Audrey’s husband? The patient is experiencing severe post-operative hemorrhaging and urgently needs a blood transfusion and surgery. Get over here and pay the fees and sign the consent form!” From the other end of the line, Alec’s voice came through, colder than ice. “She’s an adult. She’s responsible not only for her own actions but also for her own bills.” “This expense is not within our joint household budget. I won’t pay.” The doctor was clearly infuriated and put him on speaker. Alec’s voice echoed clearly throughout the emergency room. I heard a nearby patient’s family member gasp, then whisper, “That animal.” “Furthermore, this infection is due to her individual constitution, an individual accident. According to our prenuptial agreement, personal accident expenses are borne by the individual.” I lay on the hospital bed, semi-conscious, listening to his words, and the last tear slid from my eye. Not for him, but for my own blindness over these three years. Well done, Alec. You finally, with your own hands, killed the last flicker of love I held for you. When I was fully conscious again, my best friend, Julia, sat by my bedside, wiping away tears. Seeing my eyes open, she immediately gripped my hand, trembling with rage. “Audrey, listen to this! Is this animal even human?” She pressed play on her phone, and Alec’s bone-chillingly cold voice filled the room. “…This expense is not within our joint household budget. I won’t pay…” It turned out, Julia had rushed to the emergency room and arrived just as the doctor put Alec on speaker. She, quick-witted, recorded the entire conversation. In the recording, the murmurs and gasps of other patients’ families were clearly audible. It was perfect evidence, enough to nail Alec to the pillory of public shame. Julia cried, “I’m putting this online! Everyone needs to see what kind of monster he is!” I pulled out the IV needle from my arm and shook my head at her. My face was devoid of color, my eyes chillingly calm. “No,” I took her phone, my voice hoarse, but with a thrill of impending vengeance. “The internet is too cheap a punishment for him.” I retrieved the recording, then deftly forwarded it to two people: Alec’s mother and his direct superior. Julia leaned in for a closer look, gasping. “Audrey, you…” I watched the ‘sent successfully’ notification, then forced a pale smile. I said to her, word by word, “Contact the best lawyer you can find. Then, the show begins.”

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My husband texted me that he had to work late. Bored and alone, I was scrolling through TikTok when I stumbled upon a video posted ten minutes ago by a girl I went to college with. “My dream guy wants to take me to Hawaii, but he’s afraid his wife and family will get suspicious.” “Any ideas, guys?” I opened the comments. The internet was full of helpful souls. The top comment suggested: “Have him fake cancer, file for divorce so he ‘doesn’t drag her down,’ and then claim he’s going abroad for treatment. The wife stays home to take care of his parents, and he can come back whenever he’s done having fun.” I chuckled at the absurdity and scrolled past. At 3 AM, my husband came home, looking exhausted and devastated. He slumped onto the sofa and whispered, “Honey, we had mandatory health screenings at work today. They found liver cancer. Stage 4.” “I don’t want to be a burden to you. Let’s get a divorce.” I stared at Ethan for a long time. His words… why did they sound exactly like that top comment on TikTok? Could it be…? Was he the “dream guy” that college girl, Chloe, was talking about? I immediately dismissed the thought. Since we got married, Ethan had been the perfect husband—handsome, responsible, and kind. How could he cheat on me? I must be overthinking it. I took a deep breath and walked into his arms. “Ethan, we’re husband and wife. We took vows. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. I’m not going anywhere.” “I don’t care what you have. I will never leave you!” Ethan suddenly pushed me away. “Ava, please accept reality!” “I have cancer! It’s terminal!” “I only have days to live.” “Just… consider this my dying wish.” “Please?” Tears streamed down his face. My heart broke seeing him like this. In this situation, I obviously wasn’t going to argue. I hugged him tight again and choked out, “Ethan, tell me. What do you want me to do?” “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.” Ethan wiped his tears, looked up, cupped my face, and said softly with red eyes, “Honey, I wasn’t actually working late tonight.” “Then why are you back so late?” “I went to see a friend’s sister. She went to the same college as us, remember Chloe? She told me there’s a new experimental laser therapy in Switzerland that can clear 99.99% of cancer cells.” “I didn’t know if it was true, so I went to ask her in person.” Hearing the name “Chloe” made my heart skip a beat. It was getting harder to deny my suspicion. It was almost certainly him. But I didn’t expose him. I didn’t question him. Instead, I played along. “And? What did she say?” “She said it’s real. But it’s expensive. I want to use our savings for the treatment. Even if there’s only a tiny hope, I don’t want to give up.” “Honey, you support me, right?” “Of course I support you!” I nodded and kissed his lips gently. “I can drop everything and go with you.” “If it’s about money, I’ll sell the house, I’ll sell my kidney if I have to!” Ethan immediately took two steps back. “You don’t know the language there. Besides, Chloe is going with me to help translate. You should stay here and take care of my parents.” “This therapy has risks. I might die on the table. So, I need you to lie to my parents for me.” “Tell them I died of cancer. If I’m cured, I’ll come back and surprise them.” I frowned. “You think they’ll believe that?” “Don’t worry, my parents are gullible. If they ask to see the body, just say I didn’t want them to be sad seeing me like that, so you had me cremated and scattered the ashes in the ocean.” “You’ve really thought this through.” “Tomorrow, we’ll go to the courthouse and divorce. Then I’ll fly out.” “You’re just going for treatment. Why do we have to divorce?” “Chloe said there’s a policy there. Single men get a huge discount on the therapy.” “Honey, I’m trying to save money for you. Can you understand? It’s a fake divorce anyway. When I’m cured, we’ll remarry immediately.” “As long as it’s for your good, I have no objections.” “Thank you, honey. I love you so much.” Ethan kissed me again, relieved. The next morning, we signed the divorce papers. He said he had to go meet Chloe to finalize the travel plans. Then he left. Less than thirty minutes later. Chloe posted a new TikTok. “Thanks for the advice, guys! My dream guy successfully played the sick card and escaped his controlling wife! We bought tickets to Hawaii!” “I’ve waited so long for this day. Once we land, I’ll update you guys on our happiness!” “Witness our love!” The video included a few photos. No faces, but interlocked hands. I clearly saw the watch on the man’s wrist. I bought that for Ethan’s birthday last month. If yesterday was suspicion, today was confirmation. The “dream guy” was my husband, Ethan. I felt like a boulder was crushing my chest. I couldn’t breathe. We had been so happy for years. I never thought he would betray me for a younger woman. That night, Ethan didn’t come home. He texted me saying he was prepping for the trip and they were flying out early. I asked if he wanted me to see him off. He said no. I sent another message, but it went unanswered. I put down my phone and took a deep breath. He was probably wrapped up in Chloe right now. Texting him would just be rude. I tossed and turned all night. The next day, I went to the airport. I saw Ethan and Chloe. They were intimate, laughing, sharing a cookie. They looked more like a married couple than we ever did. Ethan walked right past me without even noticing. I calmly recorded everything on my phone. Only after they boarded did I go home. Meanwhile, Chloe updated again. A photo of their boarding passes. “Hawaii, here we come!” “I think I’m the happiest woman in the world right now.” The comments were full of envy and blessings. Chloe replied to them one by one. Someone asked: “What about his wife?” Chloe replied: “Who cares about her? She’s a middle-aged hag, sloppy and smells bad.” “My guy suffered every day lying next to her.” “Now he’s free. He belongs only to me.” Because Chloe posted videos of herself, everyone knew she was young and hot. No one called her a homewrecker. They all cheered for her “true love.” I seethed with anger. I created a burner account and commented: “Don’t you care that he abandoned his wife and unborn children?” Two minutes later, she replied. “Haha, that just proves my guy is amazing. Those women were desperate to trap him. They deserved it!” “Aren’t you afraid he has kids?” “I don’t care. Kids or not, he’s mine. Besides, his wife got pregnant before, but I made him convince her to abort it.” My blood boiled. Years ago, I was pregnant. Ethan gave me a million reasons to abort it, saying we weren’t ready financially. Turns out, someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes. I never dreamed Ethan was this kind of monster. He killed our child. I suppressed the urge to murder someone and typed: “Aren’t you afraid of karma for killing a baby?” Chloe replied: “Karma? Haha, don’t be funny. There’s no such thing.” “As long as he belongs to me forever, I’d take a lightning strike.” “Gotta go, honeymoon time! Byeee!” She didn’t reply again. And I made a decision. A few days later. At dinner, my in-laws asked where Ethan was. I hesitated. “Mom, Dad, Ethan is busy with work.” They were suspicious but accepted it. A week later. They got into a car accident. My mother-in-law died on the spot. My father-in-law was critically injured but survived. When he woke up and learned his wife was gone, he broke down. I took care of him in the hospital for two weeks. His most frequent question was: “Where is my son?” I avoided answering. Until one day. I was emptying his bedpan. He suddenly grabbed my hand, tears in his eyes. “Ava, you’ve been like a daughter to us.” “Please, tell me the truth. What happened to Ethan?” “Why can’t I reach him? His office said he quit weeks ago.” I helped him sit up. I couldn’t hide it anymore. I sighed deeply. “Dad… Ethan… he died of cancer. His body was cremated, and his ashes scattered in the sea, just like he wanted.” “W-what?” My father-in-law’s eyes widened in horror. I wiped my tears and explained the lie Ethan concocted. Stage 4 liver cancer. Didn’t want to burden the family. Suffered alone. “Why didn’t he tell us?!” “He wanted to protect you.” “My son… my wife…” Overwhelmed by the double tragedy, he fainted. When he woke up, he wailed until his voice gave out. Later, I got a text from Ethan from a strange number. “How are my parents? You didn’t tell them the truth, right?” I smiled and replied: “I did exactly as you said.” “Good girl. Keep covering for me.” “Something happened at home. Are you coming back?” “I’m busy. Don’t bother me unless the house is burning down.” “Handle it yourself.” I didn’t reply. Ethan. You enjoy your time with Chloe. I sneered at the screen. After that, Ethan cut off all contact. I only saw him in the background of Chloe’s TikToks. Back home, my father-in-law fell into a deep depression. He started talking to himself. One day, he called me into his room. He handed me a sealed document bag, his eyes red. “Ava, I can’t hold on much longer. Before I lose my mind completely, take this. It’s the entire family fortune.” I was stunned. “Besides this house, there are two office buildings and a portfolio of stocks.” “Two… office buildings?” I stood up in shock. He nodded. He explained that the buildings were actually from Ethan’s grandfather. But since his wife’s side of the family died out, the grandfather left everything to Ethan. They planned to give it to Ethan once he matured. But now, Ethan was “dead.” Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud. God was helping me. Ethan wasn’t dead. He was sipping Mai Tais in Hawaii. But looking at my father-in-law’s broken face, my conscience pricked me. The son was the monster, not the father. I couldn’t do it. After a few days of agonizing, I told him the truth. I told him Ethan wasn’t dead. I told him about the fake cancer, the mistress, the Hawaii trip. He listened, then tried to call Ethan like a madman. No answer. He smashed his phone on the floor. “Ava, does Ethan know about the accident?” “I told him.” “What did he say?” “He said he was busy and couldn’t come back.” “Animal!” “I have no son!” He roared in rage. The next day, he took me to see the buildings. I thought they were small commercial lots. They were two 20-story skyscrapers in the business district. My jaw dropped. He told me the total assets were worth over $150 million. I stared at him. Ethan and I scraped by on salaries, saving a few hundred thousand after years of work. And my in-laws were sitting on $150 million? “Ava, that animal doesn’t care if we live or die. He’s dead to me.” “Even if he’s alive, I’m giving this to you.” “He doesn’t deserve a cent!”

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