Category: English

1 The day I got my cancer diagnosis, I practically skipped home with the report in my hand. When the front door swung open, my parents and my brother were huddled around the girl who had taken my place, Seraphina, cooing over her and trying to make her smile. Same as always. I stormed in, slapped the papers down on the polished mahogany table, and announced, “Mom, Dad, Spencer. I have stomach cancer. It’s terminal. I’ve got less than three months.” They froze. I waited, my heart pounding with a strange, vindictive excitement. I imagined their faces crumbling with regret, the remorse they should have felt for years finally hitting them. I pictured them on their knees, begging for my forgiveness, and I knew, even then, I would never grant it. But the scene I had so vividly imagined never played out. They passed the diagnosis report between them, a heavy silence filling the grand living room. Finally, my father spoke, his voice void of any emotion. “What kind of urn do you want?” My mother was next. “In three months, it’s Sera’s eighteenth birthday gala. Your funeral can’t be a big affair. It would cast a shadow on her celebration.” There was no gut-wrenching moment of regret from my family. On the day of Seraphina’s lavish party, I died alone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they first brought me home. … My stomach was still twisting with a phantom agony, but the world around me had erupted into chaos. My eyes snapped open to the sight of Seraphina sobbing in my mother’s arms. Before the dizzying reality of my rebirth could even settle in, a violent shove sent me stumbling to the floor. I looked up into the hostile glare of my brother, Spencer. “Let me make one thing clear,” he snarled. “Sera is my only sister. I’ll destroy anyone or anything that hurts her.” The gears of my mind, rusty from death, began to turn. I remembered this. This was the first day. The day my birth parents, the Baldwins, finally brought me home after sixteen years of hell. I’d been abused my entire life, so when they found me, I foolishly believed I had found a safe harbor. I thought I would finally receive the affection, the love, the everything I had only ever dreamed of. I never imagined they already had a replacement, an impostor daughter who had been living my life, basking in the warmth that should have been mine. In my first life, when Spencer pushed me, sixteen years of bottled-up grief and injustice exploded out of me. I collapsed into a pathetic, weeping mess, snot and tears streaming down my face as I demanded they throw Seraphina out. I thought they didn’t know what I’d been through, so I tore open my old wounds for them to see, my words practically dripping with blood. “Seraphina’s mother did it on purpose! She switched us at birth, she admitted it to my face!” “She broke my ribs three times! My right arm was dislocated twelve times, and my thighs and chest… they’re covered in burns…” “When I was seven, she sold me to a grimy traveling circus! I had to eat and sleep with the animals, forced to bark like a dog on stage for scraps of food, to jump through rings of fire…” I was screaming, clawing at my own clothes in a desperate, undignified plea. “Mom, Dad, Spencer, look! Look at my scars! It hurt so much, it hurt so, so much…” “Please, just have a little pity on me… Send her away. Please don’t let her call you Mom and Dad and Spencer. Please?” I looked up, my vision blurred with tears, desperately hoping to see a flicker of compassion, to feel a gentle hand wipe my face. But my parents just looked… awkward. And in my brother’s eyes, I saw a flash of pure disgust. He was the one who spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Even if any of that is true, what does it have to do with Sera? She was just a baby. She didn’t know anything. She’s the innocent one here. Imagine how she feels, suddenly finding out she’s not related to us. I bet she’s hurting a lot more than you are.” My tears froze on my cheeks. I stared at him, searching for any sign he was joking, but there was none. My head swiveled to my parents, the very people who had brought me here. My mother, Isabelle, who had been weeping with pity just moments before, was now clutching Seraphina, her expression troubled. “He’s right, Aurora. Spencer has a point. Sera is innocent in all this. Can’t you try to be a little more understanding?” My father, Arthur, delivered the final verdict. “Enough. You’ll both stay. The Baldwin family can afford to support two daughters. Now get up off the floor and change into something decent. You’re making a scene.” And so, on my very first day home, I became the enemy. The next three years were a blur of constant, bitter conflict. One thousand and ninety-five days. And in all that time, I never won a single battle against Seraphina. Not one. That’s why, when I saw the cancer diagnosis, my first feeling wasn’t fear or sadness. It was relief. A vicious, liberating relief. I hoped my death would be the ultimate punishment for my biased parents, the final blow that would make my hateful brother drown in guilt. But I gambled with my life and still lost everything. On Seraphina’s eighteenth birthday, my urn was quietly buried. No memorial, no eulogy. No one even came to say goodbye. Oh, Mother. Father. Spencer. This time around, I don’t want your love. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I looked up at my furious brother and said calmly, “Mr. Baldwin, I have no intention of being your sister.” Spencer stared, dumbfounded. Even my parents, still comforting Seraphina, turned to look at me in shock. 2 My father’s brow furrowed, his voice cold. “Aurora, that’s enough.” “This is the Baldwin estate. What Sera has, you will have too. We won’t neglect our own flesh and blood.” My mother’s gaze softened as she took in my frail frame, a flicker of pity in her eyes. She let go of Seraphina and knelt to help me up. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, darling,” she murmured. “Besides, you’re not an adult yet, and you have no money. If you don’t come home with us, what will you do? Go back to that circus? Be paraded around like an animal for the crowd’s amusement?” Even though I had already died and come back, her words still stung, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. You see, that was my mother. She knew the depths of my suffering, knew my dignity had been stripped away for sixteen years. Yet she could still weaponize my trauma with such casual cruelty, wrapping it in a guise of concern. In my last life, I was so desperate for her love that I never saw the cold indifference hiding beneath the surface. But now… I steadied myself and gently pushed her hands away. “I’m serious,” I said, my voice level. “No one outside this house knows I exist. You can just tell people you’re sponsoring a scholarship for an underprivileged student from the countryside.” Before they could argue, I pressed on. “Besides, I don’t know any of your etiquette. I can’t tell a Merlot from a Cabernet, I don’t know the first thing about flower arranging… I’d only embarrass the Baldwin name if my identity got out.” The protests died on their lips. My parents exchanged a look, and both fell silent. I lowered my head to hide the bitter, knowing smile that touched my lips. It was just like last time. Seraphina would drag me to elegant galas just to watch me make a fool of myself. And with every clumsy mistake, the guilt and pity my parents initially felt for me slowly evaporated, replaced by shame. Terrified of losing them completely, I had driven myself to the brink, staying up all night, cramming years of culture and etiquette into my exhausted mind. Eventually, I could navigate those shark-infested waters with grace, even outshining Seraphina. I thought they would be proud. I thought Spencer would finally see me differently. But all it took was a single tear from Seraphina, and all my hard work turned to ash. Spencer cut up all my evening gowns. My parents fired my tutors. And Seraphina? She was rewarded with a private piano concerto, a lavish affair that I later heard cost them nearly a million dollars. A million dollars. If I remembered correctly, my urn cost just over a hundred. It was clear now. In my past life, I was too naive, too consumed by my own sense of injustice. I fought, I clawed, I demanded. And all I got were more scars, without earning a single drop of their sympathy. What was the point of it all? Aurora, what was the point? You fought until your last breath and couldn’t even earn yourself a decent funeral. Breaking the thick silence, my father finally spoke. “Fine. We’ll do it your way for now. We’ll hire the best tutors for you. When you’re ready, we’ll hold a proper reception to announce your identity as a Baldwin.” I nodded curtly. “Thank you, Mr. Baldwin.” He frowned at the formality. “You’re home now. You don’t have to be so distant. You can call me Dad.” I shook my head, offering a faint, detached smile. “No, I’d better stick with Mr. Baldwin. I wouldn’t want to get too comfortable and let it slip in public.” I turned to my mother, Isabelle, adopting the same formal address. “And thank you, Ms. Baldwin. I only require your support until I turn eighteen. I won’t be a burden for long.” A pale shadow crossed my mother’s face. She forced a smile and reached for my hand again. “Aurora, you don’t have to be like this. You’re my daughter, after all. We…” I pulled my hand back. I was tired, so tired of their hollow words. Slinging my tattered bag over my shoulder, I started walking toward the guest rooms on the first floor. Behind me, Seraphina’s small, timid voice piped up. “Aurora… sister… I’ve already moved my things out of my room for you. You can… you can take it. I’ll just stay in the guest room.” I paused but didn’t turn around. “Don’t bother. After all, you’re the rightful daughter of this house right now.” A few steps later, I heard Spencer’s voice, laced with anger. “Sera, just ignore her. She won’t even call them Mom and Dad. Who does she think she’s fooling with this pathetic act?” “If she wants to suffer, let her. She shouldn’t even get a guest room.” “Mrs. Gable!” he barked. “Get the key to the storage closet. Let her sleep in there.” I felt their eyes on my back, a collective weight of judgment. I didn’t look back. I didn’t argue. I just followed the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, in silence to collect my key. 3 I ate dinner alone in the storage closet that night. As I passed the dining room to get my food, I could hear Seraphina laughing with my parents and brother. As if on cue, their cheerful chatter grew louder the moment I appeared. Spencer was practically feeding Seraphina by hand. Last time, that kind of deliberate exclusion would have shattered me, sparking a huge fight that left everyone miserable. This time, I simply gave the happy family a polite nod and walked away. I had bigger things to worry about. A full health check-up, a fitness regimen, my studies, and most importantly… college entrance exams. I had no time or energy to waste on people who didn’t matter. It was August, with a month left before the school year started. I immediately got a comprehensive medical exam. Seeing the clean bill of health for my stomach, I breathed a sigh of true relief. The cancer hadn’t started yet. I drafted a strict daily schedule for myself and requested all the textbooks for the next two years of high school. Every morning, I was up and out for a run before anyone else in the Baldwin house had stirred. I would time my return perfectly, finishing breakfast just before they came downstairs, and then retreat to my room to study. Isabelle tried, on several occasions, to bring me a glass of milk and chat, but my cool, indifferent responses always shut her down. Eventually, she seemed to get the hint, or perhaps took offense. Her visits grew infrequent, and soon it was Mrs. Gable who brought the milk. One night, my head swimming from hours of calculus, I glanced up and saw the glass of milk under the warm glow of my desk lamp. It was stone cold. A sardonic smile twisted my lips. That was my mother in a nutshell. You couldn’t say she was heartless; she always offered these tiny gestures of hope. A glass of milk, a moment spent brushing my hair, a cup of ginger tea she brewed herself when I had cramps. But you couldn’t say she was caring, either. She never knew I was lactose intolerant. She never knew I was allergic to ginger. And whenever I had a breakdown, she would simply leave me alone to pick up my own pieces. In my last life, I was driven mad by that hollow, performative version of motherly love. Sometimes I wondered if she even wanted me back. If my very existence, a living reminder of her failure, was just an embarrassment to her in front of her high-society friends. Otherwise, why would she be so cruel? … Time slipped away, silent and unnoticed, like the milk poured down the drain. When Arthur asked which high school I wanted to attend, I chose Seraphina’s without hesitation. Spencer scoffed. “So the quiet act is over, huh? I almost believed you were the type who didn’t like to compete. What’s the plan? Finally ready to go make Sera’s life miserable at school?” I met his gaze directly, my own calm and unblinking. “I chose that school because it’s the best in Crestwood City, with the strongest faculty. And Mr. Baldwin, my college exams are extremely important to me. Rest assured, I won’t jeopardize my future over the kind of petty drama you’re imagining.” Spencer’s face darkened, but I saw Arthur glance at me, a flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes. “Sister, don’t talk to Spencer like that,” Seraphina interjected, her voice soft and placating. “He’s just worried about me. And Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I know the school inside and out. I’ll take good care of my sister.” Her words smoothed over the awkward tension. Isabelle beamed, pulling Seraphina into a hug. “That’s my sweet girl. Always so thoughtful.” The scene that used to pierce my heart now felt like a distant echo, causing no ripple within me. My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and smiled. It was the school. My application for a dorm room had been approved. 4 When we got in the car for the first day of school, Seraphina offered graciously, “Sister, you and Spencer should take the back. I can sit up front.” But before she could even take a step, Spencer grabbed her arm. “What are you doing? You’re sitting with me. The front seat is for outsiders.” He shot a pointed look at me from the corner of his eye. To his disappointment, I didn’t look hurt or angry. In fact, I was relieved. I gave him a polite nod. The very thing I had begged for in my last life was something I now desperately wanted to avoid. The car purred smoothly onto the school grounds. As expected, Seraphina and I were placed in the same class. During gym class, she brought her whole clique over to meet me, a mix of popular boys and girls. Of course, she wasn’t being kind. In my first life, I had suffered immensely at the hands of these “friends.” I looked up at their familiar faces. Back then, desperate to beat Seraphina at her own game, I had tried to win them over. I poured my heart out to them, acting like a pathetic, loyal puppy, eager for their approval. I later found out they had a private group chat. Its name was “Taming the Mutt.” In that group, they circulated humiliating photos of me from my circus days and brainstormed new, cruel “games” to play with me. Then, the day before the final college entrance exams, they executed their masterpiece. They printed out compromising photos of me, along with screenshots of all the degrading things I’d done to please them. They loaded them onto a drone and showered the entire school campus with them. And just like that, the girl who had clawed her way to the top of the school rankings for two years, the student the teachers were certain would get into an Ivy League school, never even made it to the exam. I ran through the hallways, dodging the strange looks and whispered insults, and confronted them. “Why?” I cried, tears streaming down my face. “Why would you do this to me? Wasn’t I good enough to you?” They just laughed. One of them casually plucked a flyer out of the air and threw it at my face. “Just look at yourself. You’re pathetic. How could you even think someone like you deserved friends?” “We feel sick just breathing the same air as you.” “This is your punishment for making Sera sad.” My thoughts snapped back to the present. Seraphina was already putting on her wounded expression. “Sister… do you not like my friends? I didn’t mean anything by it, I just saw you were all alone and I thought…” I stood up, cutting her off. “They’re your friends. You have fun with them. You don’t need to worry about me.” But this time, my coldness seemed to pique their interest. They spent the rest of the day trying to talk to me, offering me snacks, inviting me to eat with them, even ignoring Seraphina in the process. I looked down, a scornful smile playing on my lips. What a performance. I hadn’t planned on getting involved with them again in this life. But since they insisted on playing this game, well, I might as well give them a parting gift. Just like last time, the driver took Seraphina home after school without waiting for me. I knew exactly what she was planning. In my first life, she had intentionally drenched herself in the rain and gone home in tears. When my frantic parents and brother asked what was wrong, she had played the part of the reluctant victim, eventually confessing that she knew I resented her. She claimed that even though she knew I had paid some bullies to lock her in a bathroom and pour water on her, she didn’t blame me. When I heard her lies, my face flushed with rage. “She’s lying! I didn’t—” But my denial was met not with trust, but with a sharp, stinging slap across the face. They didn’t even bother to listen to my side of the story before passing judgment. That night, I was locked out of the house, forced to endure a torrential downpour. But this time, I had a feeling no one would be in the mood to appreciate Seraphina’s little act. Instead of taking the bus home, I had a quiet dinner, found a spot in the library to study, and waited. Sure enough, just before seven o’clock, my phone began to vibrate violently. I let it ring for a moment, then answered. On the other end, I heard my mother’s voice, choked with sobs. “Aurora, something’s happened. You need to come to the hospital. Now.”

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Of all the second-generation billionaires in my circle, I chose the only doctor for our arranged marriage. Only after we were married did I realize—he’s exactly like the doctor best friend in every romance novel who gets dragged out of bed at 3 AM to treat the female lead! After witnessing this happen multiple times, I decided to scrap my plan of trying to make this marriage work romantically. I mean, seriously. Who wants to compete with a billionaire’s love interest? But I never expected one thing: he can read my mind. For people like us, we always knew an arranged marriage was coming. It’s fine, really. We enjoy so many privileges; it’s only fair we pay a price. I was lucky enough to choose my own partner—from a pool of eligible heirs, of course. Honestly, it didn’t matter who it was. Everyone knows these marriages are just for show, a way to cement business deals between families. But since I had a choice, I wanted someone… normal. According to my intel: One guy is still obsessed with his ex who’s studying abroad. Hard pass. Another is playing some “cat and mouse” game with his kept woman. Pass. And a third just started sponsoring a D-list actress. Definitely pass. After picking through the lot, I landed on Caleb Vance. The few memories I had of him were of a refined, elegant man. His name sounds like a classic CEO, but he’s actually the only one in the group who isn’t. Caleb is a doctor. A genuine academic who got into the top medical school in the country on his own merit, completing his MD and PhD in one go. He fits the image perfectly: gentle, polite, always looking clean and sophisticated. Every time I see him, he’s wearing white or light-colored suits. With his doctor filter, he almost seems saintly. Our engagement went smoothly. Our parents hit it off immediately. I heard Caleb agreed without hesitation. So, in just a month, I went from single since birth to a married woman. From the day of the wedding, I moved into the house he bought for us. The beige interior suited him perfectly. That day, after giving me a tour, Caleb led me to the master bedroom. His voice was warm and gentle: “Even though this is an arranged marriage, I don’t want it to be just for show. I hope we can take things slow, get to know each other, and build a real relationship.” He pointed to the guest room across the hall. “I’ll sleep there. Don’t be nervous. I won’t force anything until we’re both ready.” I went into the master bedroom and closed the door. Honestly, he was better than I expected. I always assumed that even without scandals, his friends were all typical rich playboys with their “pets.” Birds of a feather, right? Even though he seemed different, I didn’t have high hopes. I just wanted a peaceful marriage. As long as no one caused trouble in front of me, I wouldn’t care what he did outside. Two months passed in a blink. One night, after a shower, I lay in bed staring at the scandalously skimpy nightgown beside me. My heart started racing. Look, Caleb might be a gentleman with no impure thoughts. But I am not! I’ve been single for over twenty years and barely held a man’s hand, but my mind is definitely rated R. With a legitimate, handsome husband right here, why should I live like a nun? Plus, over the last two months, he’s come home at 6 PM every day. We’ve had cozy dinners, gone shopping on weekends, and he’s even waited patiently while I got my nails and hair done. We’ve binged cheesy soap operas on the couch together. I have to admit, I’m kind of falling for him. One day, I was out shopping with friends and realized it was 5:30 PM. My first thought was, I need to go home. I paused, realizing I truly saw that house as my home. I felt a sense of belonging I hadn’t expected. Seeing the chaos in our circle—including my own parents’ dramatic affairs and illegitimate children popping up—I thought I had no hope for love or family. But the quiet consistency of our life was powerful. Thinking about Caleb’s character, I felt a surge of confidence. I wanted to gamble on this. Maybe trusting someone, trusting in love, could actually work out? Caleb’s parents are one of the few happily married couples in our circle. Surely, the son they raised is trustworthy… right? Even if it’s a trap, maybe it’s one everyone has to walk into eventually. I put on the black lace nightgown, tiptoed to Caleb’s door, struck a pose I learned online, and knocked lightly. The door opened. Caleb froze. He looked left and right, clearly searching for something to cover me with, but failed. Our eyes met. His gaze darkened. Finally, his voice raspy, he asked, “Chloe, are you sure?” With my nod, he swept me up and carried me to the bed. The room was dim, lit only by a warm bedside lamp. The weight of another person pressed down on me. His warmth on my face, shoulders, back, and waist… his hands, his kisses… everywhere he touched burned. I felt like I was melting. My brain turned to mush. I was pliable as water under him. Turning my head, I saw the pristine white sheets and had the inappropriate thought: If we make a mess, it’ll be really obvious. But I didn’t get to find out. Just as I had turned into a puddle and Caleb was about to take off his shirt, his phone rang. Caleb took a few deep breaths, exhaling hot air. He propped himself up on one arm and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. “Dr. Vance, Mr. Sterling drank too much and is in severe pain. Can you come over?” The anxious male voice on the other end sounded familiar. I think I’d heard him with one of the other CEOs. Caleb paused. When he spoke, his voice was incredibly hoarse. “I know. I’ll be there.” I snapped out of my haze. I grabbed his half-removed shirt. “Don’t go!” Caleb met my eyes. He lowered his head, gently biting my lip, and coaxed, “Be good. I need to check on him.” Watching him get dressed, anger flared in my chest. I stared at his back, cursing internally: Be good? I’ll go check? Ha! Who knows if you’re checking on a bro or a babe. He froze, stuttering in his movements, and turned to look at me with a complicated expression. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He shook his head and continued dressing. I kept up my internal monologue: Go ahead, go. Who can stop you, Mr. Saint? Ambulances are useless, hospitals are useless. You must have magic powers if only you can save him… I felt better after venting silently. But as he left, I saw him stumble. Must have been my imagination. After all, he’s famous for being unflappable. Before closing the door, he said, “Chloe, I’ll be back soon.” I don’t know when I fell asleep, but he hadn’t returned. When I woke up, he was sleeping beside me, back in his pajamas from last night. Seeing him just made me angrier. Seriously? You can just leave in the middle of that? Even when he reached over me for the phone, I could feel the heat radiating off him. I angrily chewed on my toast. Caleb walked out. Seeing my face, he chuckled softly. He hugged me from behind and whispered in my ear, “Sorry. Sterling is in a bad spot. He had gastric bleeding recently, so I was worried.” It happened. I didn’t want to dwell on it. But after he left for work, I watched a drama on TV. The plot involved a CEO chasing his runaway lover. The female lead got hurt, and the CEO called his doctor friend to treat her. It hit me like a bolt of lightning. The plots of all those romance novels I’d read flooded my brain. Wait. Isn’t Caleb exactly like that poor doctor friend who always gets called in the middle of the night? We have plenty of CEOs around us. Gastric bleeding? Check. Doctor friend? Check. Midnight call? Check. I imagined Caleb being summoned by this CEO today, that CEO tomorrow… a pitiful tool, running around like a tired puppy. I couldn’t help but laugh. That night, I didn’t make a move. But Caleb knocked on my door. His hair was styled, and he smelled of cologne. He looked at me with smiling eyes. “Can you take me in tonight?” I raised an eyebrow. “No one needs a checkup tonight?” He didn’t speak. He cupped my face and kissed me, gentle and teasing. With the previous night’s experience, things went smoother. Until he took off his shirt. We both froze, terrified the phone would ring. We looked at the phone, then at each other, and almost burst out laughing. He leaned in close, his voice thick with amusement, hot breath tickling my ear. “I’m not leaving tonight.” My face burned. Jeez, making it sound like I’m the desperate one. That night taught me a lesson: don’t judge a book by its cover. Caleb is a good person. Objectively speaking. Professionally, he’s dedicated to curing incurable diseases. Personally, he has a great temper, is filial to his parents, loyal to his friends, and takes excellent care of me. However, being too good has its downsides. It’s not the first time. Just as we’re about to celebrate an anniversary or go on a trip, a friend calls. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s always at the worst time. The assistants’ voices on the phone are always trembling and pitiful. Sometimes a CEO has gastric bleeding from drinking. Sometimes a CEO’s “forced love” antics have left someone physically collapsed. What can I do? They make it sound life-threatening. I can’t stop him. Though I’m speechless. Is calling an ambulance that hard? Does it have to be Caleb? I laughed thinking he was a tool in a novel. But this is reality. Not calling the police or going to a hospital? Even though he rushes back every time, the mood is ruined. Today is our first wedding anniversary. Last night, I specifically told Caleb I didn’t want any interruptions today. His lab has made progress recently, so he’s been busy. We went grocery shopping together, a rare treat. On my birthday, Caleb surprised me by cooking. It was amazing—restaurant quality, and all my favorite dishes. When we first confessed our feelings, we made a big deal out of every holiday. But for this anniversary, we just wanted to shop and cook a quiet dinner together. Watching Caleb busy in the kitchen, I felt dazed. A year ago, I never imagined my married life would be like this. Not explosive, but warm. I walked over and hugged his waist from behind, rubbing my face against his back. He chuckled and was about to speak. The phone rang. I pressed my lips together. I have PTSD from his ringtone now. I listened against his back. “Dr. Vance, please come quickly…” Rage flared. I snatched the phone. “Can you not call an ambulance? Can you not drive him to the hospital yourself?” The voice on the other end choked. I hung up, still fuming. “That was Sterling’s assistant, wasn’t it? I recognize his voice. You really believe that playboy is drinking himself to death over a woman?!” Caleb frowned. “I heard he really cares about someone recently…” “He’s cared about a busload of people over the years!” I gritted my teeth. “If you go, we’re done. Your bros are clearly more important, so go live with them.” He went anyway. Even though he coaxed me gently, “I’ll just take a look. I’ll be back before you finish one episode, okay?” I was disappointed. My heart sank. Compared to the tear-jerking, life-or-death love stories of others, our journey was too smooth, too plain. My only complaint was wishing these grown-ass CEOs would grow up. Stop with the “kidnapping” and “fatal illness” tropes that drag Caleb into their mess. But I realized something. Even if my “rivals” are these unexpected men, Caleb’s attitude matters. I’ve heard rumors. Some of these illnesses are fake. Tricks to win sympathy. Tricks to fool the board. They’re lies. I can tell some of them apart now. I don’t believe Caleb can’t. I’m not smart, and I hate trouble. My solution to difficult things is usually acceptance or avoidance.

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1 In the dead of night, my husband’s assistant sent him a sultry selfie, masking it as a work update. “Mr. Wheeler, I can’t sleep. Are you up? I hope the old lady next to you isn’t snoring too loud.” I took Marcus’s phone, screenshotted the photo and the chat, and blasted it to the entire company’s group server. The next morning, my husband woke up to the 999+ notifications lighting up his phone. He simply gave my ponytail a gentle tug. “Juliet, she’s just a kid. She doesn’t know any better. You, on the other hand, are a grown woman. You shouldn’t let your temper get the best of you.” He deleted his assistant’s contact information right in front of me, as if that erased the whole affair. Then came our wedding anniversary. He booked the entire top-floor restaurant and invited every employee from his company. He presented me with a breathtaking bouquet, its fragrance filling the air. “Happy anniversary, my love.” “I just need to step out and meet someone,” he said, his smile never wavering. “I’ll be right back. I have one more big surprise for you. Just wait here.” The moment he was gone, a stranger in a sharp business suit walked directly to my table and pulled a document from his briefcase. “Mrs. Wheeler, you’ve been served. This is a court order.” … “A court order?” I took the document. The text was stark against the white paper. Lily, his assistant, was suing me for defamation and demanding a public apology in front of the entire company. Just then, Lily herself appeared, her arms crossed smugly. “Juliet,” she sneered, “you tried to ruin my reputation in that group chat, made me the office laughingstock. Tonight, you’re going to apologize for it. Publicly.” The burly men standing behind her took a menacing step forward, their eyes locking onto me like predators. The room erupted. “So it was the boss’s wife who sent that picture! I thought he’d just fat-fingered it.” “This is better than a movie. The wife versus the mistress, and it looks like the mistress is winning.” “I knew Lily wouldn’t just let it go. She was just waiting for the right moment.” “Look at Mrs. Wheeler. She’s frozen in fear. She’s probably going to have to get on her knees and beg.” I slowly lowered the document, my gaze calmly sweeping over Lily’s triumphant face. And then, Marcus returned. He snatched the “court order” from my hands. “Lily, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice feigning surprise. Lily’s expression instantly crumpled into one of heartbreaking vulnerability. She threw herself into Marcus’s arms. “Marcus, I didn’t want to do this, but your wife left me no choice! She’s destroyed my name at the company! How am I supposed to face anyone?” Dressed in an innocent white dress, tears streamed down her face. “Juliet, I’m so sorry, but we had no other option.” “I know you don’t like me,” she sobbed, “but you can’t just ruin my reputation—and Marcus’s—out of jealousy.” She took a small step back, and Marcus wrapped a protective arm around her, gently patting her back. But the look in his eyes wasn’t one of concern; it was pure, unadulterated adoration. He turned to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Juliet, look at this mess you’ve made.” “Lily is young. She made a silly joke. Did you have to take it so seriously? Now you’ve dragged the company’s name through the mud.” “Just apologize to Lily and we can put this all behind us.” Every eye in the room was on me, waiting for my humiliation, waiting for me to grovel. With the entire party watching, I started to laugh. 2 “Sue me?” I rose from my chair, my eyes fixed on Marcus. “On what grounds, Marcus? Tell me.” He said nothing, just stared at me with cold detachment, as if I were a lunatic having a tantrum. But Lily, ever the actress, snatched a dinner fork from the table and pressed the tines against her own throat, her voice breaking with manufactured hysteria. “Juliet, I have severe depression! I just wanted you to admit you were wrong… You’ve been stalking me, sending threatening texts, spreading vicious rumors about me and Marcus… I can’t take it anymore! If you don’t apologize to me right now, I’ll…” She made a show of pressing the fork harder into her skin. “Lily, stop!” Marcus lunged forward, wrestling the fork from her hand. He spun around and roared at me. “Have you lost your mind, Juliet?” “I told you she was just a kid! Why do you have to make everything into a war? You just had to escalate things, didn’t you? Are you happy now?” “I’m giving you one last chance. Do what Lily asked.” “Or we’re going straight from here to a lawyer’s office, and I will make damn sure you walk away with nothing. Let’s see how a pampered housewife of five years survives on the street!” Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger, designed to hit where it hurt most. He was so certain of his power over me, so sure that I was too dependent on him, that I would swallow any humiliation to preserve the illusion of our perfect marriage. But he had no idea. He had no idea that the only reason he’d gone from a broke startup founder to the CEO of a publicly-traded company in three short years was because of my family’s resources. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. “It’s over. Mr. Wheeler is really choosing the new girl.” “What a fool. If you can’t win, you should just endure it. Now she’s going to be thrown out with nothing.” “Look, I think she’s about to cry.” I slowly lifted my head, looking at the two utterly clueless people before me, their faces glowing with the smug satisfaction of having won. Marcus’s eyes were still burning with his threat. “What are you waiting for? Cat got your tongue? Say it!” I looked at him, and finally, I spoke. “Alright.” The smile on my face deepened. I stood up, my gaze sweeping across every single person in the room before I spoke again, my voice clear and steady. “I apologize.” Satisfaction bloomed on both Lily’s and Marcus’s faces. I paused for effect, then continued, enunciating every single word. “I’m sorry that I discovered your affair, which has been going on for three years.” “I’m sorry that I found out you, Marcus, have been using the money I brought into this marriage to buy your little mistress here apartments, cars, and luxury goods.” “But most of all, I am so, so sorry for speaking up and interrupting your precious, true love.” 3 “Juliet, what the hell are you talking about!” Marcus strode toward me, his hand raised. A sharp crack echoed through the suddenly silent hall as his palm connected with my cheek. My ears rang, and the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. For a split second, I was no longer in the restaurant. I was a girl again, stepping into the fighting pits for the first time. A Pierce must always know how to handle themselves, my father’s voice echoed in my memory. I’d been trained by the best since I was a child, mastering blades, firearms, every form of combat. I didn’t flinch. I wanted to remember the sting of this slap. “Are you insane?” Marcus screamed, his finger jabbing at my face. “Spouting this nonsense in front of everyone! You may have no shame, but I do!” I touched my burning cheek, my eyes fixed on the man I had loved for so long. I had grown tired of the violence and shadows of my family’s world, which is why I’d hidden my identity to build a normal, quiet life with him. When he wanted to start his own business three years ago, I pulled every string I had to support him from behind the scenes. The physical pain was nothing. But the ache in my chest was a suffocating tide. Seeing her chance, Lily rushed to Marcus’s side, clinging to his arm. “Marcus, please don’t be angry. Don’t fight with Juliet because of me.” She pleaded softly, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. Then, she turned to the audience. “Everyone, I know this is hard to believe, but the person who has been cheating… is Juliet!” As if on cue, the massive screen behind the main table flickered to life. A slideshow of photos began to play. There I was, having dinner with another man. Then at an art gallery. There was even one, shot from a sly angle outside a hotel, where I was intimately helping him adjust his tie… The lighting was dim, the framing deceptive, each picture carefully crafted to scream infidelity. “Here’s all the proof you need!” Lily’s voice trembled with fake indignation. “She was the one who betrayed our marriage, and then she tried to blame me and Marcus!” “And it’s not just cheating! She’s been abusing him! Look!” The screen switched to photos of Marcus with “injuries.” Red marks on his wrist. Scratches on his neck. Lily cried, “Marcus kept quiet to protect the family, to save her from embarrassment! He endured it all in silence! But she only got worse! I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen any longer!” In an instant, the crowd’s sympathy for me curdled into contempt and disgust. “I can’t believe it. She looks so poised and gentle, but she’s actually that kind of person.” “Poor Mr. Wheeler. She’s a viper, cheating on him and then trying to frame him.” “She has that expensive look, but her actions are just trashy.” “Wait… that man in the photos. He looks familiar… I just can’t place him.” The room buzzed with judgment. I stood alone, an island in a sea of scorn, painted as the most vile, shameless woman alive. Lily sidled up to me, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “The bouquet smelled lovely, didn’t it, Juliet?” “I did give you a chance.” Just as a surge of fury rose within me, a wave of dizziness washed over me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed into my chair. 4 “You vicious woman! A simple apology won’t be enough!” Before I could even process what was happening, a gaudily dressed middle-aged woman burst from the crowd, shoving guests aside as she stormed toward me. She pointed a finger in my face, spittle flying from her lips. “You shameless harlot! You can’t keep your own husband satisfied, so you slander my daughter!” It was Lily’s mother, Brenda. “Mom, don’t!” Lily cried, pulling at her arm while shooting me a tearful look. “Juliet didn’t mean it…” “You be quiet! It’s because you’re too kind that this witch takes advantage of you!” Brenda shoved her daughter away, her eyes raking over me with pure malice. Suddenly, her gaze fell upon the long, white-clothed table in front of me. It was laden with fine china, crystal glasses, and a magnificent five-tiered cake inscribed with “Juliet & Marcus, Happy 5th Anniversary.” With a guttural scream, Brenda seized a corner of the tablecloth and yanked with all her might. CRASH! Everything on the table—the cake, the champagne tower, the silverware—went flying. Expensive crystal shattered, and a sticky mess of wine and frosting covered the floor. The plaque celebrating our five years of marriage lay in pieces. The entire hall was a scene of chaos. Everyone was stunned into silence. Brenda, however, was just getting started. She grabbed me, her voice a shrill command. “Get on your knees!” “Kneel in this mess and beg my daughter for forgiveness!” “Mom, please, stop! She’ll get hurt…” Lily protested, but as she spoke, she subtly kicked a razor-sharp shard of broken glass directly in front of my knees. The shard’s edge glinted coldly under the ballroom lights. Finally, a few guests started to murmur. “My God, this is too much.” “Kneel on broken glass? They’re trying to cripple her!” “Well, she’s the one who blew up the company group chat over nothing. You could say she brought this on herself.” “Mr. Wheeler, isn’t this… going a bit too far?” “Seriously, if she kneels on that, her legs will be shredded.” Marcus had watched the entire spectacle with cold indifference. Only when Brenda looked ready to physically force me onto the glass did he leisurely stroll over and wave a dismissive hand. “That’s enough, Brenda.” Everyone assumed he was about to defuse the situation. “Kneeling won’t be necessary,” he said, his tone one of magnanimous mercy. Then, he scanned the room, a smirk playing on his lips. “However, we can’t let this evening’s entertainment go unpunished. A little lesson is in order.” “Let’s play a little game,” he announced. “We’ll hold an auction. Bidding starts at one dollar. The highest bidder… gets the privilege of disciplining my unruly wife on my behalf.” He paused, his eyes locking with mine, and added, each word a drop of poison: “Hit her wherever you like.” The entire room stared at Marcus as if he were a madman. That shock quickly morphed into a low, excited murmur. “Two dollars!” A greasy man with a beer belly was the first to raise his hand, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “Fifty!” another man shouted, his gaze crawling greedily over my body. “Eight hundred!” … I was the main attraction at a grotesque carnival, a piece of merchandise to be sold to the highest bidder. My husband of five years was personally grinding my dignity into the dirt for public amusement. The greasy man who started it all won the bid for a thousand dollars. He rubbed his hands together, waddling toward me with a lecherous grin. “Mrs. Wheeler, no hard feelings. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to slap a high-class woman like you…” His sweaty, fleshy hand rose high, preparing to strike. My body was weak, my heart a dead, cold stone.

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1 When my parents pressed us about starting a family, I’d shoulder all the blame, never once revealing her decision to remain child-free. Stumbling upon her kissing her childhood friend goodbye as I took out the trash, I’d pretend not to see a thing, turning back upstairs without a word. Finding her childhood friend’s underwear beneath the pillow, I’d simply wash it, dry it, and fold it neatly. My friends called me a glutton for punishment, a willing cuckold. Even her closest friends whispered that my love for her was incurable, a hopeless devotion. Another evening, returning home to the chaotic scene in our master bedroom, I’d considerately close the door for her. Then I’d put on my headphones and start dinner. As I turned, she was suddenly there, standing in the doorway, her stunning face clouded with an unfamiliar storm. “Alan,” she’d snap, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the kitchen, “Where’s your pride, Alan? The man you used to be?” I feigned deafness, turning back to the sizzling pan. But a bitter pang twisted in my gut. Pride? I was simply trying to avoid repeating the tragedy of my last life. The last dish, one of Isabelle’s favorites, was just placed on the table when Brendan, her childhood friend, fastened the final button on his shirt, admiring himself in the hall mirror. He turned, a smirk playing on his lips, a mixture of smug satisfaction and overt challenge in his eyes. “Alan,” he drawled, a glint in his eye, “I really like that jacket. Why don’t you just give it to me?” My gaze instinctively flickered to Isabelle, seated at the table. She’d been glowering for the past half-hour. She was the one who’d proposed this ‘open arrangement’ a year ago, yet here she was, the picture of discontent. Sure enough, the moment I agreed to hand over the jacket she’d once given me to Brendan, her expression darkened further, a storm gathering on her brow. With a sudden, violent kick, she sent the table leg flying, sending soup splattering across the pristine floor. “Get out!” she spat, her voice laced with venom. Brendan’s smirk faltered, his face shifting almost imperceptibly as he shrugged off the jacket. Brushing past me as I bent to mop the mess, he whispered a low, mocking taunt. “Alan, what kind of man lets himself be treated like this? You’re no better than a doormat. I truly don’t know why Isabelle ever married a pathetic worm like you!” In my past life, that very question had haunted me. Isabelle, the heiress to the powerful Montgomery family, had been pampered and adored from birth, accustomed to wielding immense influence. In stark contrast, my own family, the Harrisons, was of modest means, a quiet household with no grand lineage. Until my dying breath in that previous existence, I’d tormented myself with the same agonizing questions: Did Isabelle truly love me? Why did she marry me? If she did, then why… why had she treated me with such cruelty? Having faced a brutal death once, I no longer wrestled with those thoughts. I simply didn’t care anymore. She could do whatever she pleased, as long as it meant avoiding the tragedy of my past. The moment Brendan stepped out the door, Isabelle swept her arm across the dining table, sending all the meticulously prepared dishes crashing to the floor. A soup bowl shattered at my feet, the scalding liquid splashing onto my calf. A searing pain shot through me, spreading from my skin to somewhere deep within my chest, forcing a sharp gasp from my lips. Yet, even then, no anger flared within me. I simply limped over to grab the broom, beginning to sweep up the shards and spilled food. Behind me, Isabelle’s voice ripped through the silence. “Alan,” she shrieked, “Look at yourself! Do you even see how pathetic you are right now? What happened to your pride? I know I’ve wronged you, but you don’t have to deliberately sicken me like this!” I paused, then slowly turned, my gaze utterly vacant, a void where emotion once resided. “Isn’t this precisely what you wanted?” I asked, my voice flat. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she took a ragged breath. “Alan, you’re truly something else!” she spat, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Fine, then! If you’re so brave, just hide away like a coward forever!” With that, she snatched her jacket and stormed out, the front door slamming shut with a deafening bang that echoed through the empty house. My first instinct was to follow her. But then I stopped myself. There was no point. Every time we argued, Isabelle would seek solace in Brendan. In my past life, I’d witnessed her countless times, her head buried in Brendan’s embrace. It had left me red-eyed, hysterical, lashing out in a desperate rage, only to be met with a searing slap across my face, delivered with all her strength. “Brendan and I grew up together, Alan. You have no right to lay a hand on him!” I sank to my knees, beginning to pick up the scattered glass shards. My phone rang, a furious roar erupting the moment I answered. “Alan, when in God’s name are you going to divorce Isabelle? Brendan just publicly announced their relationship on social media, for crying out loud!” I tapped open the social media app. The very first post was a jarring image of intertwined hands. On the woman’s ring finger, a wedding band glittered, catching the light and piercing my eyes like tiny daggers. I stared at it for two silent seconds, then closed the photo, returning to my mindless task of cleaning. Divorce? Impossible. Unless Isabelle initiated it herself, I would never divorce her. In my past life, I’d already endured the bitter aftermath of our divorce, and I wouldn’t go through it again. 2 Isabelle didn’t return that night, and I slept surprisingly well. I rose promptly, prepared a comforting broth, and headed to the hospital to visit Mother. At the hospital, Mother set her soup bowl down, her gaze drifting towards the door for the third time. “Alan, dear,” she began, “Have you spoken to Isabelle about having children yet? It’s not that I’m nagging, but Isabelle will be thirty soon. The older she gets, the more difficult it will be to conceive…” I was peeling an apple. At her words, the knife slipped, nicking my finger. A droplet of blood welled up, the sharp sting bringing me back to reality, yet I replied, my voice perfectly steady, without a trace of a blush. “Mother, I’m not in a hurry.” “Is it you who’s not in a hurry, Alan, or is it Isabelle who doesn’t want children?” A mother knows her son best. Mother began to cough, agitated, and the entire hospital bed rattled violently beneath her. “Alan, tell me the truth!” she gasped, her voice strained. “Are those pictures online real? What exactly is happening between you and Isabelle?” I frantically pressed the emergency call button, gently rubbing her back to help her breathe. Just before she lost consciousness, Mother clutched my arm, her voice a desperate, rasping whisper. “Alan, if our family line ends with you, how will I ever face your father in the afterlife?” The doctors arrived promptly. After a quick examination, they assured me it was merely a brief fainting spell brought on by extreme emotional distress. The doctor patted my shoulder. “Your mother’s condition is improving daily. Don’t worry.” I forced a brittle smile, but the moment I reached an secluded corridor, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I slammed my fist into the wall, a torrent of long-held tears finally breaking free, falling so heavily they felt as though they could melt the very ground beneath me. Mother’s convulsions on the bed had mirrored, with terrifying accuracy, the scene of her passing in my previous life. In that past existence, after I’d discovered Isabelle’s undeniable intimacy with Brendan, I had insisted on a divorce. Under Isabelle’s relentless pressure, I was forced to leave with nothing but the clothes on my back. For Mother’s sake, I had hidden the truth from her. I took on eight part-time jobs, grueling shifts every day, just to scrape together enough for her medical bills. When hunger gnawed at me, I’d eat stale bread soaked in water. When thirst became unbearable, I’d drink tap water from public restrooms. In a mere month, I’d lost twenty pounds, my body a shadow of its former self. Several times, dizzy from low blood sugar, I’d almost caused a traffic accident while on a delivery. Just when I’d finally saved a million dollars, Mother suffered a sudden heart attack and was rushed into the emergency room. It turned out that Mother, not having seen Isabelle in quite some time, had called to check on her. But it was Brendan who answered the phone. He didn’t just reveal the truth about our divorce; he also sent Mother photos of me, looking utterly subservient, working multiple humble jobs to pay her medical bills. And worse, undeniable proof of his affair with Isabelle. Watching the monitor replay Mother spitting blood and convulsing on the spot, a pain sharper than any knife twisted in my gut. Though the doctors managed to snatch Mother from the jaws of death, they delivered another crushing blow. I needed to gather another one and a half million dollars for her surgery within three days. Otherwise, Mother’s fate would be unthinkable. I called every friend, former boss, and distant relative I knew, pleading for help. Some stammered, making excuses. “I’m sorry, Alan,” one friend said hesitantly, “Isabelle made it clear that anyone who helps you will be going against the entire Montgomery family.” Others simply cursed me out on the spot. “No money, and even if I did, I wouldn’t lend it to you! Don’t you dare call me again! If you drag me into your mess, I’ll never forgive you!” On the third day, utterly desperate, I swallowed my pride and went to Isabelle. The defiant air I’d carried the day of our divorce was long gone, replaced by knees that buckled and a voice that was nothing more than a hoarse, desperate plea. Isabelle looked down at me, a flicker of cold satisfaction in her eyes. “I can save your mother, Alan, but on one condition.” “Marry me again.” My heart, already a barren wasteland, agreed to her terms in that instant. Isabelle immediately mobilized the nation’s top medical team, crafting a meticulous treatment plan for Mother. She even flew in the world’s most renowned specialist to perform Mother’s surgery. Just as I dared to believe everything was finally in place, that Mother would at last live a long and healthy life… On the day of the surgery, the specialist vanished without a trace. Mother lay anesthetized on the operating table, her life hanging by a fragile thread. I dialed Isabelle’s number ninety-nine times, each call going unanswered. On the hundredth try, she finally picked up. I crumpled to the floor, sobbing so hard I felt like I would vomit. “Isabelle, where have you taken the doctor? My mother is dying, she won’t survive without this surgery! Please, Isabelle, she’ll die! I beg you, save her! She’s the only family I have left!” After a long, agonizing silence, Brendan’s voice drifted through the phone. “Isabelle, who are you talking to?” My heart plummeted to the depths of despair. All my desperate pleas, reduced to a cruel joke. Isabelle hung up immediately. Just then, the hospital finally managed to secure a surgeon from another facility, rushing them in to take over. Tragically, it was a step too late. In her final moments, Mother clutched my hand tightly, spitting blood, her body wracked with violent tremors. “Alan… don’t cry… Mother will always watch over you from heaven… My Alan… you must… find happiness…” Clutching Mother’s urn, I wandered through the biting winter streets like a ghost, aimless and hollow. As I rode a taxi towards the cemetery, my phone buzzed with a trending news alert. #Brendan’s Car Accident: Isabelle Sheds Tears of Concern# The string of words pierced my vision like sharp needles. I clicked the link, my gaze locking onto the image of the specialist, the very same specialist, bandaging Brendan’s arm. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the urn cradled in my arms. A mere scrape on Brendan’s arm! And for that, Isabelle had whisked away the expert, personally sealing Mother’s fate! Standing in the bitter snow, I threw my head back and let out a guttural laugh, tears streaming down my pale, frozen face. Given a second chance, I wouldn’t dare to gamble anymore. I couldn’t. In this life, all I wanted was for Mother to be safe and well. Everything else was irrelevant. I slowly pushed myself up, wiping the lingering tears from my eyes. Returning to the hospital room, Mother was awake. I gripped her hand tightly, my face a mask of calm. “Mother,” I said, my voice steady, “it truly is my decision not to have children. It has nothing to do with Isabelle. Those online photos are baseless rumors, Mother. Please don’t believe them. Isabelle and I… we’re perfectly fine.” After soothing Mother’s worries, I arrived home around eight that evening. Isabelle, uncharacteristically, was home before me. She reeked of alcohol, sprawled on the sofa, muttering incoherently to herself. Out of habit, I went into the kitchen to prepare her a hangover remedy. As I cooled the soup to feed her, she suddenly cupped my face in her hands. Her blurry, drunken state brought back a painful memory from my past life: the time she’d whispered Brendan’s name while in my arms. I, who never suffered from insomnia, spent that night wide awake, finally driven to check her phone for the very first time. The intimate photos and messages I found felt like countless sharp knives tearing at my heart, leaving it raw and bleeding. “Alan…” The unexpected use of my name startled me. The next moment, she had me pinned against the sofa. Her drunken eyes gleamed with an unnerving intensity, as if they could pierce through every thought in my mind. “Alan.” She spoke again, her voice laced with a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor of hurt. “Do you… do you still love me, Alan? I don’t know… I feel like you don’t care about me as much as you used to…” Before I could formulate an answer, Isabelle burrowed her face against my ear, her voice a mere whisper, yet strangely resolute. “No, you can’t not love me, Alan. You just care too much, that’s why you’ve become like this.” My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a bitter, chaotic swirl. Only one truth remained starkly clear. The Alan who had loved Isabelle was long dead. 3 The next morning, Isabelle seemed to have completely forgotten her drunken words. She retreated to the attic and stayed there for a long time. I had just set breakfast on the table when she stormed down the stairs, her movements frantic. The moment she opened her mouth, her voice was ablaze with fury. “Alan, where are my father’s paintings?!” I paused, feigning ignorance. “What paintings?” I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant. At my reply, her face, contorted with rage, practically lunged at me. “The art, Alan! The collection your father left in the attic! Who else but you would touch that garbage?” Those last two words, ‘that garbage,’ struck my already fractured heart with crushing force. A flicker of bitter irony crossed my gaze. To her, those invaluable pieces of art were indeed just garbage. But in Brendan’s eyes, that ‘garbage’ was a golden ticket, enough to launch his career and make a name for himself in the art world. In my previous life, barely had Mother been laid to rest when Brendan used my father’s collection to host his own exhibition. His reputation soared, and he was hailed as a genius art master overnight. I recognized those very artworks in a livestream, pieces that had comforted me day and night, urging me to carry on. Fueled by a raw, searing fury, I hailed a taxi to the exhibition, causing an absolute scene. When reporters asked Isabelle if the artworks were indeed Brendan’s creations, she nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “I watched Brendan create them with my own eyes,” she’d declared. “As for my ex-husband…” She glanced at me, a fleeting moment of hesitation in her gaze. But then it hardened, becoming utterly merciless. “He’s merely bitter after our divorce, seeking malicious revenge and trying to destroy my closest friend.” Overnight, I became a trending topic, vilified across every platform. Every day, strangers would throw foul liquids, symbols of bad luck and disgrace, at the door of my rental apartment. Some even sought out my parents’ graves, desecrating their tombstones with kicks, curses, and spit. In that abyss of despair, I lost all will to live. I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. But Isabelle had me rushed to the hospital, where they brought me back from the brink. She sat there, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching my hand in a death grip. “Alan, let’s stop fighting. Never again.” I nodded weakly. But the moment she left the hospital to buy my favorite peach pastries, I climbed to the rooftop and leapt. I landed squarely in front of her. This time, I vowed not only to protect Mother but also to safeguard my father’s precious legacy. I spoke, my face utterly devoid of emotion. “Those paintings? I already threw them out.” Isabelle’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you insane?! Who told you to throw them away? Go get them back, right now! Brendan needs them urgently!” But no matter how frantic she became, I simply maintained an expression that conveyed utter helplessness, as if they were gone forever. Watching her storm out, I let out a long, slow breath. The heavy stone that had been weighing on my heart finally crashed to the ground. As usual, I prepared dinner and headed to the hospital to visit Mother. On my way, a livestream with over a hundred million views blared onto my phone screen, instantly grabbing my attention. #Brendan: The Calligraphy Prodigy# The headline struck me like a physical blow, leaving me gasping. With trembling fingers, I tapped into the livestream. Seeing my father’s precious artworks hanging prominently in the exhibition hall, bearing Brendan’s name, was like plummeting into a frozen abyss. I was instantly transported back to that long, snowy night in my previous life when Mother had died. I frantically dialed Isabelle’s number, while simultaneously rushing to the hospital, a growing dread clawing at my throat. Pushing open the door, I saw Mother peacefully knitting a tiny hat on her hospital bed—a hat for a child that would never exist. Seeing my breathless, panicked face, Mother’s expression subtly shifted. “What’s wrong, Alan? Has something happened?” I forced down the rising tide of fear and unease within me, managing only a grimace that was meant to be a smile, and shook my head. I took Mother’s phone and quickly blocked and uninstalled every app or channel that could possibly expose her to my father’s stolen art. Only then did I feel a sliver of relief, pushing Mother’s wheelchair out for a gentle stroll in the hospital garden. Midway through our stroll, I received a phone call. When I returned, Mother was gone. At that exact moment, a nurse’s frantic shriek echoed through the hospital lobby. “Doctor! Help! A patient has collapsed, spitting blood!” I pushed through the throng of people, and the identical, horrifying scene from my past life slammed into my vision. Mother lay on the floor, her limbs convulsing, blood flecking her lips. And above her, blaring from a large screen in the lobby, was Brendan’s live exhibition broadcast. “Mother—” Outside the operating room, I knelt on the cold floor, my bloodied hands clasped together in desperate prayer, begging for her life to be spared. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor emerged, shaking his head slowly. “I’m so sorry, but… there was nothing more we could do.” The world spun around me, then dissolved into darkness. I collapsed to the floor, my face ashen and lifeless. As I walked out of the hospital gates, clutching Mother’s urn, Brendan’s exhibition was reaching its triumphant conclusion. Isabelle stood beside him, a picture of perfect harmony, a match made in hell, perhaps. I felt no hatred, no anger. Only the crushing numbness of a heart utterly deadened by grief. It seemed even with a second chance, I was powerless to protect the ones I held most dear. Now, I had nothing left to lose. Isabelle, goodbye. No, not just goodbye. Never again. Mother’s dying wish for me to find happiness echoed relentlessly in my ears. I lowered my head and drafted a timed message, a divorce notification set to send automatically. “Congratulations, Isabelle. You’re finally free of me, forever.” Then, with nothing but a small suitcase, I walked out into the encroaching night, vanishing without a trace.

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The year my mother remarried, she took me, just ten years old, to the Vital Records Office. “Your new dad already has a son and a daughter. It wasn’t easy for me to find someone, so I didn’t tell him I have a daughter too.” I looked up, confused and innocent. “Mom, then what about me?” The new household register was issued. My mother gestured for me to open it. My grandparents had become my legal “mother and father” in the relationship column, while my mother had become my legal sister. “You should call Grandma ‘Mom’ now,” she said, pocketing the document. “Take the bus back to Grandma’s house yourself. I have to go pick up my daughter from school.” I clutched the register and lowered my head. I knew the daughter she spoke of wasn’t me anymore. From that day on, I never saw my mother again. In my junior year of college, my grandparents passed away. My mother, who had vanished for 11 years, suddenly appeared at my grandparents’ house, a real estate agent standing beside her. “I’m the only daughter. What belonged to the old folks is mine. I have the right to sell this house.” I stepped forward, pulling out the household register. “Sister, you’re not an only child. You have a little sister, remember?” 1 The real estate agent took the register, glanced at it, and immediately exploded at my mother. “What are you playing at?! You said you were an only child, and now a sister pops up? You wasted half my day! If this deal falls through, it’s on you!” “I already found a buyer! They’re driving over right now! How am I supposed to explain this?!” Still furious, the agent glared at me before turning away to call the buyer, his voice dripping with apologetic fawning. My mother turned, glaring at me. “Ava, what is the meaning of this?!” I shrugged, holding up the register. “It means this house is mine.” “For the past two years, while Grandma and Grandpa were bedridden, I was the one cleaning them, feeding them meds, wiping their bodies. Where were you? Where were you then?” My mother rushed to defend herself. “I was busy!” “I have a new family to take care of, step-siblings to manage. Where would I find the time? Besides, this house should be mine. I’m their biological daughter!” “Biological daughter?” I laughed. “You disappeared for 11 years.” “You haven’t stepped foot in this house for 11 years. You never cooked a meal or poured a glass of water for them.” “Now that they’re gone, you show up with an agent to sell the house? And you call yourself a daughter?” My mother’s face went from red to white, then white to green. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. Indeed, it wasn’t something to be proud of. “Ava, how can you fight me for a house? We’re only sisters on paper, but you’re my real daughter, the flesh and blood I carried for ten months!” Real daughter… I remembered the first Lunar New Year after she remarried when I was ten. I took a scarf I knitted myself to her new home. The whole way, I anticipated her reaction. Would she apologize? Would she wish me a Happy New Year? But when she saw the scarf, she tossed it aside carelessly, turning to hug a girl slightly taller than me, adjusting her wool scarf. The girl looked at me curiously. “Mommy, who is she?” My mother said, “Just a distant poor relative. We’re not close.” I stood shivering in the cold wind, wanting to call out “Mom,” but was forced back by the icy glare she shot over her shoulder. That day, I stood downstairs at her new place for a full hour, my heart frozen solid. After returning from her house, I caught a chill and ran a fever of 104 degrees, deliriously calling for Mom. Grandma, heartbroken, called my mother. I clearly heard her say one sentence. “I have to watch cartoons with my daughter. I don’t have time to take care of outsiders.” Then, she hung up. So, in her heart, I was just an outsider. From then on, my mother was no longer “Mom” in my heart. Over countless days and nights, I told myself: Ava, you don’t have a mother anymore. Thinking of this, I looked up. “I am not your daughter.” “From the day you made me your sister on paper, from the day you made me take the bus alone while you picked up someone else’s daughter, I haven’t had a mother.” My mother was speechless. Just as she was about to speak, footsteps and laughter came from the stairwell. Her stepdaughter, stepson, and new husband appeared. The girl threw herself at my mother the moment she entered. “Mom! We’re here! Where’s the agent? How’s the house sale going?” “You promised to use the money for my dowry! Don’t play favorites and give it to my brother!” The boy laughed. “Don’t worry, Sis, I’ll take care of you. I won’t fight you for the dowry.” “But Mom, after selling the house, shouldn’t you pitch in for my new car?” The man walked up to my mother, glancing at me. “You must be Jane’s little sister?” “Oh, we came in a rush, didn’t bring a gift for the sister-in-law.” I didn’t even look at them. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “Sister, Brother-in-law.” “This house is mine. All of Mom and Dad’s inheritance belongs to me. You have no right to touch it.” The room went silent. The girl’s smile froze. The boy’s face darkened. The man frowned at my mother. My mother, humiliated by everyone’s gaze, glared at me, speaking with hidden menace. “Ava! Don’t go too far!” She was threatening me, but didn’t dare reveal our twisted “sister” relationship. “This house belonged to my parents. How could it be yours?” I held up the register. “Why not? Just because I’m the younger ‘sister’ doesn’t mean I don’t get a share, right?” “Before ‘Mom and Dad’ passed, I was the one taking care of them. You didn’t lift a finger or contribute a cent.” “Legally or morally, this house is none of your business.” The girl got anxious. After all, my mother had promised her the money for her dowry. She yelled at me. “This house belongs to my mom! My mom is Grandpa and Grandma’s daughter, so it’s hers! Who do you think you are to fight her for it?” I stared at her. “I am also ‘Mom and Dad’s’ daughter. I am your mother’s sister on paper.” “If we’re talking qualifications, you don’t even have the right to stand here and speak.” My mother quickly shielded the girl, as if I would eat her alive. “Don’t you dare yell at my daughter!” As if truly angered by my “rebellion,” she pointed at the door: “Get out! This is my parents’ house! It’s not your place to act wild!” “Get out?” I shook my head. “This is the home I’ve lived in for over ten years. It’s where I cared for ‘Mom and Dad’ until they died.” “The ones who need to get out are you.” The man narrowed his eyes at me for a few seconds, then tugged at my mother’s arm. “Let’s go. We’ll talk later.” My mother was still fuming and refused to leave. “Why leave? It’s my house!” The man’s voice was low. “Making a scene here won’t work.” He glanced around, clearly afraid the neighbors would hear and gossip. My mother froze, then glared at me viciously before turning to follow the man. The boy and girl followed reluctantly. As the girl passed me, she deliberately bumped into my shoulder. “Psycho. Cheapskate.” I ignored her. Just as they reached the stairs, the man stopped and turned to me. “Little sister-in-law, don’t get too cocky. The house isn’t necessarily yours.” “At most, you get a majority share. Your sister is the biological daughter. Blood is blood; inheritance rights can’t be erased.” He smiled confidently. “We have plenty of time to drag this out. But you, a little girl still in college, can you afford it?” With that, they left without waiting for a response. His meaning was clear. So as soon as he left, I started organizing evidence of my care for my grandparents. I dug out their medical records, filled with my signature. I found receipts for medicine and hospital bills from over the years. Stacks of them piled up on the desk, filling two file folders. I also contacted the caregiver who helped before and the neighbors; they were willing to testify for me. It was enough to prove that for the past three years, I was the one meticulously caring for the elderly couple, while my mother never showed her face. I organized the evidence, made copies, and consulted the legal aid center at school to understand the relevant laws. Days passed. I attended classes while waiting for their next move. Sure enough, a week later, I received a court summons. My mother sued me. She demanded the court confirm her inheritance rights to the property and divide the other assets. On the day of the hearing, the courtroom was quiet. I sat down, and soon saw my mother and her entourage walk in. The trial began. The judge verified identities, then asked the plaintiff to state their claim. My mother’s lawyer stood up, stating that my mother was the biological daughter and legally entitled to inheritance, and I shouldn’t monopolize the estate. When it was my turn, I stood up. “Your Honor, I disagree with the plaintiff’s claim.” “First, I legally enjoy equal inheritance rights with the plaintiff. Second, the plaintiff never fulfilled any support obligations during the illness of the two elders.” The judge flipped through the thick stack of evidence I prepared, nodding repeatedly. My mother, however, came prepared. She suddenly stood up, pointing at me and shouting. “Ava! What right do you have to claim equal inheritance? You aren’t even my parents’ biological daughter!” Her words silenced the courtroom. Everyone’s eyes focused on us. My mother pulled a document from her bag and held it high. “Your Honor, I have a DNA test report here. It proves that Ava and I are biologically mother and daughter!” “She isn’t my parents’ daughter; she’s my daughter! She has no right to inherit my parents’ estate!” The courtroom erupted. “Wow, that mother is ruthless. Remarried and didn’t even want her daughter?” “Why didn’t she take her when she remarried? Maybe the kid was bad from the start.” “Yeah, look at her now. Pretending to be confused just for money. Shameless.” Murmurs rose from the gallery. The judge frowned, accepting the DNA report. I was stunned. I had prepared so much evidence, but I never expected my mother to expose this publicly. I turned to look behind her. Her new family showed no surprise. Instead, they wore smug expressions, as if they expected this. In that moment, I understood everything. Why my mother dared to admit I was her daughter in public, why her husband and stepchildren weren’t angry. It wasn’t motherly love. It was because I was a junior in college, about to graduate. They could skip all the child-rearing costs and pick up a daughter ready to contribute to the family. Of course they agreed. It was all benefit, no cost. They could claim the inheritance and bind me to the moral high ground of filial piety. I suppressed the urge to scream. The twisted “sister” relationship with my mother was the deepest scar of my life. And now, she tore it open in public, bloody and raw. She didn’t care about my pain, only how much blood she could suck. My mother looked at my shocked face triumphantly. “Ava, what do you have to say now? You are my daughter. I gave birth to you.” “Now that my parents are gone, this house naturally belongs to me, the only daughter. Stop dreaming.” You are my daughter. The identity I once craved was realized in such an absurd way. My heart pounded violently. I looked at my mother’s smug face, memories flashing through my mind. Her coldness when I was young. Her heartlessness when my grandparents died. Everything she did these past few days to steal the house. A massive rage welled up inside me. The judge banged the gavel, silencing the room, then looked at me. “Defendant, do you have any objections to the DNA report submitted by the plaintiff?” I looked up. “The DNA report is real. I don’t deny I am her daughter.” The judge continued, “Then regarding inheritance rights…” With bloodshot eyes, I pulled a document that shouldn’t have seen the light of day from my bag and held it up. “However, I still have inheritance rights!” 2 I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Because, besides the notarized will, I also have a notarized adoption agreement left by my grandparents!” This sentence plunged the courtroom into shock again. My mother’s smile froze. She looked at me in disbelief, her voice trembling. “Ava, what adoption agreement?” “Impossible! How did I not know about an adoption agreement? My parents never told me.” I looked at her coldly. “Of course you didn’t know.” “This agreement was signed specifically with you by my grandparents when I was 10. You were just too busy with your new kids to read it carefully.” “The agreement clearly states that you voluntarily gave me up for adoption to my grandparents. From then on, they exercised guardianship and support obligations, and you no longer had any responsibility for me.” This agreement was notarized and legally binding. I handed the yellowed document to the judge. “Your Honor, from the day I was adopted, I had no legal mother-daughter relationship with her. My legal parents were my grandparents.” “Since she signed the adoption agreement, she lost custody and rights over me long ago. Similarly, she has no right to deny my relationship with my grandparents because of biology.” Another commotion in the gallery. The whispers grew louder. “A real adoption agreement? What a twisted family.” “Signed the agreement and still came back for the inheritance? That’s thick-skinned.” “Look at that girl, her hands are shaking. She must be heartbroken…” “No kidding. I bet she didn’t plan to use this until her mom aired all that dirty laundry.” I looked at my mother, stunned in the plaintiff’s seat. “You can’t believe it, can you? When you pushed me to my grandparents to please your new husband, did you never think of today?” “You say I’m your daughter, but do you deserve to be a mother?” “When I was ten, you changed my status to your sister, made me take the bus alone while you picked up someone else’s daughter. Did you treat me as a daughter then?” “When I had a fever of 104 and Grandma called for help, you hung up saying you had to watch cartoons with your daughter. Did you treat me as a daughter then?” “Now you remember I’m your daughter?” “Is it because I’m graduating and can be free labor? Or because I’m in the way of you dividing the inheritance for your new son and daughter?” I got more agitated as I spoke, 11 years of grievance and anger exploding. “How dare you use a DNA test to deny my relationship with my grandparents?” “They raised me. They gave me a home when you abandoned me.” “And you are just a stranger who gave birth to me and threw me away!” My barrage of questions left my mother trembling, pale, lips quivering without a word. The judge carefully checked the adoption agreement and the will, asked a few key questions, then banged the gavel. Silence. I held my breath, waiting for the verdict. The judge announced: “The court finds that a legal and valid adoption relationship exists between the defendant Ava and the decedents, evidenced by the notarized adoption agreement.” “Simultaneously, the plaintiff, as the biological daughter, failed to fulfill support obligations during the decedents’ illness without valid reason.” “The defendant fulfilled major support obligations, and the decedents left a notarized will explicitly gifting the property and all assets to the defendant.” The judge scanned the room, eyes landing on my mother. “Therefore, the judgment is as follows: The plaintiff’s claims are dismissed. The property and all assets under the decedents’ names belong to the defendant, Ava. The plaintiff has no inheritance rights.” “This judgment is final and effective immediately.” Bang! The gavel fell. My mother blacked out and collapsed onto her chair. Her husband rushed to support her. Her daughter screamed hysterically: “My dowry is gone!” Her son’s face turned green, kicking the chair next to him. The gallery erupted again, this time all condemning my mother. I stood up, straightened my clothes, bowed deeply to the judge. Then, holding my evidence and the verdict, I walked out of the courtroom. But just as I stepped out, my wrist was grabbed tight. I looked back. It was my mother. She had woken up, the pallor gone, replaced by a tearful look. She pulled my hand, begging. “Ava, my good daughter, Mom was wrong. Mom shouldn’t have fought for the house. Forgive Mom, okay?” I shook her off hard. “Don’t call me daughter. I have nothing to do with you.” “Also, the judge ruled. The house is mine. You have no right to covet it.” My mother wiped her tears. “I know, I know!” Then, she tried to kneel before me. I blocked her quickly. Her husband and stepchildren stood nearby, looking ugly but not stepping forward. Seeing she couldn’t kneel, she slumped on the ground. She cried and complained. “Ava, I never told you, but Mom has had it hard these years.” “In that house, I have to watch your stepdad’s mood, take care of your stepsiblings. If I don’t get this house, they’ll look down on me. I can’t stay there anymore!” I interrupted: “Stepdad? Was he a dad to me for one day? Did he fulfill any responsibility?” My mother ignored me, continuing her wailing. “Just pity Mom, give the house to Mom. Mom will make it up to you later, buy you whatever you want!” Watching her act, I felt nauseous. I sneered. “Make it up to me? With what?” “Make up for 11 years without a mom? Or make up for being treated as your sister?” “I’m telling you, I don’t need your compensation, and I definitely don’t need your fake tears!” 3 The lawsuit was over, and I had to return to college. Unexpectedly, my mother followed me to campus. She acted like a different person, running to my school every day. Bringing breakfast in the morning, waiting at the cafeteria at noon, following me to the dorm at night. She dressed plainly, hair combed neatly, greeting my classmates enthusiastically. “I’m Ava’s mom. We had a misunderstanding before, I’m here to make amends.” My classmates looked at me strangely. Every time, I ignored her, throwing her gifts on the ground. “Stop acting like a loving mother. You’re bad at it.” But she acted like she didn’t hear, coming every day, playing the long-suffering mother treated cruelly by her daughter. But I knew, for a selfish person like her, the kindness was an act that wouldn’t last long. Sure enough, after a week of my indifference, she showed her true colors. That night, she blocked me downstairs at my dorm, the gentleness gone. “Ava, don’t be ungrateful! I’ve done so much, what more do you want?” “You must give me the house. I promised to sell it for your sister’s dowry!” “If you don’t agree, I’ll have no status in that house. Are you going to watch me suffer?” I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms coldly. “What does your suffering have to do with me?” “You chose to remarry, you chose to please them. This outcome is your own doing.” “As for your promise to that daughter, that’s your problem. Don’t bother me. She’s not my sister. I won’t give you an inch of the house.” My mother was furious, pointing at my nose. “You ungrateful wolf!” “I carried you for ten months, and you won’t even help with this? If I knew you were this cold-blooded, I shouldn’t have given birth to you!” I fired back without weakness. “Yes! You should have aborted me, saved me from seeing your disgusting face now!” “From the day you put me on the register as your sister, we had no kinship.” “Now that Grandma and Grandpa are gone, we are completely cut off!” Speechless, my mother stared at me for a long time, then suddenly smiled viciously. “Fine, Ava! Since you’re so heartless, don’t blame me for being nasty!” I thought she was just talking. The next morning, she made a scene in front of the main building. She held a sign: [Ungrateful Daughter Ava Occupies Grandparents’ Inheritance, Drives Biological Mother to Death] She cried and screamed, attracting a crowd. “Everyone look! This Ava, a junior here, is heartless! She took the inheritance that should be mine and kicked me out! I’m homeless!” She picked her words carefully. “I painfully sent her to live with her grandparents so she could have a good life. Now they’re gone, she turns her back on me, won’t even acknowledge her own mother!” The crowd grew. “Ava? The one from Economics? She won a national scholarship last year.” “Yeah, didn’t expect her to be like this. Stealing her mom’s inheritance.” “I’m in the volunteer club with her. She looks quiet, didn’t know she was so cruel.” “You never know a person’s heart. Who knows what she does to roommates? Better be careful.” Listening to the gossip, I felt calm. After everything, I was numb. Soon, my counselor saw me. He walked over quickly, frowning sternly. “Ava, what’s going on? Your mother is making a scene, it looks very bad!” “The whole school is talking about you. Handle this quickly, or your scholarship and awards will be cancelled!” I looked at him calmly. “I did nothing wrong. Why should I handle it?” “She’s lying, slandering me. I’m the victim.” The counselor was angry. “Right or wrong, she’s your mother! Get her to leave! We can’t have this disturbance!” “If you don’t handle it well, don’t blame the school for following regulations.” He threatened me with my scholarship. I knew this was the effect my mother wanted. She succeeded. But only halfway. I sneered. Since she wants a scene, I’ll give her one. I went back to the dorm, opened a document, and wrote down everything. From changing my status to “sister” to remarry, to abandoning me. From ignoring my grandparents’ illness to stealing the house after their death, and finally slandering me at school. Every detail was clear. Titles? Easy. [Shocking Twist! Mother Abandons Daughter to Remarry, Steals Inheritance After Death, Slanders Daughter at School! Who is the Real Monster?] I printed hundreds of copies and walked to the main building. My mother was still crying there, surrounded by students. I said nothing, went to the third floor, opened the window, and threw the papers down. “Read it, everyone! Justice is in the hearts of the people!” Students caught the papers. The murmurs died, replaced by gasps. “OMG, so that’s it!!” “This mom is ruthless. Changing her daughter to her sister to remarry.” “Poor Ava. Abandoned and now slandered.” “Taking a pic and posting to the confession wall to clear her name. Call me a hero!” My mother saw the papers, her face changing instantly. She tried to snatch the evidence from students, but there were too many. Students stopped her. “Auntie! Stop twisting the truth!” “Exactly! Too much! How dare you make a scene here!” They pointed fingers at her. My mother looked at the accusing crowd, then up at me. She knew she lost. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed, arrogance gone. The counselor started scolding me. I turned. “Sir, I can’t swallow insults.” “I don’t care about awards, but I care about myself, about justice. I had no choice.” The counselor fell silent, holding a copy of my statement. He read it for a long time, pushed up his glasses. “I’ll handle the school side.” “Student Ava, you’ve been wronged.” I went downstairs, walking up to my mother. I looked down at her. “I’ll tell you one last time. The day Grandma and Grandpa died, we were done.” “From now on, we have no connection. If you harass me again, I’ll call the police.” I turned and walked away, never looking back.

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After my parents died in a bankruptcy scandal, they left my brother and me with a million-dollar debt. To pay it off, he became a “haunted house tester,” sleeping in stigmatized properties to prove they were safe. I took gigs as an extra, playing corpses on TV sets. For five years, we worked ourselves to the bone, never daring to take a day off. Yet, the debt remained. At the end of the year, with just $13,000 left to clear the balance, I gritted my teeth and signed up for a high-risk clinical drug trial. When it was over, I dragged my exhausted body and the cash to find my brother, eager to share the good news. Instead, I walked in on him on the phone: “Mom, Dad, Ava is doing great. You guys enjoy your vacation in Europe.” “She’s learned her lesson about spending money. We can end the punishment next year.” It turned out my parents weren’t dead. The family wasn’t bankrupt. These five years of hell were just a punishment for my “spending habits.” The smile froze on my face. My stomach churned violently, and I vomited a mouthful of fresh blood. 1 “Think carefully. Once you sign this contract, we are not responsible for any adverse reactions.” That was the warning from the pharmaceutical company rep during the drug trial. She emphasized that the contract was legally binding. After drinking the drug, I would be observed for five hours. If nothing happened then, even if I dropped dead later, I couldn’t sue them. At the time, all I could think about was having a debt-free New Year with my brother, so I signed without hesitation. But now… Looking at the cash in my hand, I felt a wave of bitter irony. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with my sleeve. I pushed open the door. My brother, Ethan, hurriedly hung up the phone. He turned around and immediately saw the blood on my shirt. “What happened?” His face paled as he rushed over. He grabbed my shoulders, checking for injuries. I pushed his hands away, my voice steady. “Prop blood from the set.” “Oh, thank god. I thought you were hurt.” He sighed in relief. Then he saw the money in my hand, his eyes narrowing. “Where did you get this?” “Ava, you didn’t steal it, did you?” My heart sank. I suddenly realized I didn’t know him at all. Steal. Is that what he thinks of me? I clenched my fingers, waiting a moment before whispering: “The director gave it to me. Year-end bonus.” He frowned, still suspicious. “A bonus in cash?” “Do you want it or not?” I looked at him with annoyance. “Didn’t you say we have $13,000 left on the debt? This is exactly enough.” “If you don’t want it, I can give it back.” He was silent for a moment, then took the money. “I’ll pay it off tomorrow.” He changed the subject. “What do you want to eat? I’ll cook.” I looked around the room. A 300-square-foot studio apartment. One closet, a bunk bed, and a tiny bathroom. No kitchen, so we chopped vegetables on the coffee table. The $20 electric skillet had been used for five years. The cord had burned out twice, patched up by Ethan with black electrical tape. I suddenly asked: “Ethan, aren’t you tired?” He smiled back at me. “Not really. My job is pretty easy, actually. Just sleeping in houses.” “It’s you I’m worried about. These past few years… you must be exhausted.” What I really wanted to ask was: Aren’t you tired of pretending? The family has billions in assets. We could be living like royalty. But to punish me, you chose this life. Aren’t you tired? Unfortunately, he didn’t catch my meaning. So I decided to be more direct. I looked him in the eye. “Ethan, do you think I love spending money?” I still didn’t understand why they thought that. Even though we were wealthy, I never cared for luxury brands. I never bought anything over a few thousand dollars. In our circle of rich kids, I was practically a monk. Ethan’s face stiffened. “Why ask that? You’re much better now.” “What do you mean ‘now’? What about before?” I pressed on. He frowned. “When Mom and Dad were around, you really didn’t know how to save.” “They were self-made, started from nothing. Even I have to think before spending.” “But for your birthday, you pestered them for a gift worth over ten grand. Don’t you think that’s excessive?” I stepped forward, emotional. “Our family has billions! I can’t buy a $10,000 phone?” “Then what is the point of making money?” His face darkened. “Listen to yourself. It’s just a phone. Doesn’t a cheaper one work just as well?” “You’re just vain, always comparing yourself to those trust fund kids. That’s why you always want things.” “Haven’t you lived just fine these past five years with nothing?” I stared at him in disbelief, my blood running cold. In his eyes, was I living well these past five years? Playing a corpse every day, begging the director for extra scenes just to earn an extra $50. Lying in mud, in sewage ditches. Staying motionless for ten, twelve hours at a time. I developed chronic joint pain and severe cramps. My old rival, Chloe, seeing me down and out, used her connections to torment me on set. And I couldn’t even fight back. Just because I wanted a good New Year with my brother, I became a human guinea pig for a drug trial, and I still don’t know what it did to my body. Is this life really good? My stomach cramped again. I vaguely remembered Chloe’s words: “Idiot, you brought this on yourself.” “I’m going to follow you. Whatever set you’re on, I’ll be there. My family has money, I can invest and get myself in anywhere.” “For the next five years, you’re going to suffer in my hands!” I shivered, goosebumps rising on my skin. Five years. Why specifically five years? Did Chloe know something too? My gut told me there were more secrets my brother and parents were keeping from me. I clenched my fists, suppressing the urge to scream. “Okay. I’ll change.” Ethan put down the vegetables, patting my shoulder with relief. “That’s my girl. Eat by yourself later, I have to go to work.” I nodded. After eating, Ethan left for work. I tied up my hair, put on a mask and a hat, and quietly followed him. He left our rundown neighborhood and made a call by the roadside. Within five minutes, a black Maybach pulled up. He got in. I hailed a taxi and followed. Thirty minutes later, he entered a high-end steakhouse. I waited five minutes, then went in and sat at a table behind him. I was too nervous to look up, so I didn’t see who he was with. But when I heard the voice, I froze. “Ethan, I’ve been messing with Ava just like you asked. I’ve been doing a great job lately!” It was Chloe! “Good. Only by suffering outside will Ava learn that money doesn’t grow on trees.” Ethan’s tone was calm, as if discussing the weather. “In return, I’ll send more business to your family.” “Ava can’t know about this yet. When Mom and Dad come back after New Year’s, I’ll tell them.” My breath hitched. My heart nearly stopped. A waiter asked for my order. I dared not speak. I pointed randomly at the menu with a trembling hand. I signaled him to leave quickly, afraid Ethan would notice. Chloe’s voice was sickeningly sweet: “Ethan, you told Ava you’re testing haunted houses, but you have to detour home every night. Aren’t you tired?” “Why didn’t you go abroad with your parents back then?” My heart was in turmoil again. So the haunted house job was a lie too. While I thought he was suffering in spooky houses, he was going home to our mansion. So for five years, I was the only one suffering? Ethan sighed. “Ava is my sister. I couldn’t leave her alone in the country.” “Besides, even though the company moved operations overseas, we’ll move back eventually.” He sounded nostalgic. “The five-year punishment is over in a blink of an eye. Time flies.” Fast? I laughed bitterly inside. These five years, every day was torture for me. Playing a corpse isn’t easy. Under Chloe’s instructions, I was always put in the dirtiest, hardest spots. Rain or shine, I couldn’t move. My body broke down. But in their eyes, it was just a lesson. Hilarious… “Chloe, thanks for your hard work these five years. This is a gift for you.” The conversation continued. Ethan handed Chloe an exquisite gift box. Chloe opened it and gasped. “Such a beautiful bracelet!” My heart plunged into hell. That was the bracelet I asked my parents for five years ago. They refused, saying it was too expensive. I didn’t need it, so I forgot about it. Now I realize, maybe that bracelet was the trigger for my five-year sentence. But why? We were billionaires. Why was asking for a bracelet a crime punishable by five years of hell? Why could Chloe, whose family had far less money, easily get what she wanted? Was I a bad kid? Was I disobedient? I was always good. I never rebelled. Why did I have to suffer like this?! My emotions broke the dam. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. Bang! I slammed the table and stood up. Everyone in the restaurant looked at me. Ethan turned around, his face instantly draining of color. “Ava? Why are you here?” “Is it fun? Is lying to me for five years fun?” I ripped off my hat and scarf, rushing over to grab his sleeve. “How am I a spendthrift? Why did you torture me like this?!” Panic flashed in Ethan’s eyes. He looked around, embarrassed, and grabbed me. “Too many people here. Let’s talk outside.” “You’re the one who should be ashamed!” I shook off his hand, eyes red, screaming hysterically. “You and Mom and Dad conspired to lie to me! You said we were bankrupt, in debt! You said you were sleeping in haunted houses!” “But the truth? They’re vacationing abroad, and you go home to the mansion every night! I’m the only one suffering!” My breakdown worsened, tears flowing freely. “Ethan, why? Tell me why!” “Please tell me, with billions in assets, what does buying a $10,000 phone matter?!” Ethan’s face darkened. “So that’s why you asked me those questions this afternoon. You heard my call with Mom and Dad.” He grabbed my wrist again. Harder this time, trying to drag me out. A waiter ran over to stop me. “Miss, you haven’t paid! It’s $800!” Ethan froze, frowning at me. “Why did you order such an expensive meal? Do you still not know how hard it is to make money?” Stares from all directions landed on me. Ethan deliberately waited. Until I was pale with embarrassment, he finally paid the bill. Outside, Chloe added fuel to the fire. “Ava, your parents and brother mean well. It’s for your education. Don’t be ungrateful!” “What does it have to do with you!” A nameless fire burned in my chest. I broke free from Ethan and slapped Chloe across the face. She screamed and covered her cheek. Slap! The next second, Ethan’s hand struck my face. “Is this how you act?” “Ava, where does this entitlement come from? Where is this temper coming from?” “Do you think I had it easy these five years? If I weren’t worried about you, I would have been abroad with Mom and Dad!” My mind went blank. My ears rang. I couldn’t even hear what he was saying anymore. I stood there for a long time, then nodded resignedly. “Give me back the $13,000 I gave you.” That was money I earned with my life. He glanced at me with disdain and made a call. Moments later, someone brought out my bag of cash. I wiped my tears, picked up the money, and prepared to leave. Ethan watched my back, about to speak, but Chloe stopped him. “Let her go. Let’s see where she can go!” I closed the door on them and walked back to the slums with my money. I took out my key to open the door, but a hand grabbed my wrist. “Miss, this apartment has been sold. You can’t go in.” “Sold to a Mr. Vance?” I didn’t even look up. “Yes. How did you know?” I smiled self-deprecatingly and walked away with my money. Two steps later, the piercing pain in my stomach returned. I went to a nearby hospital. While waiting for results, I went to pay the fees. But as soon as I handed over the cash, security guards pinned me down. My head was spinning, I had no strength to fight. In my daze, I heard words like “counterfeit money” and “call the police.” Soon, the police arrived. The officer frowned at me. “Miss, these bills are fake. Where did you get them?” I was in shock. I fumbled to pull out the contract from my pocket. “I don’t know! I earned it from a drug trial job!” “This has nothing to do with me!” He looked at the contract, his frown deepening. “You were likely scammed. This company is a criminal front.” “Did they draw your blood?” My pupils constricted. I nodded mechanically. The officer sighed. “The drug might be fine, but the needles…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. A bad feeling rose in my chest. Just then, the test results came out. The doctor handed them to the police officer. “Stage 3 blood disease. Those scammers are vicious!” Retrch— I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I vomited black blood and collapsed, unconscious. Before my eyes closed, I heard the officer shouting: “Contact the family! Hurry!”

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My family bought me a small apartment. I called Liam. “Tell your sister I won’t be home tonight. I’m coming over to drink and celebrate with you. We have a home now.” “I’m not going back tonight; I’m sleeping over.” An excited reply came from the other end. “Okay, I’ll tell her.” An hour later, I was staring wide-eyed at his five-year-old sister in my living room. Her chubby little hand raised a juice box to clink with my glass. “Cheers, brother~” Me: … I called him back to question him. “I told you to tell your sister I wasn’t putting her to bed tonight, that you were coming to sleep over and celebrate with me.” Sounds of intense gaming came from the other end. “Same thing, same thing. I have a tournament tonight. You put her to sleep.” “Drop her off at kindergarten tomorrow morning.” I turned back around. His sister was already drunk on juice. Damn it, I’m really guilty of falling for a hopelessly dense straight guy. 1 I hung up the phone. The little ball of a person on the sofa had already toppled over. Hugging a throw pillow, sleeping sweetly. The TV was still playing her favorite cartoon. Her fair, chubby face was so cute; her features looked just like Liam’s. I’ve seen pictures of Liam when he was little. His sister is basically a copy-paste version of him with longer hair. My heart softened just looking at her. I couldn’t help but poke her little cheek. I turned off the TV, picked her up from the sofa. Carried her to the guest bedroom. Gently covered her with a blanket and placed the stuffed animals she brought by her pillow. Leaving a small nightlight on, I closed the door and went out. Liam’s gaming account was still online. I sighed. He really had been pulling all-nighters playing games a lot more frequently lately. Maybe it’s the brief liberation after graduating college. Since moving into this apartment, he hasn’t stayed over once. I finally found an excuse to celebrate today. Sigh… Ever since the graduation party, we haven’t had a proper talk. 2 There was a knock on the bedroom door from the outside. “Brother, are you asleep?” “You haven’t told me a story yet.” The big one didn’t come back, and the little one woke up again. His sister’s eyes were wide open as she listened to me finish two stories about little princesses. I patted her back. “Alright, alright, that’s two stories already.” “Go to sleep now.” She yawned. “Brother, do you like my brother?” I was startled. Is it that obvious?? She pouted her little mouth. “What’s so great about him…” 3 What’s so great about Liam? Liam is just too great. The first time we met was in the college dorms. I was a spoiled little rich kid, completely clueless about taking care of myself. With one command, my older brother dumped me in the college dorms. Told me to learn how to live independently. But he forgot one thing: you have to be taught first to learn. I couldn’t instantly learn how to take care of myself. The nanny who dropped me off wiped her tears. “Young master, you’re on your own now.” Tearfully, she made my bed and gave me instructions over and over. Don’t drink the laundry detergent. If you do, remember to dial 911. ???? I was just pampered, not stupid!! But she forgot to teach me how much detergent to use. I poured half a bottle to wash my underwear. The more I scrubbed, the more bubbles there were; the more bubbles, the harder I scrubbed. I scrubbed until my hands were red. I still didn’t know if it was clean, or what the next step was. I wanted to use my phone to call for help, but my hands were too slippery, and the phone dropped into the basin. Submerged in bubbles. I yelled. “Damn bastard.” Wait until I go back, wait until I go back. But I couldn’t beat my brother anyway. I threw a pathetic little tantrum, looking for my phone in the basin full of bubbles. That’s when Liam pushed the door open and came in. He stared at me for a few seconds. Then spoke anxiously. “Don’t cry. I didn’t know someone was in the bathroom.” “You didn’t lock the door.” “Are you… playing with bubbles in here??” 4 Liam helped me wash the underwear. His well-defined hands first fished out my phone. Then scooped out that ball of fabric from the water. With red ears, he taught me how much detergent to add, how to scrub, how to hang it up to dry. My eyes lit up. He knew everything. If I followed him, I could learn too. I followed him, but I didn’t learn how to do chores. But I learned how to handle Liam. I just had to look at him with adoration. And say. “Liam, you’re so amazing.” He would blush, then snatch the dirty clothes from my basin. “I’ll wash them for you.” Under my continuous flattery, he lost his ability to think critically. Brought me food, washed my clothes, woke me up, ran with me, delivered books to me… There were four people in our dorm. Another guy also tried to speak in a cutesy voice. “Liam, you’re so amazing, can you help me wash my socks?” Liam: “Get lost.” “Disgusting.” Liam’s home was in the city. He would go home on weekends to see his sister. He also packed my clothes for the weekend. “Julian, come home with me.” “I’m afraid if you stay in the dorm alone, you’ll accidentally kill yourself.” But I had actually already learned how to live on my own. I really just hadn’t experienced these things before; I wasn’t stupid. 5 But I would be stupid not to go home with Liam. Because Liam’s mom’s cooking was super, super delicious. His sister was super, super cute. The first time I went, his sister was two years old. Her soft little hand held mine, calling me with candy in her mouth. “Bwother…” Later, I became a regular at Liam’s house. The Miller family had a room for me, and Mrs. Miller prepared loungewear for me. Liam washed my clothes. His sister would find me with a fairy tale book. “Brother, tell a story.” During the holidays, I was too lazy to go home, so I even spent Christmas with the Millers. Mr. Miller, returning from a business trip, also prepared a gift card for me. I felt I liked the Miller family, liked his sister, liked Liam’s parents, liked Liam. And I liked the summer we first met, when the laundry detergent smelled like freesia. But I never dared to say it. Because when our dormmates teased him. “Are you raising a wife in the dorm? Gonna marry him after graduation?” My face would instantly turn beet red. Liam would always say openly. “Julian is my best friend.” Between best friend and boyfriend. Lay my unspoken secret crush and four years of college life. 6 Dropping his sister off at the kindergarten gate. She suddenly pulled my hand and asked me to squat down. “Brother, my brother is a big idiot who doesn’t understand romance.” “My brother isn’t that great. He loves playing games, doesn’t know how to coax kids, tricks me into bringing him water every day, always forgets to bring me lollipops, and even conned me out of my allowance last time…” She blinked playfully. “You like him, don’t you?” What?? “Wait for me to grow up. I like you, I love you the most.” Her eyes darted around. “Can you pick me up after school today?” “I want a super big lollipop.” “Strawberry flavored.” I smiled and patted her head. “Okay, I’ll buy it for you.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss. “Brother is so nice, brother is awesome, I love brother.” Liam was so unromantic, but his sister was super good at coaxing people. Especially since she looked like a miniature version of him. Let alone buying one lollipop, I wouldn’t hesitate if she asked me to buy a whole candy store. If only Liam would also tell me he likes me the most, loves me the most. 7 When I got home, the door was open. The clothes I changed out of last night were washed clean and hanging on the balcony. Liam was cooking noodles in the kitchen. Watching the stove while directing the workers installing the washing machines. They were installing three in total. One big, two small. The workers finished and left, and the noodles were done. Liam coughed lightly. “What are you looking at? Wash your hands and come eat.” “You went to drop that little brat off this morning, probably didn’t have time for breakfast.” Hidden in the noodles were two perfect soft-boiled eggs. I don’t like fried eggs or hard-boiled eggs. Fried eggs are too greasy, hard-boiled eggs are too dry. Soft-boiled eggs are just right. Liam always complained that I was too much trouble. But he would make them for me every time. At first, he didn’t do it well. Either the egg was fully cooked, or the yolk was raw. Or it broke. When Liam was learning to make these eggs, he ate a lot of failures. Which led to him completely not eating eggs now. After eating the noodles, Liam went to wash the dishes. “Installed three washing machines for you. The big one is for outerwear. The two small ones: grey for socks, white for underwear.” “They all have a drying function. If you’re afraid of forgetting to hang them up, just dry them directly.” I hugged him from behind. “But I have you.” And I had long since learned how to wash clothes. His body stiffened, and he slowly pushed my hands away. “What if I’m not here? You still have to live.” Speaking of living. “When are you moving in?” This apartment is closer to the company Liam is joining than his home. He can sleep an extra half hour every morning. Back when we just started interning, we agreed. We would live together after graduation; we wouldn’t separate. The next day, I had my brother buy me this apartment. The renovations were all done according to what we liked. Liam raised his hand. “Let’s wait a bit. My mom is on a business trip recently, I need to take care of my sister.” “Bring your sister over too! We’ll set up a pink princess room for her.” “Then we can sleep together.” It’s not like we hadn’t slept together before anyway. “No!” He startled me. He said. “It’s too far from her kindergarten here, too inconvenient.” That was true. “Then I’ll go live at your house with you.” Some things are better said openly. His eyelashes fluttered. “Didn’t you say you need to organize the apartment recently?” “Stop running back and forth, it’s too exhausting.” “I need to go to the company. I’m leaving.” Liam grabbed his phone from the table and left. “Hey…” I called after him. The more I called, the faster he ran. What a dense, unromantic straight guy!!!

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After finding out I was the fake heiress, I stopped following my brother around everywhere. I stopped clinging to him, stopped policing his friends. At first, my brother loved it. “Not bad, sis. Why are you so well-behaved lately?” Until three months later, when the real heiress returned home. I didn’t cry or scream. I calmly suggested returning to my biological parents’ home. My brother’s face turned pale instantly. That night, his buddy tried to comfort him: “Since you can’t bear to let your sister go, just marry her.” My brother roared, “I’m not an animal!” His buddy asked again: “Then are you willing to spend your life with her, care for her, tolerate her, through poverty and wealth, sickness and health, until death do you part?” The next second, my brother said without hesitation: “That’s what I planned to do anyway.” Me: ? 1 Since I was little, I loved clinging to my brother. Especially after I was kidnapped as a child, and my brother risked his life to save me. My dependence on him peaked. If I didn’t see him for more than five hours, I’d throw a tantrum. Even as adults, Lucas Vance rarely went on business trips. Until a few days ago, an emergency arose at an overseas branch. My brother had no choice but to leave first and tell me later. Five days later, he finally returned. Right now, Lucas was locked out of my room, coaxing helplessly: “I shouldn’t have hidden the trip from you, but it was urgent.” “I bought your favorite bag. Open the door for your big brother, okay?” I sat on the sofa covering my ears, ignoring him. Lucas knocked for a while. Realizing I wasn’t going to open up, he said gloomily: “Fine. Don’t open it.” Then, he seemed to make a call. A minute later, the sound of lock-picking came from outside. I shot up from the sofa and yelled at the door: “If you pick the lock, I won’t talk to you for three days!” The noise stopped instantly. Lucas hissed, “We were only apart for five days, is it that serious?” Hearing this made me even angrier. I grabbed a throw pillow and threw it at the door with a muffled thud. Just as I was about to say something harsh. A row of bullet comments suddenly floated before my eyes: [LMAO, the supporting female character still doesn’t know she’s the fake heiress.] [Keep throwing tantrums, girl. Wait until the real heiress returns and your brother loses patience. You’ll learn to behave then.] I froze, staring blankly at the text. Me? Fake heiress? Impossible! But the comments continued: [If she took a DNA test now, she wouldn’t look like such a clown.] [Thinking she has her parents’ backing, who knew she wasn’t even their biological child.] Outside, Lucas sent the locksmith away and knocked again, voice lazy: “You can’t be this clingy forever. You should give me some space.” “Besides, I handled everything as fast as possible. Is it worth getting this angry?” As soon as he finished, I opened the door expressionless. Lucas raised an eyebrow in surprise, leaning down slightly: “Yo, forgave me so fast this time?” He handed me the cake, bag, and necklace. Thinking about the bullet comments, I took them distractedly. Then I focused on his hair. Seeing my bare feet, Lucas frowned and picked me up. I was startled and instinctively cursed: “Lucas Vance, are you crazy?” My brother didn’t let go, asking back: “You were staring at me. Isn’t that asking to be held?” Me: “?” Still angry, I tried to struggle free but saw his hair right in front of me. After hesitating, I leaned in and yanked a strand. Lucas patted my back warningly. “Your new revenge is pulling my hair?” I didn’t speak. Staring at the bullet comments, I clutched the strand of hair tight. If I really am a fake heiress. Then I’m truly screwed. Because I’ve been terrorizing my brother for years. The thing he said most to me was: “Luna Vance, if you weren’t my biological sister, who could stand your rotten temper?” 2 When I was little, my parents were busy with work and rarely took care of me. So they guiltily satisfied all my demands. Even my excessive dependence and possessiveness towards Lucas. They just told Lucas: “Let your sister have her way.” So since I can remember, Lucas had a little tail. I followed him everywhere. Until I was stopped by a bar bouncer: “No minors allowed.” I clutched my brother’s shirt tight, shaking my head. “No, I want to be with my brother.” Lucas was only 18 then, the age for fun. He impatiently shook off my hand and called the butler to take me home. At 11 PM, he finished partying and checked his phone. Seeing countless missed calls from the butler, he realized. I was lost. My brother called a bunch of people and searched for me frantically. Finally, he found me curled up asleep in an inconspicuous bush near the bar entrance. He asked me with a dark face why I ran off. Waking up, I rubbed against his cheek dazedly and said: “…wanted to see Big Brother sooner.” From then on, Lucas rarely went to bars. Relying on my parents’ favor, I started bossing him around. While serving me, Lucas would grit his teeth and threaten: “Luna Vance, if you weren’t my sister, I’d throw you out immediately.” I didn’t care then and continued to order him around. But now, holding the DNA test report. I realized. I’m really not his biological sister. 3 Done. It’s all over. I returned home trembling. My parents were often away on business, so usually, it was just Lucas and me. When I got back, Lucas wasn’t home. After dinner, the butler saved a late-night snack for Lucas. But by 10 PM, the food was cold, and he still hadn’t returned. Seeing the butler waiting, I called Lucas. He picked up quickly. Before I spoke, I heard voices on the other end: “Luke, who’s calling? Picking up so fast.” “Must be his sister rushing him home. Sigh, I wish I had a sister like that.” Lucas said helplessly, “Can’t help it, she’s clingy.” He put the phone to his ear and chuckled: “It’s only 10. Rushing me home again?” I heard his friends sighing in the background. Afraid Lucas was getting impatient, I quickly said: “No, no. You can stay out as long as you want.” Lucas’s breath hitched. “What do you mean?” I looked at the cold snack and asked carefully: “If you’re not coming back, I’ll tell the butler to dispose of the food and get off work.” Lucas fell silent. After a long while, he realized: “Using the butler as an excuse this time?” “Fine, I’m coming back.” He hung up. Me: “??” Normally, if Lucas dared to stay out this late. I would have locked the main door and gone to sleep. But now I didn’t dare. I wanted to ease our relationship. So I waited on the sofa, planning to heat up his food myself. But I fell asleep waiting. I don’t know how long passed, but I felt someone pick me up gently. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck and opened my eyes. I saw my brother’s angry eyes: “Luna Vance, to force me home, you don’t even care about your health?” “It’s 11 PM. Why are you staying up instead of sleeping?” I didn’t understand why he was mad. I hadn’t thrown a tantrum or locked him out. But remembering the food, I struggled to get down. Lucas held me tighter: “Okay, stop being mad.” “I promise to be home by 9:30 from now on. Happy?” I explained seriously: “It’s okay if you come back later.” Lucas frowned: “Talking nonsense again?” Me: “…” In the end, he didn’t eat. Instead, he helped me wash up and tucked me in. After doing all this, he stood by my bed, waiting. Seeing I didn’t move. He leaned in close. Startled, I pushed his chest: “What are you doing?” Lucas tsked, grabbing my wrist: “Didn’t you say? Goodnight kiss before sleep.” I clarified quickly: “No need anymore! Never again!” Lucas’s face darkened. “Is this your way of punishing me? Childish.” He scoffed and stood up coldly: “Fine. You think I care?” 4 Over the next few days. I proved with my actions that I really wasn’t angry. I stopped clinging to him, policing his friends. I even served him food at the table. Lucas raised an eyebrow, enjoying it: “Not bad, sis. Why so well-behaved lately?” I stated my attitude immediately: “Sorry, Brother. I controlled you too much before. I won’t do it again.” Lucas froze for a second. Then laughed: “Should have been like this long ago. No sister clings to her brother forever.” So, for the next few days. My brother started going to bars with his friends again. But he consciously came home by 9:30. Until one day, he came home right at 9:30. And found I wasn’t home. He called me immediately. I was at a club gathering at school and couldn’t answer. So I hung up and texted: [At a gathering. Might be late. Don’t wait for me.] He replied a minute later, surprisingly open-minded: [It’s fine. You have freedom. We should give each other space.] [You are an independent individual. Of course I won’t restrict you.] [Have fun, sis.] I put down my phone relieved. The gathering ended at 11:30 PM. I drank a little, so I couldn’t drive. It was too late to call the family driver. Hesitating, a senior club member offered kindly: “Luna, I’m driving. I can drop you off.” Afraid I’d be uncomfortable, he added: “Another senior is in the car too. I’ll drop you first.” I was a bit tipsy and nodded mechanically. Seeing my state, he politely supported my arm: “If you’re dizzy, lean on me.” I was indeed unsteady, so I leaned on his shoulder as he led me to the car. Outside, the wind sobered me up a bit. The senior still held my arm. I felt something staring at me. Looking around suspiciously, I saw nothing. Just as I was about to get in, the senior said “Huh”: “Luna, who is that guy? Why is he staring at you?” I followed his gaze. Under the dim streetlamp, my brother was hidden in the shadows. Leaning against his car, dark eyes staring unblinkingly at me. Simultaneously. My phone dinged. My brother messaged: [Dare to get in his car, and I’ll die for you to see.] 5 Before I could react, Lucas strode over. He snatched me from the senior, pulled me into his arms, and looked up: “My sister is young and defenseless. Doesn’t know how to refuse strangers.” “I’ll take her home. Don’t worry about it.” Hearing the hostility, I couldn’t help but defend: “You misunderstood. He’s not a stranger; we’ve known each other for a long time!” My brother asked immediately: “How long? How did you meet? Why didn’t you report to me?” My drunk brain was completely confused. The senior looked between us, frowning: “Even if you’re her boyfriend, you can’t be this controlling.” “Her family hasn’t even said anything.” My brother straightened his collar and smiled fake-ly: “Sorry, I am her family.” “Her biological brother.” Then he dragged me away. By the time I reacted, I was stuffed into his car. Lucas pinched my face: “Rather sit in a stranger’s car than call your brother?” I swatted his hand away: “None of your business!” Lucas sneered: “Of course it’s my business. Answer me. When did you meet him?” “Besides him, what other ‘seniors’ do you know? Is anyone chasing you?” Annoyed, I retorted: “I don’t control your bar trips anymore. Why control me?” Lucas froze for two seconds. Then laughed in realization. “Oh—so this is revenge for me going to bars?” He sounded both annoyed and relieved: “Still love controlling me, huh.” “Fine, Luna. I promise not to go to bars anymore.” “And you’re not allowed to interact with that guy again.” Me: “?” 6 Didn’t expect all my efforts to fail. My brother still thinks I’m controlling him. This won’t do! If this goes on, he’ll hate me like the bullet comments said. I thought hard. Decided to change tactics— Directly fawning over him. So for the next few days, I obediently delivered food to his company. Asked about his health after work. Surprised at first, Lucas quickly adapted, sighing: “So diligent. Say it, what jewelry do you want?” I choked, explaining quickly: “Not about jewelry.” “Want a car?” “No!” “Limited edition bag?” I tried hard to prove myself: “None! I don’t want to spend your money!” I wanted to salvage my image. Unexpectedly, Lucas pursed his lips, face darkening. He scoffed: “Don’t spend it then. Hilarious. You think I want to buy for you?” “When Mom and Dad’s allowance runs out, don’t come crying to me.”

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I was heading to the bakery to buy my own birthday cake when I spotted her, the girl they raised as their own, selling cakes by the roadside. Sienna, the one who’d been cast out years ago for orchestrating a car accident to prevent me from reclaiming my life. “Buy a cake, please. It’ll help me afford dinner.” I carried the rather ugly cake home, only for Mom and Dad and my brother to recognize it instantly as Sienna’s creation. “You bought Sienna’s cake? Is she doing alright now?” “Not really.” Hearing my answer, the three of them immediately grabbed car keys and rushed out. “If you hadn’t suddenly decided to come back, Sienna wouldn’t have lost control and made that mistake. She deserves a chance to atone.” I lit my birthday candle, blew it out, and made a wish. “Happy Birthday, Nora. May your trauma therapy go smoothly this year.” … The candle went out. The room plunged into dimness. I fumbled my way through, relying on memory, but accidentally knocked my knee against the corner of the table. Fortunately, ever since the day I returned, Mom and Dad and Adam had carefully padded every sharp corner with thick tape, afraid I might get hurt. I’d come home covered in scars, the abuse and the car accident leaving permanent marks on my body. The light flickered on. I saw the crisscrossing scars on my wrists, left from… my previous home. The cake was hideous, with “Happy Birthday” scrawled haphazardly across it. It tasted terrible. Sienna wasn’t a baker; her customers were few. If her plea hadn’t stopped me, she likely wouldn’t have had a single sale today. I took a deep breath, then tossed the cake into the trash. This year, I turned eighteen. I’d been undergoing trauma therapy for five years. Mom and Dad and Adam didn’t know. I was found when I was thirteen. Half-dead, I reached for a shard of a beer bottle, intending to swallow it. I didn’t want to live anymore. Ever since my foster parents picked me up, if I didn’t beg for at least three hundred dollars a day, I’d be brutally beaten. They wanted me to look pathetic the next day so people would give me more money. “Two hundred and sixty-nine dollars.” My foster mother’s hands were still wet with saliva as she counted the coins, one by one. Hearing that number, my face went pale with terror, and I cowered in the corner. “I tried my best… no one gives much money now. They say I’m up to no good.” I stammered, still remembering the words they’d said during the day. “Kids this age should be in school, shouldn’t they? Probably wants money for a gaming cafe or something.” “These days, kids are so rebellious. She probably just wants pocket money.” No one gave me money. Truly, no one. “Then you’re not pathetic enough. You can’t make people pity you.” My foster father stood up, and the ash from his cigarette fell onto my neck. I flinched from the burn. But dared not move. “I… I’ll get more money tomorrow, please don’t hit me…” I knelt, bowing my head repeatedly until it bled. My foster father scoffed, chugging the last half of the beer. Then he brought the bottle crashing down on my head. The world spun, and familiar pain spread across my forehead. I touched it; it was slick with blood. The beer bottle shattered. My foster parents cursed. “If we don’t make a few more cuts, how will she get more money? She’s asking for it.” “Picking her up was just a way to make money. Otherwise, she’d be dead already!” The stench of stale beer mingled with blood, filling the entire room. I made the bravest decision I could think of at that moment. I picked up a shard of the broken bottle, intending to swallow it. “What are you doing!” The door was kicked open. I saw police officers, and four elegantly dressed people standing at the entrance. All of them, except for the girl, looked at me with heartbreaking concern. “My daughter! My poor daughter!” The woman rushed forward, embracing me. My blood stained her beautiful clothes. I felt her entire body tremble. “Mommy came too late, darling. Mommy came too late, that’s why you suffered so much. How much pain have you endured…” Adam punched my foster father, knocking out a tooth. “How dare you bully my sister! Is my sister, Nora Song, someone to be messed with? How many lives do you have to pay?” Adam’s eyes were bloodshot. Dad spoke to the police, his voice firm. “Make sure they pay for this. She is a Song, my daughter.” I snapped back to reality. Staring blankly at the cake in the trash. Perhaps after five years, their guilt had long faded. Mom, Dad, and Adam still brought Sienna back. They looked at Sienna with tender pity, just as they had once looked at me. “You’ve truly suffered, Sienna. You should have contacted us sooner.” Mom cried, her heart aching. “You were my sister for over a decade. How could I abandon you?” Adam’s face was serious. “I won’t let anyone who bullied you get away with it.” Dad led them through the door, speaking with conviction. Then, all three noticed me sitting at the dining table. They froze. I smiled. “You’re back.” Their faces changed instantly. They stared at me as if I were a wild beast, frozen, not daring to step forward. “Nora, I’m home.” Sienna took a step closer first, spotting the cake in the trash. She didn’t seem angry; she just smiled. “Did you like the cake?” Mom, Dad, and Adam also saw it, their voices tinged with reproach. “Sienna made that cake for you, how could you just throw it away? Are you still holding a grudge over what happened five years ago? Didn’t we move past that already? Why do you keep dwelling on it?” Mom murmured, confused by my actions. “It was terrible.” I stated plainly, my expression blank, wanting to leave. “Even if it tasted bad, you should have eaten it. It was Sienna’s gesture.” Mom sighed, and they all looked at me with disappointment. As if I was the unreasonable one. But I’d paid for that cake; it wasn’t a gesture from her. I didn’t say anything, just stood up and went to my room. I heard them talking about me behind my back, comforting Sienna. “Don’t mind Nora. She might still be upset, but her feelings don’t matter. Sienna has to come home; she can’t suffer anymore.” “How can she still hold a grudge after all these years? Besides, Sienna was punished too; it’s even.” “Sienna, go take a hot shower. Tomorrow we’ll take you shopping for clothes.” Their voices were filled with excitement. I quietly walked to my bed. And pulled up the leg of my pants. It was my prosthetic leg. That car accident had condemned me to prosthetics for life. They didn’t know. Because that day at the hospital, they personally saw Sienna off. No one came to see me. So they never knew that my leg was artificial. The next day, I went for my trauma therapy. “You still have severe trauma responses to the car accident and your childhood,” the doctor told me, frowning. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Song not treating you well?” I opened my eyes, my body drenched in sweat, my face still bloodless. Those past events clung to me like ghosts. “They are,” I replied. But it was only “better” than my foster parents. I didn’t know what “truly good” felt like, but they provided me with food and warm clothes. “You still need extensive therapy. It’s crucial to avoid cars as much as possible and try not to dwell on those negative memories, otherwise, you’ll continue to experience trauma responses.” The doctor sighed. “Should I inform Mr. and Mrs. Song? They still don’t know you’re undergoing therapy. Perhaps if they knew, they could offer more protection.” “No need.” I put on my jacket. “I don’t want them to feel guilty because of this.” Especially now that they’d welcomed Sienna back. I stepped outside. “Why did you hurt Nora? She’s suffered enough already, and you still try to bully her.” Mom shoved Sienna to the ground. “Send her away. Otherwise, I’m afraid she’ll hurt Nora again.” Dad’s face was etched with disappointment, unmoved by Sienna’s pleas. Adam held my hand, comforting me repeatedly. “Nora, it was my fault that you got lost back then. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone bully you ever again.” But five years. In five years, they’d brought Sienna back and accused me of holding grudges. As I was lost in thought, a car sped past me, too close, too fast. Instantly, I broke into a cold sweat, collapsing to the ground. Because of my aversion to cars, I always walked everywhere, and even the sound of a vehicle made me tremble. This road was usually deserted; cars rarely passed. “Hahaha, look how scared you are! You’re the Song family heiress now, but you’re still such a coward.” Sienna stepped out of the car, dressed in a leather jacket. She took off her sunglasses and looked at me, utterly devoid of the fear and pity she’d shown yesterday. “You know why, so why pretend?” I struggled to my feet, my prosthetic leg chafing painfully against my thigh. Sienna scoffed. “So what? You probably don’t know, do you? When they kicked me out, they actually slipped me a ten-million-dollar card. They were afraid I’d suffer, saying if I didn’t live well, they’d take me back.” My face instantly turned ashen, my nails digging into my palms. “What did you say?” The punishment I thought she received was merely a show for me.

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At the Vanguard Group’s victory gala, my father, Graham Vance, stood on the stage, his expression grim as he made a public announcement. “By the decision of the board,” he began, his voice flat, as if discussing some trivial matter, “I am announcing the termination of Asher Ferguson’s role as Group Vice President. The position will be filled by Finn Vance.” He spoke without a shred of emotion, completely disregarding the years I had spent clawing my way up from an entry-level position to regional director, and finally to VP of the entire corporation. I crumpled the prepared victory speech in my hand and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “Dad, I just closed a 1.5-billion-dollar contract. I believe I’m entitled to a reason for my dismissal.” Graham’s gaze swept over me, as hard and cold as steel. “On the grounds that I built Vanguard Group with my own two hands. I can give it to whomever I please. If you make a scene, you can get out of my house.” I laughed. Fine. If he was so determined to play the usurper, then I had no reason to hold back. It was time the Vance family coughed up what they stole from the Fergusons and crawled back to the gutter they came from. 1 The banquet hall, filled with a thousand guests, fell silent. All eyes turned to Graham Vance, the chairman of Vanguard Group. The executives in the front row began to whisper. “Mr. Ferguson’s performance has always been exceptional. He’s been hands-on with every project for years. Why would the chairman suddenly fire him?” Someone nudged his colleague. “Isn’t it obvious? A mountain can’t have two tigers. The young master and his mother are the favored ones now.” Following their glances, the crowd’s attention shifted to Finn Vance, my father’s illegitimate son. Finally, their eyes settled on my father’s secretary, Isabelle Croft. She was only a few years older than me, but at this moment, standing beside Finn, she surveyed the room with the triumphant air of a queen who had just won her throne. I stared hard at Graham. “Dad, are you really kicking me out? Out of Vanguard and out of your life?” My father remained silent. Isabelle glided to his side, linking her arm with his. Her voice was a soft caress, but every word was a poisoned dart. “Asher, you shouldn’t see it that way. Finn carries the Vance name. The chairman can’t very well leave the company to someone with a different surname, can he?” She smiled sweetly. “If you object, you could always go through the official channels to change your name to Vance. Then, of course, you’d have a claim to Vanguard as well.” My fists clenched, fury blazing in my eyes as I glared at my father. “A different surname?” “Dad, what about the promise you made to my grandfather when you were on your knees before him?” “Vanguard Group was originally founded by my grandfather, Arthur Ferguson! What right do you have to hand it over to your bastard son?” Graham’s face twisted in a mask of rage. He ripped the microphone from its stand and hurled it at me. It struck my forehead with a sickening thud. “You insolent brat! I built this company into what it is today! I’ll give it to whoever I want! Even if Arthur Ferguson himself were standing here, he’d have no right to question me!” Warm blood trickled down my face, blurring my vision in a sea of red. Finn stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of our father. “Brother, what are you doing?” “There are so many people here! Can’t we discuss this at home? Do you have to air our dirty laundry in public?” He then turned to Graham, his expression earnest. “Dad, I don’t want the VP position. Please, give it back to my brother.” He looked back at me. “Brother, don’t fight with Dad over titles and money. Vanguard will be yours one day. I won’t fight you for a single penny.” A flicker of pride crossed my father’s face before he turned on me again. “See how sensible Finn is? And then look at you, shamelessly fighting your own brother over a job title in front of everyone.” “A vicious, selfish person like you… you inherited your grandfather’s cold blood. How could I ever trust you with this company?” A cold, mirthless laugh escaped my lips. “You don’t have to. I’ll take back what belongs to the Ferguson family myself.” With that, I turned and walked off the stage, leaving the stunned silence behind me. 2 The year my mother died, I learned the meaning of biding my time, of swallowing humiliation for a future victory. While studying at business school, I started at the very bottom of the company, working my way up from a salesman. I forced a smile and called Isabelle, a woman barely older than me, my stepmother. At home, I played with the infant Finn, and as he grew, I let him ride on my back like a horse. I deferred to Isabelle in all matters, seeking her counsel and obeying her wishes. When she claimed her newfound spirituality forbade her from visiting cemeteries, I dutifully stayed away from my mother’s grave for ten long years. I gave them no reason to find fault with me, playing the part of a simple, loyal son. Thankfully, my father had a wandering eye, and Isabelle was too busy fending off other women to focus her full attention on me. To maintain her image as a gracious and tolerant wife, she never came after me directly. My father, in the prime of his career, was keen to avoid any scandal and treated the son of his late wife with a veneer of kindness. And so, step by step, I rose through the ranks. And with every promotion, I uncovered another layer of his corruption, another one of his dirty little secrets. As I reached the hotel lobby, I saw the grand digital display had already been changed. The words “Victory Gala” were gone, replaced with: “Congratulations to Mr. Finn Vance on his promotion to Vice President of Vanguard Group.” A truck was parked at the entrance, unloading a massive, ten-tiered cake in a clear display case. The deliverymen shouted, “Make way, make way! Special order from Chairman Vance himself! A ten-tiered cake for his son, to celebrate his new position as VP!” “I heard his son just graduated and already closed a 1.5-billion-dollar deal! What a prodigy!” I let out a bitter laugh. It all made sense now. The reason Graham had insisted I bring Finn along to every meeting for that project. From the very beginning, the deal was nothing more than a stepping stone for Finn’s career. No one cared that I had spent three months on it, working late into the night, revising the proposal seventeen times. Deep down, a part of me had still hoped for Graham’s approval. I hoped he would see that I was the one truly fit to lead the company. I wanted to reclaim my grandfather’s legacy peacefully, without a war between father and son. But he had finally, brutally, crushed that hope. The moment Finn graduated, Graham dropped the pretense. He started reassigning my projects to Finn, stripping me of my authority, and forcing me to hand over my clients. He expected me, the true Ferguson heir, to step aside for my illegitimate brother. I drove to my grandfather’s old estate, opened the safe, and began to organize the mountain of evidence I had been collecting for twenty years. After I sent everything to my lawyer, I checked the company’s group chat. It was flooded with celebratory messages and applause. Someone had posted a video: Graham and Finn, hand in hand, cutting the enormous cake, with Isabelle standing beside them, her hand resting proudly on Finn’s arm. A perfect family portrait. Graham addressed the camera, announcing his intention to hand the company over to Finn and asking everyone to support the “younger generation.” I turned off my phone, unable to stomach another sycophantic message. I was in the middle of a call with my lawyer, planning our next steps, when my fiancée, Sophia Lowell, called. “Asher, you liar! I just heard you were kicked out of the family! Our engagement is off! I’m not marrying a penniless nobody!” As her tirade continued, I learned that Graham had publicly disowned me and transferred all my company shares to Finn. And he had made one other major announcement: he was officially marrying Isabelle Croft. Sophia sent me a video clip. In it, Graham held Isabelle’s hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything I have achieved today, I owe to one woman. She has supported me, encouraged me from the shadows. And tonight, I want to officially ask her to be my wife.” He dropped to one knee, slipping a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg onto her finger. Watching them embrace, a cold smile touched my lips. I wondered if Isabelle would have been so supportive if he were still shoveling manure back in the mountains where he came from. So be it. After twenty years, they were finally getting their happy ending. As his son, it was only right that I send them a wedding gift they would never forget. 3 A month later, Graham hosted a lavish wedding at Blackwood Manor, the most opulent venue in Ridgewater. Every powerful family, every influential figure in the city was there. The media scrambled to cover the story of their “epic true love.” It seemed everyone had forgotten Graham Vance’s history. They had forgotten the woman whose love he had used and whose life he had destroyed. It didn’t matter. I would make them remember. I would show them all what happens when a parasite forgets its host, and how a man who betrays his benefactors always pays the price. When I arrived at the wedding, I saw Finn. And on his arm was my fiancée, Sophia. Finn deliberately ran his fingers through Sophia’s hair, blowing a light, suggestive breath against her ear. “Brother, Sophia might be a few years older than me, but damn, she’s something else. You of all people should know that, right?” He let out a boisterous laugh, and his sycophantic friends joined in. “Looks like someone will have to watch from the sidelines from now on.” “Yeah, who does he think he is, challenging Mr. Vance? If he so much as looks at his future sister-in-law, Finn will have his eyes gouged out.” I looked directly at Sophia. We had shared so many beautiful moments. She had been my rock during my darkest times, always believing I would reclaim what was mine. I couldn’t believe she would do this to me. I refused to believe she was just another vapid, greedy socialite. She was my light in the darkness, the one good thing my grandfather had left me. Her gaze darted away. Before she could speak, Finn’s fist slammed into my face. “Where the hell do you think you’re looking, you bastard?” he snarled. “Let me make this clear: Sophia is my fiancée now. Her father has already formally dissolved your engagement and promised her to me.” The moment he threw the first punch, his friends swarmed me, their fists and feet raining down on me. “You’re a worthless piece of trash! How dare you disrespect our Mr. Vance!” “A toad lusting after a swan! Only our Mr. Vance is worthy of a woman like her!” I curled into a ball on the ground as they kicked me. Sophia’s sharp cries cut through the air as she tried to pull them off me. “Stop it! All of you, stop!” Finn grabbed her, holding her back. “Sophia, I’m doing this for his own good. Can you imagine the scandal if he starts lusting after his brother’s wife? He’d be run out of Ridgewater! Dad would probably break his legs!” Sophia stopped struggling. Her eyes grew cold. She nodded. “You’re right, Finn. We should make him give up all hope.” She stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her gaze on me like chips of ice. “Asher, I could pretend to love you, to stay by your side. But in our world, family interests always come first. Finn is young, successful, and he’s the future. Of course, I’m choosing him as my husband.” “A union between the Vance and Lowell families is a win for everyone. If you were in my position, you’d make the same choice.” A triumphant grin spread across Finn’s face as he pulled her into a tight embrace. I stared at them, my mind reeling. “Sophia,” I stammered, “you said you believed in me…” “Enough, Asher,” she cut me off, her voice sharp. “Don’t drag this out. Have some dignity. They were just words. Don’t take them so seriously.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. So she was just another social climber after all. My love, my trust—all of it wasted. Slowly, I pushed myself up from the ground, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth. My voice was numb. “Fine, Sophia Lowell. I hope you don’t live to regret this.” 4 The commotion drew my father over. Seeing my bruised and battered state, his face contorted in disgust. “Today is my wedding day. Did you have to come here and cause a scene, to make us a laughingstock in front of our guests?” “Is this all because Finn took your VP position? Fine. We’re expanding into the African market. You can go there and be the independent executive president. Are you satisfied now?” I spat out a mouthful of blood and sneered at him. The African market? A transparent excuse to banish me to some chaotic, undeveloped hellhole to rot. With me out of the way, he could enjoy my family’s fortune with his mistress and his bastard son without any complications. “Graham Vance, you want to get rid of me so you can take everything? Dream on!” “You secretly transferred Vanguard’s core assets to an offshore shell company, registered under Isabelle and Finn’s names, embezzling over 1.8 billion in the process.” “In February of 2021, you and the CFO of an American supplier colluded to import twenty thousand tons of substandard steel, inflating the price from two hundred dollars a ton to three hundred and sixty. That little scheme cost Vanguard over thirty million dollars in a kickback deal.” “And since 2018, you’ve evaded over a hundred million in taxes. Did you really think I was just keeping my head down and working all these years?” My words dropped into the silent hall like a bomb. The room exploded in a cacophony of gasps and whispers. “Vanguard is evading taxes? Is Asher really going to war with his own father?” “This is explosive! He must have been planning this for years! The power structure of Ridgewater is about to change.” Graham’s face went white. He trembled violently, leaning on Isabelle for support. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You’re lying!” “You’re just bitter that I gave the company to your brother, so you’re making up these vicious rumors!” “Rumors?” I pulled out my phone and displayed the evidence. “Offshore transaction records. Falsified tax documents. Collusive contracts.” “I started in this company as a teenager, Graham. I spent twenty years working my way up through every department—tax, sales, product development. I remember every single transaction.” “What do you think will happen when I forward all of this to the IRS and the FBI?” Graham froze, staring at me as if seeing his meek, pathetic elder son for the first time. He finally managed a weak, blustering roar. “You brat! I’ve run this company for years! The entire board is loyal to me! Your accusations are useless! We’ll simply say you forged the evidence!” I smiled faintly. “Is that so? Well, let’s find out.” “Graham, from the moment you drove my mother to her death and fired me from my own company, you should have remembered that I am Arthur Ferguson’s grandson. I will protect the Ferguson legacy, and I will personally send you to the underworld to beg for their forgiveness.” His hand lashed out, slapping me hard across the face. His eyes burned with hatred, fear, and a sliver of panic, but his words were still a threat. “Asher, if you dare to destroy Vanguard, I will destroy you.” I stood my ground, taking the blow. With that, the small debt I owed him for my birth was paid in full. “I’m not going to destroy Vanguard. I’m just restoring it to its rightful owner. Its real name is AethelFerguson Corp.” My father stood rooted to the spot. A hush fell over the thousand guests as they remembered my grandfather, Arthur Ferguson—a man known for his integrity and decisive leadership. They remembered that Vanguard had once been AethelFerguson, a company Graham had seized and renamed after my mother’s death, forcing her own son to live under the thumb of his mistress. Isabelle steadied my furious father, whispering something quickly in his ear. A smug, satisfied smile spread across his face. He patted her arm. “Isabelle, you truly are my better half. What more could a man ask for?” He walked over to me, gently touching my swollen cheek. “Asher, I was just angry. I didn’t mean to hit you. Does it hurt?” He leaned in close, his voice a low, menacing whisper. “For all these years, Isabelle and I have treated you like our own son. We haven’t wronged you. Why must you push things to the point of mutual destruction?” “Isabelle has an idea. She said we can give you thirty percent of the company’s shares. In return, she, who has so diligently cared for your mother and grandfather’s ashes all these years, will get thirty percent. That’s not too much to ask, is it?” His voice dropped even lower. “You wouldn’t want their souls to be… disturbed, would you?” Isabelle sidled up, linking her arm with mine, her smile laced with venom. “Asher, you’ve always been a smart boy. That’s why I’ve always treated you as my own. You won’t disappoint me now, will you?” “The abbot of the Azure Mountain Monastery is an old friend of my father’s. A year ago, I entrusted your mother and grandfather’s ashes to him for safekeeping. If he were to become… displeased… and accidentally chant an evil spirit curse instead of a blessing, I wonder if they would suffer for all eternity in the afterlife.”

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