Category: English

My husband, Brandon, threw an elaborate birthday party for me. I thought it was also to celebrate our sixth wedding anniversary. Instead, he said, “Let’s get a divorce.” With all our friends and family present, his declaration of divorce clearly demonstrated his resolve. I was caught off guard, completely bewildered as to why. He said, “I’m tired. This life of being managed by you… it’s suffocating. I want to live freely, on my own. Will you set me free?” The chatter around me seemed to condemn me, saying I controlled my husband too strictly, and no man could endure it. I was genuinely speechless. I’d never even looked at his phone, I didn’t even know his password. I gazed blankly at Brandon. Then, I heard Brandon’s best friend say, “Elara, just do a good deed and set him free. You manage him too tightly. His mistress is already pregnant, and she still has no legal status.” 1 My husband had a mistress, and I had no idea. It was his best friend who told me, in front of so many people. Brandon, enraged and humiliated, lunged and punched Mark. “What the hell is wrong with you! What nonsense are you spouting! Whose friend are you, anyway?!” Mark took the full force of the punch. “Brandon, I let you hit me once. I’ve been tolerating you for too long. Every time we go to the club, you bring that girl, and then you come home and put on a show of devoted husband with Anna. “Elara, you think he’s working hard entertaining clients every night, but he’s out at the club with us! He only comes home late because he has to be with that woman after work. “He bought that woman a house, right across from your neighborhood!” My birthday party turned into a complete farce. In comparison, I wasn’t even the most humiliated. Brandon was. He never expected his best friend to betray him so publicly. Everyone gradually left. They all had their own thoughts: some pitied me, some mocked me, some cursed Brandon for being a jerk, and some criticized Mark for being disloyal. Mark, however, responded openly, “How am I disloyal? Was Brandon’s public announcement of divorce loyal? He wants a divorce but throws dirt on his wife, making everyone think she controlled him so strictly he felt suffocated and wanted to escape. What, do you all hope your husbands’ friends conspire to lie to you when this happens to you?” He said this loudly, ensuring everyone could hear. Everyone fell silent. Brandon gnashed his teeth, clenching his fists, wanting to rush out and fight Mark again. The room fell into a deathly silence. I asked Brandon, “How long has it been?” I actually knew nothing. Brandon said, “Two years. She’s still in college, please don’t make trouble for her. She comes from the countryside and it hasn’t been easy for her.” “Anna, you’re different from her. You can thrive on your own without anyone, but she can’t. She has no family but me. Without me, she wouldn’t survive.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “So, I’m supposed to be abandoned, betrayed, and cheated on? If it weren’t for Mark, I would have been branded a controlling wife who drove you to divorce at my own birthday party. How could you be so disgusting?” “I’m sorry, she’s pregnant, and I need to give her a sense of security. She’s still in college. If I didn’t pressure you like this, you wouldn’t divorce me.” I laughed softly, and as I laughed, tears streamed down my face. “What do you take me for? You’re already getting a divorce. Do you expect me to beg you to stay? Just tell me you have someone else and want a divorce. Do you think I’d cling to you?” Brandon didn’t say anything more. He just muttered “I’m sorry” and turned to leave. Only today did I learn that Brandon had another home, right across from our neighborhood. He had bought that woman a house. I locked myself in my room for three days. I didn’t go to work. I saw the office chat group was buzzing with gossip about me. [Anna Vance’s husband actually cheated! And he’s got another woman! I saw her social media, all full of travel photos with her husband! They were always together, how did he find time to cheat?] [You’re thinking too small. I’ve even seen husbands sneak off to a hotel on the way to pick up their kids!] [They’ve been together since college, eight years, I heard. They got married right after graduation. The house they live in now, Anna bought it. Her husband had nothing when he was with her. Anna paid for all their living expenses. Now that things are good, men get more fickle.] [Do you think she’ll get a divorce? Would divorcing just make things easier for that scumbag?] I closed the group chat, refusing to read any more of their gossiping about me. I opened my social media, deleting every single post about Brandon, one by one. I used to be that perfect woman, successful in her career, happily married, with a handsome, wealthy husband who was gentle and thoughtful towards me. Everyone envied me, both at work and in life. Even when I went back to my hometown, I was surrounded by relatives praising me, saying how lucky I was—good grades, good university, good career, good husband. And having a child in a year or two would make it even better. They all said I had good foresight, not shying away from a poor young man, knowing how to invest in potential, helping my husband climb to his current position. He started his own company and became the esteemed Mr. Blackwood. He probably really forgot the hardships and poverty he endured back then, the embarrassment of having not a single penny in his pocket yet wanting to buy me a birthday gift. 2 Three days later, I received a call from Brandon’s lawyer, asking me to sign the divorce papers. The property division was 50/50. Except for our current house and the company. The house we lived in was bought by me, so he wouldn’t get a share. The three million dollars for his company’s startup fund came from my parents, and he would return the three million with interest, so I couldn’t get a share of the company. He thought this was fair. “I won’t sign. If he leaves with nothing, I’ll sign immediately.” “Ms. Vance, you should know that the law does not support a spouse leaving with nothing. As a woman, I sympathize with you and understand you. Right now, Mr. Blackwood feels guilty and is willing to give you half. Once his guilt passes and he clears his head, you might not get this much. Besides, divorcing sooner allows you to start a new life. Why drag this out?” I chuckled. “He’s already started a new life without divorcing. If he can, why can’t I? He leaves with nothing, and I’ll divorce!” The lawyer sneered, rising. “Ms. Vance, you’re just stalling. Your demands won’t be supported in court. If you insist, then we’ll see you in court.” I went back to work. My boss already knew about my situation and offered me a month off. But I didn’t need it. If I had to save one, it would be my career. Since my marriage was over, I would focus on work. I went to work and left at my usual times every day, showing no signs of the humiliation and distress I was experiencing in my marriage. My colleagues all thought I must have chosen to swallow my pride and make peace with the mistress. Because such things were all too common, especially with my husband being so wealthy now. Wouldn’t a divorce just benefit the adulterous couple? Some senior colleagues even offered me advice on how to maintain a marriage. “Anna, any smart woman should learn to be lenient with her husband. Especially since your husband is rich and successful, and there are so many women eyeing him. You need to humble yourself appropriately, turn a blind eye. That’s how you get through life.” “That other woman he’s so smitten with, isn’t it because she knows how to show weakness and be accommodating? You, my dear, shouldn’t always focus solely on your career. You should also have a child with Mr. Blackwood.” “Your child with your husband is the legitimate heir; the other one is illegitimate!” I found it hard to understand their marital philosophy: finding out your husband cheated, then rushing to have a baby with him to secure your position as the rightful wife. Even my parents advised me this way, saying that Brandon was different now, not the poor boy he used to be. He was now a CEO, and his company was facing funding for an IPO. Divorcing him now, wouldn’t it just be a windfall for someone else? It was strange. Why were they all telling me this? It wasn’t about whether I wanted a divorce; it was Brandon who insisted on it to legitimize his mistress. Then my father said, “So, go be a little accommodating. You’ve had so many years of history, you’ve suffered alongside him every step of the way. If you soften up, he’s sure to be touched. Men in his position want to be admired. He wants to protect the vulnerable.” I went home for dinner, and all I heard was this kind of talk. If he wanted to protect the vulnerable, he should do charity work. There were plenty of vulnerable people who needed protecting. I was about to leave. Brandon arrived. “Mom, Dad!” Seeing me, Brandon froze. “Anna’s here too.” “Isn’t that a coincidence? We didn’t know Anna was coming home for dinner today! Well, you two talk, have a good long chat! Anna has a lot to say to you!” My parents quickly left. Brandon sat on the sofa, straightening his clothes, and said, “The court date is coming up soon. We don’t have much to talk about. The sooner you sign the divorce agreement, the sooner we divorce, the better for both of us.” “I know you don’t want to divorce me, but I’ve fallen in love with someone else. There’s no turning back, Anna. After so many years together, let’s part amicably.” I said, “You’re overthinking. I came back today not knowing Mom and Dad also called you. Brandon, my dad gave you three million from our family’s demolition compensation to start your business. Without that money, you wouldn’t be where you are today. You think you can just pay back three million and expect me to divorce you? Don’t dream.” Brandon was almost enraged. “Anna Vance! How did you become so materialistic! Yes, the three million was from your father, but I also have outstanding abilities and built up the company! If you invested that three million elsewhere, you probably wouldn’t even see a ripple! Now I’m returning it to you with interest, and you’re still not satisfied?” “You want me to leave with nothing? You’ve read too many novels! Is that even possible?! Dragging out this divorce is just wasting time, wasting your youth! I don’t love you anymore, and you still insist on being with me. Is there any point?” Watching Brandon angrily scold me, I remembered how happy he was when he got the three million, holding me and promising. “Anna, trust me, once I build up the company, I’ll pay you back a hundred, a thousand times over! I’ll remember your and your father’s kindness forever, and I’ll love you forever, always treating you well! Wife, I love you, I love you!” Getting the money then, saying he loved me, was true. Now, successful with a mistress, saying he didn’t love me, was also true. My parents realized Brandon was determined to divorce me. They stopped trying to persuade me, only urging me to divorce soon, start a new life, and not waste time on meaningless things. I said, “I want him to leave with nothing.” My parents thought I was delusional, because that was simply impossible. 3 Moreover, with Brandon’s current financial power, he had ample time and resources to fight me in court. I also found a lawyer: Brandon’s former best friend, Mark. After the events of my birthday party, the two of them had a complete fallout. I repeated my demand: “I want him to leave with nothing.” I expected Mark to laugh at me like everyone else: “Stop dreaming, that’s impossible!” Then Mark said, “Alright! He’ll leave with nothing!” At that moment, I smiled. But as I smiled, tears started to fall. I said, “They’re doing road construction outside your law firm, and sand got into my eyes.” Mark handed me a tissue. “Why is this damn sand piled outside my door? I’ll get someone to clear it!” And then, sure enough, someone came with an excavator and cleared the sand. At that moment, I cried even louder. The excavator driver, not knowing how he’d offended me, sped off, *chug-chug-chugging* away. Seeing the excavator drive off so quickly, I laughed again. I was both crying and laughing, looking utterly absurd. Mark, however, suddenly hugged me, holding me tightly. “Don’t be afraid, you have me.” I listened to his heartbeat tapping against my chest, and for some reason, I felt a strange calm. Mark and I were actually childhood sweethearts, growing up in the same alley. Mark was raised by his grandparents, his parents abroad. Later, in high school, Mark was also taken abroad. He only returned in the last two years. Because of work dealings with Brandon’s company, the two became close friends. That day, I received a friend request from a stranger. Looking at the profile picture, I already had a guess. I accepted the request. Then the person sent a series of photos. Photos of her and Brandon together, photos of her secretly kissing him as he slept on the sofa. And of them embracing in bed. There were even explicit videos of them. [Elara, your husband doesn’t love you anymore. Please divorce him gracefully, okay?] [Brandon has always carefully protected me, just afraid you’d hurt me. But I know you’re a kind person. If your husband cheats, you’ll only blame him, not me. After all, if it wasn’t me, it would be someone else, right?] [You know I live across from your neighborhood, yet you never came to bother me. I knew you were a good person. Elara, let go. Grant me and my baby’s father peace. I truly love him, and he loves me too.] [I told Brandon to give you more money. Get the divorce. You’re still young, you can find another man who loves you.] […] She wrote a lot, I didn’t read all of it. She sent me all the crucial evidence of Brandon’s infidelity. These proofs were taken by her, not me, so they were perfectly legal. I forwarded them to Mark. Mark burst out laughing. “How could she deliver such important evidence right to our doorstep? One step closer to that jerk leaving with nothing. Worth celebrating, let’s go out for a late-night snack!” “Coming!” Her name was Lena. She was a third-year student at Capital University, from a poor family. By chance, she received sponsorship from Brandon and became his sponsored student. Mark sent me all of Lena’s information, including her university’s contact details and her academic advisor’s. Mark ate a skewer and casually said, “Send her chat logs to the university; they’ll handle it. She said you’re a kind person and wouldn’t make things difficult for her.” “Of course, I also think you’re kind and wouldn’t trouble her.” Then Mark reminded me, “However, her being a mistress is a personal life and moral issue; the university usually won’t expel her. At most, it’ll be a reprimand and education.” I immediately exposed all of Lena’s affairs to her university. As Mark said, the university gave Lena a reprimand and education, with no other disciplinary action. Only school staff and her advisor knew about her being a mistress. A few days later, a banner appeared outside the university. [Lena from the third-year Finance Department deeply loves my husband and is carrying his illegitimate child. As his rightful wife, I hereby formally propose a concubine!] Someone was also banging gongs and drums at the entrance, instantly attracting the attention of the school’s faculty and students. Lena instantly shot to fame, even making it onto local news trends, notorious for being a mistress. But it wasn’t my doing. Lena didn’t believe it, and neither did Brandon. When Brandon came to confront me, Mark opened the door. It was raining outside, and he had gotten wet, so he was showering at my place. He really was just showering. Brandon, however, exploded, forgetting the reason he came. He threw a punch. This time, Mark didn’t tolerate it. He dodged, caught Brandon’s fist, and easily pushed him away. “Mark! What do you mean! Why are you alone in my house!” I said, “We’re getting a divorce. This house is in my name alone. It’s not your home anymore.”

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My husband drowned in a tragic accident. While sorting through his belongings, I found a copy of a property deed tucked inside a magazine. When I walked into that house, I was struck speechless. It was warmly and romantically decorated, with expensive furniture, beautiful rugs, and a crystal chandelier that still sparkled through a layer of dust. It was a world away from the cramped, dilapidated old house we lived in. The walls were covered with photos of him, his first love, and their twin children. On his desk was a hastily scrawled note: *Isabelle, since you passed away, every day has been a living hell. My duty to my mother is done, and the children are grown. I have nothing left to live for. I pray we will be reunited in the afterlife.* I stumbled out of the room. All I wanted to do was dig up his grave. But a wave of rage and grief washed over me. Blood rushed to my head, and I coughed up a mouthful of it before my vision went black and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the tenth year of my marriage. 1 When the police called to inform me they had found my husband Donovan’s body in Blackwood Reservoir, I was still at the office, working late to deal with last-minute changes from a client. I was over forty, my hormones were a mess, and it was past ten at night. I was slaving away like an old ox. My resentment was already at an all-time high. So when I heard the news, my first thought was that it was a scam. “Get lost,” I spat into the phone. “I hope all scammers die horrible deaths!” The officer on the other end didn’t get angry. In a calm, professional voice, he recited his badge number and the precinct, explaining that a night fisherman had discovered my husband’s body and found his ID on him. He asked me to come to the scene as soon as possible to assist with the matter. Half-convinced, I hung up. As I drove to Blackwood Reservoir, I kept calling Donovan, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Forty minutes later, I arrived at the location the police had given me. The night was pitch-black. The sound of the reservoir’s current and the calls of unseen animals were unnerving. I stumbled along the uneven ground, heading towards the only source of light. And there, I saw him. A man, stiff and straight, lying on the riverbank. He was wearing his usual white shirt and black trousers, now caked in mud. His shoes were gone, and his bare feet were covered in cuts. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. When I saw his face, I froze, as if struck by lightning. …It really was my husband, Donovan. 2 After a thorough investigation of the scene, an autopsy, and a review of the reservoir’s security footage, the police ruled out foul play. The medical examiner found alcohol in his system, and the official cause of death was accidental drowning while intoxicated. Our two children flew back from overseas as soon as they heard the news. I was so consumed by grief that my blood pressure spiked repeatedly, causing me to faint several times. I ended up in the ICU. My children handled all of their father’s funeral arrangements. By the time I was discharged, Donovan was already buried. It was only when my children took me to his gravesite that I realized, with a jolt of horror, that they had buried him next to their biological mother, Isabelle. But they had been divorced for over twenty years… I looked at my children standing beside me, my mind blank. My daughter, Nora, spoke in a flat voice. “It’s what Dad wanted.” She pulled a document from her bag and handed it to me. “This is the will Dad wrote before he died. The lawyer gave it to my brother and me when we got back. You should read it too.” My hands trembled as I took it. Nora was right. Being buried with Isabelle was stipulated in Donovan’s will. Nora continued, “The last page is the asset distribution. The beneficiary for all of Dad’s life insurance policies is me and my brother. His stocks and mutual funds were purchased before he married you, so they’re considered his personal assets, and he left those to us as well.” “As for the old house…” Nora paused. “Dad left you your 50% share, but you’ll have to pay us the market value for his half. Of course, you could also sell the house and give us half of the proceeds.” My son, Noah, who had been silent until now, looked at me. His expression was tinged with guilt. “Mom,” he said, his lips barely moving, “Nora and I have our green cards now. Once everything is settled here, we won’t be coming back. Please take care of yourself.” I stared at the two children I had raised for twenty years, disbelief washing over me. I didn’t even realize when the tears had started to fall. My throat ached, and my voice was a raw, broken whisper. “How… how could you do this to me?” I had been married to Donovan for twenty years. I became a stepmother to five-year-old twins, Noah and Nora. I loved my husband deeply, weathering every storm with him. I cared for his children with all my heart. I was a devoted daughter-in-law to his parents. And in the end… They had used me and bled me dry. 3 I stumbled back to our house, pushing the door open with what little strength I had left. Everything inside was just as it had been when Donovan was alive. We had lived in this house for nearly twenty years. I had bought it with the dowry my parents gave me in the second year of our marriage. It was a second-hand apartment, over thirty years old, rundown and cramped. It was less than 800 square feet, and for a long time, it had housed five of us, including my mother-in-law. For years, I had scrimped and saved for everything: to send Noah and Nora to study abroad, to pay for my mother-in-law’s monthly dialysis treatments for her chronic kidney failure. I kept telling myself that things would get better. Everything would be okay. Only now did I realize that I had been nothing more than a tool for their family. My gaze was empty, like a stagnant pool of water. I moved like a puppet on strings, gathering Donovan’s things, planning to throw them all out. As I was clearing out his closet, I found a magazine at the very bottom of a stack of clothes. Tucked inside was a yellowed piece of paper: a copy of a property deed. The owner was Donovan. I went to the address on the deed. After verifying my ID, a locksmith opened the door for me. The moment I stepped inside, I was utterly stunned. This was clearly Donovan and Isabelle’s love nest. The walls were adorned with countless photos of them and their children. The house was decorated in a warm, romantic style. Expensive furniture, luxurious rugs, a crystal chandelier that still sparkled through a layer of dust. It was a world away from the cramped, dilapidated old house we lived in. I forced my feet to move, opening the door to the master bedroom. The room was enormous, with a walk-in closet, a vanity, a king-sized bed, and a spacious, sunlit bay window. The clothes in the closet were meticulously organized and looked expensive. Next door was Donovan’s study. The sight before me was like a dagger to the heart. The walls here were a timeline of their family’s happiness, from the children’s elementary school years to their college days. They had traveled the world together, visiting all the places I had dreamed of but never dared to spend money on. I collapsed into the chair at his desk. An open piece of paper lay on the desk. On it was a single line of writing: *Isabelle, since you passed away from your illness two years ago, every day has been a living hell. My duty to my mother is done, and the children are grown. I have nothing left to live for. I pray we will be reunited in the afterlife.* … It wasn’t an accidental drowning. It was a suicide. To be with her. I ripped the note to shreds, a raw scream tearing from my throat. 4 I don’t know how long I sat there. I finally pushed myself up, my knees weak. I stumbled out of the house. At that moment, all I wanted was to go to the cemetery and dig up Donovan’s grave. But the overwhelming grief and rage crashed through me. I felt a surge of heat, and a spray of blood erupted from my lips. My vision went black, and I fell backward. 5 When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting at a banquet table laden with food, surrounded by a cacophony of noise. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, all washed over me like a tidal wave. It took me a moment to remember where I was. This was the celebration dinner after Noah and Nora’s middle school exams. They had both been accepted into the city’s top high school. Not only was their tuition waived for three years, but they had each received a six-thousand-dollar scholarship. Donovan was currently leading the two of them from table to table, accepting toasts and congratulations. Everyone was praising him, saying that as a university professor, he had naturally raised two brilliant children. Sitting next to my mother-in-law, Isabelle watched the three of them with a proud smile, as if she were the guest of honor. I picked up my glass of red wine and downed it in one go. The cool, slightly tart liquid sliding down my throat was a sharp reminder that this was not a dream. As I was still trying to process everything, a sharp, sour voice cut through the noise. “Audrey, you really are a lucky one. Your reputation was in tatters, yet you still managed to marry a great man like Donovan. You don’t have a uterus, so you never had to go through the pain of childbirth, and you still got a pair of perfect children out of it. I’m so jealous.” I followed the voice and saw Brenda, a colleague of Donovan’s who had been two years behind him in university. She was also a philosophy professor at the same university. Her voice was loud, and many people had heard her. Isabelle raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips as she looked over, clearly anticipating a show. Brenda clicked her tongue. “Honestly, how did you get so lucky? I heard that ten years ago, your father was willing to throw in a free house and still couldn’t marry you off. Who would have thought Donovan would have such bad taste? He had so many women chasing him, and he chose you. There’s just no justice in the world.” I looked at her face, slightly twisted with jealousy, and found it both pathetic and laughable. I knew she’d had a crush on Donovan for years, only to be beaten to the punch by her supposed best friend, Isabelle. By the time she found out, Isabelle was already two months pregnant. They never spoke again. Later, Brenda married someone else out of spite. Not long after her wedding, Isabelle suddenly divorced Donovan, abandoned her children, and fled the country. 6 Brenda had never quite gotten over the fact that she hadn’t married Donovan. That’s why she was always targeting me, constantly picking at my old wounds. In the past, I had been ashamed of what had happened to me, so I would always lower my head and endure her taunts. She had said the exact same things in my past life, and I had swallowed my anger. It was my children’s celebration, with their teachers and classmates present, as well as Donovan’s colleagues. I didn’t want to make a scene. But now, none of that mattered. I slammed my chopsticks down on the table with a loud *crack*. “You’re right, I am lucky!” I shot back, my voice ringing through the room. “Are you jealous that I married Donovan? How about I give you my spot? I’ll grant your wish of pining after him for a decade. Then maybe you’ll stop buzzing around me, constantly trying to imply that I’m not good enough for him.” Brenda’s face went pale. She shot a panicked look towards her husband. “Audrey, are you crazy? What are you talking about?” I sneered. “Am I? What about all those flirty texts you send him? The way your eyes follow him around like a lovesick puppy? Do you think I’m blind? You always bring up my assault, just to try and humiliate me.” “Yes, I was assaulted! And yes, I was beaten so badly they had to remove my uterus! But even with all that, it was Donovan who came begging to marry me. If you’ve got a problem with it, take it up with him!” Everyone turned to stare at me. Brenda’s husband was glaring at her, his eyes dark and stormy. Donovan rushed over, his face a mask of fury. He shot a venomous look at Brenda, then grabbed my arm, hissing, “What do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea what day this is? Why are you bringing up all this old baggage in front of our friends and family?” I yanked my arm out of his grip. “What did I say? She’s the one who starts it every single time. Are you blind?” Brenda’s husband strode over to their table. He pulled his wife to her feet and then forced a strained smile at Donovan and me. “Professor, Audrey, I’m so sorry. I just got an urgent call from work. We have to go. We’ll come by and apologize properly another time.” With that, he dragged Brenda out of the banquet hall, his face like a thundercloud. 7 The noisy banquet hall fell into an awkward silence. The people around me were looking at me with a mixture of pity, curiosity, and disdain. Isabelle, who had been enjoying the show, stood up. She moved to Donovan’s side and smiled at me, her eyes filled with a taunting, mocking light. But her voice was soft and gentle, almost a purr. “Audrey, while no one says anything about your past, you don’t have to parade it around in public, do you? You’re Donovan’s wife now. When you bring up these things, how do you think it makes him look? “And even if you don’t care about Donovan, Noah and Nora still call you ‘Mom.’ How are they supposed to face their classmates now?” I followed her gaze to where Noah and Nora were standing. Noah’s hands were clenched into fists, his eyes blazing with fury. Nora’s eyes were filled with tears, and she was glaring at me with a look of pure hatred. I remembered them at the cemetery, waving Donovan’s will in my face, demanding I sell the house and give them their share. A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Their biological mother isn’t dead. What right do I have to be their mom? “When she finally kicks the bucket, then we’ll talk.” “You…” Isabelle was speechless, her fair cheeks flushing with anger. Her watery eyes pleaded with Donovan for help. A flicker of something vicious crossed Donovan’s face. He grabbed my arm again, his grip so tight I thought my bones would snap. He lowered his voice, his words a furious whisper. “Audrey, that’s enough. Don’t make this any more embarrassing than it already is. If you want to throw a tantrum, do it at home.” 8 I looked up into the eyes of the man before me, and a tidal wave of hatred washed over me. Our friends, seeing the tension, quickly stepped in to mediate. “Professor, come on, we need to ask you for some parenting advice. My son is failing half his classes. How do you get your kids to listen to you…?” Soon, the banquet hall was filled with noise again. I sat back down, watching everything with cold, detached eyes. A tight knot of pain was lodged in my chest. I poured another glass of wine and drank it down. I knew the best thing to do was to divorce Donovan, to get away from this family of ghouls and start my own life. But they had stolen my life from me. How could I just let go of all this hatred? 9 The party ended, and the guests slowly trickled out. Soon, only Donovan’s family of four, and me, remained. My mother-in-law’s coarse voice broke the silence. “Audrey, you may not have any shame, but we do. Are you trying to make sure everyone in the city knows about your sordid past? “Do you think that’s something to be proud of? With your reputation, and the fact that you can’t even have children, I wouldn’t have approved of you even if it was your first marriage. “Someone like you, damaged goods, you’re not worthy of our Donovan.” “Mom!” Donovan cut her off sharply. “I told you not to bring that up again. Why are you starting now?” I looked at my mother-in-law, who was healthy and full of vigor. At this point, she hadn’t been diagnosed with chronic kidney failure yet. She didn’t need to kiss up to me, to beg me to pay for her treatments and drive her to the hospital for dialysis every week. In my last life, after her diagnosis, I took care of her for nearly eight years. Every Saturday, without fail, I would take her to her appointments. I would cook her special meals, low in protein, salt, and potassium. She had died peacefully in the hospital two months before Donovan’s suicide. The line in his note, “My duty to my mother is done,” was a duty I had fulfilled for him. I let out a cold laugh. “If I hadn’t lost my uterus, do you really think I would have even looked at Donovan? “And do you think your son is some kind of prize? His professorship was a sham. If my father hadn’t pulled every string he had to get him a recommendation from a leading expert, he’d still be a struggling lecturer. “Don’t you dare act all high and mighty after getting everything you wanted on a silver platter.” The moment the words left my mouth, the air in the room seemed to freeze. My mother-in-law was clearly not expecting me to fight back. Her face turned a mottled shade of purple, and she started to tremble with rage. 10 Donovan, standing beside her, had been hit where it hurt. He roared, “What is wrong with you today? Brenda said a few words, and you have to go nuclear?” Nora’s voice, shrill and accusing, joined in. “Today was supposed to be a celebration for me and my brother! Why did you have to bring up all that disgusting stuff about you being assaulted? How am I supposed to face my friends now? Why do you always have to ruin everything?” I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage that was about to erupt. “You’re right! I’m on a warpath today. What are you going to do about it?” Then I turned to Nora. “Why should I care whether you can hold your head up at school? I’ve never complained that you’re short and ugly with a pig’s nose, have I? You’re the one who embarrasses me in front of my colleagues!” Nora, it was true, was not a pretty girl. Though she and Noah were twins, he had inherited his mother’s delicate features, while Nora was the spitting image of her grandmother. Nora froze, then completely lost it. She let out a loud wail and ran out of the banquet hall, crying her eyes out. I had no desire to waste any more words on them. I grabbed my bag and walked out.

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Every lover Gideon picked looked like me. But the day I returned to the country, he smirked, “After seeing so many replicas, the original isn’t so impressive.” Last month, he dismissed all his flings, keeping only one innocent college girl by his side—who bore no resemblance to me at all. Gideon thought I rushed back because I feared he was truly falling in love this time. But I wasn’t here to surrender to him. Five years had passed. While he searched the world for my stand-ins, I was already expecting my second child. 1 The day I returned, Lord Ashworth specifically prepared a welcome feast for me. At the banquet, Gideon was conspicuously absent. His cousin, Lawrence, looked at me with open disdain. “Didn’t you say you’d never return to the Ashworth manor? Why are you suddenly so restless now that Gideon has found true love?” I blinked, surprised. “Then congratulations to him.” “Such theatrics.” Lawrence smirked, gesturing towards the entrance. “Gideon’s here. If you want to put on a show, at least do it for him.” Gideon wore a grey shirt, its collar slightly unbuttoned. Five years unseen, he was far more composed than I remembered. He took a seat very close to mine. I turned my head and immediately noticed a lipstick stain on his shirt. Lord Ashworth, seated at the head of the table, seemed oblivious, still lamenting, “You two have been fighting for five years; surely that’s enough. When are you going to get your marriage license again?” I remained silent. Gideon, however, chuckled, “Grandfather, my new girlfriend already dislikes that I’m divorced. If she heard that, she’d blow a fuse.” Lord Ashworth’s face darkened. “Can those women out there compare to Elara?” “This time is different,” Gideon said, glancing at me. “This time, I’m serious.” 2 “Nonsense!” Lord Ashworth was too enraged to speak. Everyone else looked at me, some with pity or sympathy, others waiting for the drama to unfold. I lowered my gaze and spoke softly, “Grandfather, I appreciate your good intentions, but I cannot reconcile with Gideon.” No one expected me to be so definitive. After all, they had all witnessed how, for Gideon, I had once been willing to risk everything. Crack A crystal goblet shattered. Gideon slowly wiped the blood from his hand. “Slipped.” 3 It was a long time before I realized my social media group chat was exploding. “Elara, how could you keep such big news from us? Congratulations!” “Gideon really went all out this time.” “Oh my god, I knew you two would get back together!!!” Confused, I scrolled through hundreds of messages before I saw Gideon’s post in the group: he was getting married, and he’d shared a photo of the wedding ring. It was a flawless, teardrop-shaped pink diamond ring, enough to make any woman’s heart flutter. I thought for a moment, then posted a clarification. “Gideon isn’t getting back together with me.” The flurry of messages paused, then resumed scrolling frantically. “Exactly, talking about getting back together, the couple never broke up.” “Just some long-distance romance.” “Hehe, Elara, we all get it.” Until Gideon suddenly appeared, adding his new girlfriend to the group. “Let me introduce you all, this is my wife, Liliana. She’s young and feisty, so go easy on her…” Before he could finish, the girl playfully snatched his phone, “Don’t listen to his nonsense, I’m super easy to get along with.” From the voice message, I could hear Gideon’s doting laughter. Some smart aleck started a new group, directly asking Gideon, “Gideon, you’re marrying someone else, what about Elara?” Gideon replied quickly, “If you’re not grossed out, you can take her.” “Gideon, if you talk like that, I might actually go after Elara?” Gideon ignored him. The group started laughing at the guy for being out of his league. He puffed out his chest, “Well, who doesn’t want to take a bite of swan meat?” Everyone in the group fell silent. Then, Gideon casually remarked, “Even swan meat gets boring if you play with it too much.” 4 The group was all calling Gideon stubborn and invited me to dinner the next day. But when I arrived, I found Gideon and his new girlfriend there too. The friend who initially invited me looked a bit awkward and whispered, “Gideon insisted on coming, but he didn’t tell me he’d bring her along.” I just hummed, indifferent. The young woman, Liliana, wasn’t shy at all. She quickly made friends with everyone, and seemed particularly keen to stick close to me. “Elara, Gideon told me everything about you two. I don’t mind.” “I practically nagged him all night just to meet you.” “You know, you’re even prettier in person than in pictures. You don’t look seven years older than me at all.” “How do you take care of yourself? You must be very diligent, right? Do you only use very expensive brands?” One friend, unable to listen anymore, gave Gideon a pointed look. “Aren’t you going to control your woman?” “Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” he said, smiling as he pinched Liliana’s cheek. “My little queen is terribly hard to appease.” “Hmph, good that you know!” Gideon used to be good at charming people when he was little. But as he grew up, everyone around him fawned over him, giving him a spoiled, unruly temper. I hadn’t seen him coax anyone like this in a long time. Liliana stuck out her tongue at me. “I’m sorry, Elara, I didn’t mean anything by it.” She picked up two glasses of wine, offering me one. “I apologise to you, sister.” With that, she tilted her head back and downed the drink. But I couldn’t even pretend. “I’m sorry, I can’t drink.” Liliana’s eyes immediately reddened. “Elara, are you looking down on me?” Gideon’s tone also turned cold. “Elara Blunt, I’ve given you too much leeway, haven’t I?” “That drink, you’ll have it whether you want to or not.” A friend quickly stepped in to mediate. “Elara, it’s just one drink. Everyone here knows your tolerance.” I shrugged helplessly. “I’m pregnant, I really can’t drink alcohol.” The entire room fell into instant silence. “Pfft!” Liliana burst out laughing. “Hahahaha, Elara, I’ve seen that ‘read and reply randomly’ trick online. You can’t fool me.” Others laughed too. “Might as well say you took antibiotics, much more believable.” “Elara, don’t scare us with things like that. My heart nearly stopped.” Gideon impatiently snatched my glass. “Fine, fine, fine. You won’t drink, you’re so mighty.” 5 Liliana looped her arm through mine, sweetly asking, “Elara, everyone says you’re Gideon’s ‘one true love.’ Is that true?” She asked so softly, I almost thought I misheard. “Didn’t Gideon tell you?” She pouted. “He just says sweet things to coax me; I don’t believe him. I want to hear it from you.” What was there for me to say? I was an orphan, adopted into the Ashworth family, picked up from the orphanage by Gideon when he was a child. Truthfully, I was more like a stray kitten he took pity on, a toy he once liked. Even our relationship started because a teenage Gideon wanted to experiment with a girl. That day, we stood in a narrow hallway, our cheeks flushed. I couldn’t speak, and the tears that welled in my eyes were gently licked away by Gideon’s tongue. “Do you cry even when I kiss you?” He smiled and said, “Poor little thing, you’ll never stop crying.” I pulled myself back to the present. “Nothing to say. We’re divorced.” Liliana covered her mouth. “Elara, you’re so elusive! No wonder Gideon couldn’t forget you before he met me.” “Do you want to hear what he said?” I watched her quietly. “Gideon said…” “What are you two chatting about?” Gideon leaned in. Liliana kissed his cheek, but her eyes were on me. “It’s a secret!” Actually, I had heard Gideon’s answer before. After the divorce, I received a call from the country. It was noisy on the other end, but I recognized Gideon’s voice. “One true love, my ass!” “There’s no other reason for finding lovers who look like Elara Blunt.” “I’m just not used to a different face. Even a toy needs to feel right after you use it for a while.” Before he hung up, a soft, delicate voice said, “Did you hear that? He doesn’t love you at all.” “I heard it.” “You’re not the first girl to approach me, but I hope you’re the last.” Apparently, she wasn’t. 6 Liliana suggested we play a game of telepathy. The rules were to identify a specific person from wine glasses bearing lipstick marks. “Let’s start with Gideon!” she cooed. “If you don’t pick me, you’re dead!” Gideon smiled and raised his hands in surrender. Someone quietly sighed, “I’ve never seen Gideon dote on anyone like this…” Gideon rarely cared for anyone, but if he did, he would spoil them rotten. The girl responsible for preparing the glasses winked. “Elara, could you help out…” Everyone, enjoying the spectacle, placed about ten wine glasses filled with wine in front of Gideon. Gideon raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping quickly, and he soon made his choice. “This one.” He caressed the lipstick print, smiling ambiguously. “It’s too familiar. Clearly my wife’s.” The girl who knew the answer widened her eyes, about to speak, but I interjected, “Correct.” Liliana, however, stood up and playfully glared at Gideon. “Idiot! The one in the top left corner is mine.” “Elara, you broke the rules, so you have to take a penalty!” “I’ll punish you by making you choose, blindfolded, from five men—which one is Gideon!” 7 “No way!” someone gasped. Liliana giggled. “It’s just a game, Elara. You have to be a good sport, don’t you think?” I smiled back. “Alright, let’s play.” Blindfolded, I tentatively took a few steps forward. The first man extended his hand to me. But as soon as my hand touched his arm, I shook my head. “Not him.” Everyone was shocked. “What?! So fast! How did you guess?” Because Gideon never wears silk shirts. The second man was also easy to rule out. Before I even got close, I smelled his cologne. It wasn’t a scent Gideon would use. The third one made me hesitate. He smelled strongly of smoke, and Gideon didn’t smoke. But… Following his arm, I slowly moved upwards, tracing his shoulder, his neck. Even through his clothes, I could feel his growing excitement. The person’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He swallowed softly. The surroundings were eerily quiet. I paused. “Let’s check the fourth one first.” The fourth man was a bit too thin. Not him. Only the last one remained. This time, my movements were very restrained. The first thing I touched was the cufflink, the logo Gideon wore today. I spoke directly. “It’s the fifth one.” “Wrong guess!” Liliana untied my blindfold from behind. “Looks like Elara doesn’t really know Gideon after all. That’s a relief.” In the dim light, Gideon stood in the center, his eyes dark and unreadable. The man laughed, tossing his jacket to Gideon. “Hahaha, Elara, surprised? It was a trick!” 8 That night, I dreamt of Gideon from when he was a child. He was with Lord Ashworth at a charity event at our orphanage. He picked me out from the crowd and refused to let go. “Grandfather, Elara doesn’t have a home or parents. I like her. I want to share mine with her!” Lord Ashworth deliberately made it difficult for him. “If you promise to practice the violin every day, I’ll agree.” Gideon’s brow furrowed in conflict. He was a restless little rascal since childhood, hating violin practice. But that day, he clutched my hand tightly and readily agreed. Later, he diligently studied for over ten years, come rain or shine. I was by his side for every single lesson. When I first arrived at the Ashworth manor, I was as thin as a kitten. Gideon would hold me in his arms and feed me. For a long time, we ate, lived, and slept in the same bed. “Elara, you need to eat more! You need to grow tall like me!” “Elara, don’t be scared. I’m here with you!” “Elara, I just lied to Grandfather. I told him I liked him the most, but actually, I like you most of all in the whole world!” Little Gideon was incredibly kind to me. Opening my eyes, my phone was ringing incessantly – it was him, the current him. “Elara Blunt, let’s talk.” “I know you can see this.” “Elara Blunt… text me back.” “Elara Blunt.” There was also a deleted message that I hadn’t seen. I couldn’t help but tap on the familiar profile picture. “How much longer until you come back? I miss you and the baby so much.” The other person replied instantly. “Soon.” “The baby and I miss you even more~” 9 Gideon leaned silently on the sofa, surrounded by a scatter of cigarette butts. His craving for nicotine was particularly strong tonight. Not long ago, a friend leaned in mysteriously and whispered to him, “While we were playing games, I found something on Elara’s phone.” Those few words made Gideon’s pupils tremble. “Gideon, you and Elara might have a four-year-old daughter.” 10 The next day, Liliana stopped me at the mall. “What a coincidence, Elara, are you alone too?” She smiled and complained, “I didn’t bring Gideon either. Every time I try something on, he just says it looks good and only knows how to swipe his card. It’s so annoying.” Liliana pulled me into a luxury boutique. “Elara, you must know this brand, right?” She deftly picked out a few bags, then handed me one of the boxes. “A platinum milkshake white, perfect for your age, Elara.” I didn’t take it. She pouted. “This is my thank-you gift to you, Elara.” “Gideon used to be such a player. If you hadn’t gone through all that trouble for me, how would he have settled down the moment he met me?” “I’ve always had very few possessions. When I find something, I have to hold onto it tightly. You understand that feeling better than I do, don’t you, Elara?” “Some men, if you choose them, you’ll lose.” Liliana had a hint of smugness. “You lost, but I didn’t.”

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Three years. That’s how long we’d been together, living in pixels and text. Axel said I was too clingy. So he tossed me to his roommate. And just like that, the messages I received were from his roommate. The birthday gifts I cherished were picked out by his roommate. I was completely in the dark, my heart fluttering with anticipation for our three-year anniversary, the day we would finally meet. When that day came, my boyfriend was tall and gorgeous. He loved holding my hand and would blush shyly. I looked him over again and again, absolutely smitten. The only thing was, he was a man of few words, and he guarded me from other guys like a hawk. I’d laugh and tell him he was overreacting, that I was hardly some irresistible prize. Until the day a brazen young man blocked our path. His eyes were venomous, locked on the man beside me. “Silas, where the hell did you get a girlfriend?” 1 I’d noticed something was off with Axel. Before, when we chatted, he was never a big talker, but every word he typed had a spark of life to it. Over the past year, though, his messages had become… stilted. Sometimes the words came out one at a time, clipped and sterile. It felt like… I thought for a moment. It felt like I was talking to a robot executing a command. Uncanny. I’d cautiously tested the waters. “Do you… not like me anymore?” The reply was almost instantaneous, a frantic burst of text. “No!” “I do!” Before I could even respond, he started typing again, the “…” icon blinking for a long time. “Busy today. Basketball tournament. Not ignoring you.” I shook my head, a smile returning to my face as I typed back, “Okay, baby, my bad. I’m sorry.” But you couldn’t blame me for overthinking. This was the curse of a long-distance relationship, the constant hum of insecurity. I huffed, then remembered something. I sent a flurry of happy puppy emojis. “Do you remember our promise? We’re going to see each other in just a few days!” The “…” started blinking again. And again. And again… My patience, initially abundant, evaporated. “What’s your deal? If you want to break up, just say it. If you don’t want to meet, just block me.” He seemed to panic. A message shot back instantly: “Yes! Meet!” I grinned, triumphant. That’s more like it. A moment later, a transaction notification popped up. He’d sent me ten thousand dollars. I was confused. “?” “Buy,” he replied quickly, adding two more words. “Plane ticket.” Come to think of it, besides his newfound brevity, Axel had also developed a habit of sending me money. He used to, but only for holidays or my birthday. This past year, the transfers came at all hours. Sometimes I’d send him a random photo, and if there was so much as a single flower in the frame, he’d spot it and wire me a few thousand dollars with a simple message: “Buy flowers. Pretty.” It felt like a clumsy, almost desperate attempt to please me, as if money was the only language he knew. I didn’t accept the transfer. Instead, I sent him a picture of myself. “I got accepted into the exchange program at Blackwood University for a year!” I typed, my fingers flying across the screen. “Axel, I’m coming to your school! Are you happy?” I love the ocean, so we had agreed to meet for the first time in Seacliff Point. My school, Fairview University, and his, Blackwood, were two of the top universities in the country, rivals from opposite coasts. They had a long-standing exchange program for students with excellent GPAs. He took a long time to reply. So long that I was hugging my phone, drifting off to sleep. Finally, a message came through. Just two simple words. “I’m happy.” 2 The moment I landed in Bridgewater, my mom’s call came through. “I’ve set up the meeting for you. Just think of it as making a new friend. And remember to pay your respects to the old Mrs. Hawthorne. Don’t be rude.” I hadn’t dared tell my mom I had an online boyfriend. So she was constantly reminding me that as soon as I got to the city, I had to visit the family that ours had a long-standing understanding with—a verbal marriage agreement from a generation ago. I figured it was a good opportunity to clear things up in person, so I didn’t refuse. Besides, I’d heard the family’s name was Hawthorne. Because of Axel, I had a strange fondness for that name. But I sat in the designated café from afternoon until evening, and he never showed. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. My mom had told me the Hawthornes used to live in our hometown when I was five, before moving to Bridgewater. In recent years, as a minor branch of the family, they’d managed to attach themselves to the powerful Prescott family, and their status had skyrocketed. Naturally, they’d look down on someone from a small town like me. They were probably afraid I’d try to cling to them. My mom was a talkative woman with a short fuse, and I was a talkative woman with no fuse at all. The two of us spent the next half hour on the phone, trading insults about the Hawthornes. Finally, my dad’s slow, deliberate voice drifted through the receiver. “Honey, don’t swear in front of the baby. You’ll be a bad influence.” I laughed, and then an idea struck me. I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of the twilight sky. I opened my chat with Axel, sent the photo, and typed out a quick message. “I’m here! One day left on the countdown!” 3 Meanwhile, outside a dormitory at Blackwood University’s computer science department. A group of guys was heading back from the courts when one of them let out a surprised yell. “Hey, isn’t that a Prescott family car? Silas? What’s he doing back at school?” Axel, dressed in simple gray sweats and a white t-shirt, a basketball tucked under his arm, glanced over. A discreet, custom-built sedan was parked nearby, its door ajar. From his angle, he could only see a hand, pale and elegant, gripping the doorframe so tightly that the veins stood out in sharp relief. Axel knew what that looked like. It was the physical manifestation of pure terror, a visceral disgust for stepping into a crowd. Silas… Axel frowned. He couldn’t imagine why Silas would need to come back to campus. He’d already failed once. Rick, another one of the guys, was just as confused. “Doesn’t he hate being around people? Last year he moved into our dorm, said he wanted to ‘get over it.’ Lasted all of two days before the poor little rich boy couldn’t take it anymore.” “Seriously, driving him here in the middle of the night… you think they want you to babysit him again, Axel?” Rick said thoughtlessly, then caught the look on Axel’s face. He quickly changed his tune. “Hey, I mean, who cares if he’s the sole heir to a fortune? The guy can barely string a sentence together. How’s he supposed to run Prescott Industries?” “No wonder the old Mrs. Prescott dotes on you so much, man. When she finally kicks the bucket, even her own grandson will probably have to rely on you.” Axel said nothing. He pulled his gaze away from the car and walked off, indifferent. Inside the car, Silas’s lips were pressed into a thin line. His handsome, refined face was ashen, a sheen of sweat on his brow. His hand was still clamped onto the doorframe. After a long moment, he asked in a low voice, “Will she… think I’m… a freak?” Arthur, the family’s long-serving butler, a kind man with a head of white hair, felt a pang of sympathy. But he couldn’t bring himself to offer the same hollow reassurances as before. He couldn’t just say, “Our young master is brilliant and handsome, who would dare think such a thing?” He remembered a playmate Silas had as a child. The boy had pretended to adore Silas to his face, but behind his back, he’d called him a little idiot. A young Silas had overheard from behind the door. He never made another friend after that. It was only in the last few years, thanks to Axel, that things had started to change. Arthur didn’t know what magic Axel had worked, but over the past year, Silas had come alive. He was often glued to his phone, sometimes bursting into laughter for no apparent reason. And now, he was voluntarily asking to come back to school. It was for this reason that the Prescott family had showered the Hawthornes with resources, elevating their status. As for this “she” Silas was talking about, Arthur had no idea who he meant. He assumed it was just more of the boy’s rambling. So, he changed the subject. “Perhaps we should go home for now, and try again another day…” Silas looked out the window, his features delicate and striking. He shook his head, his voice firm. “We have to meet.” 4 The Intro to Philosophy lecture at Blackwood was always packed. By the time I rushed in with my textbook, only a few scattered seats remained. My eyes scanned the massive hall, finally landing on one spot. In the third-to-last row by the window, a single person sat in isolation. The seats all around him were empty, as if an invisible barrier had been drawn, a line no one dared to cross. The young man in the seat sat with his back ramrod straight, his posture almost painfully rigid. He wore a simple white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing wrists of a startling pale white. The room was a cacophony of noise, but he remained with his head bowed, eyes downcast, his long lashes casting a faint shadow on his cheeks. He was so still it was as if the world around him was on mute. I took a deep breath. In that instant, I knew. I started walking towards him. A boy with a shy smile tried to stop me. “Hey, um, you can sit here. He… he doesn’t let anyone sit next to him.” Hearing our exchange, the boy at the desk snapped his head up. The moment our eyes met, he froze completely, his light brown pupils flickering with a delicate, fractured anxiety. I gave the other boy a small shake of my head and whispered, “Thanks, but I’m here for him.” I plopped down into the seat beside him, and for a second, the entire noisy lecture hall fell silent. I ignored it, tilting my head to look at him, my voice soft. “Axel?” It took him a long moment to speak. When he did, it was a barely-audible hum. “Mm.” His voice was low, a little hoarse. I grinned and hooked my pinky finger around his. “I knew it was you,” I whispered. “I recognized you instantly. Pretty amazing, right?” He didn’t speak, but a furious blush crept up from the tips of his ears, spreading down his neck and across his cheeks. My eyes widened. I was afraid he might actually combust, so I quickly let go of his hand. But the next second, he looked at me, his eyes wide with shock, like a puppy that had just been abandoned. So, I threaded my fingers through his again. “By the way,” I asked casually, “what’s your real name?” He stiffened, suddenly unable to speak. I smiled. “Axel is a fake name, right? You said you’d tell me your real name when we finally met.” When we first started talking, neither of us used our real names. It had started as a quirky thing on my part, and the nicknames just stuck. Hearing my words, he pursed his lips, his expression suddenly serious. “Silas. My name is Silas.” I wiggled his fingers in mine, my smile bright. “Nice to meet you, Silas. I’m so happy to finally meet you.” 5 Axel… no, Silas’s situation was a little more complicated than I’d imagined. When the app first matched us, it showed a 98% compatibility rating. His profile tags were: *Withdrawn, Aloof, Anxious.* From our earliest conversations, I knew Silas was struggling with something—a condition without a formal name. A traumatic event in his childhood had left him terrified of face-to-face interaction, crippled by a fear of crowds. He couldn’t live a normal life, have normal conversations, or make friends in the real world. So he hid himself online. At first, I just felt a pang of sympathy for him. Like seeing a small cat huddled in a corner during a rainstorm and feeling the instinctive urge to offer it the shelter of your umbrella. But neither of us expected that my small umbrella would, over time, become a roof for us both. We were a perfect fit, a true meeting of minds. We read the same books, watched the same movies, listened to the same quiet music. He always seemed to understand the emotions I never put into words. My roommate, Pippa, once leaned over my desk, staring at my reflection in the mirror, completely baffled. “Do you really need to date online? With your looks, you could have a whole roster of boyfriends lined up.” I thought about it for a long time. When I finally answered, I sounded like a complete lovesick fool. “He’s different.” Everyone in my family is good-looking, so I’ve been immune to physical appearance since I was a child. To me, a thousand pretty faces are all the same. They can’t compare to a single interesting, profound soul. And Silas was brilliant. Inhumanly so. During my senior year of high school, when I was drowning in academic pressure, he became my unofficial tutor. No matter how convoluted the problem, he could break it down from behind a screen, explaining it with a clarity and conciseness that was breathtaking. I still remember how he typed out tens of thousands of words of analysis just to help me with my weakest subject. I glanced down. Silas was clutching my hand, his grip incredibly tight. I smiled, trying to get him to relax. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed his lips together, switched hands, and held on even tighter. I chattered on, telling him about everything and anything. I have a way of talking that’s different from most people; I love to add vivid, colorful descriptions. A story about losing a shoe at the train station might take someone else a single sentence, but I could stretch it into a ten-minute epic. All that talking left my throat dry, and I swallowed instinctively. A second later, a pale, slender hand appeared in front of me, holding an open water bottle. The bottle itself was immaculately clean. My eyes lit up, and I took it, gulping down a few mouthfuls. The water was the perfect temperature, not too hot, not too cold, with a faint, sweet scent of licorice root. “Babe, you’re too sweet!” I teased, looking at him. “Thanks, boyfriend?” The tips of Silas’s ears turned red again. He managed a clipped, “You’re… welcome.” I grinned and ruffled his soft, black hair. It felt like silk. It’s okay, I thought. You don’t have to talk much. I’ve got enough words for the both of us. 6 “I heard that Prescott kid is back on campus.” “Get close to him. Keep a very close eye on him. If that boy says so much as one extra word at home, the Prescott family will consider it a major accomplishment on your part.” “Did you hear me? Axel…” Axel scoffed and hung up the phone. Rick walked in, saw his foul mood, and wracked his brain for something fun to talk about. His eyes lit up. “Hey, have you heard? There’s a new exchange student in the computer science department. Dude, she is drop-dead gorgeous.” “She walked by the courts this afternoon, and someone snapped a picture and put it on the campus CrushNet page. A bunch of people are already shipping you two.” “Let me see… yeah, the comments are all like…” “*‘Oh my god! They don’t even know each other, but I’ve already written a 100,000-word campus romance in my head!’*” “*‘I don’t care about anything else. Based on these two faces alone, I’m shipping it hard!’*” Rick zoomed in on the photo and slapped his thigh. “It’s perfect, Axel! This girl is totally your type!” He looked up, only to realize Axel wasn’t listening at all, his eyes glued to the game on his computer. Rick scratched his head. “Oh, right, I forgot. You have that online girlfriend. When are you two planning to meet up?” Axel didn’t even look up. “She’s just something to kill time with when I’m bored. She’s not my girlfriend.” “Besides, with a face like hers…” He tried to recall what she looked like but couldn’t remember why he’d even started talking to her. He just remembered an accidental video call where he’d caught a glimpse of her. A round, flat face with two small eyes. She was far from pretty. Back then, he could have just ghosted her. But then he saw Silas. His online girlfriend and Silas. One who wanted to text 24/7, and one who wouldn’t speak for 24 hours if he could help it. He’d tossed the person who annoyed him to the person he despised. A chatterbox and a mute. A smirk played on Axel’s lips. A match made in hell. He had warned Silas that chatting with her was fine, but meeting up was out of the question. It would save him the trouble of cleaning up the mess. Silas was just an imposter filling in for him; he wouldn’t have the guts to meet her in person. The next day, Axel and his friends were on the basketball court when a girl walked towards them. The afternoon sun bathed her in a golden light, her skin so pale it almost glowed. Her features were sharp and stunning, her figure tall and graceful. There was no one this beautiful at Blackwood. This had to be the exchange student Rick was talking about. A lump formed in his throat. He let out a silent laugh. Rick really did know him well. As someone who was used to being the center of attention, he was always the one being approached. For the first time in his life, he took the initiative. “Hey, I’m Axel. Can we be friends?” 7 I blinked, looking up at him. The man in front of me was incredibly striking. He had a sharp brow, and the corners of his eyes tilted upwards, giving him an air of casual arrogance. If Silas’s beauty was like fine porcelain, cool and fragile, then this man was like a drawn sword, all sharp edges and swagger. His name was Axel too? What a coincidence… Silas probably never imagined that the random name he’d picked would belong to someone at his own university. I snapped back to reality, falling back on my well-practiced response to being hit on. “Hi, I’m Sera. Nice to meet you. Friend.” Remembering that Silas was waiting for me, I gave a nod and started walking towards the campus gate. Behind me, Rick and the others started hooting and hollering. “Ooooh, look at her, she’s so shy she ran away!” “Axel, man, your charm is undefeated! There’s no girl you can’t get!” Axel just shoved his hands in his pockets, a familiar, confident smile on his face. Silas still couldn’t handle being at school. He lasted one day before returning to the Prescott estate. I had a few classes today, and his car was waiting for me at the gate long before they were over. “You don’t have to come so early,” I said, climbing into the car and immediately cupping his face in my hands. “It must be so boring waiting out here for so long.” He sat perfectly still, letting me squish his cheeks. “Not boring. Not seeing you… is boring.” I pouted. I had no idea this quiet boy could be so smooth. The car pulled into a residential complex not far from Blackwood. Silas led me into an apartment, and I turned to him, confused. “For you,” he said, producing a deed from out of nowhere. “For school.” I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, absolutely not.” This place had to be worth millions. I couldn’t possibly accept it. “I’m fine in the dorms,” I said quickly. “It’s more convenient anyway.” I’d seen the Blackwood dorms; they were standard four-person rooms with loft beds over desks. They were spacious enough. “And I’m only here for a year, maybe a year and a half. It’s not like I’m moving here for good…” The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and Silas’s expression darkened. “Anyway,” I quickly added, “nobody gives someone an apartment the first time they meet. No way. Not even a boyfriend.” “The dorms are bad,” he said, pausing as if searching for a convincing reason. He finally found one. “They’re smaller than the bathroom at my house.” …I couldn’t argue with that. Silas didn’t press the issue. He just stood there, his eyes downcast, looking at me. His long lashes hid his expression, but he looked so quiet and crestfallen, like a giant, dejected dog. I was helpless against him. I pressed a finger to my nose, then pointed it at him with a huff. “Fine. On one condition. I’ll stay here temporarily, but you are not, under any circumstances, to give me this deed.” Silas’s lips twitched, the corners turning up in a faint, triumphant smile. 8 It was only after Silas left that I realized the apartment’s decor looked familiar. The color of the living room sofa, the style of the floor lamp, the built-in fireplace in the corner… Every single detail was something I had mentioned offhandedly in our chats, a preference I’d once shared. The next morning, I opened the door to find Silas standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers. “When did you get here? Why didn’t you knock?” I exclaimed, then noticed the person behind him and smiled. “Good morning, Arthur.” Arthur beamed at me. He probably knew Silas wouldn’t say anything himself. He spilled the beans. “Oh, he was up bright and early! Woke up at four, took a shower, spent an age picking out his clothes, and he even arranged this bouquet himself, you know.” He held up two fingers, his eyes crinkling with his smile. “When he got home last night, he did something unprecedented. He actually said two whole sentences to his grandmother. She was so happy she couldn’t sleep all night.” Last night, just before he went upstairs, Silas had turned back and seriously asked him: *How do you pursue a girl?* Goodness, a man his age, what did he know about how young people date these days? So he and his wife had put on their reading glasses and spent hours searching online, while Silas sat beside them, watching them quietly. As Arthur told the story, Silas’s ears turned red again. “That’s amazing!” I said, taking the flowers and praising him. “You said two sentences to your grandma yesterday. How about we upgrade to four today?” Silas nodded obediently. “Okay.” I had already sensed that Silas was only pretending to be relaxed and normal around me. He could spend an entire day with me in quiet companionship—talking, touching, being close were all fine. But the moment he stepped outside of this little world we’d created, he would retreat back into his shell. Over the next few weeks, I consciously made myself a bridge for him, helping him extend his world, little by little. He had once told me in a chat that when he was very young, his family, out of desperation, had tried to use extreme methods to shock him out of his condition. It had only left him with deeper scars. So I never pushed him, never rushed him to open up. We took walks in the park at dusk, visited quiet, empty bookstores, and went to the convenience store late at night. When he was having a good day, I would give him a gentle nudge. “How about you just try saying ‘thank you’ to the clerk?” I didn’t expect much. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” Silas squeezed my hand, his fingers curling slightly, but he looked at the clerk and said a clear, steady, “Thank you.” As soon as the clerk turned away, I beamed at him, my eyes curving into crescents, and gave him a tiny, silent round of applause. “You were so brave just now.” Silas kept his eyes down, but his thumb gently stroked the back of my hand. His voice was low but incredibly earnest. “I… I wasn’t scared.” He paused, then shot a quick glance at me before looking away again, adding in a whisper, “When I’m with you, I’m not afraid.”

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My husband’s “friend” had a birthday party for her child, and the little one clung to my husband, calling him “Daddy.” The friend casually explained, “Oh, don’t mind it, darling. A godfather is like a dad, right?” I gently touched my belly, a serene smile gracing my lips. “If the child’s actual father doesn’t mind, why would I?” Meeting my husband’s warning gaze, a look that told me not to cause a scene, my smile sharpened with mockery. You can let another woman’s child call you Daddy. And I can let the child in my womb call someone else Daddy. 1 Once again, Willow’s son latched onto my husband, Jackson, mumbling “Daddy,” his tiny hands clutching Jackson’s collar tightly. Jackson’s eyes almost disappeared into a beaming smile. He gave the chubby little boy a kiss before seemingly noticing me standing there. A touch of awkwardness crossed his face as he said, “Why are you just standing here? You’re pregnant, you should go inside and sit down.” I gently stroked my still-flat belly, my voice cool and even. “In a moment. All your best friends are coming today, aren’t they? Perfect. I’ll pick out a father for my baby.” Jackson’s face instantly darkened. He gripped my wrist tightly, his voice a low, seething growl. “Eveleigh, I’m not dead yet. Are you in such a rush to find a stepfather for our child?” I retorted, unfazed, “What, Jackson? Willow can find a dad for her child in you, but I can’t find one for mine?” “Honestly, you’re such a hypocrite.” “To spare your feelings, I’m only planning to pick from your closest friends. Surely you trust your own friends?” Jackson’s face cycled through shades of red and green. He was speechless, utterly choked by my words. Willow, cradling her son, quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Darling, you’re wrong about that. Men are all bad news, even Jackson can be a real sneak sometimes!” Her words held an undeniable hint of intimacy. I smiled at her, a hint of resignation in my eyes. “See, you’re just as hypocritical. Your son can have my husband as his daddy, but my baby can’t have someone else as a daddy?” “Tell you what, why don’t you introduce me to your son’s actual father? I’ll have him be my child’s godfather. It’s only fair, a nice exchange, isn’t it?” The smile on Willow’s face froze solid. Jackson gave me a helpless look, his expression softening slightly. He put an arm around me, trying to appease me. “Alright, alright, you’ll say anything to provoke me.” “Willow and I are just friends, and her son calling me ‘godfather’ was something we agreed on ages ago. Please don’t be so jealous, okay?” Willow chimed in, “Darling, what kind of talk is that? I had a child to appease my family, so I just found a stranger to be the father and raised him myself. I didn’t want to be tied down by marriage forever.” “Besides, if Jackson and I had anything going on, we’d have a house full of kids by now. You wouldn’t even be in the picture!” “You just relax. Jackson and I grew up together. I still remember him with missing teeth and two snot trails hanging from his nose, grinning like an idiot. Who could ever be attracted to that?” No sooner had she finished speaking than Jackson rolled his eyes playfully and threw an arm around her neck. They tumbled into a playful scuffle. I didn’t get angry or try to intervene, as I might have in the past. I just watched them with a cold gaze. The first time Jackson introduced me to his friends, Willow had also roughhoused with him. After he’d just introduced me, Willow, the only other woman there, immediately stood up. “Well, look at you, old man! We agreed to stay single, and you went and secretly got a girlfriend?” “A bet’s a bet, now bark for me!” Jackson immediately plunged into their antics, ending with Willow pinning him down and making him bark like a dog for the camera. I stood there awkwardly, a strained smile on my face. Since then, I’d told Jackson countless times that he should maintain some distance from Willow. Jackson always brushed it off, saying they were just friends, and he never thought of Willow as anything more than that. I’d argued, I’d yelled, but each time, it only earned me Jackson’s impatience or a half-hearted attempt to mollify me. I resigned myself to trying to believe that their bond was truly just platonic. The two of them finally stopped their antics. Willow said something, laughing, and Jackson reached out to pick up her son. His hand brushed against Willow’s chest, and after he’d settled the child in his arms, he even jokingly nudged her with his elbow, earning him a sharp glare from Willow. I watched, a self-deprecating laugh escaping my lips. And that’s “just friends”? Her child is calling him Daddy, and Jackson is openly touching Willow’s chest in public, and they act like it’s completely normal. And I was supposed to believe they had nothing but a pure friendship? I watched coldly as Jackson carried the child to the “grabbing ceremony,” Willow by his side, beaming shamelessly. After a long while, my phone buzzed. Jackson, busy with Willow and her son, finally remembered to appease me. [Alright, stop being mad and jealous. You’re pregnant; emotional fluctuations aren’t good for the baby.] [Didn’t you like a certain handbag earlier? Send me the link.] Every time we argued because of Willow, Jackson would try to smooth things over like this. In the past, I would have thrown my phone, accusing him of a guilty conscience, of only knowing how to bribe me with money. Now, I calmly sent him the link to the handbag I liked. He’s already playing Daddy to his “friend’s” child. Why would I still talk about feelings with him? I’m not that foolish. 2 Jackson didn’t come home again that night. His social media feed updated three times in one day: from the child’s “grabbing ceremony” video in the morning to pictures of him playing cards and drinking at a bar that evening. It was someone else’s child’s first birthday, and here he was, singing and dancing. Anyone who didn’t know would think… Thinking of him and Willow, and the child calling him “Daddy,” I let out a cold laugh. Everyone, whether they knew the truth or not, probably thought he was the child’s real father. The next day, I took samples of Jackson’s hair and the child’s hair to a paternity testing center. Just as I was leaving, planning to grab a bowl of wontons nearby, someone called out, “Eveleigh?” from behind me. A flicker of panic shot through me. I turned to see Luke, one of Jackson’s close friends. He still had a puzzled look on his face. “So early, what are you doing here by yourself? Where’s Jackson?” I forced myself to sound calm. “I came to the hospital next door for a prenatal check-up, just wandering around.” Luke didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he ended up inviting me to have wontons with him. We weren’t very close to begin with, and the conversation was awkward, an uncomfortable back-and-forth. Halfway through our meal, a man at the next table started talking loudly on his phone, his expression agitated. Luke glanced over, then pulled his chair a little closer to my side. The man hung up, then suddenly pulled a small knife from his bag and lunged towards us, muttering curses. Luke’s face changed dramatically. He instinctively threw himself in front of me. “Watch out!” The tip of the man’s knife grazed Luke’s arm! I screamed in terror, instinctively recoiling. My foot caught, and I fell heavily to the ground. The agitated man was quickly subdued by helpful bystanders. Seeing the blood spreading on Luke’s sleeve, my face turned ashen. Someone offered us a ride to the hospital. On the way, my hands shaking, I pulled out my phone to call Jackson. He hung up the first time, but I patiently called again. This time, it connected, but instead of Jackson’s face, the screen showed a plump shoulder. On a whim, I recorded the screen. The next second, Willow’s voice, thick with sleep and laziness, came through the receiver. “Hello? Oh, Eveleigh. What’s up with Jackson? He drank too much last night, and he’s showering now.” The atmosphere in the car became thick with unspoken tension. I frowned, my voice still trembling with residual fear. “Tell him to come to the hospital immediately. I’ve sent him the address.” Jackson finally arrived over two hours later. Luke’s arm was already bandaged. He sat beside me, defiantly playing a game on his phone. Jackson pushed the door open, looking tired and irritated, his tone laced with annoyance. “What’s wrong? Why did you insist I come to the hospital so early? Are you having morning sickness again? Other people get sick too, why are you always so delicate?” Willow’s voice followed closely. “Exactly, Jackson. Eveleigh is a bit too much of a ‘delicate darling.’ Morning sickness requires a hospital visit, and she needs you by her side.” “When I was pregnant, I went through it all by myself.” I rolled my eyes. I remembered who it was that demanded fish in the middle of the night, insisting Jackson go catch it fresh. And every single prenatal check-up during her pregnancy? Wasn’t Jackson always by her side? Jackson finally noticed Luke in the hospital room, his brow furrowed as he began to question him. “What are you doing here?” Luke put away his phone and sneered. “Jackson, it’s bad enough you didn’t come with Eveleigh for her prenatal check-up. But earlier at breakfast, a lunatic attacked us with a knife. Eveleigh was terrified. Shouldn’t you be here comforting her?” Jackson froze, a flicker of guilt and shame crossing his face. He immediately rushed over and took my hand. “Wife, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about your appointment today.” “Last night, it was a rare chance to get together with the guys, so I drank a bit too much. Are you okay?” I pulled my hand away coldly and turned my back to him. Willow remained unfazed. “Oh, Luke, you sly dog, playing the hero for her.” “Alright, Jackson. Eveleigh’s fine, isn’t she? Didn’t you say you were taking my son on an outing today? It’s about time.” Jackson’s tone was a little cold. “Something came up today. Another time.” Willow tried to say something else, but Luke gently ushered her out. Jackson went around to the other side of the bed to coax me. “Wife, I’m sorry. I swear I won’t ever forget again, okay?” I closed my eyes, ignoring him. Jackson eagerly pulled out his phone screen to show me. “Wife, look, I already bought that bag you sent me yesterday.” “Didn’t you also like a bracelet before? I bought that for you too. Please don’t be mad anymore, okay?” Noticing that I no longer resisted him holding my hand, Jackson seemed to relax a little. A few minutes later, he casually brought up, “How did you run into Luke today, and why were you having breakfast with him?” “In the future, when I’m not around, you should spend less time with other men.” No sooner had he spoken than the hospital room door opened. The doctor walked in with the test results. “Patient in Room 39, your test results show signs of a threatened miscarriage. The fright and fall you experienced have had a significant impact on the fetus. You must maintain absolute bed rest, keep your emotions stable, and avoid any further mishaps.” The doctor’s words were like a stinging slap across Jackson’s face. He stood frozen, seemingly just realizing the gravity of the situation. After the doctor left, before Jackson could speak, I tossed my phone to him. “You complain about me having wontons with your friend outside the hospital, but what about you? Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” Jackson picked up the phone, looking puzzled. When he saw the video on the screen, his face instantly went white.

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“Darling, let’s sell the house,” my husband said. That day, he cooked four dishes and even opened a bottle of red wine. A bouquet of flowers, baby’s breath—my favorite—sat on the table. I looked at him, feeling a little dazed. We’d been married for five years; the last time he bought me flowers was the day he proposed. “Sell it and get a bigger one, one with a yard,” he poured me wine, smiling gently. “Haven’t you always wanted to live in a villa?” I picked up my wine glass but didn’t drink. “Okay,” I said. He froze for a moment, probably not expecting me to agree so quickly. What he didn’t know was that three days prior, I had already seen the chat history on his phone. 1. Ray had changed. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact day it started, but it was probably around mid-last month. Before, when he came home from work, he’d kick off his shoes, flop onto the sofa, and cover his face with his phone. If I said dinner was ready, he’d say “in a minute.” If I told him to wash the dishes, he’d say “tomorrow.” If I reminded him the mortgage was due this month, he’d say “doesn’t it auto-deduct?” For five years of marriage, our conversations revolved around these same few phrases. But starting last month, things shifted. He began to cook on his own initiative. The first time was a Wednesday. I got home from overtime at eight, pushed open the door, and saw the kitchen light on. He was wearing an apron, stir-frying tomatoes and eggs. “I got off work early today, so I just cooked,” he said. I glanced at him, saying nothing. He had been making stir-fried tomatoes and eggs for five years, burning the eggs every time. That day, they weren’t burnt. I sat down and took a bite. It tasted good. “Is it good?” he asked. “It’s alright.” “I want to talk to you about something,” he put down his chopsticks and looked at me. “I’ve been thinking lately, isn’t our house a bit too small?” Our apartment was ninety-two square meters, with two bedrooms and one living room. In this city, it wasn’t considered small. “I looked at a few properties,” he pulled out his phone to show me. “Look at this one, four bedrooms, two living rooms, with a garden—” “How much?” “Over five million.” I chuckled. “Our combined savings wouldn’t even be enough for a down payment.” “That’s what I’m saying,” he put down his phone. “Let’s sell our current place first, then add a bit more. This area has gone up quite a lot; we should get at least three point five million.” Three point five million. He said the number smoothly, as if he’d calculated it many times. I didn’t respond. This apartment was bought in 2019. Back then, we weren’t married yet, just dating. The down payment of six hundred thousand was what I had saved from four years of work. The loan was one point two million, with monthly payments of six thousand eight hundred. When we bought the apartment, Ray said, “I’ll contribute one hundred thousand.” I waited three months, but nothing. Six months later, I asked him, and he said, “I’m a bit tight on cash right now; I’ll transfer it to you next month when I get my bonus.” A year later, I asked again, and he said, “Aren’t we the same? Why be so clear-cut?” After that, I stopped asking. I paid the loan myself. I covered the down payment myself. I paid the deed tax myself. I oversaw the renovations myself. On the property deed, there was only one name. Mine. Because it was bought before marriage, and the deed was processed before marriage. Did Ray know about these things? He knew I bought the apartment. But he probably didn’t remember that the deed was finalized before we got married. Or maybe he simply never cared. In his mind, once married, we were family. And family possessions were shared, weren’t they? “So, what do you think?” he urged me. “How about we go see some places this weekend?” I looked at him. His gaze was more sincere than at any other time in the past five years. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll think about it.” That night, he went to wash the dishes again. I sat on the sofa and turned on the other phone he had left on the coffee table a few days ago. Yes, the other one. He probably thought I hadn’t noticed. That phone, with its black case, was hidden in the inner compartment of his briefcase. Last Wednesday, he came home drunk, tossed it casually, and it landed on the coffee table. The next day, he searched his entire bag and finally found it under the coffee table. When he picked it up, his hand trembled slightly. From that day on, I knew something was wrong. But I didn’t make a fuss. I just picked up the phone while he was showering and tried to unlock it. The password was his birthday. He hadn’t even bothered to change the password. The screen lit up. There was only one chat history on WeChat. The contact’s name was a strawberry emoji. I tapped it open, scrolling up from the latest message. “Hubby, I miss you so much today.” “Good girl, I’ll take you to that Japanese restaurant this weekend.” “When are you going to tell her? You keep dragging it out…” “Soon, I’m figuring out a way.” “What way?” “Sell the house first, split the money, then I’ll tell her everything.” After reading that, I put the phone back in its original spot. Then I went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and drank it. My hand didn’t tremble. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt. It was that over these five years, it had hurt so many times that I was numb to the pain. 2. Ray and I were introduced by a mutual friend from college. In 2017, I was twenty-seven, and he was twenty-eight. I worked as an operations manager at an internet company, having just been promoted to supervisor with a monthly salary of fifteen thousand. He was a sales representative at a building materials company, with a base salary of four thousand, plus commission, totaling around eight thousand per month. My mother had been pressuring me to get married for two years. Every phone call was the same old refrain: “Look at your cousin, her child is already walking.” “Girls shouldn’t be too picky.” “Good enough is good enough.” The first time Ray met me, he brought a bouquet of flowers. Not baby’s breath, but roses. The kind you buy at the supermarket entrance, ten dollars a bunch. But that day, he said something: “You deserve better flowers. When I make money, I’ll buy you a house full of them.” I smiled. Later, I found out he did buy a house full of flowers. Just not for me. During our courtship, he was reasonably attentive. He would pick me up from work. He would remember my birthday. He would bring me late-night snacks when I worked overtime. Although the snacks were always Jianbing Guozi—because only that one stall was open downstairs from the company. I never complained. I have a flaw: if someone treats me even a little well, I think it’s extraordinary. Probably because throughout my life, not many people have been genuinely kind to me. In 2018, I decided to buy an apartment. Property prices were just starting to rise then, and I found this current apartment I liked. The total price was one point eight million, with a down payment of six hundred thousand. I had saved five hundred twenty thousand from four years of work. I was short eighty thousand, which I borrowed from my mother. My mother only said one thing: “Put it in your name.” I said, “Of course.” Ray was very excited when he learned I was buying an apartment. “This will be our future home!” he said. “I’ll contribute one hundred thousand for the down payment.” I said okay. One hundred thousand. He said it three times, each time very earnestly. The first time was when we viewed the apartment. The second time was when we signed the contract. The third time was when the down payment was due. Each time, I believed him. But the money never materialized. The first month, he said he had just paid rent, so next month. The second month, he said sales were bad, so next month. The third month, he said he lent it to a friend, so next month. Eventually, I stopped waiting. Of the six hundred thousand down payment, I paid five hundred twenty thousand myself, and my mother gave me eighty thousand. He didn’t contribute a single cent. In early 2019, the property deed was issued. Three months later, we registered our marriage. We didn’t have a wedding. He said we should save up first, then have one when we had money. Five years passed. No wedding. No savings. It wasn’t that he couldn’t earn money. It was that his money never came into the household. In five years of marriage, I never saw Ray’s salary card. I asked once, and he said, “Why do you need to know so much? Haven’t I paid the living expenses every month?” Living expenses. Two thousand per month. I calculated that over five years, he had transferred less than eighty thousand to the household in total. And two thousand of that was a New Year’s gift to his mother, deducted from money I had transferred to him. What about me? The monthly mortgage was six thousand eight hundred, which over five years totaled four hundred eight thousand. Property management fees, utilities, gas, about one thousand two hundred per month. Groceries, household essentials, around two thousand per month. His cigarette money, three hundred per month. Yes, his cigarette money came from household funds. Gifts for relatives during holidays were mostly paid by me. Over five years, how much money did I invest in this home? I hadn’t calculated the exact figure. Because it would make me cry. But I estimated roughly, at least one point two million. Down payment: six hundred thousand. Mortgage: four hundred thousand. Living expenses: two hundred thousand. One point two million. And him? Eighty thousand. And two thousand of that was my money. So, sixty thousand. One point two million versus sixty thousand. Twenty to one. This was our marriage. 3. After discovering that phone, I did something. I didn’t storm out. I didn’t cry. I didn’t shake him awake in the middle of the night to confront him. I took photos. Every page of chat history, every transfer screenshot, every ambiguous message. All of it screenshotted and sent to my own email. Then I put the phone back in its original position, wiping off my fingerprints. The next morning, he made breakfast again. Fried eggs, toast, a cup of hot milk. “Why are you up so early today?” he asked. “Couldn’t sleep.” “Is work stress getting to you lately?” he handed me the milk. “Why don’t you just quit? I’ll support you.” You’ll support me. On eight thousand a month, you’ll support me. I almost burst out laughing. “No need.” I took the milk and drank a sip. “By the way, about selling the house, I’ve thought about it.” His eyes immediately lit up. “You think it’s a good idea?” “It’s a good idea, but I need to understand the process first. Do you know how long it takes to list a property these days?” “I asked the agent,” he said quickly. “It can close in as little as a month. This area is a school district now, so it’s in high demand.” A month. He was even more eager than I was. “Alright, then you go ahead and contact the agent,” I said. “Great!” he stood up. “I’ll call now.” Watching his excited back, I slowly finished my milk. What he didn’t know was that I had already consulted a lawyer yesterday. The lawyer, Ms. Fang, was recommended by my university roommate and specialized in family law. I explained the situation to her. She asked me three questions: “When was the house bought?” “2018.” “When did you register your marriage?” “June 2019.” “When was the property deed issued?” “March 2019.” Ms. Fang was silent for two seconds. “Ms. Lin, your apartment is your pre-marital personal property. The property deed was processed before you registered your marriage, and it’s in your name alone, correct?” “Correct.” “Who paid the down payment?” “Myself. My mother lent me eighty thousand, but that was also a personal gift to me.” “And the loan?” “I paid it myself for about a year before marriage, and the monthly payments after marriage were also deducted from my salary card.” “Did he ever transfer money to your salary card, specifically for mortgage payments?” “No.” “Then for the mortgage payments made after marriage, if it goes to court, he might claim a share. But as long as you can prove that all the mortgage funds came from your personal income—” “I have bank statements.” “Then it’s very clear,” Ms. Fang said. “Pre-marital personal property, property deed acquired before marriage, down payment made before marriage, and the loan primarily repaid by you personally. Even if it goes to court, the portion he can claim will be very limited. Moreover, he is at fault.” “What fault?” “Adultery. Do you have evidence?” “Yes.” “Then it’s even simpler. If a spouse cohabits with another person, the innocent party can claim damages during divorce. ” “How much compensation can there be?” “The amount won’t be very high. But more importantly, the at-fault party will receive less or no property in the division.” I hung up the phone. I sat there for a long time. Then I opened the notes app on my phone and made a list: 1. Evidence of infidelity – screenshots already exist, more needed to supplement. 2. Original property deed – in my possession. 3. Purchase contract – signed before marriage, in my possession. 4. Mortgage payment records – all deducted from my salary card, bank statements can be obtained. 5. Proof of his financial contribution – none. Because he never contributed. I looked at the list. Five years. One point two million. He hadn’t paid a single cent towards buying the house, hadn’t made a single mortgage payment, hadn’t paid a single property management fee. Now he wanted to sell my house, cash out three point five million, take half, and go off with his “strawberry.” I closed the notes app. No rush. Let him enjoy himself for a few more days. 4. Over the next two weeks, I began to pay attention to everything he did. Not in a sneaky way. It was a calm, purposeful observation. His second phone only came out after eleven p.m. every night. He thought I was asleep. But I wasn’t. I closed my eyes, listening to him type under the covers. The tap of his fingers on the screen was light, but in the quiet bedroom, I heard every single one. Sometimes he would chuckle softly. Very quietly. But I heard it. What were he and she laughing about? I didn’t want to know. I just waited until he was asleep each night, picked up that phone, and continued taking screenshots. In two weeks, I saved over one hundred sixty screenshots. Chat histories, transfer records, hotel check-in records. He had sent her red envelopes. Five hundred twenty, one thousand three hundred fourteen, and one for eight thousand eight hundred eighty-eight. In just six months, he had transferred fifty-three thousand four hundred to her. Fifty-three thousand. He gave the household two thousand a month. To her, fifty-three thousand in six months. Two thousand multiplied by six months is twelve thousand. Twelve thousand versus fifty-three thousand. The money he gave to his mistress was four and a half times what he gave to our home. I also discovered some other things. He rented a room outside. Monthly rent three thousand five hundred. Three months’ rent upfront, plus one month’s deposit. The first payment was fourteen thousand. When was this money paid? Three months ago. Meaning, three months ago, he already had another “home” outside. And three months ago— That’s when he started bringing up selling the house. All the pieces fell into place. He wanted to sell the house, not to get a bigger one. It was to cash out. He thought the house was marital joint property—after all, we moved in after we got married. He thought if it sold for three point five million, he could at least get half. One point seven five million. Taking one point seven five million to live happily ever after with his “strawberry.” And me? The one point eight million house was bought by me. The down payment was mine. The mortgage was paid by me. He didn’t contribute a single cent. In the end, he wanted to take one point seven five million. One point seven five million. Enough for him and that woman to live on for several years. I sat in the living room, staring out the window for a long time. Then I picked up my phone and sent a message to Ms. Fang: “Ms. Fang, all the materials are ready. We can file the case anytime.” She replied with one word: “Good.” I sent another message: “I want to wait for him to list the house first.” “Why?” “I want to see how far he’s willing to go.” Ms. Fang sent an ellipsis, then said, “Alright, you set the pace. But don’t drag it out too long.” I said okay. It wouldn’t be too long. Because I had already waited five years. A few more days wouldn’t make a difference.

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The day I gave birth, my sister-in-law, eight months pregnant, suddenly went into premature labor. My sister-in-law gave birth to a healthy boy, gaining status through her son and successfully marrying into a wealthy family. I, however, delivered a stillborn baby and suffered injuries that left me unable to have more children. My mother-in-law forced my husband to divorce me. When he refused, she threw him out of the house. Distraught, he suffered a heart attack and died tragically. To claim his inheritance, my mother-in-law ran me over with her car, killing me. After I died, I discovered that my sister-in-law’s son was actually my child. My sister-in-law and mother-in-law had conspired to steal her. They were responsible for my husband’s and my tragic deaths! When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my sister-in-law and I gave birth simultaneously. 1 I abruptly opened my eyes and touched my round belly, realizing I had been reborn. My sister-in-law, Lily Stone, eight months pregnant, sat beside me, reaching out to touch my stomach. She said with a concerned expression, “Sister, your nephew is moving in your belly. He’s so lively. Your due date is today, right?” Lily had a smile on her face, but her eyes were full of greed and calculation. Her hand was cold and clammy, making me shiver involuntarily. I subtly shifted my body, pulling away from her hand. It was laughable. In my previous life, I hadn’t seen through the wolfish ambition hidden beneath Lily’s concerned smile. I had believed she genuinely cared for me, her sister-in-law, and treated her like my own sister. But she had conspired with my mother-in-law to destroy my family. In my previous life, my mother-in-law ran me over with her car on the roadside. Strangely, after I died, my soul didn’t leave but returned to the day of childbirth. I watched everything that happened that day as if it were a movie. The day I gave birth, my eight-month pregnant sister-in-law suddenly went into premature labor and went to the same hospital as me. I was in labor for three agonizing hours, giving birth to a healthy baby boy with all my strength. But the moment he was born, my mother-in-law took him away. Just then, my sister-in-law also gave birth, but it was a stillborn baby girl due to prematurity. When I woke up, my mother-in-law held the deceased fetus in front of me, telling me it was my child, born dead. While I was heartbroken and distraught, my sister-in-law cradled my son, happily snuggling in the arms of her wealthy boyfriend. Lily had been dating a man from a prominent family, but his mother had declared that Lily could only enter their family if she gave birth to a son. Having finally become pregnant, Lily was naturally eager to know the baby’s gender. My mother-in-law consulted an old traditional doctor who examined both Lily and me. The doctor informed my mother-in-law that Lily was carrying a girl, while I was carrying a boy. From then on, my mother-in-law and Lily fixed their eyes on my belly. They deliberately sent my husband, Ethan, away two days before my due date for a cousin’s wedding. After I gave birth, they stole my child. Lily, gaining status through the son, successfully married into the wealthy family. When I learned my child was stillborn, I became emotionally agitated, suffered postpartum hemorrhage, and completely lost my ability to have children. My mother-in-law cursed me as a barren hen and demanded my husband divorce me. My husband staunchly refused. My mother-in-law then lashed out at him, calling him unfilial and an animal, ordering him out of the house. In a fit of rage, my husband suffered a heart attack and died tragically beside me. After my husband’s death, he left behind an inheritance of two houses. To seize the inheritance, my mother-in-law ran me over with her car right outside our home. After my death, she and Lily conspired to say I died in an accident. They cremated me hastily and discarded my ashes in a landfill. I never imagined that fate would be so kind as to give me another chance at life. This time, I must protect my child and make my mother-in-law and sister-in-law pay for their actions! 2 My mother-in-law, carrying a bowl of chicken soup, said to me with an overly solicitous expression, “Claire, drink this bowl of chicken soup. I specially made it for you.” Ever since she found out I was pregnant with a boy, my mother-in-law had been exceptionally attentive to me. At the time, I was incredibly touched, feeling suddenly lucky to have such a wonderful mother-in-law. But now I know she was merely using me and the child in my womb as tools for her and her daughter to climb into a wealthy family. However, with my husband not by my side, I couldn’t afford to fall out with my mother-in-law. So, I calmly took the chicken soup and placed it on the table. I told my mother-in-law, “Mom, the chicken soup is too hot. Could you get me a spoon?” My mother-in-law agreed with a loving smile. I gently closed the door, pressing my ear to the crack to hear if she had walked away. Instead, I heard her say in a venomous tone, “Such a nuisance. Once she’s given birth, just wait and see how I deal with her.” My once loving mother-in-law uttering such terrifying words sent shivers down my spine, having just been reborn. I quickly pulled out my phone and dialed my husband, Ethan Cole’s, number. To successfully steal my child, my mother-in-law had deliberately sent my husband home two days before my due date to attend a cousin’s wedding. So my husband was still in his hometown. “Hello, wife, is everything alright? My cousin on Uncle’s side is getting married; I’m at the wedding.” After hearing my husband’s voice, the hand holding my phone trembled uncontrollably. In my previous life, my husband had a sudden heart attack from being angered by my mother-in-law, collapsing by my bedside. I wanted to save him, but it was too late. I could only watch helplessly as he died tragically. This time, I must change both our fates! I anxiously told Ethan, “Husband, come home immediately. I’m about to give birth. Hurry to the hospital and wait for me.” Ethan, though surprised, immediately replied, “Okay, wife, don’t be nervous. I’m leaving for the hospital right away.” Hearing my husband’s definite answer, I felt a slight relief. But the moment I opened the door, I saw my mother-in-law standing there with a spoon. My heart pounded furiously a few times. I managed to force a faint smile and asked my mother-in-law, “Mom, what are you doing standing at the door?” My mother-in-law smiled and said, “Weren’t you asking for a spoon? I brought it for you.” I took the spoon and told her, “Thank you, Mom. I can drink it myself; you don’t need to take care of me here.” My mother-in-law nodded and left. But I still felt uneasy, wondering when she had started standing by my door. My mother-in-law went to Lily’s room. Lily’s room was next to the bathroom, so I pretended to go to the bathroom and leaned against the window, listening to my mother-in-law and Lily’s conversation. “Lily, did that bitch find out something? I heard her calling your brother, telling him to wait for her at the hospital.” My mother-in-law’s venomous voice slithered into my ears like a poisonous snake. “Mom, what did you say? That bitch must have found out something. What do we do if my brother is at the hospital? How will we snatch the baby?” My mother-in-law was silent for a moment, then said triumphantly, “She thinks that just because her brother goes to the hospital, we’ll be helpless? If that bitch really goes into labor later, we’ll just say we’re afraid of traffic on the way and call the doctor to deliver the baby at home. Then it’ll just be the three of us at home, and we, mother and daughter, will be in charge.” I, eavesdropping from the window, instantly broke out in a cold sweat. I never expected my mother-in-law and sister-in-law to be so vicious. I had to hold on until Ethan returned, no matter what. But just then, a sharp pain shot through my belly. With a “splash,” my broken amniotic fluid spilled onto the floor. I was going into labor! 3 My painful groans startled my mother-in-law. Lily looked excited when she saw I was in labor. My mother-in-law glanced at me and whispered to Lily, “Finally, those months of serving her weren’t for nothing. Every day I made her soup and meals, I was so annoyed I wanted to strangle her. Now she’s finally going to give birth. Lily, hurry and take the labor-inducing medicine. Any later, and it’ll be too late.” Lily agreed, telling her mother, “Mom, watch her closely. I’ll go take the medicine now.” I was sweating profusely from the pain, yet I had to listen to my mother-in-law and sister-in-law conspiring to steal my baby. I grabbed my mother-in-law and told her, “Mom, I’m about to give birth. Please, take me to the hospital quickly.” My mother-in-law shook off my hand and said, “Why go to the hospital? I’ll call Dr. Lee in a bit and have him come here to deliver the baby. What if you go into labor on the way to the hospital with a baby in your belly?” With that, my mother-in-law took out her phone and called Dr. Lee. Dr. Lee was the doctor my mother-in-law and sister-in-law had bribed in my previous life. He was the one who stole my baby after I gave birth to my son. I had planned this time for my husband to wait at the hospital in advance, so my mother-in-law and sister-in-law wouldn’t have an opportunity. I didn’t expect them to overhear my phone call and decide to have Dr. Lee come to the house for the delivery. My phone had also been taken by my mother-in-law; I couldn’t contact Ethan at all. Now, it was just my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and me at home. After I gave birth, the baby would definitely be stolen by Lily and her mother. So, no matter what, I couldn’t give birth at home. I had to hold on until I saw Ethan. Lily took the labor-inducing medicine, and soon her water broke, and contractions began. Hearing her heart-wrenching screams, I grew even more agitated. Suddenly, I heard the sound of the opposite neighbor’s door opening. I instantly calmed down. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law were both in the bedroom. I wanted to find a chance to pass a message, and it had to be now. I quietly opened my door, grabbed the neighbor’s young daughter’s hand, and told her, “I’m about to give birth. Please help me contact my husband. Tell him my mother-in-law wants me to give birth at home, and to hurry home and take me to the hospital.” The young girl was hesitant at first, but seeing my face covered in sweat, she nodded and agreed to help me. Just then, my mother-in-law suddenly pulled me inside, slamming the door shut with a loud “bang.” My mother-in-law yelled at me, “Why are you running? What if you give birth at the door, how unlucky would that be? Stay put quietly. Dr. Lee will be here soon.” No sooner had my mother-in-law finished speaking than Dr. Lee knocked on the door. 4 My mother-in-law eagerly pulled Dr. Lee, urging him to deliver my baby. But at that moment, Lily was continuously wailing in her room. My mother-in-law comforted Lily, her face filled with worry. I quickly told my mother-in-law, “Mom, Lily is in premature labor and is in more danger than I am. Why don’t we let Dr. Lee deliver her baby first? I can wait. We can’t let anything happen to Lily’s body.” My mother-in-law looked at my belly with some hesitation. I continued, “Mom, even though Lily can marry into a wealthy family if she gives birth to a boy, if something happens to her own body, even giving birth to a boy won’t matter.” Hearing my words, my mother-in-law immediately made up her mind and told Dr. Lee, “Dr. Lee, please deliver my daughter’s baby first.” My mother-in-law and Dr. Lee rushed into Lily’s room. I endured wave after wave of searing pain, gently stroking my belly and comforting my baby. “Baby, don’t be in a hurry. Wait until Daddy comes back before you come out. For the sake of our family, you must bear it a little longer.” The baby in my belly seemed to understand my words; my labor pains weren’t as severe as before. Meanwhile, Lily’s room continued to emit heart-wrenching screams. A moment later, the door was pushed open with a “bang.” Dr. Lee frantically shouted, “Oh no, it’s a hemorrhage! Call an ambulance quickly!” Dr. Lee picked up his phone, ready to dial emergency services. Just then, the main door opened. It was Ethan; he was back! He urgently asked me, “Wife, how are you?” I lunged into his arms, instantly collapsing and fainting. Before losing consciousness, I suddenly felt incredibly relieved. The person I could rely on had finally returned. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed. A nurse held my hand, telling me to push. I pushed with all my might. An hour later, I finally heard my baby’s cry. I lay exhausted on the delivery bed. The doctor held the baby, letting me glimpse him. “It’s a boy, everything’s normal.” I lay on the bed, unable to stop crying. In my previous life, I gave birth with all my strength, only to be met with the devastating news of a stillborn baby. Overwhelmed by the shock, I suffered a postpartum hemorrhage and almost died in the bed. But this life, I finally heard the nurse tell me with my own ears that I had given birth to a healthy baby. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. When I opened my eyes again, Ethan was by my side, looking at me with concern. I grabbed his hand and anxiously asked, “Where’s the baby? Where is he?” Ethan picked up the baby from the nearby bassinet and smiled at me. “He’s right here. Don’t worry. I’ve been watching him the whole time.” Only then did my heart completely settle. Looking at the adorable baby in the swaddle and my husband beside me, I felt incredibly happy. Suddenly, I remembered Lily. I asked Ethan, “How’s Lily? Has she given birth?” My husband nodded, saying with relief, “Thankfully I came home in time and rushed Lily, who was hemorrhaging, to the hospital. That’s why she was able to give birth smoothly. She also had a boy.” My brows instantly furrowed. Lily was clearly carrying a girl. Even if my husband had gotten her to the hospital in time and the baby hadn’t died, the gender couldn’t possibly change. I grabbed my husband’s hand, staring fixedly at him, and asked, “Are you sure she gave birth to a boy?” My husband looked at me, confused. “Claire, why that expression? Lily really did give birth to a boy. Even though he was premature, he was put in an incubator in time, and the baby is quite healthy.” It seemed Lily had indeed given birth to a boy, but how could that be? Did my mother-in-law and sister-in-law secretly swap someone else’s baby?

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It was the holidays, and Mom had set up another blind date for me. The guy was a good catch: worked at a bank, owned a house and a car. Mom glanced at me, lowering her voice. “You’re thirty already, stop being so picky. If this one doesn’t work out, it’ll only get harder later.” I was playing a game, not even looking up, when I replied, “Then I won’t look.” Mom’s eyes widened. “Bah, bah, bah, don’t say such things! You’re a perfectly good girl, why aren’t you interested in dating at your age?” What Mom didn’t know was this: I had a boyfriend of three years, five years my junior. The day I forced him to marry me, threatening to break up. He just smiled, nonchalantly saying, “Ellie, do you really think you’re still young? You’re thirty. Who else would marry you besides me?” 1 Hearing my “Then I won’t look,” Mom sighed. Her eyes held both affection and helplessness. She was just about to start lecturing me when her phone rang. It was our neighbor, Aunt Sarah, inviting us over for dinner. Mom hung up and insisted I come along. At Aunt Sarah’s house, the moment we stepped inside, there he was, sitting on the sofa. Leo Harrison. My boyfriend—oh, no, my ex-boyfriend. Mom greeted him with a smile, “Oh, Leo, you’re here too?” He stood up, politely addressing her as “Auntie.” His gaze swept over me, paused, then moved away. At the dinner table, he sat across from me. Aunt Sarah was Leo’s mother and Mom’s good friend. She enthusiastically put food on my plate. “Ellie, eat more, you look so thin.” Leo, beside her, subtly nudged the plate of sweet and sour pork ribs towards me. My chopsticks bypassed the ribs, picking up a piece of celery, which I hated. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Beside us, Mom and Aunt Sarah’s husband chatted animatedly. They were talking about Leo’s marriage. “Leo is twenty-five now, it’s time he thought about settling down,” Mom said. Aunt Sarah smiled and nodded. “Indeed. I’ve asked around and found a few girls; they’ll come over in a couple of days.” “What are their backgrounds?” Mom asked curiously. Aunt Sarah counted on her fingers. “One’s an elementary school teacher, one’s a nurse, and another works for a government agency.” Mom listened intently, then asked, “Do you have photos? Let me see.” Aunt Sarah took out her phone, found the photos, and handed it to Mom. Mom looked, exclaiming with approval. “This girl is so pretty and looks very kind-hearted.” She turned to Leo. “Leo, what do you think of these girls yourself?” Leo gave a polite smile. “I think they’re fine.” I kept my head down, quietly eating my rice, saying nothing. “Ellie.” Leo suddenly called my name. I looked up. He was looking at me, a half-smile playing on his lips. “What do you think?” 2 Aunt Sarah heard him and quickly handed me her phone. “Yes, yes, Ellie, you know Leo best. Help him choose.” My movements were stiff as I took the phone. In the photos, the girl smiled brightly, looking very gentle. That sweet, virtuous look was definitely a type that older generations would like. And probably the type Leo would like too. Young, pretty, from a good family. Unlike an old woman like me, who was thirty. I looked up, meeting his playful gaze. Three months ago, on the day we broke up at his apartment, I asked him, “When will you marry me?” He leaned back on the sofa, his voice flat. “Are you that desperate to get married?” “Fine, I can wait on marriage. Then let’s go public!” “Go public about what? Aren’t we perfectly fine as we are?” My eyes welled up. “Then why did you pursue me in the first place?” He sighed. “Ellie, don’t make a scene.” “I’m not making a scene!” I stood up. “Three years. I’ve been with you for three years. When you introduce me to your friends, I’m ‘the older sister.’ To your family, I’m ‘the neighbor’s daughter.’ Am I so shameful?” He frowned. “Can’t you be reasonable? I never said I wouldn’t marry you, it’s just not the right time.” “Then when is the right time?” He said nothing. I looked at him, suddenly feeling exhausted. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. He never once acknowledged me in public. If friends asked, he said I was an acquaintance, an “older sister.” If colleagues asked, he said I was the neighbor’s daughter. The five-year age difference between us was like a thorn, stuck between us. “Let’s break up,” I said. He paused, then scrutinized me from head to toe. “Do you really think you’re still young?” “You’re thirty. Who else would marry you besides me?” At that moment, it felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on me, chilling me from head to toe. Tears streaming, I spat out a harsh retort: “Fine, then I won’t trouble you! I’ll find someone else!” He smiled. “Go ahead, find someone.” Back then, swept up in emotion, there were some things I didn’t want to face. Now that I’ve calmed down, I have to admit. He wasn’t wrong. He was twenty-five, in the prime of his life, with a bright future ahead. He had a master’s degree from a top university. I was thirty, past my prime for dating and marriage. I had a regular bachelor’s degree, worked as an “internet grunt,” earning eight thousand a month. We already had a five-year age gap. Logically, I didn’t even qualify to go on a blind date with him. Now, looking at him, my heart felt strangely calm. I even managed a slight smile. “She’s good, she’d be a good match for you.” “Auntie’s right, you can add her on social media and chat more.” His eyes slowly hardened. “Alright, I’ll add them later and chat more.” 3 After dinner, I headed home early. As I was leaving, Leo leaned against the elevator wall, waiting for me. “Want to talk?” I ignored him, walking straight past him. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the nearby fire escape. The door shut with a thud, and he pinned me against it. He leaned down, close to me. His familiar scent enveloped me. We had been together for three years; he knew me too well. He knew how to make my heart race, how to make me surrender. Just like now, a smile playing on his lips, his voice husky: “Are you really going to let me add them on social media? Can you really stand it?” I raised my hand to push him away. “Add them or not, what business is it of mine?” He laughed, catching my hand, and held his phone up to my face. On the screen were the photos of the blind date candidates. He squeezed my fingers, scrolling through the screen. One, two, three. “So many, how can I chat with all of them? Help me pick one, won’t you? Or maybe you and I could chat, Ellie?” It was his olive branch. Just like countless times when we’d bickered before. He’d offer an opening, and I was expected to take it. If I played coy and didn’t, he’d retract it. In this relationship, he was always so effortlessly in control. In our dynamic, he always held the upper hand. I looked at him, my finger resting on the screen. Without a second thought, I swiped to the photo Mom and the others had praised earlier. “She’s really good,” I said. “I wish you both well.” His face instantly darkened. He let go of my hand, stepped back, his eyes turning cold. “Do you really mean that?” His voice held a hint of suppressed anger. I nodded, my tone calm. “Yes.” The air seemed to freeze for a second. His gaze, like a knife, cut across my face before he turned and left. The fire escape door was slammed open with a harsh screech. I stood there, my legs feeling a little weak, but forced myself to stand straight. Back home, Mom was watching TV in the living room. She glanced at me and asked, “What took you so long? Didn’t you say you were coming straight home?” “I bought some things,” I vaguely replied. “Mom, I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.” Once I closed the bathroom door and the hot water poured down, I felt the dull ache in my chest slowly dissipate. I woke up the next day to a lit phone screen. It was a message from Leo. “Thanks for your recommendation yesterday. I added that girl, and we’ve been chatting quite well.” I stared at the message for a long time, eventually not replying. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, and the room was eerily quiet. 4 My relationship with Leo, to be honest, was quite cliché. Three years ago, he interned at our company. And he just happened to be assigned to our department. I volunteered to mentor him. On his first day at the company, he washed my coffee cup. At the time, I thought Leo was surprisingly polite. After spending more time together, I realized his gaze towards me was off. His cubicle was diagonally across from mine, and every time I looked up, I’d meet his eyes. He would quickly look away, the tips of his ears flushed red. On Valentine’s Day, he invited me to dinner. After dinner, he walked me home. Downstairs, he suddenly said, “Ellie, I like you.” I was stunned. “Leo, I’m five years older than you.” “I don’t care.” “Leo, I’m nice to you because I see you as a younger brother.” “But I don’t see you as an older sister, Ellie, no, Eleanor, I like you. I came to this company because of you.” I looked into his earnest eyes. My heart fluttered. Then, I nodded. After that, we dated for three years. When we first started dating, Leo only had eyes for me. Every morning he would drive to pick me up for work, bringing me my favorite coffee. He would quietly stay with me when I worked overtime, and carefully coax me when I was frustrated. Sometimes I would wonder if I was being too selfish. After all, he was still an ungraduated student, and I had been working for several years. But every time I saw his determined gaze, all those worries would vanish. Every day we were together was sweet. He would remember my favorite dessert shop from a casual comment, and deliver cold medicine to my apartment building in the middle of the night when I caught a cold. I thought our love would blossom and bear fruit, until reality cruelly slapped me in the face. 5 Three days later, it was a friend’s birthday. Leo was there too. He sat diagonally across from me. Dressed in a sharp suit, he looked exceptionally smart. Girls frequently glanced at him, whispering about something. “Is that Leo? He’s so handsome.” “I heard he’s single, I wonder if I have a chance.” I listened to these comments, lowering my head and sipping my water. Midway through the birthday party, someone suggested playing a game. The loser had to draw a slip of paper and answer a question. In the first round, Leo lost. The slip read: “Is there someone you like in the room?” The whole crowd started to tease. He smiled, his gaze sweeping over the crowd and landing on me. I lowered my head, pretending not to notice. The game continued. I chatted idly with friends around me. A friend sitting next to me, learning I was still single, smiled and offered to set me up: “Ellie, there’s a handsome single guy, should I introduce you?” Before I could reply, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Leo: [Decline.] I didn’t reply. He sent another: [Ellie, tell her you have a boyfriend.] I turned off my phone, stood up. “Sure, I’d love to meet him.” My colleague led me to another table. “Ethan Scott, let me introduce you to a friend.” The man stood up. The moment he turned around, we both froze. It was him. The man I’d met at the police station two months ago. That day, I had found a lost child in the park. The child clung to me, crying for his mom, inconsolable. Left with no choice, I carried him to report it to the police. He happened to be passing by, knelt down in front of the child, and magically pulled a piece of candy from his pocket. The child stopped crying. He looked up at me and smiled. “Your child?” “No, no, I just found him on the street. He can’t find his parents.” He nodded. “Alright, leave him to me. I’m a police officer; we’ll contact his parents.” Unsure, I followed him to the police station. Later, I learned he was a police officer in that district. As I left, he stood at the police station entrance in his uniform, sunlight falling on him. He handed me a business card. “If you ever need anything, you can find me.” The card read: Ethan Scott. Now, he stood before me, his eyes holding a subtle sparkle. “What a coincidence, we meet again.” 6 My friend looked at him, then at me. “You two know each other?” I nodded. “We crossed paths over something minor before.” My colleague smiled and left. He gestured to the chair beside him. “Want to sit for a bit?” I sat down. He poured me a glass of wine. I asked, “Was the child’s mother found eventually?” “Yes, she was. His mother came to the police station to pick him up.” “That’s good.” We chatted for a while. He didn’t say much, but he made me feel very comfortable. Unlike being with Leo. With Leo, I always felt on edge. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid he’d think there was a generation gap between us, afraid he’d find me boring. Even more afraid that one day, he just wouldn’t want me anymore. But chatting with Ethan, I didn’t need to overthink. He asked me about my job; I told him I worked in operations. He smiled. “Internet industry, huh? My cousin also works in the internet industry; she’s at New Horizon Tech.” “What a coincidence, I’m at New Horizon Tech too.” “Then you might be colleagues,” he paused. “Her name is Chloe Scott, do you know her?” I paused, surprised. Chloe Scott. She was the HR at New Horizon Tech. She was Ethan Scott’s cousin. What a small world. I nodded, unable to help but exclaim, “I know her! We’re at the same company. The world really is small.” He smiled. “That’s good then. We can all have dinner together sometime.” Mid-conversation, he suddenly said, “Ms. Price, there’s something I want to tell you.” “What is it?” “That day at the police station, after I met you, I went back and looked into your background.” I froze. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Don’t misunderstand, I just wanted to see if you were married.” “Later, I found out you worked at the same company as my cousin, so I asked her to subtly inquire about you.” “She asked me why I wanted to know about you, and I told her I wanted to get to know you.” “She said you had a boyfriend.” “So I didn’t ask any more questions.” I looked at him, not knowing what to say. He continued, “When I saw you alone earlier, I thought, maybe I have a chance now.” “Eleanor Price, I like you.” “From the first moment I saw you, I liked you.”

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To show off her hacking skills, intern Jess Lee sent out mass resignation letters in the name of the entire staff. The company group chat exploded. The boss, Mr. Williams, sent a laughing emoji in the chat: “Jess is really dedicated, and her tech skills are impressive! Everyone, no need to panic. I’ll retract all the resignation letters. Afternoon tea is on me!” The chat erupted in celebration. Liam, the VP with a terrible sales record, seized the opportunity to joke: [Mr. Williams, I’ve already sent my resignation. Am I really leaving?] Mr. Williams replied instantly: [Liam, what kind of joke is that? Even if everyone else left, you’d have to stay. I can’t handle tonight’s client dinner without you to fend off the drinks!] Watching the lively chat, I excitedly prepared to follow suit. But the page flickered, and my approval came through. It wasn’t “retracted,” but: [Approved] Out of a hundred employees, he kept ninety-nine, but he approved the resignation of me, the “old workhorse” who maintained the core architecture. Since Jess was a tech prodigy, and Liam was a trusted confidant for client dinners, there was no need for me, who only knew how to work, to stay and be an eyesore. Before leaving, I casually revoked the authorization for my self-developed AI to protect the database. By the time I sat in my new company’s director’s office, Mr. Williams’s frantic calls for help had already begun. … The computer screen popped up with a message saying all resignation letters had been retracted. I scrolled to the bottom. Only my approval form said ‘approved’. Sarah, the HR manager, slapped my resignation report onto my desk. “Mark, you’re the only one in the whole company whose resignation was approved. What a shame, the annual bonus is being paid out in a few days. You probably won’t make it.” My heart sank. I pleaded, “Sarah, that $20,000 can’t be cut. My family urgently needs that money for medical bills…” She shrugged indifferently. “I’m just an employee. You’ll have to talk to Mr. Williams and see if he’s willing to give an old workhorse like you any consideration.” I hurried into Mr. Williams’s office. He was fiddling with a cigar, waving his secretary out. “Mr. Williams, regarding my resignation approval, I’d like an explanation.” Mr. Williams exhaled a puff of smoke, casually brushing me off. “Mark, we need to give opportunities to young people. You really can’t keep up with the times.” He propped his feet on his desk, his tone sneering and sarcastic. “You want your annual bonus? Fine, I can retract your resignation, but…” I forced out a question, my voice tight. “What are your conditions?” Mr. Williams let out a scoff, holding up five fingers. “Your rank drops to level 12, and your monthly salary will be paid at intern rates, $500. Consider it paid learning.” I stood there stunned, my head buzzing. “$500? When you begged me to join the company during startup, that wasn’t the price.” Mr. Williams’s expression instantly changed, his voice turning cold. “The company needs to streamline now. It’s a privilege for you to stay. Take it or leave it.” I stood rooted to the spot, my palms sweating. My phone popped up with a hospital bill. My wife had been diagnosed with ALS; her daily hospital fees were a non-negotiable five thousand dollars. To get back that life-saving $20,000 annual bonus, I gritted my teeth and nodded in agreement. As I walked out of the office, Mr. Williams made a public announcement. “Jess Lee is appointed as Technical Lead, with a Level 5 salary and benefits, effective immediately!” That income, which should have been mine, just landed in the lap of an intern. Liam, the VP, led the applause, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Jess is the future of our company! Everyone, learn from Lead Lee!” Afternoon tea was delivered to the office, and cheers erupted. Jess, carrying a bag of bubble teas, handed them out to everyone. When she got to me, she held up an empty bag and scoffed. “Oh, Mark, I didn’t account for your share. Why don’t you just have some tap water?” Liam chimed in from the side, spitting maliciously. “Interns should act like interns. You think you’re getting afternoon tea?” I carried my worn laptop bag into the storage room, looking at the moldy peeling paint on the walls, and gave a self-deprecating laugh. I remembered the early days of the startup, when Mr. Williams and I huddled under server racks, sheltering from the rain. He had personally promised to split the empire, and that scene felt as if it were still before my eyes. Now, he was popping champagne with Jess, celebrating their success. I wiped my face, my fingers flying across the keyboard. Since you want a genius, I’ll revoke all underlying authorizations for my self-developed AI. I entered the command into the code terminal: Resignation means immediate deactivation. I said nothing, just coldly watched this absurd farce. This place, which treated people as less than human, didn’t deserve the defense I had maintained for three years. The next day, Jess was sitting at the core control console, laughing at a constantly error-reporting piece of code on the screen. “Oh my god, this kind of infinite loop bug has been here for three years? No wonder the system runs as slow as a turtle.” Her finger hovered above the enter key, a look of disdain on her face. “I’m going to fix this bug. Delete it completely.” My scalp instantly prickled. I rushed over and grabbed her hand. “Stop! That’s not a regular bug; it’s a logical compromise made for compatibility with older hardware!” My throat was dry from urgency. I stared fixedly at her. “This bug, even though it reports errors, it forces other control units to run at a lower frequency. Delete it, and the system will overload and crash!” Jess flung my hand away, disdainfully dusting off her sleeve. “Mark, you’re just bad at tech, you write bugs you can’t fix, and then you make up terms like ‘logical compromise’ to fool people?” The commotion grew, and Mr. Williams walked over, hands behind his back, his brows furrowed. “What’s all this noise? Can’t a person have some peace and quiet in the morning?” I felt like I had grabbed a lifeline, pointing at the screen and explaining. “Mr. Williams, Jess is about to delete that load-balancing bug. This will cause a huge problem. We must stop her immediately!” Mr. Williams glanced at Jess, then at me, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Jess immediately pouted, her eyes reddening. “Mr. Williams, Mark is just jealous of me. Fixing this bug will speed things up by at least 20%, but he doesn’t want the company to progress.” The hesitation in Mr. Williams’s eyes slowly disappeared. He turned to me, his gaze cold. “Mark, we need to give young people a chance to make mistakes. Don’t always use your old ways to suppress them.” He patted Jess’s shoulder. “Jess, go ahead and fix it. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take responsibility.” I stood frozen in place, watching Jess press the enter key. In an instant, all the indicator lights in the server room suddenly went out. The main server let out a muffled hum, and the screen immediately went black. The entire office area fell into a dead silence, with only the emergency lights casting a pale glow. Jess’s face turned deathly pale, and she sprang up from her chair. “I… I just deleted one line of code…” The red dedicated phone on the desk suddenly rang, piercingly. It was the direct hotline from our major client, DragonCorp. Mr. Williams fumbled to answer the phone, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. “Mr. Dawson… Mr. Dawson, so early?” Mr. Dawson’s furious roar came through the phone, loud enough for even me to hear. “William Smith! We received a red alert signal here! What in the world are you doing?!” Mr. Williams’s legs were trembling with fear. He was about to explain when the main server behind him suddenly chirped. Power reconnected, the screen lit up again, and that glaring red alert disappeared. Jess pointed at the screen, shouting excitedly. “It’s on! Mr. Williams! System reboot successful!” A line of large green characters flashed across the screen: [System logic optimization complete]. Jess impatiently hit enter, running a performance test. The progress bar zipped to the end, finally settling on an astonishing number. [Current system overall operating efficiency: 30% improvement]. Mr. Williams let out a long sigh of relief, immediately adopting a fawning expression. “Mr. Dawson, a misunderstanding. We were performing a core technical upgrade just now. It’s now complete.” He hung up the phone, pointing at the big screen, his face beaming with ecstasy. “See that? This is called breaking to build! A 30% speed increase!” Jess proudly lifted her chin, provocatively looking at me. “Mark, I wonder who was scaremongering just now. Does your face hurt?” Liam led the applause, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Jess is amazing! Unlike some people, who hog the toilet and don’t do their business, always fear-mongering!” He glanced sideways at me, adding sarcastically. “This is called technical superiority, the difference between a genius and a waste!” The entire company erupted in cheers, everyone celebrating this so-called “technical breakthrough.” Only I knew that the seemingly perfect data flow was just the last gasp before collapse. I returned to the storage room. My phone vibrated. It was a familiar number. When I answered, a headhunter’s respectful voice came through. “Mr. Green, I’m the HR for Starlight Tech. How have you considered the job offer we discussed?” I looked at the jubilant crowd outside the door, who were popping champagne around Jess. “Joining is not a problem.” I lowered my voice, my tone calm. “But I still haven’t received my $20,000 annual bonus. That’s my hard-earned money.” The headhunter paused on the other end of the line, then said. “Understood. We’ll await your good news.” I hung up the phone and gave a self-deprecating laugh. William, since you’ve chosen your “genius,” I’ll reclaim what’s mine. Then, I’ll watch your empire rise, and watch your empire fall. On the third day morning, the final deadline for the handover. The company group chat suddenly exploded. News of the annual bonus hitting accounts flooded the screen, everyone celebrating that the amount was significantly higher than previous years. I scrolled through my bank SMS, my fingertips trembling as I stared at the string of numbers. [Incoming: $2000.00] Before I could catch my breath, my phone rang jarringly. It was the head of the emergency department at City Hospital. When I answered, the piercing alarm of a medical monitor came through the line. “Mr. Green, your wife suddenly went into respiratory arrest and is undergoing CPR!” The doctor’s anxious voice was like a thunderclap. “The situation is critical. We must perform an emergency tracheotomy immediately. Please deposit fifty thousand dollars for the surgery right away!” My head buzzed, and I almost dropped my phone. “Save her! Please, you must save her! I’ll transfer the money immediately!” I hung up the phone, rushing frantically into Mr. Williams’s office. Inside, Mr. Williams was stuffing a thick stack of cash envelopes into Jess Lee’s hands. “William! You have to give me that $20,000 commission! My wife is in critical condition!” I lunged at the office desk, my eyes bloodshot, my voice hoarse. Mr. Williams calmly sealed the envelopes, not even bothering to look up. “Mark, why are you shouting? That money has already been distributed to everyone.” He pointed at the cheering employees, self-righteously. “Jess’s 30% speed increase, everyone worked very hard. This money should be awarded to the meritorious.” My whole body trembled uncontrollably, a rush of blood surging to my head. “That’s my life-saving money! How could you use it to win favor?” Mr. Williams suddenly laughed, grabbing my collar and roughly dragging me out of the office. “Come on! Everyone, stop for a moment!” He unceremoniously pushed me into the center of the office area, shouting loudly. “Mark says he wants back that $20,000 commission!” The entire room fell silent instantly. Dozens of eyes stared at me. Mr. Williams spread his hands, looking completely shameless. “I’ve already given the money to everyone. If I give it to him, you’ll have to return the envelopes you just received.” He looked around, deliberately asking. “Do you agree?” Liam was the first to jump out, stuffing his envelope into his pocket, cursing at me. “Why should we? You want to claw back money that’s already in our pockets?” “Mark, you’re too shameless, trying to fill your bottomless pit with everyone’s money?” With someone leading the way, the jeering instantly erupted. Jess, giggling, raised her hand and shouted loudly. “Mr. Williams, since Mark is leaving anyway, why not use the freed-up salary budget to give everyone a $500 monthly raise!” The entire room fell silent for a second, then erupted in thunderous cheers. Mr. Williams waved his hand, agreeing grandly. “Approved! Jess is so sensible, unlike some people who only take and never give.” I stood among the crowd, my heart feeling as if it had been pricked by needles. I remembered last year, when I led the team, working five days and four nights straight to overcome a critical issue, everyone sleeping in the server room. To fight for an extra two hundred dollars in hazard pay for my colleagues, I begged Mr. Williams for three days. Back then, he had smashed a cup and yelled at me, pointing his finger. “Mark! The company is in its startup phase, we don’t have money! You need to understand my difficulties, don’t always fixate on money!” Now, he was using my hard-earned money to buy loyalty, appearing incredibly generous. “Long live Jess! Lead Lee is our real benefactor!” The employees’ gazes at me instantly shifted from disgust to hatred. As if I were the sinner blocking their path to wealth. Suddenly, a figure burst out of the crowd. It was Leo, whom I had personally mentored in coding. “Slap!” A loud slap landed squarely on my face. Leo’s face was flushed red, and he roared at me. “Mark! Get out! You almost cost us our raises!” “You always acted so noble, turns out you’re a bloodsucker trying to cut off everyone’s income!” I clutched my stinging cheek, looking in disbelief at the apprentice I had shielded countless times. Mr. Williams watched the scene, then leaned into my ear, his voice chilling. “See that, Mark? That’s human nature. Now you’re the target of everyone’s scorn.” “You were always the high-achieving student in school, and I’ve disliked you for a long time.” “I’m manipulating you to make you, the genius, bow to me, the underachiever, for a mere pittance.” Before I could even react, Jess walked over, carrying a cup of scalding coffee. “Mark, still not awake?” Her hand trembled, and the brown liquid splattered directly onto my face and chest. “Oops, my hand slipped.” The burning sensation made me gasp, and coffee dripped down my chin onto the floor. The entire room erupted in laughter, whistles filling the air. Jess covered her mouth, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. “Are you awake now? Take your two thousand dollars and get lost.” Mr. Williams clapped his hands, delivering his final summary. “Mark, facts prove that your skills and character are inferior to Jess’s.” He pointed at the main door, issuing a dismissal. “Ryder doesn’t need a useless person like you who can’t even fix a bug. You can safely get out.” “From now on, this is Jess Lee’s domain!” A burning sense of humiliation consumed me. My fingernails dug deeply into my flesh, drawing blood. I wiped the coffee stains from my face, not saying another word. I didn’t even spare them a glance. I turned and walked out the main door, behind me, unrestrained revelry. In the corridor, I leaned against the cold wall and dialed a number I had saved long ago. The phone rang only once before it was answered. “This is Mark.” I kept my voice low, chillingly calm. “The Starlight Tech job offer, I accept.” The headhunter’s surprised voice came through the phone. “Excellent, Mr. Green! Salary and benefits will be double what we discussed. A $50,000 signing bonus will be in your account at any time.” “I need the money, now.” “No problem. It’ll be in your card within ten minutes.” I hung up the phone, looking at the tightly closed company door, listening to the cheers inside. Cheer, cheer to your heart’s content. This is your last moment of joy. Through my phone, I entered a command into my personal terminal: Deactivate Sky Shield AI virus protection function. A red warning popped up on the screen: [Confirm deactivation? After deactivation, the system will lose AI virus protection functionality]. I pressed the confirm button. Watching the error red dots gradually appearing on the screen, I let out a long breath. Your tower is about to collapse. With the “transfer successful” notification sound, the fifty thousand dollar signing bonus instantly flowed into the hospital account. The head nurse hurried over, handing me the payment receipt, her face beaming. “Mr. Green, the money is in, and the best medication is being used. Your wife’s condition is stable.” I glanced through the glass. My wife was sleeping peacefully. The anxiety in my heart finally settled. Leaving the hospital, I headed straight for Starlight Tech. From the 88th-floor panoramic window, I looked out over the entire city. There was no musty smell here, no leaky pipes, only spacious, private offices. Mr. Chen himself brought me a hot cup of tea, offering it with both hands. “Mr. Green, the defense architecture relies entirely on you.” That “you” sounded like an echo from another life. At Ryder, I was the ridiculed outcast. Here, I was a valued guest, commanding a fifty thousand dollar signing bonus. I took a sip of tea, my fingers flying across the keyboard. With a press of the enter key, my self-developed “Sky Shield” AI system instantly covered Starlight Tech’s entire network. At the same time, on the monitoring screen of my former company, Ryder, the data flow began to show eerie fluctuations. Without my AI suppression, the long-dormant “King of Viruses” awakened. Ryder’s old antivirus software, which had always operated under my AI’s protection, never needed to work at full capacity. Now that my AI was gone, that fragile old antivirus software was forced to run at full load, only to find itself completely overwhelmed. Even more ironically, the entry point for the virus was Jess’s “masterpiece.” The day before yesterday, to show off her hacking skills, she wrote a script to automatically retrieve all employee resignation emails. She thought it was cool, a way to show she was more efficient than me. But she didn’t understand that this unencrypted script had left a wide-open door for the virus. The virus, using the resignation email port, burrowed into the internal network like a mad dog.

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1 After my billionaire parents went bankrupt, they whisked me off overnight to a remote, unmapped African village to shield me from creditors. Then a rare malaria outbreak devastated the village, scattering the survivors. Desperate, I called my parents, begging to come home, but they coldly replied: “You’re not the spoiled rich girl anymore. We did this to protect you. Figure it out yourself—we can’t pay for a ticket.” I tried my fiancé next, only to be scolded: “Eleanor, why are you still so fragile? Lisa is suffering here from debt collectors. Call me again, and I’ll break off our engagement!” He blocked me and crushed any hope of my return. Starving, sick, and beaten down, I clung to life until an international rescue team finally arrived with medicine and supplies. When I eventually made it back, I found my fiancé and adopted sister flaunting lavish wedding photos online. That’s when I understood—the bankruptcy and my “ordeal” were all a lie, staged to push me aside for their relationship. I didn’t make a scene. I just commented “Hope you last.” under their wedding announcement. … After leaving the wedding venue, I went straight to the hospital. Malaria is somewhat contagious, and even though the virus had been completely cleared, I still needed to report to the hospital daily for a while to monitor my condition. Dr. Ben Carter, my treating physician who returned with me, saw my prolonged silence and assumed I was homesick. He reassured me that once my blood was drawn, I could go home. But he couldn’t possibly know that, starting today, I no longer had a home. As I exited the phlebotomy room, my phone suddenly started ringing frantically. It was my father, whom I hadn’t heard from in a long time. The moment I answered, his furious roar filled my ears: “Eleanor Price, what exactly did you mean by that comment on the video? Were you doing it on purpose!” “Don’t you know, because of your comment, Lisa’s eyes are all swollen from crying! She’s your sister, can’t you just let her have something good?” I looked at my emaciated reflection in the mirror, then recalled the radiant Lisa at the wedding, and let out a bitter laugh: “What’s wrong with a comment? Didn’t I just congratulate them? What? Do you expect me to give them a fat envelope filled with cash too?” “Dad, just tell me the truth. Lisa is actually your biological daughter, and I’m the adopted one, aren’t I?” Seemingly caught off guard by my words, the person on the other end of the line held their breath. Immediately after, the phone was snatched, and my mother’s voice came through: “Ellie, you’ve misunderstood your sister. That wedding was just for your sister to be happy, they haven’t actually registered their marriage, so it doesn’t count.” “After all, your sister stayed behind to help you hold off those creditors, which is why she couldn’t go abroad with you. You should be thanking her!” At this very moment, my biological parents were still lying to themselves. Thinking of the truth I had witnessed with my own eyes at the hotel entrance, my heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly, making it hard to breathe. After a long pause, I finally spoke, a touch of self-mockery in my voice: “Thank her for stealing my family and my love?” Hearing my sarcasm, my father’s angry growl erupted again: “You ungrateful little wretch, your mother and I do everything for you, and you dare speak to us with such disrespect!” “I’m telling you, if you don’t apologize to Lisa properly, you can stay in Africa forever and never come back! I’ll pretend I never had a daughter like you!” With that, the phone was slammed down. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. Before, I had always believed my parents didn’t know my true situation in Africa, which was why they were so cold and heartless towards me. But when I landed today, I learned that news of the malaria epidemic in Africa had long since reached home. From eighty-year-old grandfathers to five or six-year-old children, everyone knew how terrifying malaria was. They simply didn’t care if I lived or died. As long as their most cherished daughter was well, that was all that mattered to them. Because ever since Lisa arrived, my father’s company crisis not only resolved itself but also began to flourish. From then on, my father became convinced she was the Price family’s “lucky charm,” and his affection for her far surpassed what he showed to me, his biological daughter. Anything Lisa set her eyes on, I had to unconditionally give up. When we were little, it was rooms, dolls, and princess dresses; as we grew up, it became my fiancé. They would rather trick me with an absurd lie about bankruptcy and send me far away, all to prevent me from interfering with Lisa’s love life. Africa was a harsh environment, with scarcity of food and drinking water. But more terrifying than that were the omnipresent viruses. It wasn’t until I contracted malaria and had several near-death experiences that I truly understood what fear meant. Recalling the moments when I desperately fought for survival, only to be repeatedly rejected by my closest relatives, a surge of intense anger welled up inside me. Even if it meant death, there was no way I would apologize to Lisa! 2 Due to an elevated blood marker, I needed to be temporarily isolated, so I couldn’t leave the hospital. To reassure me, Ben offered to visit my parents on my behalf and tell them I was safe. I wanted to tell him not to bother, that no one cared if I lived or died. But facing his earnest gaze, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. After all, if it weren’t for Ben, I would likely have perished in a foreign land. With a soft sigh, I sent him the address. Because the call remained connected, I could clearly hear my parents’ voices. Upon learning of Ben’s purpose, my father’s furious voice immediately erupted: “What new stunt is Eleanor Price pulling now! Can’t she behave herself even after going to Africa? No wonder even her own fiancé doesn’t like her!” “And she got malaria? Wouldn’t it be better if you just told us she died?” “I don’t care how much Eleanor Price paid you to put on this act. Please relay this message to that ungrateful wretch: if she refuses to apologize to Lisa, she can forget about ever leaving Africa!” Listening to my father’s enraged shouting, a pang of heartache was quickly followed by a bitter chuckle. He probably forgot how long it had been since he gave me any allowance. Pay an actor? If I had that kind of spare cash, I wouldn’t have had to fight someone tooth and nail for half a dry pancake, ending up with a chunk of my hair torn out. Ben had not at all anticipated such a response. He stood stunned for a long moment before speaking again: “I… I am genuinely a doctor from Central Hospital, and a member of this medical aid team to Africa. Your daughter…” “Enough! Haven’t you had enough of this act?” “Forget about malaria, even if she really died out there, her mother and I wouldn’t shed a single tear for her!” With that, without waiting for Ben’s reply, the door was slammed shut. Ben instinctively covered the phone’s microphone. It was then he belatedly remembered the ongoing call and quickly hung up. But everything that was meant to be heard, and everything that wasn’t, I had heard crystal clear. Even though I had told myself a thousand times to completely give up on that couple. Yet at that moment, my eyes still felt incredibly sore, and my hands beneath the covers were clenched tightly on the bedsheet. The parental love that was so easily obtained by others was, for me, an unattainable luxury. Perhaps, I should have given up on this false pretense of family long ago. [Ellie, are you… okay?] Despite being just a text message, I could still feel Ben’s concern and worry. See? A stranger I’d known for less than a month cared for me so much, while my parents, with whom I’d spent over two decades, treated me like dirt. Eleanor Price, how utterly pathetic you are! My trembling hand typed out a line: [It’s fine, I already knew this would be the outcome. I’m used to it…] 3 There were three other people isolated with me. Each of them had family concern and companionship, while I was all alone. I often saw pity and sympathy in their eyes. But more chilling than their pity was the balance in my bank account. My illness wasn’t difficult to cure, but it required an imported medication. However, the price of this imported medication was beyond what I could afford. Just because Lisa said, “I’m worried sister will go bad if she has money,” my father only gave me fifty dollars a month for living expenses. Meanwhile, Lisa’s monthly allowance was a staggering hundred thousand dollars. So, while Lisa indulged in lavish shopping, I could barely make ends meet by working part-time handing out flyers. Fresh out of university, I didn’t even have time to send out my resume before my parents tricked me into going to Africa. Now, my bank account balance was in the triple digits. How could that amount possibly afford imported medicine? Ben noticed my financial difficulty and proactively covered all my medical expenses. After being discharged, I still chose to go home. I simply didn’t want to trouble Ben anymore; I already owed him too much. Upon arriving home, I wasn’t greeted by my parents’ warm inquiries, but by my father’s teacup. It happened so suddenly that I couldn’t dodge, and the scalding tea drenched my exposed arm, instantly turning my skin red. But my father was still not satisfied; he pointed his finger at my nose and roared: “Who allowed you to come back home without permission? And who bought your plane ticket!” “Was it that actor you hired earlier? He even lied that you had malaria, but you seem perfectly fine to me!” “You’re full of lies, Eleanor Price, how could I have given birth to such a morally corrupt daughter!” “If only Lisa were my biological daughter, how wonderful that would be!” That last sentence made me snap my head up, staring directly at my father: “Dad, aren’t you the one full of lies? You used bankruptcy as an excuse to send me to Africa, leaving me to fend for myself.” “If I could, I’d rather not be your biological daughter…” Before I could finish speaking, a clear slap mark appeared on my left cheek. My father’s eyes were bloodshot, looking at me as if I were his sworn enemy: “You rebellious child, you’re nothing but a curse! Get out, get out now!” If it weren’t for needing to gather money to repay Ben, I wouldn’t have stepped foot in this house. Just as the atmosphere remained tense, Lisa hypocritically approached me, took my hand, and said: “Sister, Dad lied about being bankrupt and sent you to Africa for your own good. He just wants to train you to be a competent successor.” Her tone was sincere, but her fingernails dug deep into my palm. Without thinking, I immediately pulled my hand away from hers. I hadn’t used much force, yet Lisa stumbled and fell. She sat on the floor, her eyes wide, her face displaying a hurt expression: “Sister, you’ve misunderstood me! I really never intended to steal Jack from you.” “Even though you’ve always looked down on me, thinking I’m not worthy of being your sister, in my heart, you’ll always be my sister.” As she spoke, tears streamed down her face like broken pearls. My father gave me two more slaps. The sharp slapping sounds echoed in the spacious living room. I distinctly saw the triumphant smile hidden beneath Lisa’s tearful eyes. “You wretch! If I had known you were so malicious, I should have strangled you the day you were born!”

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