Category: English

My eighteenth birthday. Ivy, my twin sister, received company shares, a luxury car, a villa… Me? I received a DNA test result slip proving I wasn’t their biological daughter. Victoria, my mother, smiled—a chilling, distant smile. “Eliza, since you aren’t our flesh and blood, it’s only fair that you repay us for the seventeen years of expenses we incurred raising you.” Richard, my father, scoffed. “Effective today, you’ll be the household maid. We’ll credit you five hundred dollars a month toward your debt. No room and board.” I didn’t question how this was possible when Ivy and I were twins, practically molded from the same clay. How could I not be their daughter? Instead, I nodded calmly. Because just last night, I’d stood outside the study door and heard it all. Ivy, her voice sticky-sweet, whined to them, “Mom, Dad, my birthday wish is to be your only daughter, to have all your attention just for me. Can we just make Eliza the maid for a year? Please?” Dad’s face was brimming with doting affection. “Yes, darling. Anything for you.” Mom chuckled in agreement. “This year, Daddy and I belong only to our precious Ivy-bug.” After everyone had left, I looked at the remnants of the cake on the table, stuck a lone candle into the frosting, and made my own silent wish: I would leave the Vincents. Not for a year. But for good. For a lifetime. 1 “Oh, my God, Sister!” Ivy Vincent covered her mouth in an exaggerated gasp. “No wonder you’re so plain! You don’t look like Dad or Mom! Turns out, you really are a fake!” Her voice was loud and performative, as if she’d completely forgotten the two of us were identical twins, almost spitting images of each other. “Correction,” she added, her eyes glinting. “You’re not my sister at all. You’re just some stray mutt who wandered in off the street.” Victoria’s expression remained aloof and cold. “Eliza, now that the truth is out—you are not a Vincent. This birthday party was prepared solely for our beloved Ivy. You no longer have a right to be here.” I lifted my gaze to meet Ivy’s triumphant smirk. She wore a custom-made princess gown and a diamond tiara that cost more than a down payment on a small house. I glanced down at my own outfit: a faded, washed-out shirt and jeans, the cuffs frayed from overuse. A bitter laugh caught in my throat. Right. I hadn’t had any real rights since I was a child. What was there left to lose now? Richard raised his voice, loud enough for the gathering crowd. “Starting today, you’ll move to the staff quarters. Out of respect for the time we shared, you can work as a maid here until you find your biological parents. We’ll pay you five hundred dollars a month toward the seventeen years of living expenses you owe us. No food, no lodging.” A wave of murmuring swept through the onlookers. I felt like a pathetic clown under their mocking, scrutinizing gazes. I bent over and picked up my backpack. Ivy darted forward, grabbing the strap and yanking hard. The worn zipper, held together with a simple safety pin, instantly gave way, and the contents spilled across the polished hardwood floor. Ivy shrieked. “Aha! I knew it! You’ve been stealing from us!” Among the scattered textbooks, a single, pink sanitary pad lay exposed. Mom’s face briefly tightened with discomfort. “Ivy, that’s enough. It’s just a pad.” Ivy immediately dug in her heels. “No, Mom! I’m the only Vincent daughter now. What is she? She’s a parasite who’s been living off us for years and now she’s stealing! I say she doesn’t deserve anything!” Seeing her anger, Victoria quickly softened her tone, cooing, “Okay, okay, honey. Don’t get upset. You’re absolutely right. You are Mom’s only heart and soul, and you can do whatever you want.” Satisfied, Ivy deliberately stepped onto the pad, grinding her heel into it, twisting and turning. “There,” she declared. “Now I don’t want it. You can have it.” I stared at the pink cotton, now marred by a dirty shoe print. My throat felt thick and heavy, like it was stuffed with wet cotton. 2 In the end, I only picked up the books. Once the party was over, Auntie May, the housekeeper, led me into a cramped utility closet. The space, no bigger than five square meters, held only a plank bed stacked with junk and a single, rusted iron window. Auntie May stood at the doorway, her lips parting as if to speak. “Miss… Eliza. The master and madam, they remember the good things about you. Once they come to their senses, you’ll be Miss Vincent again…” She trailed off as two cockroaches scurried out from a dark corner and zipped away. I pretended not to notice the awkwardness on her face. “Thank you. I understand.” Auntie May shook her head and left, muttering quietly to herself. “They look so alike. How can she not be… sigh.” I sat on the hard plank bed, staring blankly out at the pitch-black night beyond the window. It’s okay. Just one more year, and then I can leave forever. That night, my lower abdomen ached terribly. With no sanitary pads, I could only make do with toilet paper. Coming out of the bathroom, I overheard my parents’ hushed conversation. “Honey, do you think Eliza will resent us for treating her this way? She is our biological daughter, after all.” Dad let out a cold snort. “It’s her own fault for constantly bullying Ivy. As the older sister, she never knew how to yield. This suffering is for her own good.” “Once Ivy tires of this game, a year from now, we’ll just say the DNA test was wrong. When she gets her title back, she’ll be overjoyed, she won’t even think about this.” My fingertips went ice-cold. It was so utterly ridiculous. How could they possibly believe that after trampling me into the dirt, I would wait obediently for their return? The next day, I went out to buy pads. At checkout, I was told my card was declined due to insufficient funds. But I was certain I had two hundred dollars saved up. Back at the house, I pushed the door open. The three of them were laughing merrily at the dining table. A gift bag rested on the surface. Victoria was stroking a silk scarf in her hands. “My Ivy is such a thoughtful angel. Giving Mommy a gift! I’m so happy!” Richard was turning a plastic water bottle in his hand, grinning ear to ear. “Daddy loves his too. You’re my precious girl.” Ivy pouted, leaning on Mom’s shoulder. “But they only cost two hundred dollars combined. You’re not mad that I was cheap, are you?” Mom immediately shook her head. “Of course not! Anything my baby buys me, even for two dollars, is Mom’s treasure.” Dad didn’t miss a chance to belittle me. “Exactly. Unlike your sister, who only knew how to spend the family’s money and never once bought us a gift. She’s an ingrate. She can’t even compare to my Ivy…” They abruptly stopped talking when they noticed I had returned. Ivy tilted her head to look at me, a malicious smile twisting her lips. Those two hundred dollars… They were my savings from two months of my allowance. All my money. A freezing sensation swept over me, and something in my mind violently erupted. Before I knew what I was doing, I had grabbed Ivy and raised my hand to strike. But before the slap could land, Richard kicked me away. My spine slammed against the sharp corner of the coffee table. The pain was so intense I nearly blacked out. Ivy clutched her arm, showing off a small, red mark. She began to wail as if the sky had fallen. “Mommy! Daddy! It hurts so bad! Is my arm broken?” Mom shouted frantically, “Call an ambulance!” Dad quickly interjected, “Forget the ambulance, there’s no time! I’ll drive Ivy to the ER myself.” Ivy pointed at me, sprawled on the floor. “I don’t want to go by car! That bastard injured me, so she has to carry me all the way to the hospital!” 3 The nearest hospital was twenty kilometers from the villa. Victoria’s eyes were ice-cold as she looked at me. “You’re a fatherless, motherless stray that we fed and clothed for over a decade. How dare you lay a hand on my daughter? You’ll do exactly what Ivy says.” Seeing me struggle to get up, Dad grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. “Stop the pathetic act. You just bumped yourself gently. Now hurry and carry Ivy to the hospital! If you delay my daughter’s treatment, I swear I’ll throw you out of the Vincent house for good.” I believed him. But I couldn’t leave yet. I hoisted Ivy onto my back and began the long, staggering walk to the hospital. Dad drove slowly behind me, the car barely moving faster than my pace. He constantly yelled, “Eliza, hold her steady! If you drop my precious girl, I’ll flay you alive!” Mom complained with a frown. “Walk faster! Are you starved? Don’t you dare delay my baby’s recovery.” Ivy, clinging to my back, laughed smugly. “See? No one in this house loves you! You’re a stray dog no one wants.” That kind of cruelty used to cut me deep. Now, perhaps from an accumulation of too much pain, I was numb. Unresponsive. Seeing my lack of reaction, Ivy fell silent. But as we neared the hospital, the safety pin she’d concealed in her pocket was suddenly driven hard into my back. I gasped, stumbled, and collapsed to the asphalt. My parents immediately stopped the car, rushing to scoop Ivy off me and race toward the hospital entrance. Mom paused, looking back at my ashen face. She said with sharp impatience, “You’re at the hospital now. Go find a doctor yourself. We don’t have time for you.” I never made it inside the hospital. I had no money. Too exhausted to walk back, I sat on the hospital steps until nightfall, then slowly made my way back to the villa. They were already home. Standing in the living room were a nervous, slovenly-looking middle-aged man and woman. “Perfect timing,” Richard announced, pointing to the couple. “These are your biological parents. You’ll be leaving with them now.” The air was deadly silent. Victoria came over and took my hand, but her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “Eliza, we shared a relationship as mother and daughter for a time, and I am truly saddened. But since your real parents have been found, there’s no reason for you to stay with the Vincents.” I had thought I was beyond crying. Yet, tears streamed down my face. These were the parents I had cherished for over a decade. They wouldn’t even allow me to stay in the house, not even in a corner. My tears made Mom look away, guilt creeping into her expression. She reached out to wipe my face, but Ivy grabbed her arm. “Congratulations, Sister,” Ivy chimed in. “You’re finally not a fatherless, motherless stray anymore.” The middle-aged woman, introduced as my birth mother, Brenda Reyes, grabbed my hand. Her filthy, black fingernails dug into my skin as she wailed dramatically. “My daughter! Mommy has finally found you! Come home with me now!” The man, Vicente Ramos, claiming to be my birth father, started dragging me toward the door. “Yes, yes, hurry home. You’ve inconvenienced the Vincents and the Madam for too many years. Don’t be a leech.” “Wait,” Ivy said, her eyes twinkling as she spoke. “Sister, finding your real parents is a huge deal. Shouldn’t you kneel and perform the kowtow to acknowledge them? Or are you too ashamed of how poor they are?” I froze and turned back to my parents. “Do you think I should kowtow to them?” 4 They both instinctively avoided my gaze. Ivy kept urging me. “Hurry up and kneel. We’re all watching.” I smiled. Something inside me, in that moment, completely shattered. I knelt down, but I faced my parents and knocked my head hard against the floor. “The parent-child relationship ends here. From this day forward, I have no ties to the Vincent family.” Mom and Dad exchanged a look, a flicker of unease passing between them. I stood up and left with my ‘birth parents.’ Victoria chased after me, her voice thin and desperate. “It’s not settled! Not until… not until you pay back all the money we spent on you over the years!” I stopped but didn’t turn around. I simply replied, “Fine.” They thought they had spent a fortune on me. But they had forgotten the reality. The daughter who was showered with love and money was Ivy. Me? I had a monthly allowance of only three hundred dollars. Which Ivy, with her monthly thirty-thousand-dollar allowance, still found ways to exploit. If I refused, she would go home and cry, claiming I ganged up with classmates to isolate and bully her at school. I was locked in my room countless times without food. Once, on a stormy night, because Ivy cried that I was driving her to the brink, I was left outside to soak in the rain. I developed a 104-degree fever, and no one checked on me. It had always been like this. Ivy’s word decided my guilt, my happiness, my daily life, and my dignity. My explanations, my tears, my grievances—they were worthless in that house. Just like me. I was cheap. That night, I was taken to my ‘birth parents’ squalid slum apartment. Since there was no extra room or bedding, I was forced to curl up on the floor of the sole bathroom for the night. The window, crudely patched with newspaper, let in a relentless draft. The next day, I woke up with a pounding fever. In a daze, I heard the woman’s anxious phone call. “Mr. Vincent, Mrs. Vincent, the young… the girl has a fever. It’s a hundred and four degrees.” “Then what are you waiting for? Take her to the hospital!” The phone was on speaker, and Ivy’s voice came through clearly. “Mommy, Daddy, Sister just left last night and now she has a fever? What a coincidence! It’s a trick, a pathetic attempt to test you. If you believe her, you’ll be the fools.” After a long silence, Richard’s cold voice returned. “Ignore her. She said she has no relationship with us anymore. Let that ingrate learn a lesson.” Victoria’s voice was full of irritation. “She’s your daughter now. Stop calling us. We’re busy planning our globe-trotting trip with our precious Ivy. Goodbye.” No one came for me. I was abandoned in the forgotten rental. I fought through the haze to force the front door open. As I crawled out onto the stairwell, I finally gave up and passed out. When I finally woke up, there was only a nurse beside the bed. “You’re awake, little girl. Your temperature was 107.6. If a kind passerby hadn’t brought you here, another ten minutes and you would have been in real danger.” “Now, please contact a family member to come and pay the bill.” I was silent for a long moment, then spoke in a faint voice. “I have no money, and no family.” The nurse looked stunned. I stared at the IV drip in my arm and licked my dry lips. “But… I have blood.” When the new school year began, I was a senior. I started running errands for classmates—getting meals, delivering packages. A dollar per trip. I could save about twenty dollars a day. 5 I had just picked up a meal when I ran into Ivy in the hallway outside the cafeteria. She merely crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Her entourage of hangers-on instantly grabbed my meal tray and smashed it. Food mixed with muddy water spilled everywhere. “Oh, Sister, you look so pathetic. Let me buy you lunch.” They forced my head down, trying to make me eat the food they’d trampled on. Ms. Chen, my homeroom teacher, happened to pass by and angrily chased them off. She helped me up and wiped my face. She had heard rumors about the birthday party and knew I was struggling financially. Without asking for details, she offered me a tutoring job—weekend afternoons only—with the strict condition that it wouldn’t impact my grades. I thanked her repeatedly. But I never imagined that because of her single act of kindness, Ms. Chen would be reported and fired for allegedly taking bribes from a student’s parents. And I, meanwhile, was plastered on the school bulletin board. A photo of a student’s parent dropping me off for tutoring was captioned with the accusation that I was being kept by an older man. My ‘birth mother,’ Brenda Reyes, rushed to the school and slapped me twice without a word. She viciously grabbed my hair, pinching and twisting. “You little tramp! How old are you? You’re already flashing yourself for men! You might be shameless, but I’m not!” My head whipped to the side. In my peripheral vision, I saw my parents standing with the school administrators, looking at me with undisguised contempt. Behind them, Ivy’s face was split with a triumphant grin. My hair fell forward, hiding my line of sight and the tears I couldn’t stop. I lowered my head and said flatly, “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong.” That night, just after I’d showered, a large hand yanked me violently into the room. My ‘birth father,’ Vicente Ramos, stood shirtless, his eyes bloodshot, lunging at me. “If you’re going to give it away to some man outside, you might as well give it to me.” The utility knife I had hidden in my sleeve slashed across his face. He recoiled two steps, panting like a starved beast. “I’m still a student. Get out, unless you want to spend the rest of your life in prison!” Living in the slums, I hadn’t been without preparation. Vicente spat, wiped the blood from his cheek, and bared his yellowed teeth in a grin. “You wait, you little bitch. Your real parents sold you to me. I’ll get what I’m owed eventually.” The door slammed shut. I slid weakly to the floor, trembling violently. Tears gushed out. I bit down hard on the back of my hand to stifle my sobs. My phone chimed. A message popped up in the family group chat. Victoria: “Eliza Vincent, you’re self-degrading at such a young age. After being a mother to someone as dirty and self-shaming as you for over a decade, the thought of it makes me sick.” The next second, Richard removed me from the group. Victoria stared at the remaining three people in the chat, a sense of inexplicable dread washing over her. “Honey, are we being too harsh? Didn’t we check? She was just tutoring.” Richard huffed. “If she hadn’t forced Ivy to eat the food off the ground, Ivy wouldn’t have cried until her eyes were swollen. Removing her from the group was the only thing Ivy asked for. It’s letting her off easy.” After a moment, he softened his tone. “It’s only a year. I’ve already transferred enough money to Vicente Ramos. Eliza won’t be suffering. When the time is up, we’ll bring her right back.” A year later. On the day of mine and Ivy’s birthday. My parents left the house early. Richard drove fast. “Do you have the correct DNA test results?” Victoria nodded rapidly. “Yes, I do. We haven’t seen Eliza in a year. When she comes back, we have to make it up to her.” 6 Richard smiled. “Of course. I’ve already finalized the company shares. Ivy is too frivolous for responsibility, but Eliza, after this ordeal, will have matured and won’t bully her sister anymore. I’ll announce her as the heir at the party.” The two rushed out of the car, navigating the dirty, cluttered alleyways straight to Vicente Ramos’s door. They knocked repeatedly, but no one answered. Finally, an older woman from next door poked her head out. “Stop knocking. Vicente Ramos was locked up a year ago. Tried to rape the girl he brought back.”

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Just because the guy my college roommate had a crush on gave me a love letter, she spread rumors that I was a high-end escort and had gotten three abortions. The entire school believed it. Some pointed fingers, some isolated me, and others even blocked me at the classroom door, asking how much I charged for a night. I silently endured the humiliation and verbal abuse for four years. Twenty years later, I sat as the lead interviewer for a top-secret government agency. The candidate who had scored highest on the written exam walked in for her interview. I opened her background check file. When I saw the name listed under “Mother,” I smiled. Closing the file, I said flatly: “You are disqualified.” 1 My name is Sarah Miller, and I was the only person from my small farming town to ever go to college. The day the acceptance letter arrived, the whole town threw a celebration for me that lasted all day. At the banquet, my dad, who couldn’t hold his liquor well, drank until his face was beet red. With bleary eyes, he kept slurring, “My family… we finally have a college student.” “My girl really did me proud!” My dad had worked himself to the bone his entire life, head bowed to the earth. That was the first time I ever saw him hold his head high, his eyes shining with pride. On enrollment day, my dad sold the only valuable thing we owned—our pig—to scrape together my tuition. My mom went around to all the neighbors, borrowing a few dollars here and there, until she had five hundred dollars. She pressed it into my hand. With red eyes, she told me: “Study hard at school, get along with your classmates, and become an educated, successful person.” “Don’t end up like me and your dad, suffering your whole life because you don’t have an education.” Looking at my mom’s calloused hands and my dad’s graying hair, I nodded firmly. I silently swore to myself that I would work as hard as I could to give my parents a better life. And so, lugging heavy duffel bags, I took a 24-hour Greyhound train and stepped onto the university campus. The school was grand. The majestic gates and towering buildings made my head spin. Following the school’s assignment, I dragged my bags to my dorm room. My three roommates had arrived early. The three girls, who had been laughing and chatting, froze the moment I walked in. Three pairs of eyes simultaneously looked me up and down. They were wearing cute, trendy skirts, while I was wearing my washed-out, faded high school uniform. My shoes even had patches on them. Their stares made my cheeks burn. After double-checking that I hadn’t walked into the wrong room, I muttered: “Hi, I’m your new roommate, Sarah Miller.” That was the first time I met Chloe Vance. She glanced at me and scoffed: “What a country bumpkin.” 2 That one phrase, “country bumpkin,” made me want to sink into the floor. What felt even more helpless was that I couldn’t argue with her. I later learned that Chloe and the other two were all locals from wealthy families. Especially Chloe. She wore a different outfit every day and always smelled like expensive perfume. She looked down on me. And because she did, the other two roommates joined in to ostracize me. They put a bottle of rubbing alcohol by the door and demanded I sanitize myself from head to toe every time I came in. They explicitly forbade me from using the dorm bathroom. I wasn’t even allowed to hang my washed clothes on the balcony with theirs. In their eyes, I was basically walking garbage. Even looking at me made them feel dirty. To avoid being a nuisance, I complied with all their rules. I also tried to avoid running into them as much as possible. I would go to the library before dawn to claim a seat and wouldn’t return until right before lights out. Just when I thought I could quietly get through college like this… Liam Davis’s love letter dealt me a fatal blow. When Chloe found out that Liam, the guy she had a massive crush on, liked me, she was consumed by hatred. She warned me: “Sarah, I’ll make sure you know what happens when you try to steal my man!” I don’t know how she did it. But overnight, the way everyone looked at me changed. Everywhere I went, people pointed and whispered: “Look, that’s her. The escort. Heard she’s had three abortions.” “She looks so innocent, who knew she was such a slut?” “I noticed she never even buys meat at the dining hall. Her family must be dirt poor for her to stoop that low.” “Even if you’re poor, you can’t just throw away your dignity like that. It’s embarrassing.” In the classroom, someone taped the words “Whore’s Seat” to my desk. In the library, people would spray the chair I just vacated with alcohol multiple times, then put down paper towels before sitting. Even the cafeteria ladies looked at me with disgust, intentionally shaking the ladle to only give me watery broth when serving my food. Guys would block the classroom door and ask me how much I charged for a night. Even Liam Davis specifically sought me out to demand his love letter back, looking at me with pure revulsion as he said: “You’re disgusting.” 3 I tried to explain to everyone, but no one believed me. Because Chloe came from a rich family and was in the student council, she was very popular on campus. Her words carried much more weight than mine. I couldn’t fight her. After agonizing over it, I spent all my remaining living expenses to buy a lipstick she frequently used and sought her out, practically begging: “Chloe, this lipstick is for you.” “Could you please explain to everyone that those rumors aren’t true?” “I never did any of those things.” Chloe glanced dismissively at the lipstick I held out to her and scoffed: “I can’t control what comes out of other people’s mouths, can I?” “A piece of trash thinks she can bribe me?” I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and pleaded with her again: “Chloe, I’m begging you. I really have nothing going on with Liam, and I promise I’ll never interact with him again. Just please, stop spreading those rumors.” “I just want to study in peace.” I knew she was the one spreading the rumors; she definitely had a way to stop them. I threw away my dignity, just hoping she would let me off the hook. But she looked down at me from her high horse and said coldly: “Sarah, a bumpkin like you who doesn’t know her place belongs rotting in the mud for the rest of her life!” Not only did Chloe refuse to help me clear the rumors, but she also fueled the fire. People started saying that I had tried to bribe Chloe to lie and cover up my escort business. The relentless rumors severely impacted my life and studies. Desperate to study in peace, I went to my academic advisor, begging her to give me justice. But after hearing the whole story, she sighed helplessly: “Sarah, I’ve heard quite a bit about these rumors myself.” “But where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” “You need to reflect on yourself. Have you been acting inappropriately, or done something to cause a misunderstanding?” “Otherwise, why would everyone be saying these things about you?” The advisor’s words were like a sharp blade plunging deep into my heart. They completely crushed the last sliver of hope I had. That was the moment I realized. There was no such thing as fairness in this world. Because I was poor, my words had no credibility. Because I was poor, I deserved to be nailed to the pillar of shame. Because I was poor, even the teacher who was supposed to uphold justice defaulted to victim-blaming. 4 The hostility from my classmates, the apathy from my teachers. It made me lose all hope in the university. I didn’t understand. I just wanted to get an education. Why was it so hard? Why was I subjected to these baseless accusations? Why was everyone targeting me? Why did I have to live like a rat crossing the street, pointed at and cursed wherever I went? I was so tired. I didn’t want to live another day in this sunless hell. I thought about it for an entire night. Finally, I decided to drop out. But just as I packed my bags and prepared to leave campus, my mom called: “Sarah, your uncle’s son works at a restaurant near your school. He came back to town and told everyone what’s going on with you.” “It’s all over town now. Everyone is saying you’re doing shameful things out there for money.” Realizing the rumors had reached our small town, I panicked: “Mom, I didn’t do those things. My classmates made it all up.” My mom sighed. “Of course I believe you’re not that kind of girl.” “Sarah, your dad and I are just worried sick about you.” “You must be suffering so much at school, right?” “How about your dad and I come to the school? We don’t care if we lose face. We’ll get on our knees and beg your classmates to stop targeting you.” “You worked so hard to get into college! You can’t just throw away this chance to change your destiny!” Hearing my mom’s words, my nose stung, and tears immediately started streaming down my face. She was right. I had worked so hard to get here. How could I give up so easily? I had sworn to myself that I would study hard and give my parents a better life! In that moment, I almost hated myself. How could I be so fragile? How could I let one rumor from Chloe make me forget where I came from? The rumors were terrifying, yes, but my parents were still back home, waiting for me to make something of myself! I wiped my tears and spoke solemnly to my mom: “Mom, I’m fine. You and Dad just take care of yourselves back home. I’ll handle things at school.” After hanging up, my mindset underwent a seismic shift. My current situation was difficult, but I couldn’t give up. I carried the weight of my parents’ expectations, the culmination of their lifelong sacrifices. I absolutely had to give them a better life. I could not fall. The only reason I was being bullied and suppressed by everyone was because I was poor and weak, right? If that was the case, why couldn’t I find a way to become strong? Education was my only chance to change my destiny. I couldn’t give it up. Armed with this conviction, I ignored everything else and threw myself into my studies, burying myself in textbooks. I knew that only absolute power could prevent me from being trampled underfoot and slaughtered at will. For four whole years. I endured all the accusations, mockery, and verbal abuse. I survived night after night of burning the midnight oil. In the end, I graduated at the absolute top of my class. And that brings us to today. I sat in the lead interviewer’s seat for a top-secret government agency. There were four interviewers in total, but I possessed the ultimate veto power. Today was the final round of interviews. The door opened, and a young woman walked in slowly. “Hello, everyone. My name is Mia Davis.” The candidates’ files had already been distributed to the interviewers. Hearing the name Mia, the other interviewers gasped in admiration: “Are you the prodigy who got early admission to Harvard at fourteen, Mia?” “I heard you also got the highest score on the written exam?” Mia nodded politely and formally began her interview. Throughout the process, no matter how difficult the questions were, she answered them flawlessly. Her demeanor was poised and professional, practically perfect. The other interviewers were incredibly impressed. Before the interview even ended, they were already extending olive branches, fighting to recruit her to their respective teams. But I just stared at the name listed under “Mother” in her background file, completely stunned. I never expected that Chloe Vance—the woman who bullied me for four years and subjected me to endless humiliation—could raise such an exceptional daughter. 5 Mia truly was exceptional. To have such incredible talent and ability at such a young age… even in a top-secret agency filled with brilliant minds, she was a rarity. I was genuinely curious. Given Chloe’s character, how did she manage to raise someone as outstanding as Mia? In disbelief, I flipped to the next page and saw the name listed under “Father”: Liam Davis. The very spark that ignited my nightmare of bullying. Even now, I remembered the boy in the crisp white shirt, the slight flush on his ears, and the hopeful look in his eyes when he handed me that love letter. And I remembered the look of pure disgust when he snatched it back, saying, “You’re disgusting.” After that day, Liam never sought me out again. Whenever we passed each other, he would instinctively frown and give me a wide berth. As if he were terrified of catching something filthy. It seemed Chloe had ultimately gotten her wish and ended up with Liam. And they had produced such an exceptional daughter. Noticing that I had been flipping through Mia’s file in silence for a while, the other interviewers exchanged knowing smiles: “It looks like Director Miller is determined to get Mia. She’s reading the file so carefully.” “Of course. Director Miller has always had a sharp eye. If someone isn’t top-tier talent, she wouldn’t even look twice.” “Mia, you’re in luck. Director Miller definitely wants you on her team.” “With Director Miller as your mentor, your future is absolutely limitless.” Hearing the interviewers’ comments, Mia beamed with a confident, victorious smile: “The reason I wanted to join this agency was because I deeply admire Director Miller.” “I want to work under Director Miller.” The other interviewers chuckled and teased: “Ah, my team really needs a brilliant young mind to lead the charge. I really wanted Mia for my group.” “Me too! Seeing such an outstanding junior, I’m totally jealous.” “Director Miller, it seems the feeling is mutual between you and Mia. We might as well congratulate you now.” “You really found a gem this time.” All eyes turned to me, everyone utterly convinced that I would gladly accept this seemingly perfect young prodigy. Mia also looked at me with eager anticipation, waiting for me to nod and welcome her aboard. But I slowly closed the file, looked up, and met Mia’s gaze with calm eyes. I said flatly: “You are disqualified.” 6 My verdict left everyone stunned. Mia’s confident smile instantly froze, replaced by sheer disbelief. The interviewers exchanged bewildered looks, as if they had just heard something absurd, shock evident on their faces. A second later, they assumed I was joking and laughed: “Director Miller, stop joking around. How could you possibly reject a candidate as excellent as Mia?” “Yeah, did you get too excited and say the wrong thing?” “Don’t scare the poor girl.” I looked at them and said seriously: “I didn’t misspeak.” “She is disqualified.” “After a comprehensive evaluation, I have determined she cannot join the agency.” Mia stared at me, her face pale, and asked in confusion: “Why?” “Is it because I’m not good enough?” I shook my head: “You are very good.” “You are the most outstanding candidate I’ve seen in all my years here.” Mia asked again: “Was there a problem with my performance?” I answered truthfully again: “Your performance was excellent, absolutely flawless.” Hearing this, the interviewers were even more baffled: “Then why?” “Director Miller, you can’t just waste talent like this.” “Yeah, if you don’t want her on your team, we’d be more than happy to take her.” “Exactly! Mia’s abilities are obvious to everyone. How can we reject someone this talented?” “Losing talent like this would be a massive loss for the agency.” Their voices grew noticeably more agitated. Every face displayed a clear hunger for her talent. But unfortunately, I was the lead interviewer today. I held the absolute veto power. If I said Mia couldn’t join, then no matter how brilliant she was, she would have no place in this agency. Seeing my unwavering resolve, a trace of bewildered anger appeared on Mia’s face: “Director Miller, if there were no issues with my performance in any area, then what is your reason for rejecting me?” The other interviewers chimed in, finding it hard to accept: “She’s right, Director Miller. Mia’s personal skills and psychological evaluations were top-notch, and her professional abilities are outstanding. If you’re going to reject someone this good, you have to give a reason.” “Even if you have veto power, you need to explain it to everyone.” “This concerns the agency’s future talent pool. It’s not a game.” Everyone stared at me intently, waiting for the reason. Meeting their gazes, I looked at Mia and said calmly: “For that answer, you should go home and ask your mother.” At that, Mia’s confident posture clearly trembled. A second later, her voice shook: “I don’t understand.” “Director Miller, what does this have to do with my mother?” “This is my interview. You should be evaluating my personal abilities and character.” Her voice rose higher and higher, taking on an almost interrogative tone. The atmosphere in the conference room became incredibly tense. I didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, I stood up, walked to the door, opened it, and spoke clearly, enunciating every word: “Some answers are better delivered by her personally.” “Mia, your interview is over.” “Please leave.”

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As I was adjusting the flow rate on a patient’s IV drip again, I noticed she was scrolling through TikTok. The video playing on her screen showed the very IV bag currently hanging above her. The caption read: “The nurse is all dolled up. She probably has a hot date tonight.” “So I purposely turned the IV drip down to the slowest setting. Slow and steady. I’m in no rush.” “Hahaha, looks like she won’t be making that date after all.” 1 While I was hooking up her IV, the patient suddenly asked: “Hey sweetie, how old are you?” I glanced at her. She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties, with a deep tan and high cheekbones. She was wearing a red dress with lace trimming that had frayed beyond recognition. I smiled politely. “Twenty-three.” “So young,” she said, looking me up and down. “Got a boyfriend?” Working in a hospital, I deal with a lot of patients every day. Many of the older ones love to chat to pass the time. I was used to it, so I replied: “Not yet.” The patient stared at me for a moment before suddenly giggling. “Well, look at you, wearing a full face of makeup to work. You’re pretty good at it, too. All dressed up—got a hot date later?” I wear makeup to work because it makes me look and feel more awake and professional. I like how it looks. But for some reason, the tone of this patient’s voice rubbed me the wrong way. It felt subtle, but off. “No.” I didn’t want to explain further and focused on inserting the needle carefully. “You’re in for pneumonia, right? You have three bags total. When this one is empty, hit the call button and I’ll come swap it out.” I specifically warned her: “Do not mess with the flow rate dial. If you see a little blood backing up into the tube, that’s normal, don’t panic. If anything hurts, use the call button.” “Oh, okay, okay, got it. Go ahead and get back to work.” She kept that smiling face, making me wonder if I had just imagined the uncomfortable vibe she gave off. The night shift was brutal, so I quickly forgot about the exchange and went to change IV bags for other patients. After finishing my rounds, I finally had a second to breathe. I found a chair at the nurse’s station and massaged my legs, which ached from standing so long. Thinking about having tomorrow off, I couldn’t help but smile. Just as I was wondering if I should text a friend to hang out, my call bell rang. It was the woman in the red dress. “What’s wrong?” I asked, walking over. “I don’t feel good. Ugh, I feel sick.” Startled, I immediately checked her chart and the IV bag. “Are you absolutely sure you’re not allergic to penicillin?” She nodded. “I’m not allergic. I’ve had it before.” The medication was correct, and there were no allergies. Concerned, I asked: “Where exactly does it hurt? Can you describe how you feel sick?” “I just don’t feel good,” she frowned. “I don’t know how to explain it. Oh, wait, I think I’m fine now. It stopped.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I turned to leave, I noticed the drip chamber. It took forever for a single drop of medication to fall. The flow rate had been dialed down to the absolute minimum. I frowned. “Did you touch the dial?” “Yeah, why? It was going too fast, it made me feel sick.” I looked down at the patient, exasperated. “There are strict protocols for IV flow rates. You cannot adjust it yourself. If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me.” I reached out and adjusted the dial back to the standard rate. Remembering she said she felt sick, I tweaked it to be slightly slower than standard. “I’ve slowed it down for you,” I warned her again. “Do not touch the dial. If you need something, ring the bell.” “Okay, okay. Sorry for being a bother, my bad.” 2 Her attitude seemed fine, but she was incredibly needy. Every time I sat down to catch my breath, her call bell would ring. “Hey sweetie, do you guys have any portable chargers? My phone is dead.” “No, the hospital doesn’t provide portable chargers, but there’s an outlet over there,” I offered helpfully. “If your phone is dead, I can plug it in for you.” “Nah, never mind. Thanks anyway.” Not long after, the bell rang again! I dragged myself up and walked over. “What’s wrong?” “Sweetie, this IV fluid is so cold. It’s making my whole arm freeze. It’s really uncomfortable.” I thought for a second. “I can get you a warm compress to put over your arm.” “Forget it, it’s fine. Sorry to bother you again.” “It’s no problem,” I waved it off. But the second I sat back down, she rang the bell again! Resigned to my fate, I went over. “Ma’am, what’s wrong now?” The woman had a huge grin on her face. She pointed toward the nurse’s station. “Sweetie, are you sure you don’t have a date later? I saw you smiling over there a minute ago.” I had been running around all night, and the only reason I smiled was because I remembered I had tomorrow off! Irritation flared in my chest, but I kept my voice professional. “I don’t have a date. Please only use the call button if you need medical assistance.” “Okay, okay, sorry. I was just curious.” The woman’s smile didn’t waver. “I was just thinking, a pretty girl like you, how could you not have a boyfriend?” “You must have guys lining up, right? Look at your skin, so pale, big eyes, and your makeup looks so good.” She scrutinized my face. “Your makeup is really detailed. That must take an hour or two, right? What time do you have to wake up in the morning?” I was completely annoyed. But looking at her, sitting in the hospital alone late at night with no one to keep her company… it was kind of sad. Maybe she was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to. “It doesn’t take that long. Just five or ten minutes.” I was about to politely tell her to stop ringing the bell for no reason, when I realized an hour had passed. Her first bag should have been empty by now. I looked up. The IV bag was still more than half full. It was barely dripping. She had turned the dial down again! This time, I was genuinely angry. “Didn’t I tell you not to touch the flow rate? You have three bags. At this speed, you’ll be here all night and still won’t finish. “I already slowed it down for you earlier. Stop touching it!” As I spoke, I reached up to fix the dial. My intention was to prevent her from being stuck here forever. The hospital chairs are cold and uncomfortable. It’s better to finish the treatment and go home to sleep. But to my disbelief, the woman kept that same giggly smirk. “Oh my, am I going too slow? Is it going to make you late for your date? I’m so sorry!” I was furious. I didn’t want to say another word to her. I fixed the dial and stormed back to my desk. Thankfully, she didn’t ring the bell again after that. I let out a sigh of relief, did a round of the room, and went to the back room to prep medications. Just as I finished, the Charge Nurse came in for her rounds. She walked through the IV room. “Any issues tonight?” “No,” I shook my head. “Everyone is hooked up, and I’ve double-checked all the meds. Everything is fine.” “Good.” The Charge Nurse checked my charts. “Out of all the new hires, you’re the most detail-oriented. Good job.” She turned to leave, but the call bell rang again! I looked toward the sound, and my vision practically went dark. It was the woman in the red dress again! This time, the other patients were getting annoyed. A guy trying to sleep in the chair next to her ripped his jacket off his head and snapped: “Are you ever going to stop?! How many times have you hit that bell tonight? If you need something, say it all at once! Are you trying to keep everyone awake?!” The woman shrank back a little and mumbled, “I feel sick. Am I not allowed to say I feel sick?” The Charge Nurse walked over. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” She checked the IV bag. “The medication is fine—wait, why is the flow rate so slow?” “It was going too fast, it made me sick.” The woman shot me a look. “That nurse keeps turning it up. I must be making her late for her date.” “Hehehe,” she snickered. “Young people have such active nightlife, right? A pretty girl like her must have lots of guys after her. I understand she wants to get to her dates. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it going fast so I don’t keep her here.” I was so angry I saw stars. I raised my voice: “I did not turn it up! I set it to the standard rate! And I even slowed it down slightly for you earlier. If you feel sick, tell me. I do not have a date. Stop making things up!” The guy next to her chimed in: “The nurse has been over here like five times already. You said you felt sick, she slowed it down. What the hell is your problem? Why do you keep messing with her?” “Who am I messing with?!” the woman played the victim. “I feel sick, am I not allowed to complain?! “You’re only taking her side because she’s young and pretty! You trying to hit on her or something?!” The guy rolled his eyes. “You’re psychotic.” The Charge Nurse spoke sternly: “This flow rate is way too slow. You still have two bags left. If you keep it like this, you won’t finish by morning. Don’t you want to go home?” “Exactly what is hurting? Do you want me to swap out the medication?” “No, no, it’s fine,” the woman waved her hands frantically. “Maybe she just didn’t put the needle in right. I asked her, she’s only 23. She’s right out of nursing school, right?” “She’s an intern, right? Oh, you know, these young college girls don’t have any experience. It’s normal to mess up an IV. It’s fine, I’m not picky. I totally understand.” I know for a fact my IV placement was perfect! It’s a basic IV line! I practiced constantly, not to mention the hundreds of patients I’ve treated here. I have never blown a vein! I suppressed my rage. “You say the needle isn’t in right. What exactly is wrong with it?” “Oh, how should I know? I’m not a professional. It just hurts. Look, there’s blood backing up.” She pointed to the back of her hand. The IV tubing was completely clear. There wasn’t a single drop of blood. “Where?” I asked flatly. “There was some a second ago. Maybe it went away.” The woman shrank back. “Don’t get mad, sweetie. I won’t say anything next time. I just don’t know medical stuff, so I get scared. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The Charge Nurse inspected her hand closely: “The IV is perfectly placed. There’s no blood backing up. And even if there was, a little backflow is completely normal. Don’t worry about it.” “Oh,” the woman chuckled awkwardly. “I guess I saw it wrong. I feel much better now. You can adjust the dial. Everything’s fine.” The Charge Nurse adjusted the flow rate. “Our nurses are very responsible. Their shifts end at a specific time; they do not leave early. You don’t have to worry about that. If you have a real problem, tell a nurse immediately.” “Hehehe.” The woman offered a fake laugh. …… When her first bag finally emptied, I went over with a blank expression to hang the second one. The woman’s cheeks bunched up in a huge, fake smile. “Sorry about that, sweetie. It’s my first time coming to the hospital alone, I was just a little scared. Don’t take it personally.” I took a deep breath. “If you have an issue, let me know, and I will check it. I am not leaving early for a date. Even when my shift ends, another nurse will take over. There are staff here 24/7. You do not need to worry about any of that.” “Okay, okay, okay. You go back to work. So sorry! I’m totally fine now.” This kind of stuff happens all the time in hospitals. I couldn’t stay mad forever, so I quickly moved on to prep meds for the next patient. When I finally finished and walked back past the woman, her back was to me, and she was on her phone. I caught a glimpse of her screen out of the corner of my eye and froze. She was posting a TikTok. The video was a close-up of the IV bag I had just hung. The caption read: “The nurse is all dolled up. She probably has a hot date tonight. So I purposely turned the IV drip down to the slowest setting. Slow and steady. I’m in no rush. Hahaha, looks like she won’t be making that date after all.” I looked up at her IV. My ears started ringing. She had dialed the flow rate down to zero again! 3 In my time working here, I’ve seen plenty of weirdos. But I have never met someone this infuriating. Pure malicious stupidity. I didn’t want to fight with her. Arguing was pointless and could get me reported. The woman shifted, noticing me standing there. She panicked, quickly locking her phone screen and giving me a tight smile. I walked past her with a completely blank face. I had tried to keep the flow rate steady so she wouldn’t have to suffer in an uncomfortable chair all night. I never imagined there were people in the world capable of holding such bizarre, unprovoked hostility toward a total stranger. People with no real power, and apparently no intelligence, who go out of their way to make life difficult for others just because they can. She probably didn’t realize we work in shifts. I was handing over my section to my coworker in exactly thirty minutes. If her time was that worthless, she could sit here and rot all night for all I cared. …… Thirty minutes later, my coworker arrived to take over. “Crazy night, huh? Go home and get some rest. If you leave now, you can still catch a late dinner.” She smiled at me. “It’s Valentine’s Day. No big plans?” It was Valentine’s Day? I checked my phone. It really was. I had been so busy working I completely forgot about the holiday. But right now, the word “date” was giving me PTSD. I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, no. I’m out of here. Have a good shift!” The female patient watched me pack up my bag, and her expression instantly changed! “You…” she stuttered. “You’re leaving?! I’m not done yet.” “Yep. What’s wrong?” I asked, flashing a bright, customer-service smile. “We work in shifts. Didn’t you know?” “I feel sick!” she blurted out. “I don’t feel good. You have to check my IV. I think something is wrong with it. Ugh.” She squeezed her eyes shut, pretending to be in pain. I kept smiling. “I’m so sorry, my shift is over. But my coworker is right here.” “If you need anything, tell her. She’s taking the first half of the night, and another nurse will relieve her later. There’s no rush.” “Slow. And. Steady.” The woman’s face contorted into something incredibly ugly. She forced out a twisted smile. “Oh, is that so? “Wow, your job is so easy! You only work for a few hours a day?” “It’s not bad,” I beamed. “So please, please don’t worry about keeping me late. “Even if you sit here for the rest of the week, it won’t delay my schedule by a single second. Don’t worry about me. When I clock out, my time is my own. You couldn’t delay me if you tried.” The woman’s face turned black as thunder. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap. The guy sitting next to her burst out laughing. He didn’t even try to hide it as he said loudly: “What an idiot.” I couldn’t be bothered with her anymore. I turned and walked past her. Through the glass doors of the lobby, I could see her staring daggers into my back. Her face was ashen, her expression pure poison. 4 I had barely reached the parking garage when I got a text from another coworker. It was a TikTok link. “I just saw this on my local FYP. Is this you?!” I clicked on the link and nearly died of pure rage! The woman had posted another video, and this time, my face was clearly visible! The caption: “Being a nurse must be so nice. You just put on a ton of makeup, don’t do any real work, clock out after a few hours, and go out on dates.” “Some people are just born lucky. Wish that was me.” I had let the first video slide because it only showed the IV bag. But this one had my face front and center! She had zoomed right in on me! Worse, the video had somehow hit the local “For You” page, and the comments were flooding in. “The nurse is gorgeous! Drop her IG!” The woman replied: “She’s already taken. I’m just trying to get my IV, but she turned it up to the max because she was mad I was making her late for her hookup. Guess I’ll just chug the medicine next time.” She added a giggling emoji. Some people in the comments defended me. “Nursing is a brutal job. They work insane hours and constantly do night shifts.” She replied instantly: “So brutal! Look how perfect her makeup is. Wonder what time she woke up to do that? And she still has energy for a date tonight. So busy! Haha.” The person fired back: “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?” “They only hire young, pretty girls. Nobody wants an old hag like me. Don’t know why hospitals need beauty queens anyway. Just makes the male patients stare. Sigh.” Someone else chimed in: “You should report her to the hospital!” She replied with a toothy grin emoji: “Nah, she’s definitely a nepo baby. Reporting her wouldn’t do anything.” Then, she sneakily replied to her own comment with a zoomed-in screenshot of my face. My hospital ID badge, showing my full name and employee number, was clearly visible. How could someone be this vile?! I saw red. I stomped all the way back up to the infusion room. The woman was furiously typing on her phone. When she saw me march in, the fake smile immediately plastered itself back onto her face. “Sweetie! Why are you back? Did you forget something?” My hands were clenched into fists. “What gives you the right to film me?! Do you have any idea you’re violating my right to privacy?! “And I never sped up your IV! I wasn’t rushing to leave for a date! What gives you the right to spread lies about me online?!” The woman played dumb. “I didn’t post anything! You must have the wrong person.” I shoved my phone screen right into her face. “This isn’t you?! I can see your other videos right here!” Her profile was filled with videos of her wearing cheap, revealing clothes, trying to look seductive in front of what looked like a rundown trailer. Or heavily filtered lip-syncing videos. But it was undeniably her. Seeing that I had hard proof, she shrank back slightly and gave a nervous laugh. “I was just playing around! It’s just a joke! Why are you taking it so seriously? “I just thought you were pretty, so I couldn’t help but take a video! It’s not a big deal!” She even reached out and tugged on my scrubs. “Come on, look how pretty you look. Who would believe you aren’t going on a date? Your boyfriend is a lucky guy, bagging a girl like you.” She turned to the guy next to her. “Right?” The guy ignored her completely. The woman looked awkward and shut her mouth. I slapped her hand away from my scrubs and enunciated every word: “I will say this one last time. I followed every single standard medical protocol while treating you. If you think I did something wrong, you can file a formal complaint with the hospital. But you cannot slander me on the internet.” She seemed surprised that I wasn’t backing down. She quickly pulled out her phone, that sickening smile still glued to her face. “Okay, okay, don’t get mad! I was just joking! If you don’t like it, I’ll delete it!” She said that, but she made no move to actually delete the video. “Fine. You won’t delete it?” I had lost all patience. “Then I’m calling the police. Filming and posting someone without their consent is a violation of privacy. I’m done talking to you. You can talk to the cops.” “It’s not that serious,” she waved me off dismissively. “Stop trying to scare me.” A younger girl sitting across the room spoke up: “She’s not scaring you. Fabricating facts to damage someone’s reputation and spreading them online… if a post gets over 5,000 views or 500 shares, it officially qualifies as criminal defamation.” She pointed at the woman’s phone. “You could be looking at up to three years in prison. And if you get a felony record, good luck to your kids or grandkids ever trying to get a government job or security clearance.” I looked at the girl gratefully. The woman blustered, trying to look tough. “Don’t try to scare me! How do I know you’re not just making that up to trick me?! I just posted a video, how is that going to send me to jail?!” But her face betrayed her panic. The girl smirked and pulled up a picture of her Bar Association card on her phone. “Ma’am, if you’re uneducated, try reading a book. Why would I trick you? What do you even have that I would want?” She looked at me. “Hey, if you decide to sue her, call me. I’ll give you a 20% discount on my hourly rate.” The mention of a lawsuit terrified the woman. Her fake smile melted into something greasy, desperate, and absolutely repulsive. She mumbled: “I was just making a joke. Why are you taking it so seriously? Young people these days are so sensitive. You can’t even say anything anymore.” Seeing my expression remain completely stony, she forced the smile wider. “Don’t be mad, sweetie! Don’t take it personally! “Is it really worth calling the cops and lawyers over something so small? I’m just an uneducated woman from a trailer park, I don’t know any better! I just filmed you because you’re so pretty!” “I swear I didn’t mean any harm! Ask anyone back home, everyone knows I’m a good person! If you don’t like it, I’ll just delete it!” With that, she finally opened TikTok and deleted the video right in front of me. “Are we good now?” She put on a wildly exaggerated expression of victimhood. “I’m just a hick from a small town. I don’t have a fancy education like you guys. I know you all look down on me and think I’m annoying.” An older woman sitting nearby rolled her eyes dramatically. “Stop giving small-town people a bad name. Being from a small town doesn’t give you an excuse to act like a complete psychopath.” The woman glared viciously at the older lady, but the older lady wasn’t having it. She stood up and pointed a finger right in her face. “What are you looking at? You wanna keep staring at me?” The woman quickly looked down at her lap, too scared to say a word. I gave her a cold warning: “I am going to monitor your account and every other platform. If I catch you posting my face or spreading rumors about me again, we will handle this at the police station.” The woman ground her teeth but didn’t dare talk back. I didn’t want to waste another second on her and turned to leave. I could still hear her muttering behind me: “Looking like that, how could she not be going on a date. Liar…”

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It was New Year’s Eve—my thirtieth birthday, actually—and I was struck three times by my own brother, Brad Davis. He stood over me, chest puffed out, spitting the words like venom. “This is my house, Jen. You don’t get to come in here and run your mouth like some outsider.” “You toxic waste of space. Get out, or I’ll hit you again!” He seemed to forget that this apartment was the one I’d bought for our mother’s retirement. He forgot his wife, Tiffany, was still wearing the gold bracelet I’d bought for Mom just last month. And he forgot his kids, Tyler and Jake, were still clutching the generous cash gifts I’d just handed them. I felt the burning sting on my face and looked around. Tiffany’s smile was a sneer, a cold, mocking noise escaping her lips. The two boys stared at me, eyes wide with antagonism. Carol, my mother, who had called me here tonight for my birthday, stood silently in the corner, her eyes red and averted, just as they always were. And I realized, with a sudden, bone-deep weariness, that I was done. … New Year’s Eve. My birthday. Mom had called me first thing that morning. “Jen, honey, it’s your birthday. Why don’t you stop by the nice bakery on Fifth and pick up a cake? We’ll have a lovely holiday dinner and celebrate you.” Tiffany’s brassy voice immediately chimed in on speaker. “Make sure you get one of those fancy gourmet cakes, the kids love the organic whipped cream! And make it a big one!” Mom quickly agreed. “Yes, yes, Jen, you heard Tiffany. A big, expensive one. And hurry up, don’t keep your brother waiting.” Then she hung up. I stared at the call record—less than a minute—and took a moment to just breathe before grabbing my coat and heading out. When I arrived with the cake, Brad answered the door. He glanced at the box in my hands and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “That’s it? Just a cake? Coming over to someone else’s house for a holiday dinner, you’d think you’d bring something decent.” I didn’t bother arguing. It was New Year’s Eve; I’d had to pull strings and pay a premium just to get this one. Tiffany backed him up. “Seriously. If not for us, at least think of your mother and your nephews. So cheap.” I noticed the thick gold bangle on her wrist. I’d bought it for Mom’s last birthday. Now it was Tiffany’s. A few years ago, I would have been furious, demanding an explanation. Now, there was just an unnerving calm. This was hardly the first time. Mom poked her head out from the kitchen, trying to smooth things over. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Jen can make it up next time.” Tiffany shot her an impatient look. “Keep an eye on that chicken stock, will you? You ruined it last time. Pay attention.” My mother flinched, mumbled a couple of “yes, dears,” and disappeared. I watched, a cold, sharp blade of mockery twisting in my gut. At the dinner table, the cake meant for my birthday celebration was devoured by Tyler and Jake before a single candle could be lit. Mom placed a spoonful of broccoli on my plate. “Tyler and Jake start private school next year, Jen. We thought, as their favorite aunt, maybe you’d like to… pitch in?” I pushed the broccoli aside. “I gave them cash earlier. That was their holiday gift.” Tiffany shrieked. “That was a New Year’s bonus! You can’t use that as school tuition! Don’t try to redefine the terms!” I finally looked up, meeting their eyes. “So, now you want me to pay for their entire private school education, too?” The table fell silent. All three of them stopped chewing. I paused, letting the quiet settle before delivering the final line. “I don’t have it. If you need money, maybe Brad could, you know, find a job next year.” CRASH. Brad kicked his chair back, sending it slamming into the wall, and his palm connected with my cheek. The force stunned me. Tiffany continued eating, placidly picking up a piece of turkey for Tyler as if nothing had happened. My mother started to rise, then froze. Brad’s voice was grating, full of spite. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming into my house and telling me what to do?” SMACK. Another stinging blow. He paused, glaring at me, the fury in his eyes raw. Unsatisfied, he raised his hand one last time and delivered the third slap. “I’m the one who takes care of Mom! Asking you for money is a favor! You think you’re some kind of saint? Ha! You’re toxic waste. Consider those three slaps your lesson.” Tiffany chimed in with her usual condescending tone. “He’s right, Jen. We’re doing this for your own good. You’re not married, you don’t have a family. When you’re old, you’ll rely on Tyler and Jake for care. You need to contribute now so they’ll feel like honoring you later.” Their voices were a duet of smug, superior condemnation. The brutal pain spread across my face. I could see my reflection in the polished wood of the dining table: red, swollen, ugly. Like a tomato left in the sun too long. I lifted my eyes and looked at my mother. She avoided my gaze. After a long moment, she looked back, a flicker of resentment in her expression. “Jen, this is your brother’s home. Why do you always have to be so difficult? You see what you’ve done, ruining the holiday for everyone. Are you happy now?” I managed a faint, bitter smile, stood, and walked toward the front door. Behind me, Brad was still yelling, his voice laced with indignation. “Let her run! That useless bitch! If she ever shows her face in my house again, I’ll hit her harder!” I closed the door, and the ringing curses were instantly cut off. His house? I had bought this apartment for Mom’s retirement, and when they moved in, I hadn’t raised a complaint. They’d successfully squatted. But what they didn’t know was that the name on the deed, the original title to this day, was mine. The cold air hit me, harsh and biting. I wrapped my coat tighter and began the long walk back to my own apartment. It wasn’t far. Years ago, right after Brad got married, Mom had come to me, crying, saying Tiffany couldn’t stand her and didn’t want her living with them in their cramped rental. I knew Brad was essentially unemployed, living off Mom’s social security. I felt bad for her. “Why don’t you just move in with me, Mom?” I’d offered. “I’ll give you three thousand a month, and all you have to do is cook for me occasionally.” I had an extra bedroom already waiting. But Brad had refused, yelling that I was only after Mom’s pension, forbidding her to live with me. I hadn’t pushed it then, but now, after all this, I thought she might agree. Instead, she hemmed and hawed before finally shaking her head. “You’re a young woman, Jen. It wouldn’t be convenient for me to live with you. Why don’t you buy me my own place? A nice two-bedroom. Then I’ll be set for life, and my heart will be at peace.” I was stunned. Before I could respond, she started crying again. “Jen, you’ve always been the sensible one. Just help your mother one last time.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, checked my savings, and finally agreed. I found a two-bedroom condo quickly. Mom was overjoyed when she moved in, her face beaming as she called me her perfect daughter. But soon after, Tiffany got pregnant. That very day, Brad moved his entire family into the fully paid-off condo I’d bought. Mom was ecstatic, welcoming them in as if she hadn’t complained about Tiffany a few months prior. They had lived there for five years. I exhaled a cloud of frost, not feeling the bone-deep cold recede until I was safe inside my own home. I sat on my balcony without turning on the lights. In the darkness, I took out my phone and disabled the large-limit credit card linked to my account that I had given Mom. She had cried that Brad had taken over her bank accounts, leaving her penniless. I had set up the card so she could make purchases. A quick glance at the history revealed the same pattern: small, inexpensive purchases were necessities for her. The expensive ones were frivolous—gifts, electronics, or clothes, all clearly for Brad and his family. I closed my eyes. Then, I pulled the dusty condo deed from my fireproof drawer and scrolled through my contacts for the realtor who had handled the purchase five years ago. “I need you to sell this unit. Immediately. The price doesn’t matter. Get it done as fast as possible.” It was New Year’s Eve, so the reply was slow, but it came. “Whoa, Jen! Didn’t I sell you that place? Selling on the holiday? You’ve got guts.” The realtor—Mitch—joked, but he was serious about the work. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. It’s a great property, and if you’re willing to take a slight discount, it’ll be a feeding frenzy.” I typed a brief “Thanks.” Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a flash of light burst across the night sky. A cascade of brilliant, glittering fireworks lit up my unlit living room. I glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. A new year. I watched the show for a moment, a lightness I hadn’t felt in years filling my chest. The fireworks continued their relentless celebration, illuminating the path ahead. I smiled, went to my bedroom, and crawled into my warm, heavy duvet. In the boundless landscape of my dreams, I saw my mother again, shielding a young Brad and me behind her from my father’s swinging fist. I saw her wake up in the middle of the night to gently tuck my blanket back around me. But then, the dream shifted. I saw Brad steal my favorite candy and toys, hiding behind Mom as he smirked at me. I saw Mom burst into tears, staging a scene, all to guilt me into giving more of my lifeblood to nourish her preferred child. She would look at me, and her words were always a mixture of blame and instruction. “Jen, he’s your brother. You can’t fight with him over things.” “Jen, he’s your brother. This is what you’re supposed to do.” I woke with a jolt. The room was bright; the sun reflecting off a thick layer of snow was blinding. My phone, resting on the nightstand, was vibrating maniacally. I looked at the screen and answered. Mom’s panicked voice immediately hit my ear. “Jen! That card you gave me, it was declined! Is it out of money? You need to put more on it right now. I need to buy things for your brother.” I spoke calmly. “It’s not out of money, Mom. I just… cut you off.” That sliver of a memory, that one small piece of good from my childhood, had kept me tethered for years, justifying the expense. But those three slaps? They were the shock paddles that finally woke me up.

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It was the day I was brought back to the estate that I finally learned I was the biological daughter of the wealthiest man in Manhattan. There was no dramatic confrontation. The moment my parents saw me, their eyes filled with tears and they pulled me into a tight embrace. Even Chloe, the adopted daughter who had been pampered for over a decade, carefully wiped the mud off my shoes and said softly: “Welcome home, little sister.” But I couldn’t stand it. Whenever I struggled to figure out the smart home appliances, or mistakenly drank the expensive mouthwash thinking it was tea, I could always hear the maids snickering behind my back. “She really is a country bumpkin. It’s so embarrassing to even take her outside…” I finally hit my breaking point and shoved them hard to the floor. My mother’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you ever going to stop?!” I said, my voice hoarse, “I know you all look down on me! You think I’m uncultured and an embarrassment to the family!” “But Chloe has spent the last ten years living the life that was supposed to be mine!” Tears streamed down my face as I enunciated every word: “She is a thief!” My father’s face darkened, and he snapped: “Shut your mouth! None of this is Chloe’s fault!” If it wasn’t her fault, then was it mine, the victim?! My heart completely died in that moment. I wiped away my tears. “You can only have one daughter. Pick one.” ······ “Eleanor…” My mother reached out to wipe the tears from my face, but I aggressively slapped her hand away. “Don’t touch me!” Rejected, my mother stood frozen, looking incredibly awkward. My father’s anger instantly ignited. His face turned thunderous as he delivered a vicious kick to my stomach. The pain made my legs give out, and I collapsed onto the floor. “You ungrateful brat! Look at yourself! Do you look anything like a proper lady?! All those etiquette lessons these past few weeks were completely wasted on a dog like you!” A cold sneer crept onto my face. “A proper lady?! Dad, did you forget? I’m just a country bumpkin from a trailer park! And honestly, Dad, have you ever genuinely seen me as your daughter?!” The grievances I had bottled up for so long exploded. I turned and grabbed the crystal bowl of bright red cherries from the table, smashing it onto the marble floor with a deafening crash. “In your eyes, am I only worthy of taking her leftovers?! You think I have no class, so you feel perfectly justified fobbing me off with the garbage she doesn’t want?!” A few days ago, the housekeeper brought me a bowl of cherries, claiming they were just flown in and this was all that was left. I excitedly ate one, intending to save the rest to share with my parents. But then, I overheard two maids whispering in the hallway. “Did you see how happy she was? She really is from the sticks, acting like she’s never seen anything good.” “She probably didn’t even know what they were. Miss Chloe thought they weren’t fresh enough and threw them out, and she actually treated them like some rare treasure!” In that moment, I trembled uncontrollably. It turned out that the things I cherished were nothing more than discarded garbage in their eyes. Why did she get to be the pampered little princess of the house, while I was treated like a worthless burden from the slums? Even though I was their biological daughter. My eyes were bloodshot as I screamed through my tears. “In your eyes, will I never measure up to Chloe?! You all look down on me!” “Eleanor, no one looks down on you…” My mother tried to explain: “They were just making a joke. Look, whatever you want to eat, just tell the butler. If he doesn’t get it for you, tell me!” My father also looked displeased. “I’ll increase your allowance. If you want something, go buy it yourself. Is it really necessary to throw such a massive tantrum over a bowl of fruit?” Chloe walked over to me, her eyes rimmed with red. “Eleanor, I didn’t expect them to… I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. From now on, whatever good food or fun things I get, I’ll give them all to you.” I stared right through her and let out a cold laugh. “I am their biological daughter. Everything in this house should rightfully be mine. Why the hell do I need you to ‘give’ it to me?!” I turned to my parents and said, “I don’t like her. I want her sent back to that trailer park!” In an instant, the living room fell dead silent. Chloe stood frozen, tears streaming continuously down her face. My mother frantically wiped the tears from Chloe’s eyes, cooing, “Don’t cry, don’t cry…” Watching this scene, I finally understood. There was no place for me in this house. I didn’t even qualify to be an option. I scoffed. Before anyone could react, I grabbed the fruit knife from the table and plunged it into my chest with a sickening thud. “Since that’s how it is, I’ll make it easy for you.” When I woke up, the family doctor was treating my wound. I shoved him away and immediately tried to get out of bed. Before I could even stand, my mother, who had been standing nearby, pinned me back down. “Eleanor! Are you trying to kill me?! I am begging you, please, just calm down…” I struggled violently in her arms, causing the poorly treated wound to instantly rip open again. Blood soaked through my shirt, but I didn’t feel a shred of pain. I roared at my mother like a madwoman, “If you don’t want me to die, then send her away!” Just then, Chloe stepped forward and offered my mother a smile, though it looked incredibly bitter and forced. “Mom, send me away…” Her voice was hoarse. “Mom, I’m willing to leave. Don’t let me ruin your relationship with Eleanor. Please take care of yourself after I’m gone…” I finally stopped struggling, staring at her in shock. She turned to me and offered a small bow. “Eleanor, I’m sorry. I stole your mom and dad… I’m leaving now. Please don’t hurt yourself anymore. Mom and Dad are getting older, don’t make them worry about you…” I searched her eyes for resentment or bitterness, but all I saw was reluctance and pleading. At that moment, I almost felt like I was the villain in a movie, tearing apart their happy family of three. In the end, she hugged my mother and actually left. My mother didn’t say a word; she just patted Chloe’s back with red, tear-filled eyes. Her belongings were quickly and thoroughly cleared out of the house. I thought I had won, because I had finally gotten my parents back. However, I noticed that my parents smiled less and less. At first, I thought they were just exhausted from work. So, I bent over backward trying to make them happy. I gave them massages, told them jokes to make them laugh. I studied twice as hard, wanting to make my father proud. I thought that with time, everything would eventually go back to the way it was. That was until my father’s birthday banquet, when Chloe’s best friend cornered me in the restroom and mocked me: “The country bumpkin really is a scheming little snake, aren’t you? Kicking Chloe out so quickly.” I gripped the edge of the sink, forcing myself to stay calm. “She felt guilty and left on her own—” “Save it.” She cut me off impatiently. “Can you stop making up lies? Aren’t you exhausted? Look around! Everyone in Manhattan knows the Vance family took in some unpresentable trash, and within days, you used a pathetic guilt trip to force our sweet, understanding Chloe out! You’ve completely humiliated the Vance family.” My pupils contracted, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the marble counter. I was just taking back what belonged to me. Why was everyone sympathizing with Chloe? She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “Before, everyone praised Mr. Vance for having such an amazing daughter. So what if she wasn’t blood? Chloe’s manners and education brought honor to the family! But you? What use are you besides making the Vance family a laughingstock?!” Seeing me frozen in shock didn’t seem to satisfy her malice. “You didn’t seriously think your parents actually chose you, did you? Mr. and Mrs. Vance already set everything up for Chloe. They bought her a massive penthouse downtown and gave her a ten-million-dollar trust fund to start her own company. Soon enough, she’ll be a successful CEO, and you—” “You can just sit here and play ‘proper lady.’” Chloe’s company was right in the heart of the financial district. I went to the building but was stopped by the receptionist. I explained calmly: “I am the eldest daughter of the Vance family. I’m here to see my father, Richard Vance.” After registering, I walked unimpeded to the executive office. Through the glass window, I saw my parents happily admiring the office space. Chloe was sitting in the CEO’s chair. She tried to get up to offer my father the seat, but he gently pushed her back down. He smiled and patted her head: “Don’t be a stranger with your Mom and Dad. If you run into any trouble, just tell us. Don’t keep it bottled up and suffer in silence.” My mother also pulled her into a hug, fussing over her: “Chloe, honey, you have to learn to take care of yourself now that you’re living alone. If you can’t adjust, just tell Mom, and I’ll send a maid over. Don’t work too hard, and if you need money, just ask me.” Chloe nuzzled into my mother’s embrace, acting like a spoiled child: “Okay, okay, I’ll remember everything you said, Mom. I’ll miss you so much, and you too, Dad…” They looked exactly like a real, happy family of three. I pushed the door open. “A company this size must have cost a pretty penny.” My father’s face immediately darkened, and my mother opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t seem to find the words. They both instinctively stepped in front of Chloe, shielding her. I demanded harshly: “Didn’t you promise me?! That you would send her back!” “Did I or did I not say that you are never to have any contact with her again?! Why… why won’t you just let her go! Do you even see me as your daughter?!” I practically screamed the last sentence. My mother rushed over, trying to calm me down: “Eleanor, you know what kind of hellhole that place is. Chloe has been pampered her whole life. Sending her back there now is a death sentence!” I felt an overwhelming sense of irony and let out a cold laugh. “Mom, I survived being trapped in that hellhole! Why did I manage to live, but she wouldn’t?!” Those mountains were like a cage, locking me in that place. My adoptive father constantly called me a worthless money-drain. Whenever he got drunk, he used me as a punching bag, kicking me and burning me with his cigarettes. Even now, I still bear the scars from those burns. My adoptive mother was even more vicious. She forced me to chop firewood in the dead of winter. When I had no water, I had to eat handfuls of snow just to survive. I once passed out from the cold and was only found and brought back by a neighbor. But what greeted me was an even more brutal beating, because she blamed me for not bringing the firewood back. The anger and resentment I had suppressed for over a decade made my whole body tremble. “Ever since I came back… neither of you has ever cared about me. You spend all day revolving around Chloe, terrified she might suffer even the slightest grievance! Now that she’s finally out of the house, you buy her a penthouse and fund a whole company for her!” “But Mom, Dad… I am your real daughter!” My mother’s eyes grew red, flashing with regret, but she looked at me earnestly. “The past is the past. Can’t we just live together as a family from now on? Why are you so intolerant of Chloe? Do you really need to see her die there before you’ll let this go?!” Her words froze me in place. So this was how my mother truly saw me. Maybe, from the moment I was brought back, I shouldn’t have held onto any hope. My mother quickly realized what she said was inappropriate, a flicker of regret crossing her face. “Eleanor, don’t overthink it… Mom misspoke.” “But no one wanted any of this to happen, and you can’t blame Chloe for it. She’s already moved out, just like you wanted. What more do you want?!” What more did I want? I just wanted them to love me, to truly look at me. I wanted to be able to cry in my mother’s arms when I was wronged. I wanted my father to stand in front of me and protect me when I was bullied. How did it end up that everything was somehow my fault?! I felt incredibly wronged. “Mom, I just want to be treated equally, is that so hard? She was raised like a princess, so I’m just a weed that deserves to be trampled on?!” I paused, then continued: “And another thing, her last name is still Vance, but your biological daughter is still named Miller! Mom, do you honestly think that’s appropriate?!” My mother frowned, trying to explain. “We just haven’t had time to change it—” “When will you have time?! When I’m dead?!” Some employees had been drawn by the argument and were curiously peering through the glass walls. My father’s face was thunderous, his hands clenched into tight fists as he fought to suppress his rage. “Shut up! Have you no shame?!” “Security!” Two bodyguards immediately entered the room. “Take Miss Eleanor home. She is not to step foot outside the house without my permission!” And just like that, under the curious stares of the entire office, I was forcefully dragged out of the building. When I got home, I locked myself in my room, refusing to eat or drink. I smashed everything in the room that could be broken. I tried to use this to get their attention, but my parents never came to check on me even once. Soon enough, I snapped back to reality. Doing this was only hurting myself; it was utterly pointless. If they didn’t love me, what was I still hoping for? Everything else was an illusion. The only thing you can rely on is what you hold in your own hands. Once I figured that out, I went to my father’s study. The annoyance on his face was palpable the moment he saw me. “What do you want now?!” I didn’t yell or demand answers like before. I just said calmly: “Dad, since you bought Chloe a penthouse and funded her company…” “As your biological daughter, I should get my rightful share too.” I slowly laid out my demands: “I want two penthouses under my name, and twenty million dollars. Basically, whatever she got, I want double.” He looked at me as if he’d just heard a hilarious joke, letting out a contemptuous scoff. “You?! Start a business?”

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When Liam Sterling and I were in our honeymoon phase, we could go through thirty condoms in a single day. After we were both completely exhausted, he would always pull me tightly into his arms and ask if I would ever leave him. But later, it was also him who forced me to be his new lover’s nude body double when I was driven into a corner, desperately trying to raise money for my mother’s medical bills. Mimicking the adult film actresses, I swallowed my pride and filmed three humiliating scenes. Just when I thought my mother was finally saved, he casually remarked: “I’ll wire the five million in six months.” I whipped around in panic. “Didn’t we agree you’d pay me as soon as we wrapped?” Without the money, the hospital would pull the plug tomorrow. Liam carelessly tossed the script onto the table. “My liquid capital went into Mia’s new female-led blockbuster. It’s her first time carrying a major studio film; we have to make sure the production value is top-tier.” He thought I would throw a tantrum and beg like I used to. But this time, I was truly exhausted. …… “You’re going out like that?” Liam raised an eyebrow, looking at the sheer, skimpy costume I was wearing, then glanced toward the door. I knew he was reminding me that the entire film crew was right outside. But I had just been gawked at while filming even more degrading scenes in front of the cameras. What was left out there that I couldn’t face? I numbly walked toward the exit, but Liam grabbed my wrist. “Have you no shame?” I turned to look at him calmly and asked, “Have you ever left me with any?” He fell silent. We both knew the truth. From the time he picked me up from the local drama school when I was nineteen, he put me on a pedestal. He helped me win an Oscar, a Golden Globe, and a SAG Award, making me the brightest star in Hollywood. He used to say he loved my pride, loved the confident way I stood at the pinnacle of the industry. But the moment my family went bankrupt, he was the first to turn his back on me. And it was all because the newly rising starlet, Mia Vance, whispered: “Liam, the way Chloe looks at me… it scares me.” With that, he personally broke my wings, dragged me down from the clouds, and stomped me into the dirt. Seven years of love couldn’t compete with a few tears from a newcomer. He had initiated a breakup seven times, and every single time, it was because Mia needed a better role or a brand deal. Even now, knowing perfectly well that my mother was lying in the ICU racking up astronomical daily fees, he simply didn’t care. My eyes suddenly stung. I asked him, “How much money did you put into her movie?” He answered nonchalantly, “Fifty million.” Fifty million dollars. It felt like a giant hand was squeezing my heart, the pain making it hard to breathe. All I needed was five million. Just a fraction of that fifty million would have been enough to save my mother’s life. I had been with him for seven years, and I wasn’t even worth the production budget of Mia’s movie. I didn’t argue further and pushed open the soundstage doors. A few PAs and crew members were laughing outside. When they saw me, they abruptly went dead silent. They looked at me awkwardly. I don’t know who let out the first dry chuckle. “Chloe, all done shooting?” They exchanged knowing glances and started to snicker under their breath. I ignored them and pushed past the heavy velvet curtains. I immediately ran into a group of overweight, sleazy studio investors. They stared at me, and someone let out a low whistle. “Well, if it isn’t our Best Actress. You guys finish your business in there?” The group erupted into boisterous laughter. Liam threw a heavy glass ashtray out from inside the studio. It smashed onto the floor right at their feet. Shards of glass exploded outward. I didn’t dodge. A piece sliced into my calf. Blood trickled down my pale skin, but I felt nothing. Liam stared intently at my bleeding leg, his brows knitting together. After a long pause, in front of everyone, he tossed his tailored suit jacket over my shoulders. “I said six months. It’s not like I’m not paying you. Who are you putting on this stubborn act for, huh?” He didn’t button it. He just draped it over me casually, putting on a show for the outsiders. I took a long, deep look at the man I had loved for seven years. I always thought that if I was just a little more obedient, a little more humble… He would remember how good I used to be. People always say that when you love someone, you feel their pain. But in his eyes, there was only the cold indifference of someone looking at a toy. The moment I stepped out of the studio lot, all the strength drained from my body, and my legs trembled uncontrollably. As tears fell without my permission, I heard their lively conversation resume behind the heavy doors. Someone asked Liam: “The Adams family was definitely set up this time. Liam, are you really not going to help her?” Liam’s indifferent voice drifted out: “I was the one who set the trap. Mia said Chloe humiliated her in public when she first debuted. She’s been holding onto that grievance for years. I had to help her vent.” “Aren’t you afraid she really won’t come back this time? She’s an Oscar winner, after all. She’s got pride in her bones.” Hearing this, Liam actually laughed out loud. “Stop joking. I’ve known her for eight years, and she’s been with me for seven. Every single time I call, she comes running.” “If she could actually leave me, I’d respect her a lot more.” I leaned against the brick wall, biting down on the back of my hand so hard I drew blood, just to keep myself from making a sound. My family’s bankruptcy, my Hollywood blacklist… it was all Liam’s doing. Simply because Mia Vance felt wronged a few years ago. My wet clothes clung to my open wounds, tearing at my flesh with every movement. Thinking of my mother hooked up to all those tubes, thinking of the doctor saying they would turn off the life support if I didn’t pay the bill… I slapped myself across the face, hard. “You idiot. It’s because you fell in love with him that you and your mother are in this dead end.” I never imagined my romance would end like this. Sterling Media controlled the entertainment industry with an iron fist. A single word from Liam Sterling could dictate the life or death of any artist’s career. If he was determined to get revenge for Mia, no one in the entire industry would dare help me. I stood on an overpass, on the verge of a breakdown, watching the endless stream of headlights below. I almost wanted to jump. But I didn’t dare. If I died, what would happen to my mom? “Right. Mia Vance.” I suddenly remembered her. At an awards ceremony years ago, I had just won Best Actress. She was an obscure newcomer. Backstage, an intoxicated investor grabbed her hand and refused to let go. I happened to walk by and helped her out of the situation. At the time, I was giving Liam the cold shoulder because of rumors between him and another actress. He didn’t indulge my temper. Instead, he chuckled mockingly: “So only our Best Actress gets to play the hero? That newcomer—Sterling Media is buying out her contract.” I never expected that to be the beginning of our twisted three-way entanglement. I don’t know when Liam actually set his sights on Mia. He gave her top-tier resources, hired the best acting coaches in the world for her, and put her on the hottest talk shows. To ensure she wouldn’t be bullied by industry veterans, he flat-out bought a global ambassadorship for a luxury fashion house and handed it to her. Whenever Mia suffered the slightest grievance, I didn’t even need to ask to find out. Because Liam would preemptively break up with me, then take my movie roles and brand deals to apologize to her. He used to say, “Mia is pure. She can’t handle the dirty side of this industry.” She couldn’t suffer grievances, so I had to suffer instead. I rushed to the private club in Beverly Hills where they were throwing Mia a wrap party. But the security guards blocked me at the door. “Sorry, Miss Adams. Mr. Sterling gave strict orders. No one is allowed to interrupt Miss Vance’s celebration.” This was the club Liam and I used to frequent all the time. Now that I was blacklisted, no one gave me the time of day. The cold night wind pierced my body, tearing my wounds open again. The pain made my lips tremble. “Let her in.” I looked up. Liam was standing by the entrance, looking down at me. A flash of pity crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by coldness. “Who are you putting on this pathetic act for? Don’t you know you get a high fever when you stand in the rain?” It was true. I had a weak immune system; the rain always made me sick. During the peak of our relationship, he would frantically wrap me in his trench coat whenever it drizzled, terrified I’d catch a cold. I lowered my head. “I want to talk to Miss Vance.” Liam frowned, a sneer tugging at his lips. “You really haven’t changed at all, Chloe.” He was afraid I would cause trouble for Mia. After all, I had a track record. When I first found out Mia was calling Liam in the middle of the night, claiming she was “afraid of the dark” and couldn’t sleep… I stormed directly onto her movie set and threw her phone into a prop fountain in front of everyone. While the entire crew was watching Mia make a fool of herself, Liam marched over and slapped me across the face. The entire crew gasped in shock. I stubbornly held my ground, declaring my territory: “You are my boyfriend! Not some stray dog that anyone can call in the middle of the night!” Liam just glared at me coldly, shielding the weeping Mia behind him in front of everyone. “Look at yourself right now. What’s the difference between you and a lunatic?!” He left me standing there, being pointed and whispered at by the crowd. Because of that incident, Mia was handed the lead role in an international director’s film—a role I had spent six months negotiating. And I was locked in the basement of his mansion to “reflect” on my actions. Mia cried for a few days, so I was locked up for a few days. Without a drop of water or a bite of food. Liam coaxed her for a full week before she agreed to go home. Worried that the public backlash would affect her, he outright bought a boutique production company and gifted it to her. I shook my head, forcing out a smile that looked worse than crying. “I just want to explain to her that we’re already broken up.” The utter disbelief on his face still managed to make my heart ache. I admit, I still loved him. Knowing he was the heir to the Sterling empire, a man with immense pride, I had never once defied him. I was always terrified that a single expression or word might hurt his ego. But I never imagined he would be this ruthless to me. To actually bankrupt my family and destroy my career just to help Mia blow off some steam. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him anymore. It was that I didn’t dare to. Once the grievance took root in my heart, it grew wildly like vines. Tears fell before I could stop them. Liam frowned. “If you have something to say, say it. Why are you crying…” Just as he raised his hand, a figure ran out from inside the club. Mia was wearing a haute couture gown. Her flawless makeup and the diamonds dripping from her neck exuded pure wealth. She looked nothing like the timid newcomer she used to be. Compared to me, she looked like the true Queen, held tenderly in Liam’s palm. “Why did you come out here?” Liam took off his jacket and affectionately draped it over her bare shoulders, his voice incredibly soft. She looked up, the corners of her eyes turning slightly red, which immediately threw Liam into a panic. He leaned down, coaxing her gently. “What’s wrong? Who upset our Mia?” Mia finally broke into a smile, playfully punching Liam’s chest before whispering: “I heard Chloe was here, so I came out to see.” “Well, you’ve seen her now. Are you satisfied?” He asked Mia, but his eyes were fixed on me. I guessed she probably was satisfied. The Oscar-winning actress who had rescued her at that awards ceremony was now standing before her in torn clothes, her wet hair plastered to her face. I looked as pathetic as a person could possibly look. How could she not be satisfied? I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but I didn’t dare. If I angered Mia, my mother wouldn’t even survive the night on the ventilator. I forced myself to paste on a fawning, desperate smile. “Mia. Long time no see.” She was much more casual than I was. “Chloe, you really didn’t have to come in person. I’ve already forgiven you.” I looked up at her. Forgiven me? Forgiven me for throwing away the phone she used to seduce someone else’s boyfriend? Or forgiven me for being an obstacle in her Hollywood career? For a moment, I couldn’t process it. I just stared at her blankly. But Liam suddenly flared up. “Mia is being incredibly generous. Shouldn’t you say thank you?” Heartbreak was an understatement. I fought back my tears. Those two words rolled around my mouth over and over. I bit my tongue so hard the taste of blood flooded my mouth before I stuttered them out. “Th-thank you…” Liam pulled his gaze away from me, pulled out a black Centurion card, and handed it to Mia. “There’s five million in here. You decide if you want to give it to her.” My eyes lit up instantly. As long as I got that money, my mom could be saved. I looked at Mia with desperate hope, only to see her slowly close her fingers around the card. Mia pouted playfully. “Chloe made me a laughingstock in front of the whole crew back then, and almost caused a huge misunderstanding between you and me, Liam. I don’t want to just give it to her.” Liam chuckled fondly and tapped her nose. “Whatever you want.” Panic seized me entirely. My mother was waiting for this money to save her life. I had drained all my savings trying to fill the black hole of my family’s debts. I was penniless, constantly hounded by paparazzi and debt collectors. My mother had a weak heart, and the shock of it all had put her in the ICU. My last hope was right in front of me. I begged: “Mia, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You can punish me however you want, just please, help me.” Mia pretended to think about it, tapping her chin with her finger before suddenly acting cute: “How about this? Sister Chloe, if you do that dance you did on set for me right here, I’ll give you the card. Okay?” She smiled sweetly, but her words were more venomous than a viper. “You know, the one where you crawl on the floor like a dog. A lot of people said you performed it brilliantly.” Liam remained silent. He stood behind Mia with his hands in his pockets, tacitly endorsing her cruelty. “Not willing, huh…” She sighed in fake disappointment and moved to put the card into her designer purse. I panicked completely. “I’ll do it!” At that, her smile bloomed brightly. Her eyes curved into crescents as she lifted her chin, waiting for me to move. I glanced at the stone-faced Liam, then slowly bent my body. It was just a physical movement, but I felt like my soul was being executed a thousand times over. Thud. My knees and palms hit the cold, wet pavement. I collapsed onto all fours, my fingernails digging ruthlessly into my palms as my hands shook. “Woof… woof…” I barked like a dog, crawling on the ground in front of them. The humiliation made my vision go black. Mia laughed with total satisfaction, stomping her feet in delight. “Oh my gosh, Chloe! I was just joking! You actually did it!” I didn’t move. I stayed kneeling on the pavement before them. “Well…” Mia sighed melodramatically, then tossed the black card onto the ground in front of me. I reached out and picked it up. Tears splattered one by one onto the gold-embossed plastic. I could save my mom. Liam Sterling, I would never dare to love you again. I stood up and muttered a quiet: “Thank you.” Liam’s face looked like a thunderstorm. He shoved Mia’s arm away and stormed back into the club. “Liam…” She called out, but he didn’t look back. Frustrated, Mia glared at me. “Are you still here? Get lost!” I turned and left the club. Behind me, as Mia fumed, her socialite friend who had just returned from Europe walked out and exclaimed: “Mia, you really are Liam Sterling’s girlfriend! His family is basically Hollywood royalty!” Mia’s annoyance vanished in an instant. She lifted her chin smugly. “I told you, but you didn’t believe me.” Her friend squealed excitedly, but then looked confused. “But that Chloe girl earlier… she clearly had a deep history with Liam. You just gave her five million dollars for nothing? You let her off way too easy.” Mia’s eyes darkened, and a cruel smile curled her lips. “Who said I gave it to her for nothing? I’ve already had someone anonymously leak the video to TMZ and the blogs.” “What video?” Mia laughed. “Oh, nothing. Just a little clip of the great Oscar-winner Chloe Adams… crawling and barking like a dog outside a club.” I left Beverly Hills and rushed to the hospital as fast as I could. Once my mom had the surgery, I would go with her to a new city and start over. As for Liam Sterling, we were done. Forever. The hospital wasn’t far. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, feeling a peace in my heart I hadn’t felt in months. Mom, I’m going to pay for the surgery right now. I’m taking you away from here. The ICU was on the seventh floor. I could see the lights were still on, shadows moving quickly around the nurse’s station. I waved the card in my hand. “Doctor! I’m here to pay the bill!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I wanted to shout the good news to the whole world. But when the elevator doors opened, I walked into pure chaos. Several doctors and nurses were pushing a hospital bed toward the resuscitation room at full sprint. “The patient went into cardiac arrest after seeing a highly triggering news broadcast!” I didn’t quite understand. I just rushed straight to the billing window and slapped the black card on the counter. “Payment. Hurry. For Evelyn Adams in the ICU.” The billing clerk looked at me, then looked at the rushing hospital bed, her eyes filled with absolute pity. She didn’t take my card. I froze. The person lying on that rushing bed… was my mother. Pure terror seized me. My heart skipped a beat! “Mom!” So this is how death arrives. Silently. I chased after the bed but was locked out by the heavy doors of the resuscitation room. Sirens wailed in the streets below, approaching, then fading away. The hospital corridor suddenly became loud. “Look at the news! Best Actress Chloe Adams crawling like a dog in public!” “Oh my god, what happened to her?” People around me started pulling out their phones. I couldn’t move my legs. Every drop of blood drained from my body. I went insane, pounding my fists against the doors of the resuscitation room. But all I could see through the glass window was the straight line on the monitor. “Mom! Mom!” My entire world went black. I couldn’t understand. I had the money. Why was my mother gone? That flat, unwavering line lay quietly on the screen. “Mom!” I sobbed until I felt like my soul was tearing apart. “Why didn’t you wait for me?! I got the money! I got it!” I plastered the black card against the glass door, babbling incoherently. “Look, Mom, look! I got the money! You’re going to be saved!” I cried. I screamed. But that line never peaked again. I shattered completely. I couldn’t understand why, when hope was right in front of us, this had to happen. “You toxic curse!” My Aunt Sarah burst out of the crowd. Her fists rained down on me, beating me with every ounce of strength she had. “Look at what you’ve done!” “Why would you do this?! Your mother would rather die than see you humiliate yourself like this!” Sobbing uncontrollably, Aunt Sarah threw her phone at my chest. The video was still looping on the screen. It was me, crawling on the ground outside the club, barking like a dog. Then, Mia’s voice rang out: “Sister Chloe performed brilliantly.” Followed by my own voice. I said: “Thank you…” The video played on an endless loop. Right outside my mother’s resuscitation room. Unable to take it for another second, I smashed my fist into the phone. Again and again. My agonizing screams echoed down the hall. The screen shattered into pieces, but the audio still glitched and stuttered out of the speakers. I smashed it like a madwoman. My hands bled profusely. The blood mixed with the dirt on the hospital floor. I don’t know how long I smashed it, but the phone finally went silent. Trembling, I looked up at Aunt Sarah. “It’s okay. It’s gone. It’s gone. It won’t play anymore.” But the only response I got was the heavy doors of the resuscitation room opening. The doctor walked out, looking exhausted, and pulled down his surgical mask. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” In a single night, I truly understood what it meant to lose everything. I kneeled on the floor, my eyes completely empty. The doctor asked me to sign the death certificate over and over. The morgue called repeatedly to ask about the timeline for handling the body. I kneeled on the floor, praying to the heavens: “If there are gods in this world, please, save my mother. Let all the karma fall on me.” I don’t know how Liam heard the news, but he rushed over. He was always so aristocratic, every step he took radiating the composure of an apex predator. But now, ignoring the stares of everyone around him, he was running frantically down the hall. “Chloe.” “Chloe, I just found out…” He tried to hug me, his eyes filled with shock and panic. “Don’t be afraid, Chloe. You still have me.” I stared at him blankly. For the sake of love, exactly what price had I paid? I used the wall to pull myself to my feet. He quickly reached out to steady me. “Liam.” “I’m here.” Liam spoke rapidly, “I’m right here, Chloe.” I looked at him. His face was the face I loved most in the world, yet I felt like I was staring at a living, breathing demon. My lips trembled as I whispered my plea: “Kill me.” He looked as if he had heard the most horrifying thing in the world, shaking his head. “Chloe, don’t scare me.” Liam pulled me tightly against his chest. I could clearly feel him trembling. Why was he shaking? Wasn’t this his masterpiece? The morgue doors opened, and a nurse walked out. I held my breath, terrified to see that cold, lifeless face. Liam stepped in front of me, blocking my view. “Chloe, don’t look. I’ll handle everything.” I lost all my strength. I collapsed onto the floor. And wailed into the sterile air. Liam crouched down in front of me with great difficulty, stroking my hair as he promised: “Don’t worry, Chloe. I’ll give your mother the grandest funeral possible.” It took a long time before my mind came back to me. I looked up at him and asked: “Are you satisfied?” He looked stunned. “What?” I asked, “Are you satisfied now, Liam?” Liam desperately grabbed my hands to defend himself. “Chloe, I didn’t know this would happen. I just wanted to teach you a lesson! On the very last day, I swear I was going to pay the hospital bill for you.” I let out a bleak, hollow laugh. I reached into my bag and pulled out the knife I had prepared for myself. Without a shred of hesitation. I plunged it brutally into Liam’s chest. Warm, sticky liquid coated my hand. Liam looked down at the wound, then spoke gently: “Chloe, if you’re still angry, you can stab me again.”

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When I was dating my boyfriend, Bradford “Brad” Jennings, his best friend, Declan Shaw, was constantly running me down. “She’s got nothing going for her but a pretty face.” “Checking up on him just for a drink? She’ll walk all over you once you put a ring on it.” “Be a man, Jennings. Don’t be a doormat, alright?” Goaded by Declan’s constant jabs, Brad ended up dumping me without a second thought. Two months later, he had second thoughts. He called late one night, desperate to get back together. But it wasn’t Brad who answered the phone. It was Declan Shaw. “Buddy, truth is, the moment I first laid eyes on your girlfriend, I knew you and I were going to be lifelong friends.” “Oh, and by the way, we’re getting married next month. Don’t forget the gift.” 1 Declan Shaw was introduced to me by Brad at some high-status mixer. “Baby, this is Declan. The big man.” Brad’s tone, as he introduced us, was clearly deferential. I looked over, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Declan was sitting at the center of a small, admiring group, his expression casual, his face arresting. He exuded an air of undeniable generational wealth, far surpassing Brad’s inherited fortune. He was far more valuable than Brad. I offered a polite greeting: “Declan, nice to meet you. I’m Delaney Wells.” Declan didn’t nod or speak. He simply stared at me. He stared for two, maybe three, seconds. Finally, he asked Brad: “Your girlfriend?” “Yeah, man. The one I told you about.” “Huh.” Declan suddenly turned away, his expression bored and impatient, dismissing me completely. I shifted awkwardly, scratching my head. Even my generally optimistic nature couldn’t ignore the creeping feeling: this alpha male did not like me. 2 My intuition was confirmed quickly. It was Brad’s birthday, and he’d invited a lot of his wealthy friends to celebrate, including Declan. I was held up late at the office and arrived slightly behind schedule. Just as I reached out to push open the private room door, I heard Declan’s lazy, drawling voice from inside. “Brad, seriously. What do you see in that girl? She’s got nothing going for her but being hot.” Oh. Even the ruling class enjoys a little petty gossip, apparently. I felt a wave of embarrassment, pulling my hand back from the door handle. I tried to recall if I’d done anything specific to offend the prince of the Shaw dynasty. Inside, Brad replied, “The face and the body, obviously. She’s that ‘pure but secretly wild’ thing, right? Who wouldn’t be into that?” “You agree, right, man?” “…” Declan went eerily silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “So, are you going to marry her?” Brad hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe eventually.” “Look, Delaney is beautiful, no doubt. But she’s… a little simple, and her parents are just working-class people from out-of-state. I can’t afford to lose this family trust battle to my half-brother just because of my choice of wife.” I knew about the illegitimate half-brother and the ongoing fight for control of the family business. I also knew that my parents, who ran a small auto shop and never asked for anything, couldn’t give him the social or financial leverage he needed. Declan hummed in response. “Right. You need to be cautious about who you align yourself with. Don’t drop the family mansion for a simple distraction.” Brad sounded touched. “Thanks for looking out for me, Declan. I needed to hear that. A toast to you.” A new round of sycophantic praise and toasting started up inside. I stood outside the door, my chest tightening. I was hurt by Declan’s words, by the chasm between my background and Brad’s, and, most of all, by Brad’s shaky commitment to me. It’s only been two months, I told myself. We have time to work this out. When the conversation shifted to a different topic, I collected myself, took a breath, and pushed the door open. Brad, acting like nothing had happened, rushed over and piled food onto my plate. The other guys were polite to my face. Only Declan, from the moment I walked in, maintained a cold, irritated expression, as if my presence alone ruined his evening. Fine. He clearly still hated me. I resolved to just keep my distance. 3 After that night, Brad seemed to have officially latched onto Declan Shaw’s coattails. He was always out drinking and socializing with Declan and the rest of the exclusive crew. He’d come home reeking of stale alcohol and a faint, cloyingly sweet scent of cheap, club-girl perfume. His dissatisfaction with me, fueled by his friends, grew daily. He’d criticize me for not drinking, for being quiet, for being too dependent. One night, after Brad had been gone late yet again, I called him, worried. “Brad, what time are you actually coming home tonight?” There’s a strange, fragile masculinity that absolutely hates being “checked up on” during a night out with the guys. Brad’s tone was immediately terse. “Delaney, I’m not done yet. I’ll come back when I’m done drinking.” “Can you maybe not drink anymore? I miss you and want you to come home.” “Just go to sleep, okay? Stop waiting up for me.” As soon as Brad hung up, a low chuckle came from the man beside him. It was Declan. “Bradford, you’re always getting checked up on the second you walk out the door. You let her do that now, she’ll be telling you when you can breathe after you get married.” The entire group burst out laughing. “Seriously, man. If my girl pulled that, I’d ditch her for a new one.” “Yeah, Brad. Are you a man or not?” Brad, embarrassed, bristled. “I’m going to talk to her. I’m not letting a woman run my life.” Declan smiled, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. 4 Brad finally came home the next day. He looked hungover, his clothes wrinkled, and the cheap perfume scent was now overpowering. I chose my words carefully. “Brad, can you stop going out with those guys? Especially Declan. I really don’t trust him.” He was fiddling with his tie and frowned instantly. He remembered the sting of being mocked the previous night. My request hit a nerve. “Are you kidding me? He’s the sole heir to the Shaw fortune. My family’s entire net worth is just a rounding error to him. If I land him, I’m set for life.” “…But I don’t like him always taking you out drinking.” “Delaney, be sensible. Your call last night made me look like an absolute joke in front of everyone.” “I am being sensible.” “Then be more sensible, okay? Stop calling me and checking up on me. It’s annoying.” I felt a cold wave of disappointment. My concern was an inconvenience. I met his eyes for a moment, picked up my purse, and walked past him. “Brad, if you’re not going to distance yourself from Declan and those guys, then we need a break. Let’s cool off for a few days.” “Delaney! Are you actually walking out on me?!” Brad yelled a few times, but I didn’t look back. The cold war began that day. He didn’t come after me, and I didn’t go back to the apartment, opting to crash at a friend’s place near the office. But then, an unknown number started sending me pictures of Brad over the last few days. They showed him, looking dazed and indulgent, wrapped around different women in different clubs. He looked like he was having the time of his life. I didn’t know who was sending them. But someone was clearly trying to sabotage my relationship with Brad. And, I had to admit, they were successful. Furious and hurt, I sent Brad a simple text: We’re done. 5 To my surprise, Brad didn’t go out drinking that evening. Instead, he made dinner and asked for a second chance. I was shocked. In the month we’d lived together, he hadn’t so much as taken out the trash. Brad looked genuinely apologetic. “Baby, I don’t want to lose you. Let’s just stop fighting, okay?” “And what about your friends? What about Declan?” “I can’t completely cut him off; he’s a huge asset to my career. But I’ll minimize going out with them. I won’t neglect you anymore.” I sighed in relief. That was a fair compromise. I nodded, and we agreed to meet halfway, ending the cold war. Brad went happily to the kitchen to dish up the soup, and I went, equally relieved, to wash my hands in the bathroom. Someone else’s mood, however, was about to take a turn for the worse. In a private lounge downtown, Declan lit a cigarette and called Brad. “Declan, hey, what’s up?” “Bradford, why aren’t you here drinking?” Brad sighed. “Can’t tonight, man. My girlfriend and I had a fight, so I’m cooking dinner to make it up to her.” Declan’s voice instantly turned cold. “Making what up? Be a man, Brad. Stop being a simp. Got time to lick her boots? You should be here instead. I lined up a reliable investor for that new project you need. He’s here tonight. Talk business first. Don’t let a woman distract you.” Brad hedged. “But I just—” Declan’s voice was icy and cutting. “Don’t come, and I’ll tell him you’re not serious. I was hoping this project would help you crush that half-brother of yours, but forget it. Go back to being whipped.” “No! No, man, I’m coming. I’m on my way.” “Hurry up.” Declan hung up, blowing a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. A flash of cruel calculation crossed his dark eyes. 6 When I came out of the bathroom, Brad was hastily putting on his jacket. “I thought we were having dinner. Where are you going?” “I have a meeting. A really important meeting. I have to go drink.” I felt a familiar frustration. “Can’t you go tomorrow? We just made up.” Brad’s voice was sharp. “Delaney, I thought after the cold war you’d be more understanding. Why are you acting so needy?” My buddies were right, he thought. Can’t give them an inch. I compromise slightly, and she starts trying to control my most important professional obligations. I didn’t want another fight, so I didn’t try to stop him. “…Okay. Just come home early.” “I’ll try.” Brad snorted and walked out the door. Midnight came and went. No Brad. No text. I was about to go to sleep but realized he hadn’t grabbed his key fob. Reluctantly, I called him. 7 In the private room, the meeting had gone mysteriously sideways. Brad was fuming. The investor was bafflingly difficult, eventually walking out without a deal, and Declan hadn’t said a single word in his defense. As he was stewing, angrily running his hands through his hair and drinking too much, my call came in. “Brad, what time are you coming back?” That simple, check-in question detonated the entire night’s accumulated frustration. “Delaney, are you seriously doing this again?” “I told you I’m in a meeting. Stop calling.” “Why are you suddenly so unreasonable? So whiny and clingy?” I was so blindsided by the torrent of anger that I automatically tried to explain myself. “I just wanted to ask if you grabbed your—” “Just what? You really are nothing but a pretty face, aren’t you? You can’t offer me an ounce of help.” “Get lost. We’re done. Move out of my apartment tonight. I don’t want to see you again.” The sheer viciousness of his words confirmed what I already knew. There was nothing left to save. I said, simply: “Fine.” Brad slammed the phone down first. His hangers-on, who’d overheard the gist of the call, immediately started congratulating him. “Wow, Brad. That was the most masculine thing you’ve done all year.” “Attaboy! You can’t let women get away with that. You’re talking business, not staying home to warm the bed.” “Don’t sweat it, man. We’ll line you up with some better-looking models.” The praise worked its magic, easing his frustrated mood. He thought: Whatever. Delaney’s just a nice piece of decoration. I can do better. As he clinked glasses with his buddies, Brad suddenly noticed someone was missing. “Hey, where did Declan go?” Someone replied: “He left a minute ago. Took his car keys. Said he was going to pick up his girlfriend.” “Wait, he has a girlfriend? Whose daughter is she? I never heard anything about her.” Brad frowned. “I have no idea.” The group started speculating, running down a list of eligible socialites—from the oil heiress to the shipping magnate’s granddaughter—but none fit. “Weird. So who is it?” 8 I’d only been living with Brad for a month, so my belongings weren’t extensive. I packed quickly. I left the apartment keys on the kitchen counter, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and dragged my two large suitcases out the door. It hurt to be dumped, sure, but I was focused on logistics: securing a hotel room for the night, figuring out a new apartment lease. It was daunting. I stood on the curb, pulling out my phone to hail a ride to the hotel I’d just booked. A sleek black Bentley Mulsanne pulled up slowly right in front of me. Assuming I was blocking the curb, I stepped back to let it park. The car crept forward again, right up to me. What? Confused, I looked up as the driver’s window rolled down. A familiar, handsome, and impeccably aristocratic face looked out. Declan Shaw. Declan looked straight at me, dropping the arrogant scorn he’d worn in all our previous meetings. He was surprisingly gentle now. “It’s… Delaney Wells, right?” “What a coincidence. Where are you off to so late?” “It’s not safe here. Let me drive you.” 9 I half-suspected this was some kind of elaborate con. But that face, that composure, that seven-figure car—it was unmistakable. Since he was one of the primary reasons I was now single and homeless, I shook my head, keeping my voice cool and polite. “No, thank you.” “Brad and I broke up. I don’t need to inconvenience you.” Declan gave a small, smooth smile. “A breakup doesn’t prevent us from being friends, does it?” Friends? We were not friends. I hesitated. “Declan, really, I’m fine.” “Don’t you want to know why Brad really broke up with you?” “No.” “…” Declan silently gritted his teeth, then tried again. “Don’t you want revenge? I can help you get back at him.” “No, I don’t.” “Then why—” “Declan.” I cut him off, tilting my head. “Are you trying to steal my ride-share fare?” “…Yes.” Declan paused, then didn’t deny it. My God. Has the economy sunk so low that the heir to the Shaw Empire is moonlighting as a late-night ride-share driver? But a working stiff is better than a leech, I supposed. I asked, “How much are you charging?” “Five dollars.” I pursed my lips. That was a bargain. The regular SUV I was about to call was charging thirty dollars late at night. Declan’s $5 Bentley was clearly the superior choice. I’d save twenty-five bucks. I quickly canceled my ride, looked up, and smiled. “Then I’d appreciate the ride, Declan.” “It’s no inconvenience at all.” Declan’s lips curved slightly. He got out and opened the trunk to load my suitcases. Phew. He’d almost resorted to forced love.

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My five-year-old daughter is a master of deception. I took her back-to-school shopping, and in the middle of a crowded mall, she screamed at the top of her lungs that I was a kidnapper. I was nearly hauled off to a precinct in handcuffs. When we got home, before I could even open my mouth, she collapsed into her father’s arms, sobbing. “Daddy, Mommy wouldn’t buy me my supplies! She hit me in the street!” I tried to explain the truth to my husband, but he didn’t even let me finish. He backhanded me across the face, his eyes burning with rage. “She’s five! Why would she lie? How can you be so cruel to your own flesh and blood?” Later, when I dropped her off at school, she fell to her knees in front of all the other parents. “Mommy, please let me go to school! I don’t want to take those pictures for those men anymore!” The teacher snatched my phone and found it filled with suggestive, horrifying photos of my daughter. Enraged parents pushed me into traffic. I was crushed instantly, a bloody mess on the asphalt. As I died, I couldn’t understand: Why? Why would the daughter I carried for nine months do this to me? Then, I opened my eyes. I was back at the beginning of that shopping trip. 1. “Everly, honey, Mommy and Daddy are going to take you to get your school supplies today. We’re going to make you the happiest little princess in the world.” My daughter didn’t even look at my husband, Mark. She stepped forward and grabbed my sleeve. “Daddy, I want to go with Mommy. All the other girls have their moms with them. You stay here and work, okay?” Everly had been raised by her grandmother in a small rural town and had only recently moved back to the city with us. Mark, feeling guilty about her childhood away from us, couldn’t say no. “Honey, I’ll Venmo you some extra cash. Buy her whatever she wants. She’s still little, and we owe her for the time we missed.” Hearing those familiar words, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant fist. I could barely breathe. I realized I had been reborn. In my past life, I listened to Mark. I happily took Everly to the mall. At the store, Everly insisted on buying a sharp box cutter. I told her it was too dangerous. She smiled sweetly and agreed, saying kids shouldn’t play with blades. I was so relieved. I thought she was finally warming up to me. But as we walked toward the exit, she suddenly threw herself onto the floor. She wailed, “Don’t take me! Help! She’s a kidnapper! Help me!” The mall was packed. Hearing her screams, a crowd swarmed us. I desperately tried to explain, and just as a few people seemed to believe me, Everly pointed a trembling finger at me. “She really is! She’s trying to take me away!” The police arrived. I was detained and questioned for hours before being released. I couldn’t fathom why my “sweet” girl would tell such a monstrous lie. I was furious. I wanted to discipline her. But the moment we stepped through the front door, she beat me to it. She flew into Mark’s arms. 2. “Daddy, help me! Mommy wouldn’t buy me the Frozen notebooks, and then she hit me! It hurts, it hurts!” Mark pulled up her sleeve. There were dark, purple bruises on her arm. I gasped, reaching out. “Mark, I didn’t—” Mark shoved me back and slapped me across the face. “What kind of mother are you? You hit a child?!” “She’s lying! I didn’t touch her!” I screamed. I tried to tell him about the scene at the mall, but he cut me off, shouting over me. “She’s five years old! Why would she lie? Why can’t you just love your own daughter?” Mark cut off my access to our joint accounts after that. I was heartbroken and confused. I stopped trying to explain. I just kept my eyes open. But it wasn’t an accident. When I dropped her off at school, she knelt at the gate. “Mommy, please! I just want to go to school! I don’t want to take any more naked pictures for those uncles!” I was stunned. Before I could move, her preschool teacher, Ms. Claire, lunged forward. She snatched my bag and pulled out a stack of horrific photos. On the back of each one were names of “buyers.” Ms. Claire held Everly, shielding her from me. “How could you do this to your own child? You’re a monster!” Before I could say a word, the crowd of parents pushed me. I stumbled back into the middle of the road. A truck hit me. Just before the darkness took me, I saw my daughter’s face. She wasn’t crying. She was looking at me with a gaze so cold, so malicious, it didn’t belong on a five-year-old. I died never knowing why she hated me so much. Every night when I tucked her in, she would kiss my cheek and say, “I love you most, Mommy.” Since I’ve been reborn, I’m going to find out the truth. I looked at Mark, who was setting up his laptop to work from home. “Mark, she just got back. Why don’t you come with us?” If he thinks she doesn’t lie, then this time, I’ll make sure he sees it with his own eyes. Mark agreed immediately. At the mall, Everly hopped out of the car. Mark stayed inside to take a call. “I just got a notification. Work emergency. You guys go ahead. Just meet me back here in an hour.” I nodded, took Everly’s hand, and walked into the stationery store. Just like before, Everly made a beeline for the box cutters. “Mommy, I want this one! It has a cute pattern! Can I have it?” 3. I shook my head and knelt down to her level. “That blade is way too sharp, Everly. Let me ask the clerk if they have a safe version that looks just like it, okay?” Everly’s eyes were so pure, so innocent. For a second, my heart softened. With the help of a clerk, I bought a safety version of the cutter—unsharpened and child-friendly. Everly held her new tool and gave me a sweet smile. “Thank you, Mommy! You’re the best!” Maybe, I thought, it was just because I denied her what she wanted in the last life? Now that I’ve satisfied her, we can be close. She acted perfectly normal as we walked through the mall. I started to relax. But the moment we reached a crowded plaza, she wrenched her hand away and shrieked. “Help! She’s a kidnapper! She’s trying to take me!” My heart turned to ice. I had made excuses for her. I thought maybe my mother-in-law in the countryside had scared her with stories of kidnappers to keep her from wandering. But I had given her exactly what she wanted, and she still did it. The crowd gathered. People looked at me with suspicion. “She’s a kidnapper! Help me!” Everly sat on the floor, sobbing hysterically. People started believing her. “A kid that small doesn’t lie. Who are you?” “Don’t let her leave! We called the police!” A few men stepped forward to restrain me. Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure in the crowd. My eyes lit up. I shouted: “Mark! Mark, tell them! Explain it to them!” Everyone’s eyes turned to Mark. Earlier, I had texted him asking him to bring us some boba tea. Now, appearing at the scene, the crowd assumed he was my accomplice. They surrounded him. Everly’s crying faltered. She looked confused, seeing her father being harassed. Mark was more panicked than I was. It took forever for him to convince the crowd we were a family. Regardless, the police arrived and took us all to the precinct for questioning. 4. Mark’s face was thunderous the moment we left the station. As soon as we got home, he turned on Everly. “Are you stupid?! Why would you tell people we were kidnappers?!” Mark was shaking with rage. He swatted her across the rear. Everly let out a piercing scream and started wailing. I watched, feeling a cold sense of satisfaction. In the last life, he blamed me for “provoking” her. Now that it was his reputation on the line, he didn’t care about “she’s only five.” I stepped in and pulled Everly into my arms, acting the part of the protective mother. “Mark! She’s just a child playing a game! Why are you so angry? You’ll hurt her!” Mark’s hands were shaking as he pointed at Everly. “Do you know what her ‘game’ did? One of my biggest clients was at that mall. He saw the whole thing and wants to pull his contract! How am I supposed to explain this to my boss?” “You’re still protecting her! Who knows what she’ll do next!” So, it was about his job. That’s why he was so furious. I cut him off. “It’s just one client. We finally got her back, Mark. Don’t be so mean to her.” “Don’t be so dramatic. She’s just a kid. You shouldn’t take it so seriously.” I held Everly and looked at Mark with disdain. “Are you just blaming her because you’re failing at your job?” Those were his words to me in the last life. I gave them back to him, word for word. How does it feel to be the one wrongly accused, Mark? Mark stormed off. “Fine! Spoil her then!” I stroked Everly’s head. “It’s okay, honey. Mommy will take you to school tomorrow.” Everly looked at me, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear in her eyes. She was terrified of me. Why? I hadn’t done anything. Mark didn’t come home that night. After Everly fell asleep, I started searching the house. In the last life, those photos were in my bag. They had to have been taken beforehand. They had to be here. I searched every room. Finally, under Everly’s bed, I found a small metal box with a combination lock. I tried Everly’s birthday. No. I tried Mark’s birthday. Click. I opened the box, and the world stopped. The mystery of two lifetimes was solved in an instant. I finally understood why my daughter—my own blood—was working so hard to see me dead. 5. The next morning, acting as if nothing was wrong, I drove Everly to school. As we got out of the car, a teacher greeted us warmly. “Is this our new student? Come on, let’s get you registered.” I took Everly’s hand. “Let’s go, sweetie.” Suddenly, Everly ripped her hand away and dropped to her knees, howling. “No! I don’t want to go with Mommy!” “Mommy, please let me go to school! I don’t want to take naked pictures for those uncles anymore!” Her scream was high and sharp. The school gate was crowded with parents dropping off their kids. Everyone froze. Faces twisted in horror as they looked at me. The teacher immediately pulled Everly behind her. “What did you do to this child? Naked pictures? Are you insane?” Here it was. In my past life, this teacher—Ms. Lane—had immediately condemned me. Before I could even breathe, parents were surrounding me. In the last life, they found the photos in my bag. But this time, I wasn’t going to wait. I stepped forward and slapped the teacher across the face. “You’re the one who’s insane! You hear a child say something and immediately accuse a parent? Is this how you run this school?” “If you’re this quick to judge without evidence, how can we trust our children with you? What if our kids are being bullied and you just believe the bully?” My words made the angry parents hesitate. One father frowned. “Wait, she has a point. Ms. Lane, you shouldn’t just throw out accusations like that.” Ms. Lane was stunned. Tears welled in her eyes. “I… I just wanted to make sure the child wasn’t being hurt! I’m looking out for her!” The parents weren’t buying it. “What? You think we’re going to hurt our own kids? Kids at this age say all kinds of things.” Ms. Lane didn’t understand. She expected a mob. Instead, she was the one being judged. She didn’t realize that parents are naturally protective of their own. They know kids have wild imaginations.

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New Year’s Eve. For the third year in a row, my parents had left me alone in the house, chasing that sweet triple-time pay. Thinking about the last twenty years of quiet, solitary holidays, I couldn’t bear the thought of another cold night alone. I packed up a container of homemade lasagna and set out to find them. I didn’t expect to see them, the couple who always preached about saving every dime, stepping out of a black Range Rover, laughing and hand-in-hand with a girl my age, before disappearing into the gilded entrance of The Grand Metropolitan. “Mom, Dad, is it really okay to leave Dec alone at home?” the girl, radiant and oblivious, asked. My mother, Caroline, barely glanced up, her voice light and dismissive. “It’s fine. He’s used to it.” My father, Robert, scoffed good-naturedly. “He can’t compare to you, Scarlett. You’re our star, our heart.” I turned and walked away, the lasagna suddenly heavy in my hands. They were rich. They had been lying to me, pretending poverty to justify their neglect. I no longer wanted their company. Back at our cramped, old duplex, I dumped the expensive meal I had planned to share into the trash. In the past, I would never have dared to waste food. 1 For as long as I could remember, I understood that we were struggling. Everything I had, my parents claimed, came from their backbreaking sacrifice. I rarely owned anything new. Every few months, my mother would bring home a trash bag of used clothes. “These belonged to a colleague’s son,” she’d insist. “They’re perfectly clean, Dec. No need to waste money on new things.” My entire childhood was spent dragging around ill-fitting, faded clothes. Kids at school called me “The Rag Man.” It pushed me to bury myself in books, clinging to the hope that one day, I could earn enough to buy a brand-new t-shirt. On holidays, I dutifully handed over every dollar of gift money I received, believing I was easing their burden. But there was no burden. I looked up the Range Rover’s license plate. It was registered to Holloway Enterprises. I recognized the company; its heiress, Scarlett Holloway, was often in the gossip columns. I even recalled a story about her driving that very car while on a date with a C-list actor. The face in those old tabloid photos was the girl I’d just seen. I was a Holloway. I was a millionaire’s son. The realization was a punch to the gut, followed by a rush of cold, bitter laughter. I wiped my eyes and went straight to my parents’ room. Perhaps they were so arrogant in their deception, so certain of my naive loyalty, that they grew careless. I found it quickly. A contract, hundreds of millions of dollars on the dotted line, signed by Robert Holloway. Tucked inside the papers was a Montblanc pen, not a cheap giveaway, but a piece of serious luxury. The last vestige of hope shriveled up and died inside me. I restored everything exactly as it was, returned to my room, and pulled the covers over my head. I prayed that I would wake up and discover it had all been a terrible nightmare. The next morning, Mom and Dad were already busy in the tiny kitchen. I watched them, then looked at the breakfast laid out on the table. Who eats Smoked Salmon and Caviar Benedict on a weekday morning? The aroma—rich, buttery, and utterly decadent—was identical to a dish my professor had treated us to at a high-end brunch spot last semester. I glanced at the overflowing trash can near the back door. Sure enough, high-end packaging confirmed my suspicion. “Mom, Dad, did we suddenly win the lottery?” My mother’s face registered a flicker of panic. “Dec, what are you talking about?” “The breakfast. That’s seriously expensive. How can we afford this?” I pointed at the trash bag, and my mother’s color drained. My father offered a breezy chuckle. “It’s nothing, son. I was running an errand for the boss last night, and he gave me a massive takeout order. I didn’t have the heart to eat it alone, so I brought it home for us.” “Your mother and I couldn’t afford this with our combined weekly pay!” I nodded, pretending to believe the lie. I ate the exquisite breakfast, my mind a churning mess. Smoked Salmon Benedict, I thought, sixty dollars a plate. Last night’s dinner likely cost more than my entire semester’s tuition. If they were truly poor, this meal would taste like love. Now, it tasted like ash. I finished two bites and pushed the plate away. “I’m full.” “Dec, that’s hardly anything. Are you feeling sick?” My mother’s concern looked real, and it almost broke me. I shook my head, managing a smile. “No, I’m great. Aren’t we going to see Grandma and Grandpa later? I’m saving room for a good lunch!” At that, my mother visibly relaxed. My father’s face was etched with guilt, but before he could speak, his phone rang. I saw the caller ID: My Little Girl, Scarlett. Scarlett, his heart. And me? Dad quickly retreated to the balcony. Mom followed, and I could faintly hear her whispering about being discreet, about not letting me find out. A profound, bone-deep chill settled in my heart. They hadn’t just accidentally kept a secret; they had conspired, together, to maintain the fiction. I felt like an actor trapped in The Truman Show. But they were devastatingly real. 2 After hanging up, Dad came back into the living room and pulled a crisp $50 bill from his wallet. “Dec, I have a last-minute emergency at work. I have to go in.” Mom stepped up. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll take you to the Pierces’.” I nodded, took the $50, and stuffed it directly into the pocket of my jeans. Then I got ready to leave with Mom. When we arrived at the Pierces’ old, run-down apartment in the industrial section of the city, my grandfather immediately pulled me into a hug. “Dec! Come in, you look frozen!” His hands, when they gripped my arm, were soft and smooth. Not the calloused hands of a retired steel factory worker, which is what they claimed he was. He looked well-fed, well-rested, and entirely too pampered. Grandma, seeing me, quickly handed me a red envelope. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.” I took it, thanked her, and put it straight into my pocket. My mother froze. In the past, I would immediately hand the money over to her. She’d always coo, “Dec is such a good, responsible boy.” This time, I defied the ritual. Grandma paused, then chuckled. “Oh, our Dec knows how to squirrel away his cash now!” I raised an eyebrow and smiled. “It’s not squirming, Grandma. Mom said a new year means a new start. I figured I’d keep some of my own spending money.” “That’s right,” Mom jumped in quickly. “Dec is so responsible. He even pays his own tuition and living expenses from his part-time jobs.” I knew the red envelope probably contained fifty bucks, max. Compared to my massive student loan debt and the money I earned tutoring to survive, it was a joke. They were so obscenely wealthy, yet they maintained this Performance of Poverty only for me. I couldn’t understand why I was the only one subjected to this cruel education. Grandma didn’t press it. She retreated to the kitchen. The food she brought out—the roast, the perfectly formed sides—looked exactly like the dishes I had glimpsed on the buffet line at The Grand Metropolitan the night before. I took two bites and lost my appetite completely. I was certain now. The entire family, from my parents to my grandparents, were rich, and they were all performing an elaborate lie. After lunch, Mom got a hushed phone call and then announced she had to go to work. The grandparents suddenly started yawning, claiming they were exhausted. I took my cue, politely excused myself, and left. But I didn’t go far. I circled back and hid behind a large oak tree around the corner. Sure enough, less than twenty minutes later, a stretched Lincoln Town Car pulled up. Grandpa and Grandma, looking energized and impeccably dressed, were ushered into the luxury vehicle by an entourage, without a backward glance. I took a deep breath, pulled up my hood, and walked towards the apartment. A few cleaning ladies were already starting the tear-down. One of them sighed to the other. “I don’t get these people. They come here one day a year, cook one meal, and leave.” “And they pay a fortune for the cleanup,” the second one replied. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it. They’ve been doing this for twenty years. They own a mansion up in Blackwood Heights. This is just rich people role-playing.” My heart turned to granite. Role-playing. Blackwood Heights. I knew the name—it was where the city’s elite lived. I rode my beat-up cruiser bike until I reached the guarded gates. The mansion sat on the highest ridge, a fortress of glass and white marble. Security guards patrolled the perimeter. I must have looked like a stray dog; one guard immediately barked, “Hey! Beat it, kid! You’re not allowed here!” I was about to turn away when a blur of sound and chrome roared past me. I recognized the model—a limited edition Ducati, nearly two hundred thousand dollars. Riding it was Scarlett Holloway. 3 She noticed me, too. She slammed the brakes and eyed me, a sneering look of amusement crossing her face. “Well, look at you. Not so slow after all. You managed to find your way here.” I froze. She knew. She had known all along. “Why?” I whispered, the word hollow. “What is this? Am I adopted? Is this some sort of psychological project, and I’m the test subject?” Scarlett shook her head, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “No, Dec. You’re theirs. Biologically. You want to know why you were raised in that dump? Because I am the sole heir of Holloway Enterprises.” She revved her engine, the sound ripping through the silence. “This isn’t your place. Go home.” She leaned down, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “And don’t look so pathetic. Mom and Dad did put a lot of ‘heart’ into raising you. Oh, and one more thing: stop going to see the Pierces. They’re getting too old to keep up the performance.” Scarlett sped through the gate. I stood there, watching the taillights disappear, finally understanding the true dynamic. My existence threatened her claim to the inheritance. What had I done wrong? All I ever wanted was a genuine, non-monetary, honest love. They had lied for two decades, yet somewhere in that lie, I knew they had cared for me. But now, looking at the mansion and hearing Scarlett’s cold, cruel words, I questioned every shared moment. I turned and walked away. Before I reached the main road, I called my father. “Dad? Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” His voice was strained but insistent. “No, Dec. Triple pay, remember? I’m working late tonight. Your mom is, too.” But cutting through his words, faint yet undeniable, was the distant roar of a high-performance engine. I simply said, “Got it.” My mind was already made up. I went back to the old duplex and started packing. I also emailed the faculty advisor for the university’s special research grant—a three-year, fully isolated deep-field project out in remote Montana. No contact, no interruptions. When I was done, I printed the photo I’d secretly taken of Scarlett’s retreating back, framed it, and placed it on my nightstand. A silent declaration. That night, they didn’t come home. The house was mine. I called Dad one last time, but it went straight to voicemail. At that exact moment, I saw a flurry of activity on social media. Employees of Holloway Enterprises were posting photos, thanking their bosses for massive holiday bonuses. One employee, who described himself as mid-level, showed off a three-thousand-dollar check. Other photos showed the company’s New Year’s gala. My parents were on stage, my dad in a custom tuxedo, my mom in an elegant gown, looking impossibly regal. Scarlett was basking in the limelight below. The family portrait was prominently displayed—only three people in it. My parents were certain I was too busy working to pay attention to gossip. They forgot I was just a kid, raised to be poor, which meant I was hyper-aware of everything around me, including the internet. A reporter interviewed them about their holiday plans. My father, looking directly into the camera, said, “Our daughter, Scarlett, turns twenty-two this year. We’re taking her on an extended luxury trip starting tonight.” My stomach plummeted. I was twenty-two, too. The farthest I’d ever been was a school field trip to the local zoo. I let out a harsh, dry laugh. I retrieved my birth certificate, running my fingers over the paper. When I started college, my parents had insisted on moving my registration to the school. They claimed I was an adult now and needed to be responsible for my own affairs. Now, that small bureaucratic action was my ticket out. I grabbed my duffel bag and walked out. Robert, Caroline. Goodbye.

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I was the true daughter, found after eighteen years, and the System was telling me to cause a scene. My birth mother, Penelope, clutched the fake daughter, Brooke: “Even though you’re my blood, Brooke has been with us for eighteen years. We can’t just lose her.” The System shrieked: [Quick! Flip the table! Call them out for blatant favoritism!] I nodded. “That’s perfectly normal. Eighteen years of emotional investment versus eighteen years of biological probability. I’d choose the emotional investment, too. Blood is just science; attachment is a sunk cost.” My mother froze. My ex-fiancé, Preston, threw a check in my face: “Take the money and disappear. I don’t love hillbillies.” The System screamed: [Quick! Shred the check! Tell him he’ll regret crossing the poor youth!] I calmly picked up the check. “That’s also perfectly normal. You can’t force love, and getting a severance package for a canceled engagement is just smart business. Frankly, he’s an industry benchmark for conscience.” My ex-fiancé was dumbfounded. The System crashed: [Host, please, I’m begging you—just one small meltdown! The plot is stuck!] Me: “I’m fine. The drama is just… excessive.” 1. The air conditioning in the Shaw Estate living room was running full blast, but I could still smell the thick, cloying scent of forced sweetness and toxic drama. My biological mother, Penelope Shaw, was tightly hugging the girl who’d occupied my life for eighteen years, Brooke Shaw. Brooke was weeping hysterically, her shoulders hitching with dramatic sobs that made her look seconds from collapse. Penelope patted her back and looked at me with an expression of agonizing complexity. “Kendall, while you are our biological daughter, Brooke has been with us for eighteen years. That bond isn’t something we can just break.” She paused, her eyes pleading. “We can’t lose her. I hope you can understand your mother’s difficult position.” Richard Shaw, my father, stood nearby, sighing deeply with his hands clasped behind his back, an unspoken endorsement of his wife’s stance. The System in my mind detonated. [Host! You’re going to tolerate this? Hurry! Rush up and curse these fools! Overturn the coffee table! Tell them blood is thicker than water! You are the ONLY true daughter!] The incessant noise gave me a headache. I lifted a hand to my temple, and under the three Shaws’ tense scrutiny, I nodded. “I understand. Completely.” Brooke’s sobs cut off immediately. Her mascara-stained lashes fluttered; clearly, she hadn’t prepared for this response. Penelope looked stunned. “You… you don’t blame me?” I located a single-seater armchair and sat down, my posture relaxed, as if I were discussing a non-critical project with a client. “It’s perfectly normal. Eighteen years of emotional capital versus eighteen years of biological probability. I’d choose the emotional capital, too. Blood is just a statistical accident in biology; emotion is actual, quantifiable sunk cost.” I gestured to Brooke’s couture dress, then to my own Target clearance top. “You’ve invested eighteen years of money, time, and energy into her. You’ve raised a premium-tier account. To suddenly delete that and start over with a fresh account—no one would want to. It’s basic economic principle. I get it.” A heavy silence descended upon the room. Penelope’s expression was an awkward blend of guilt and confusion. She wanted to explain, but my cold, hard logic had blocked every possible emotional exit. The System was screaming in my head: [Host, what in God’s name are you talking about? You need to fight for affection! You need to make a scene!] I ignored it and turned to Brooke, my tone genuinely reassuring: “Please, continue crying. Don’t mind me. I’m just the new intern, still familiarizing myself with the company’s… I mean, the family’s environment.” 2. Brooke was clearly a professional-grade player. After a brief pause, she immediately adjusted her tactic. She broke free from Penelope’s embrace and walked toward me, her eyes red, timidly extending a hand. “Sister, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I stole your life. If you’re unhappy, I can move out…” In the original plot, I would have slapped her or launched a vicious verbal attack, only to be chastised by my parents. The System roared again: [Opportunity! Call her a toxic drama queen! Tell her to get lost!] I looked at Brooke’s carefully manicured hand. I didn’t take it. Instead, I pulled a packet of antiseptic wipes from my bag and offered it to her. “Don’t say that. The deed to this house is in Mr. and Mrs. Shaw’s names. Legally, we are both merely occupants here.” I paused, continuing with the tone of an academic discussing a thesis. “Furthermore, where would you go? You have no independent assets or income stream. Renting an apartment will expose you to predatory brokers, and hotels are too expensive. As a rational actor, staying here maximizes your self-interest. If I were in your position, I’d also stay put.” Brooke’s hand froze mid-air. The entire script of “I’ll sacrifice everything for love” she’d prepared had been choked by my stark reality check. Her dramatic martyrdom had been ruthlessly reduced to rational, self-serving realism. My father, Richard, finally spoke up, frowning: “Kendall, what kind of talk is that? Brooke is your sister. What’s all this ‘staying put’ business? This is her home, too.” I immediately nodded, compliant as a top employee taking direction from the CEO. “Understood, Mr. Shaw. I’ve noted that Ms. Brooke Shaw has permanent residency. Now, where is my workstation… I mean, my room?” Richard winced at my detached use of “Mr. Shaw.” His face tightened. “The estate manager will take you to a guest room.” 3. The estate manager, a man in his fifties, eyed me with thinly veiled contempt. Clearly, the power structure in this house was non-negotiable. He led me to a small room at the end of the second-floor hallway. “Miss Kendall, space is tight. Miss Brooke requires two rooms for her belongings, so we’ll have to make do with this one for now.” The room was north-facing, with a tiny window, just a bed, and a wardrobe—not even a proper desk. I had passed Brooke’s room on the way; I’d glimpsed a walk-in closet, a large private balcony, and a full set of designer furniture. The System sizzled with fury: [This is an outrage! This is the maid’s quarters! Host, go smash up Brooke’s room! Demand your birthright!] I looked around the small space, nodding with genuine satisfaction. “Perfect. Poor lighting means better sleep, and the small space saves on electricity. It’s also far from the main staircase, so it’s quiet.” All the subtle insults the manager had prepared fell flat, like a bad joke. He stared at me in disbelief. “Miss Kendall, you… you’re not angry?” I put down my travel bag and pulled out my laptop. “Why would I be angry? I’m an air traffic controller, an entry-level addition to the company… to the family. No track record, no seniority. I’m lucky to have a private office at all. Did you expect me to immediately take the CEO’s suite?” I looked at him sincerely. “By the way, what’s the Wi-Fi password? And is the connection reliable? I have some deep-work deadlines tonight.” The manager opened his mouth, but only a string of numbers came out before he shuffled away, defeated. I closed the door. The System was still relentlessly nagging: [Are you insane? They are humiliating you!] I opened my laptop, connected to the Wi-Fi, and checked the stock market. “System, you’re too emotional. Will humiliation cost me money? No. But if I smash something because I’m angry, I’ll have to pay for it. I currently have two hundred dollars to my name. I can’t afford that.” 4. At dinner, the atmosphere at the dining table was so fraught it was difficult to digest. Penelope, determined to demonstrate her motherly love, constantly piled food onto Brooke’s plate, even peeling shrimp for her. “Brooke, you’ve lost weight. Eat this.” Brooke shot a triumphant look at me, then simpered, “Thank you, Mom. You’re the best.” Richard occasionally topped up Brooke’s soup. The three of them were a picture of domestic bliss, and I was the anonymous stranger who’d been seated with them. System: [Flip the table! Quick! Pour the soup over Brooke’s head!] I kept my head down, eating my meal quickly but politely. Years of working long hours had trained me to finish a meal in five minutes, as lunch breaks were precious. Penelope eventually seemed to have a pang of conscience and put a piece of spare rib onto my plate. “Kendall, you eat too. Don’t just eat the rice.” The rib was covered in bell peppers, which Brooke detested. I looked at the piece of meat but didn’t touch it. Brooke immediately piped up: “Does Sister look down on Mom’s food? Sister, I guess you didn’t get quality spare ribs back in the countryside, did you?” I put down my chopsticks and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “It’s not disdain. I’m full.” I stood up and offered a slight bow to Richard and Penelope. “Thank you for the meal. The food was very satisfactory. If there are no further instructions, I will return to my room to handle my work.” Richard looked startled. “Work? You just got back. Don’t you want to spend time with us?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s 7:30 PM, which is private time. Also, you seemed to be enjoying your conversation, and my interjection would disrupt the atmosphere. As a new hire… as a newcomer, I need to be considerate.” I turned and walked away, leaving three stunned faces behind me. I faintly heard Penelope complain: “That child is like a robot. No warmth at all.” A faint smile touched my lips. Warmth? That’s something you can only expect from people you care about. In their eyes, I was merely a blood relative who had trespassed. Discussing warmth was a luxury; discussing rules was far easier. 5. Early the next morning, an uninvited guest arrived at the Shaw Estate. Preston Rhodes, Brooke’s fiancé, and the man who was originally supposed to be mine. He certainly looked the part—tall, handsome, in a tailored suit, his hair perfectly coiffed—but his judgment was clearly faulty. The moment he walked in, he spotted me, just preparing to leave for the day (actually heading to the library to use their free A/C and save on my electric bill). Without a word, Preston pulled a check from his inner pocket and lightly tossed it at me. It fluttered to the floor. “Five million. Take the money and get lost. I’m not marrying some hick.” Preston looked down on me with an attitude of arrogant superiority. Brooke was standing on the staircase, covering her mouth to hide a triumphant smirk. The System’s voice cracked with excitement: [Tear the check! Quick! Throw it in his face! Tell him not to underestimate a poor man! Thirty years west of the river, thirty years east of the river!] I bent down and picked up the check. I meticulously checked the amount, the signature, and the bank’s seal. It was genuine. Then, I pulled out a small, pocket-sized notebook and a pen from my bag. “Mr. Rhodes, one moment.” I quickly scribbled a few lines, tore the page off, and handed it to Preston. He instinctively took it, glanced at it, and froze. “What is this?” “A receipt,” I smiled, professionally and perfectly. “Since you’ve paid the severance fee, we must follow due process to avoid future financial disputes. It clearly states that I, Kendall Shaw, have received five million dollars from Mr. Preston Rhodes, voluntarily relinquishing the engagement. All accounts settled. No refunds or exchanges.” Preston stared at me as if I were an alien. “You… you just took it?” “Why wouldn’t I?” I carefully folded the check and tucked it into a book. “This is perfectly normal. Why force a relationship that doesn’t work? And this failed relationship came with a five-million-dollar severance package. He’s an industry benchmark for conscience. Mr. Rhodes, you truly are a generous client.” I even added a helpful suggestion: “Would you like me to send a thank-you note to your company? Or perhaps clarify on social media that I was simply not good enough for you?” Preston’s face instantly flushed crimson. All the cruel, insulting words he’d prepared were rendered meaningless by my receipt. 6. With the five million dollars in hand, I instantly felt more secure. But I didn’t waste it as the System had hoped. Instead, I immediately bought into a few stocks I’d been watching. That evening, the atmosphere at the Shaw house was even heavier than before. Richard and Penelope were sitting on the couch, and Brooke was wiping away tears. When they saw me return, Richard slammed his hand on the table. “Kendall Shaw! Do you have no shame? How could you take Preston’s money?” Brooke choked out a sob: “Sister, did you only come back for the money? If you’re short on cash, I can give you my allowance, but why would you insult Preston’s feelings for me?” System: [Curse back! Call them hypocrites!] I changed into my slippers and walked into the center of the living room, pulling a custom-printed banner from my bag. I had ordered it that afternoon. Gold lettering on a red background, bearing eight bold characters: [In Gratitude for Filial Service, May You Be Happy Ever After] I solemnly handed the banner to Brooke. “Sister, I took this money with a clear conscience. Think of it this way: this engagement was originally mine. It’s now yours. The five million is the transfer fee for the fiancé. These days, taking over a storefront requires a transfer fee. How much more for a premium asset like Mr. Rhodes?” Brooke stared at the banner, unable to accept or refuse it. Her face was pale green. Richard was shaking with fury. “You… you treat marriage like a business transaction?” “Marriage is essentially an economic contract,” I stated matter-of-factly. “Since Mr. Rhodes was willing to pay for his true love, if I, the one who facilitated this true love, didn’t accept the money, wouldn’t it make his genuine affection look cheap?” I looked at Brooke, offering an encouraging smile: “Sister, your love is valued at five million dollars. You should be pleased.” Brooke let out a wail and ran upstairs. Penelope pointed a finger at me. “You… you are going to be the death of me!” I blinked innocently. “Mom, I’m just defending my sister’s valuation.” 7. Perhaps to compensate for Brooke’s wounded pride, Penelope decided to take us shopping that weekend. The stated goal was to buy me clothes; in reality, Penelope dragged Brooke straight into the high-end boutiques. “Brooke, this dress would look great on you. Go try it on.” “Brooke, this new handbag is stunning. It suits you.” I trailed behind them, little more than a bag carrier. System: [Grab her card! Max out all their credit cards! Show them who the biological daughter is!] I calmly watched Penelope swipe her card, feeling completely detached. In fact, when Brooke was trying on a bright yellow dress, I stepped forward. “That color is too bright; it washes you out. I suggest you switch to the muted cobalt blue one. It will complement your skin tone and enhance your figure.” Brooke looked at me suspiciously. “Why are you being nice?” “It’s for the Shaw family image,” I said seriously. “You are the public face of the Shaws. If you look bad, it reflects poorly on the family brand. As a member of the Shaw family, I have an obligation to protect the family’s image.” Brooke, half-believing, switched to the cobalt blue dress. The effect was surprisingly good. Even the sales associate complimented my eye: “This young lady has excellent taste.” Penelope, seeing how beautiful Brooke looked, felt a sudden wave of guilt after trying to ice me out. She picked up a clearance-rack t-shirt and handed it to me. “Kendall, you try this on.” It was an outdated, slightly pilled shirt from the discount section. System: [Throw it on the floor! Stomp on it!] I took the shirt and checked the tag. “No need to try it on. The high cotton content means it’s sweat-absorbent and breathable, perfect for work around the house. Thank you, Mom. I love it.” Not only did I not get angry, but I thanked her sincerely. Penelope’s hand froze mid-air, her expression a spectacle of complex emotions. Guilt is like a spring: the more you push back against it, the more the other person feels justified; the more compliant you are, the more they feel like a monster. In that moment, Penelope clearly felt like a monster. 8. Back at home, Brooke was clearly still bitter that I had stolen the spotlight (though I certainly didn’t feel like I had). She deliberately pulled Penelope’s favorite pearl necklace apart in the living room. The pearls scattered everywhere. Then she shrieked: “Sister! How could you push me!” I was at least two yards away from her, drinking water. Richard and Penelope rushed in, saw the mess, and saw Brooke weeping. Brooke pointed at me: “Sister said she was jealous of Mom buying me things, so she pushed me and broke the necklace…” This low-effort setup was an insult to my intelligence. Richard glared at me. “Kendall! You disappoint me greatly!” System: [Explain! Quickly! Tell them you have an alibi!] I put down my glass and sighed. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, Police Department? I need to report a felony. We have a dispute involving the deliberate destruction of property and assault, with a high estimated value of damages. Please dispatch an officer.” The whole family went silent.

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