Category: English

A bizarre accident connected me with my seven-years-younger self. Hearing that the future me was about to get engaged to Nolan Shaw, she rolled around on her bed in excitement, declaring herself the happiest girl in the world. Happy? I offered a bitter smile and silently showed her the full extent of my own brutal reality. The gentle “Senior Shaw” she knew was long gone. In his place was the Nolan who repeatedly allowed others to call me a conniving opportunist, the Nolan who, right before our engagement, demanded I kneel and apologize to his first love’s entire family. “So, do you still want this future?” The light in the eyes of my younger self dimmed. The past was rewritten. Nolan, this time, we will never meet again. 1 At my engagement party with Nolan Shaw, the famous actress Skylar Brooks arrived with his family. Instantly, all eyes were drawn away from us. Nolan let go of my hand and, along with his mother, went to greet them. Mrs. Shaw, who had been wearing a stony expression a moment ago, immediately smiled and took Skylar’s hand warmly. “Skylar, you finally made it.” Skylar smoothly engaged them in conversation. Around us, confused guests began to whisper about our relationship. One of Nolan’s friends pointed at me and chuckled, “Oh, her? She’s the one who slept her way into the family.” It wasn’t a new story. Whenever someone didn’t know, they made sure to broadcast my “history.” In college, Nolan and I were in the same club. I pursued him for two years. He ended up dating his childhood sweetheart, Skylar Brooks. Seeing he was taken, I gave up. But then, at a club gathering, I somehow ended up in bed with him. That night, Skylar was overly enthusiastic about toasting Nolan and me. My tolerance for alcohol was low, and I got drunk quickly. I distinctly remember checking the room number; I was sure I was going back to my own room. The next morning, the door was thrown open. Skylar brought people in to “catch us in the act.” I was naked in Nolan’sbed, covered in bruises and hickeys. Skylar immediately burst into tears. Nolan quickly put on clothes and furiously interrogated me. In everyone’s mind, Nolan was the epitome of integrity and respect, while I was just a lovesick underclassman. No one believed my explanation. They all called me shameless, a manipulative opportunist. When I returned to campus, the rumors spread like wildfire in the school group chats. Later, Skylar broke up with Nolan and went abroad, and I became public enemy number one. Everyone rallied to defend Skylar, calling me a “homewrecker” and a “slut.” They successfully got my scholarship revoked and my graduate school recommendation canceled. Nolan initially planned to ignore me, but when he found out I was unexpectedly pregnant, he felt forced to take responsibility and be with me. But as everyone predicted, though he was with me, his heart wasn’t. The label of “opportunist who slept her way up” became an indelible stain on my life. Upon hearing the story, all the guests sighed. “I knew it. Why else would the Shaws marry a commoner?” “Look at her and her mom, so cheap. Without dirty tricks, they’d never get close to people like us.” My mom stood by me in the corner, her expression helpless. She whispered, “Maya, I’m so sorry. I wish I were more capable.” My nose stung, and my eyes welled up instantly. Mom worked as a server; she’d spent her life bending her back for others. That’s why she pushed me to study hard, hoping I’d never have to bow down to anyone again. Yet, here I was, at my own engagement party, dragging her into public ridicule. I wished she would just yell at me, but Mom never did. She just squeezed my hand tenderly, sighing over and over again. I had nothing to do with the actual engagement party; they were busy securing endorsements and resources for Skylar Brooks. It wasn’t until the end that Nolan and I returned to the Shaw residence. Once home, he went to bed early. I stepped onto the balcony. The night wind chilled me to the bone. I pulled out my phone and asked, “So now what? Do you still want me to stay?” On the other end was Maya from seven years ago. One of us was full of hope for the future; the other’s heart was already a dead husk. “Well, because of the misunderstanding, maybe Senior Shaw is just having a hard time letting go. You finally got engaged, shouldn’t you try to hold on a little longer?” The truth was, I had kept the phone line open the whole day. Even after hearing everything, she was still weakly trying to convince me. It was understandable—a story heard is never as deep as an experience lived. The Maya of seven years ago knew only the Senior Shaw who patiently tutored me and chased away the creeps. After a long pause, I let out a soft sigh. “Oh, you mentioned that Senior Shaw and I had a child, right? That baby should be seven now. Can I hear their voice?” Her voice was filled with excitement, but my reply was ice-cold: “He died years ago.” Skylar had debuted by then, and she had a few loyal fans on campus. They deliberately waited until I was heavily pregnant and pushed me down a flight of stairs. The child who was about to be born died. Nolan planned to seek justice, but Skylar, who was abroad, called and pleaded for her fans. Nolan dropped the case and forbade me from calling the police. He said it was my own karma that killed the child. The matter was ultimately dismissed. I stayed in the hospital alone, watching the sun rise and set, my eyes vacant. The doctor said I had severe depression and told me to relax and communicate more with my family. I nodded but told no one. For five years, no one ever noticed. 2 When I woke up the next day, I found Mrs. Shaw dining with Skylar Brooks downstairs. Skylar had returned to the country two years ago. The moment she did, Nolan mobilized all of the Shaw family resources to make her a star. Mrs. Shaw went further, bringing her home right in front of me, lamenting that she had been betrayed by an unscrupulous person like me. The two were deep in conversation when I approached. Skylar suddenly said, “I heard the Shaws have an heirloom bracelet passed down to the daughter-in-law. Auntie, why haven’t you given it to Maya?” Mrs. Shaw snorted. “Does she deserve it? A low-class opportunist. She’d contaminate the Shaw family’s heirloom.” Skylar looked troubled, though her eyes betrayed a hidden joy. “Auntie, she and Nolan are engaged. Isn’t that a bit harsh?” “What’s harsh about it? Skylar, rest assured, you are the only daughter-in-law in my heart. I will never recognize that woman.” Mrs. Shaw was likely quite angry. Despite the child being gone and Skylar having returned, Nolan still hadn’t dumped me and was even engaged to me. I was long used to this. I silently moved aside and started scrolling through my phone. The moment I opened an app, the top headline read: “Hot Actress Skylar Brooks Rumored to be the Future Daughter-in-Law of the Shaw Group.” Skylar had even liked the post with her private account. The comments section exploded with excitement; everyone was gushing about the perfect couple. Skylar’s fans were especially smug. “Our Skylar is simply the best! She even bagged the CEO, Mr. Shaw!” I quietly posted a comment: “But I often see Mr. Shaw with someone else. That must be his girlfriend.” The moment I posted, Skylar’s fans descended on me. “What kind of nobody is this, trying to steal our Skylar’s man?” “Sweetie, you must be mistaken. If he had a girlfriend, why would this trending topic stay up for so long?” “Exactly! Our Mr. Shaw must be jealous of all the handsome guys around Skylar and is secretly asserting his claim.” The replies multiplied. I scrolled down, losing strength with each one. I thought I had gotten used to this over the years, but my chest still felt heavy and suffocated. They were right. Wasn’t all this happening with Nolan’s silent permission? On the phone, seven-years-ago Maya kept trying to comfort me in a soft voice. She said those fans were talking nonsense and that Senior Shaw would definitely handle it if he knew. Nolan used to have many admirers. Once, when I was targeted by vicious rumors, he took me up to the person and slapped them. But that was a long time ago. “Senior Shaw…” I let out a short, cynical laugh. “Do you really think your Senior Shaw will care?” My past and future selves made a bet. The bet was simple: if Nolan made me suffer for Skylar one more time, she would lose. I demanded she stay away from Nolan and Skylar from now on. I was going to change the future from the past. A week later, the five-years-ago me would refuse the party invitation, cut off all contact with Nolan, graduate successfully, and secure my spot in grad school, never again having to live under a cloud of shame. 3 That evening, Nolan returned smelling heavily of alcohol. I immediately confronted him and demanded an explanation. He glanced at me. “Do you have to make a scene over something so trivial?” The hand hidden beneath my sleeve was trembling uncontrollably. In five years, this was the first time I couldn’t help but shout at him, “Nolan Shaw, if you can’t let her go, then just be with Skylar Brooks openly!” As soon as I finished, Nolan sneered. “Skylar and I have always been honest. It’s you who loves to play games and resort to cheap tricks behind people’s backs.” “Senior…” Nolan suddenly froze. It was the younger Maya’s voice calling out. Exhausted, I continued, “I don’t want to be trapped in the past anymore, trapped here.” I didn’t want to be plagued by nightmares every night, filled with the sound of a baby’s cries. I didn’t want to live like a criminal, subject to abuse from anyone. I had told them I truly went back to my own room, so why did no one believe me? Unexpectedly, Nolan’s face darkened menacingly. “Maya Shaw, you low-class tramp who slept your way into a man’s bed back then, what are you trying to prove now with this innocent act?” He gripped my wrist tightly, pinning me down on the bed. I struggled, begging him to stop, but Nolan’s movements became increasingly brutal. Everything only stopped when my lip was bitten through, and a tearing pain ripped through my body. Nolan, drunk, fell asleep quickly. I forced myself to get up, a bitter smile on my face, and announced, “Maya, you lost.” The other side was silent. After a long moment, she replied softly, “I understand. I will honor the bet.” … The next day was Mother’s Day. I went to my mom’s workplace, planning to pick her up to go out. I never expected three thugs to storm in and beat my mom to the ground. I rushed forward in a panic, trying to shield her. The leader of the thugs shouted, “You old fool! You raised a daughter who’s a homewrecking opportunist! I’ll beat you to death!” Bystanders who were about to help stopped, eyeing my mom and me strangely. The other two thugs dragged me away, pinning me to the floor, as the first one started landing punches on my mom. “Take it out on me! Let go of my mom!” I watched my mom get beaten, covered in blood, pleading until her voice faded. I cried, desperately yelling for help, but no one would intervene until security guards finally arrived and chased them off. Trembling, I called 911. At the hospital, a nurse told me they were short-staffed and the lead surgeons were all tied up in operations. I remembered the Shaw family knew several doctors. I rushed to find them, only to discover they were all gathered in one area. Skylar Brooks had an incident on set—she’d suffered a minor cut and was severely shaken. Nolan, worried sick, had summoned everyone to examine her. Outside the room, I watched Skylar tremble in Nolan’s arms. He was whispering reassurances, his expression filled with intense worry. I burst into the room, my voice hoarse. “Nolan, my mom is dying. Please, I need one doctor.” Skylar’s eyes immediately welled up. She clutched Nolan’s sleeve. “My heart feels so bad.” Nolan’s gaze was as sharp as a knife. “Maya, Skylar is like this, and you have to act out of jealousy now? Even using your mom as an excuse?” I dropped to my knees, grabbing his sleeve, pleading, “It’s true! I’m not lying! My mom is in critical condition!” Nolan said impatiently, “Wait.” Time ticked by agonizingly slowly. My heart was on fire. Skylar was completely unharmed but kept saying she felt unwell. Finally, I saw a doctor free up. Just then, the alarm for the emergency room blared. Ignoring everything, I sprinted toward the sound, but when I arrived, I watched the nurse slowly pull a white sheet over a body. The doctors and nurses apologized to me. I collapsed, looking at my mom lying motionless in a pool of blood. It was Mother’s Day. I was supposed to take her out to celebrate. After a while, Nolan arrived. He froze at the sight, realizing I hadn’t lied. He walked over to apologize, but I couldn’t hear a word. Just then, I received a call from the police station, notifying me that the three thugs involved in the assault had been apprehended. I wiped my tears and rushed over. I wouldn’t let them get away with it. Nolan also promised to help me seek revenge. But when we got there, we found Skylar Brooks already present. The moment she saw me, she rushed forward and knelt before me, crying. She claimed the man was her brother, who only wanted to defend her, and was then incited by others to do such a terrible thing. “Maya, I will compensate you. Please, let my brother go. He’s applying for a government job.” I shoved her hand away, feeling only absurdity. When she realized pleading with me was useless, she turned to Nolan. Nolan agreed. “Maya, let it go.” I screamed in complete breakdown, “How dare you tell me to let it go! I’ll never forgive any of them!” “Maya! If you hadn’t caused those problems years ago, your mother wouldn’t have been attacked!” My mind went blank. For the last time, I explained weakly, “How many times do I have to tell you, I went back to my own room that night!” 4 In the end, Nolan forced me to sign a letter of forgiveness. He said from now on, everything that happened in the past was to be forgotten. But what kind of sin requires the lives of my child and my mother as compensation? I walked alone, recounting what just happened to the Maya of seven years ago. This time, she didn’t say a word. If she had been reluctant at the start of the bet, now only a similar deathly silence remained in her heart. I hung up and found myself at the riverbank, where a drowning child was struggling in the water. Without a second thought, I jumped in and pulled him out. But as I reached the bank, my body gave out, and I passed out. I was unconscious for six days. When I woke up, I found Nolan by my bedside, his face haggard from lack of sleep. “Maya, I told you, let the past go. I will take good care of you, in your mom’s stead.” I paused, realizing he thought I had deliberately tried to drown myself to blackmail him. But who wanted his care? Who agreed to forget the past? Nolan signaled, and his and Skylar’s friends entered. They chatted with me in a friendly way and wished me happiness. But as soon as they left, I heard them gathering in the hallway to comfort Skylar: “Skylar, don’t let that manipulative opportunist get to you.” “Yeah, pulling a suicide stunt for sympathy. Disgusting.” “We’ll never forgive her for the nasty things she’s done.” It was ridiculous. Who needed their forgiveness? Under the guise of avenging Skylar, they mocked and abused me, got my scholarship and grad school recommendation canceled, and led the entire school to isolate me. After I started working, they would show up at every company I worked for and cause a scene, preventing me from getting promoted for five years, leaving me permanently in the lowest-level jobs. If I showed the slightest resistance, they would run to Nolan and play the victim. They called me a “green tea” (a phrase I’d translate as a ‘faux-innocent drama queen’), but they were the truly hypocritical and disgusting ones. Thankfully, I was about to be rid of them all. I checked the date. Tomorrow. It was finally going to end. I was discharged that day after being cleared by the doctors. Back at the Shaws’, the servants were much more respectful, and even Mrs. Shaw grudgingly spoke to me. Nolan probably thought this was the happy ending he was giving me. He and Skylar had forgiven me, and my social circle was willing to accept me. But for me, this was just the beginning. That night, after Nolan fell asleep, I made a phone call. The voice on the other end was relaxed. “Skylar Brooks has invited me to that gathering many times today, but I keep refusing. Don’t worry, I’m staying away from Nolan, from all of them.” She let out a long breath and finally said, “So, Maya, go forward.” My mother named me Maya, which means “awakening.” She wanted me to always have the resilient courage to endure winter and thrive in the spring. I shouldn’t be trapped here, carrying this heavy chain. That night, I stood on the balcony, watching the dawn break. In the final moments, I turned, looked at Nolan sleeping on the bed, and said calmly, “Nolan, goodbye. We will never meet again.” The next day, Nolan woke up and frowned at the empty space beside him. He’d had a nightmare yesterday. He dreamed I was disappearing, and he couldn’t hold onto me no matter what. Nolan quickly got up, looking around the room, feeling like something was significantly missing. He went downstairs and saw Mrs. Shaw elegantly eating breakfast at the dining table. “Mom, where’s Maya?” Mrs. Shaw looked at him strangely. “Who are you talking about, Maya?” He looked up at his mother, his voice laced with anxiety. “Mom, Maya Shaw is my fiancée. We’ve been together for seven years. Do you really not remember her at all?” Mrs. Shaw frowned, walking over to check his forehead. “Son, are you running a fever? Where did you get a fiancée?”

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Caleb Sterling realized that I had stopped consulting him about everything. When the company offered me an overseas assignment, I signed the papers before I even thought to ask for his opinion. When my best friend invited me to her wedding with a “plus one,” I attended alone and gave a generous gift. Even when it came to surgery and hospitalization, I handled the appointments and booked the bed myself. Caleb, being a doctor, frowned when he eventually found out. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Give me your records; I’ll make the arrangements for you.” I blurted out instinctively: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to trouble you. Thank you.” The moment those words left my mouth, we both froze. After all, only half a month ago, I was the “clingy giant infant” he complained about—the one who messaged him to ask which dress to wear on a date or what to eat for lunch. 1 “You want the surgery tomorrow? That’s sudden.” The attending physician handed me my chart, his voice tinged with confusion. “I recall Dr. Sterling is coming back from his seminar soon. You could wait for him to accompany you…” I interrupted softly, “It’s my own business. I can handle it.” The doctor looked surprised. After all, I was notoriously “delicate” in this hospital; even for a minor headache or a slight fever, I used to insist that Caleb stay by my side. Just as I stepped out of the clinic, I bumped into a familiar figure. Caleb was pushing a suitcase with one hand, looking like he had just rushed from the airport back to the hospital. Lydia Vance followed closely behind him, wearing a white lab coat with a black cashmere coat draped over it—the very coat I had given Caleb for our third anniversary. Caleb frowned. “What are you doing here? … Are you sick again?” Again. That familiar note of impatience made it sound as if I were a troublesome chore that needed handling. He snatched the medical records from my hand, scanned them briefly, and commanded: “I have things to do tomorrow.” “This isn’t an emergency. Move the surgery to next week, and I’ll go with you.” I blurted out instinctively: “I can handle it myself. I don’t want to trouble you. Thank you.” The excessive politeness and distance made Caleb freeze. After all, the old me would cry and act spoiled over a paper cut. I used to bomb his phone with messages just to have him pick an outfit for dinner. From my three meals a day to major life decisions, I used to consult him on everything. Now, I was facing surgery alone without batting an eye. If we hadn’t bumped into each other by chance, my own boyfriend wouldn’t even have known. I snatched the records back, accidentally knocking a small box out of Caleb’s hand. The name on the box caught my eye—a pack of… birth control pills. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” Caleb leaned down to pick it up, his voice carrying a businesslike detachment. “Lydia has severe menstrual cramps. This is a common prescription to help.” Lydia pulled the coat tighter around her, explaining in a small, panicked voice: “I’m so sorry, Piper. Caleb was supposed to head home, but I was so useless—the pain was so bad I couldn’t stand, so I bothered him to help me get the prescription filled.” She paused, her tone full of sincere envy. “If only I could be as independent as you, Piper. Then Caleb wouldn’t have to work so hard running around for me.” Once, I had severe abdominal pain and asked Caleb which specialist I should see. What did the youngest deputy head of neurosurgery at a top hospital say? He said, “I don’t know.” When I complained about his dismissiveness, he pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, looking at me like I was a nagging child. “Can’t you just Google something that small?” “You’re an adult. Can’t you be a little more independent? Stop relying on me like a toddler.” “I’m not your parent. I’m not obligated to teach you basic life skills.” How hilarious. He was a man of few words for his girlfriend, yet for his “junior,” he personally accompanied her to the clinic and filled her prescriptions. An outsider would have thought Lydia was his actual partner. If this were the past, I would have lost my temper and started a scene right there. But now, I just said, “Oh,” my voice flat. “Pills aren’t enough. You should also massage her stomach, hold her while she sleeps, and keep her hands and feet warm.” Lydia’s face flushed deep red. “Piper, I didn’t mean it like that…” My well-meaning advice was interpreted by Caleb as a tantrum. His voice turned cold. “Are you still throwing a fit? Just because I didn’t report every detail of my trip to you?” Half a month ago was his birthday. I had worked crazy overtime to finish a project so I could take time off. I cooked a whole dinner and picked up a custom-made gift, waiting to celebrate with him. I waited until midnight, and Caleb never came home. Only through Lydia’s Instagram did I find out he had left for an international exchange program. Caleb brushed it off later. “It was just a business trip. There was no need to consult you.” “Birthdays happen every year, but career opportunities don’t. I thought you’d be able to distinguish between what’s urgent and what’s not.” “Don’t you have your own things to do? Why are you always obsessing over my movements?” My accumulated disappointment was like a bursting dam. I couldn’t help questioning him: “Caleb, is it because in your ‘urgent and important’ list, I am always the least urgent and most unimportant one?” Compared to my near-hysteria, Caleb just said one thing before hanging up. “You’re not being rational right now. We’ll talk when I’m back.” 2 Once I calmed down, I signed the transfer papers for the new job. My boss hesitated. “Transferring means moving to another city! You should consult your boyfriend about something this big. You’re a person with a partner; don’t be so reckless.” I signed my name briskly. “No need.” The last time I changed jobs, I held two offers and asked for his opinion. Caleb just glanced at them. “This is your career. You shouldn’t let me decide.” Yet, he patiently helped Lydia fill out her internship applications, helping her get into the best hospital program in the country. Caleb always said I wasn’t independent enough and complained about me being too “needy.” He would put on headphones to listen to medical podcasts while I was excitedly sharing my day, acting as if I didn’t exist. He would refuse to drive me when I was running late, emphasizing that his schedule couldn’t be disrupted for me. I wanted to join his gatherings with friends, but he said I should establish my own social life. I used to think Caleb was just naturally distant. And that I, through enough patience, could be the exception. Until Lydia appeared. She was the daughter of Caleb’s parents’ old friends, and he was entrusted with looking after her. I thought he would find it a chore, but he agreed readily. I didn’t expect that she would be the exception. Caleb responded to every single one of her complaints about her neighbors. When she wanted a trendy dessert for her birthday, he drove across town to get it. During her residency at the hospital, he actively introduced her to his colleagues: “This is my junior; take care of her.” Whenever I fought with Caleb about this, he would frown with disappointment. “She’s a kid. Are you a kid too?” “I’m looking after her out of responsibility. You’re actually jealous of this?” “How old is she, and how old are you? Why don’t you just compare yourself to a newborn?” But his “kid” was only three years younger than me. All the excuses I had made for him—it’s just his personality, he’s too busy, he hates clingy people… They all shattered in the face of the patience he showed another woman. That’s fine. After I have my surgery and leave tomorrow, Caleb will have nothing to do with me anymore. 3 My best friend Chloe knew I was having surgery and took time off to stay with me. “Get the guest room ready and prepare to welcome your personal nurse!” I laughed and said: “I’ve cleaned the room twice and bought new linens for you. I guarantee you’ll love—” The moment I opened the door, my words stopped. The brand-new linens I had prepared were bunched up on the floor. The guest room was filled with strange belongings, and a half-human-sized teddy bear was sprawled on the bed. It was a blatant declaration of ownership. The sound of the front door opening rang out again. Soft laughter floated in. “Caleb, thank you for taking me to that restaurant. It was delicious.” “My bad mood from being ignored by my classmates is totally cured by that dessert!” Caleb saw me and explained calmly. “Lydia had a falling out with her roommates and can’t stay in the dorm. She’s planning to move out.” “She hasn’t found a place yet, so she’s staying in the guest room for now.” I sneered. “Caleb, I told you a week ago that Chloe was coming to stay here.” Caleb paused. The expression on his face at that moment said everything. He had forgotten. When I had asked him, his voice had been full of impatience: “Decide that yourself. Don’t ask me about every little thing. It’s annoying.” Caleb pursed his lips, his voice dropping slightly. “Sorry…” He lifted the dessert bag in his hand, his tone softening. Like someone coaxing a cranky child: “The restaurant we went to today is the type you like. I’ll take you there this weekend.” I glanced at the logo on the bag. It was a restaurant I had repeatedly begged Caleb to take me to. He had always said he was too busy. I took the bag and tossed it into the trash. The breath Caleb was about to let out hitched again. Lydia stepped forward, her voice thin and airy. “Piper, it’s all my fault. I can squeeze in with your friend. I don’t mind.” I let out a cold laugh, grabbed Lydia’s sheets and her teddy bear, and kicked them out into the hallway. Lydia froze, her eyes filling with tears. “Piper, I need those for tonight. What am I going to do now?” I glanced toward the master bedroom and smiled. “You can squeeze in with Caleb. I don’t mind.” Lydia’s face flushed. “Piper! If you don’t want me here, just say so! Why humiliate me like this?” As if she had suffered a grand insult, her eyes turned red, and she ran off. Caleb frowned at me, though he didn’t chase after her. “Piper, she’s just clumsy and a bit childish. She didn’t mess up your things on purpose.” “If you don’t want her staying here, just say so. I can book a hotel for her. There’s no need to target her twice in a row.” I stopped smiling. “This is our home. Shouldn’t you consult me before bringing an outsider back?” Caleb’s frown deepened, as if I were being unreasonable. “Lydia is being isolated at school; she’s very low right now. I thought you’d at least have some empathy, but your first reaction is to calculate whether I consulted you.” “Besides, it’s just for two days. Does a minor arrangement like that really need a formal consultation?” “It’s like Chloe coming to stay—you don’t need to consult me for that, either.” The old me would have been impulsive enough to call a male friend to stay over that night just to see his reaction. But now, I just nodded calmly. “You’re right. There really is no need to consult.” Tit for tat. Then moving out of this city and breaking up with Caleb probably didn’t need a consultation, either. 4 “Go book the hotel for Lydia then.” I politely opened the door for Caleb and then laid out my suitcase to pack my clothes. He didn’t seem satisfied with my reaction. He grabbed my wrist. “She’s an adult; she can book it herself.” “But what about you? Why are you suddenly packing? Where are you going?” I shook him off. “Don’t you have your own things to do? Why are you always obsessing over my movements?” Caleb paused. He likely remembered those were his own words to me. He fell silent for a moment. “I was wrong not to tell you about the trip. I’ll report my movements to you from now on.” “I have to go to the university tomorrow. Lydia’s conflict with her roommates escalated. The advisor wants to see the ‘parents,’ and her actual parents can’t make it, so I’m going in their place.” “Move your surgery to the day after tomorrow. I’ll go with you.” It seemed that in Caleb’s list of priorities, I was still at the bottom. I spoke calmly. “No need. It’s the same whether you’re there or not.” Caleb seemed to think I didn’t understand the difference. He explained patiently: “I can help you contact specialists and interpret the reports. At the very least, I can wait in line for you.” My second refusal was interrupted by his ringtone. Lydia’s tearful voice came through: “Caleb… it sounds like someone is picking the lock on my door… I’m scared…” Caleb’s face changed. He turned to leave in a hurry. I called out, “Wait.” Caleb stopped, his expression impatient. “Piper, do you think I need to report to you before I go save someone? I need to go now.” “This isn’t the time for a tantrum. She might be in danger. Can you please stop targeting her?” He sighed. “I’ll be there for your surgery. But right now, I need you to understand what’s urgent.” Caleb clearly misunderstood. I just wanted to emphasize that I didn’t need him there for the surgery. But he didn’t wait for me to speak and rushed out.

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On the day my husband, Dr. Caleb Sterling, died of AIDS, everyone was shocked. He was a leading expert in the field, with an unparalleled understanding of the disease. It seemed impossible for him to die this way. But only I knew the truth. Caleb had injected himself with the blood of his “white moonlight,” his first love, who had contracted the virus. On his deathbed, Caleb held her, heartbroken: “I researched AIDS for you. Since I can’t save you now, I’ll die with you!” My in-laws tried to comfort me, but I just smiled softly. After all, as a top medical expert, my husband left me a massive fortune. So by day, I scouted boy toys; by night, I played with them. Life was wild and free. I even died, eventually, on the eight-pack abs of a young lover. So when I was reborn, and my parents asked me to choose a husband, I didn’t hesitate to pick Caleb again. I didn’t expect the plot to change this time. 1 “Chloe, come take a look.” As soon as I walked through the door, my parents called me over. I knew they were trying to set me up on blind dates again. I walked over immediately, grabbed Caleb Sterling’s file, and said firmly, “Him. I choose him.” My parents were shocked. “Haven’t you always resisted marriage? Why so decisive this time?” Of course I was decisive. My parents had no idea what a good life I lived in my previous life. In my last life, on this very day, my parents gave me two choices and forced me to pick one to marry. I looked reluctantly for a while and finally chose Caleb. Caleb was a doctor. Later, he devoted himself to researching AIDS treatments, becoming a prestigious expert in the field and making a lot of money. Because of this, I lived a wealthy life. Although Caleb was cold to me, he was generous and never controlled my spending. Life went on like this until Caleb turned forty. Suddenly, I received notice of his death. The doctor told me Caleb died of AIDS. Everyone was shocked. How could Caleb, an expert in this field, be so careless as to get infected? But I knew. I saw him with my own eyes, holding his first love, Lily, heartbroken: “I researched AIDS for you. Since I can’t save you now, I’ll die with you!” Everyone told me to restrain my grief. My in-laws comforted me. I just smiled softly. Although Caleb was dead, as a top medical expert, he left me a huge inheritance. After that, I used the money Caleb left me to live it up. By day, I scouted boy toys; by night, I played with them. Life was wild and free. I even died, eventually, on the eight-pack abs of a young lover. Thinking back to my last life, the memories were endless! So, reborn, I still chose Caleb without hesitation. I can live happily for another lifetime! 2 The next day, arranged by the matchmaker, I met Caleb. Young Caleb was truly handsome, which was one of the reasons I chose him in my last life. Caleb was still cold to me. He just glanced at me and said, “If you think I’m okay, we can get the marriage license.” In my last life, I rolled my eyes so hard when I heard this. If my parents hadn’t told me how good Caleb was and how promising his future was, I wouldn’t have agreed. He felt like he was just marrying me to deal with his parents. Facts proved he was indeed marrying me to deal with his family. But this life was different. I nodded like a bobblehead: “Okay, okay, we can get the license anytime.” Caleb’s attitude was cold. He looked at me with slight surprise and said deeply, “However, I have to say some things upfront. I’m very busy. After we get married, I won’t have time to accompany you.” “Also, I’m not very keen on that aspect. I must make this clear to you beforehand. If you mind, then…” “I don’t mind! I don’t mind at all!” I said with a smile. With so many men to play with in the future, I wouldn’t be obsessed with doing that with Caleb. In my last life, we did do it, and it was Caleb who initiated it. No matter how deeply in love he was with someone else, he was still a man. It was normal for a man to have physical needs. But doing it with him wasn’t great. He just pumped away without talking, completely devoid of romance. Maybe I was too easygoing, because Caleb looked at me with even more confusion. I stopped smiling and explained: “Actually, I’m like you. I just want to find someone to marry to deal with my family. The reason I chose you is because you look mature and steady, not like a troublemaker.” “After meeting you, you are exactly as you appear in the photos.” “You can rest assured. Since I married you, even if there is no love between us, I will be responsible for our family and won’t do anything untoward.” Caleb’s expression relaxed slightly. He nodded: “I think so too. In that case, let’s settle the marriage.” “Okay!” My parents were thrilled when they found out I settled on Caleb. I was happy too. Both families discussed the wedding date. It was obvious that both sets of parents were anxious. The wedding was set for next month, but they said the day after tomorrow was a lucky day and asked me and Caleb to get the marriage license first. In my last life, Caleb and I had a decent wedding. Even though I didn’t like him at that time, I had natural expectations for a wedding, so I put a lot of effort into it. I discussed every detail with the wedding planner, what flowers to use, the design of the invitations… But from beginning to end, Caleb never showed up. I tentatively asked him: “Do you have any ideas about the wedding? How about we go to the wedding planner together tomorrow? What do you think?” Caleb’s attitude was distant and cold: “As long as you like it. I don’t have any ideas. And I’m very busy, I don’t have time.” Caleb only appeared on the wedding day. But as soon as the ceremony was over, he went back to the hospital, leaving me alone at the reception to greet the guests. At that moment, I actually regretted it. Even if two people who don’t love each other get married, they should at least act like a couple. But Caleb didn’t even pretend. He really didn’t care. That night, Caleb stayed in his lab and didn’t come home all night. When he came back the next day to wash up and change clothes, he handed me two cards. “This is my salary card, and this card has my savings. Buy whatever you want, you don’t need to ask me.” I checked the balance of these two cards. The salary card had over fifty thousand, and the savings card had much more. Later I learned that Caleb not only owned his own lab but also made investments and earned a lot of money. From then on, I lived the life of a wealthy wife. Choosing Caleb in this life was also to live that life again. As for the wedding… Who cares? “No need for a wedding, it’s too much trouble. Caleb’s work must be very busy. We can just register,” I said understandingly. Caleb turned his head and looked at me silently, the corners of his mouth curving into an imperceptible arc, and nodded. 3 Coming out of City Hall, Caleb and I became a legal couple. He handed me two bank cards and said the same words as in my previous life. I took them with excitement and smiled at him: “Thank you. Then go to work, I won’t disturb you.” Caleb didn’t turn around and leave like in my previous life. Instead, he looked at me, and after a while, nodded. “Okay, I’m leaving. I won’t drop you off.” He opened the car door, as if suddenly thinking of something, and turned to ask me: “Do you have a driver’s license?” I nodded: “Yes, why?” I don’t like cars and don’t like driving. But after the college entrance exam, my parents forced me to get a license, saying I might not use it, but I couldn’t be without it. Caleb said: “You can choose a car you like. It will be convenient for you to go anywhere in the future.” I was slightly surprised. In my last life, whenever Caleb went out for business or to meet friends, he would answer the phone and drive away, never thinking about how I would get around. In this life, he actually offered to buy me a car. Might as well take it. “Okay, thank you.” Caleb opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but eventually got in the car. I watched him leave and immediately called my friend to choose a car. My friend envied me to death when she heard what I said. “OMG, when will I meet such a peerless good man? No need to deal with him, no need to serve him, spend money freely, and be free as if unmarried, just with someone supporting you. This is simply my dream life!” She grabbed my arm and shook it vigorously: “Does your husband have any brothers? Or friends? Birds of a feather flock together, his brothers and friends should be his type too, right?” “No,” I said with certainty. I knew everything about Caleb in my last life. My friend pouted regretfully: “Forget it, not everyone is as lucky as you. I can only envy you.” I just smiled and didn’t speak. Actually, in the beginning of my previous life, I wasn’t this lucky, because… I fell in love with Caleb. Even though I initially just wanted to deal with my parents, after spending a long time together, I involuntarily discovered Caleb’s strengths. 4 Caleb’s biggest strength was his authority in his industry. Being a sapiosexual combined with admiration for strength made me start to worship Caleb, especially seeing him give reports on TV or doing experiments in his lab… Really handsome. Plus, he was generous to me. Knowing I didn’t like housework, he hired a maid directly. Gradually, I really fell for him. So when Caleb proposed to consummate the marriage, I agreed without hesitation. Even though it didn’t feel great, I thought it was a good start. At least Caleb had desire for me. Later, I got pregnant. I said to Caleb: “Can you spend more time at home with me during this period?” Caleb’s eyes were still cold and distant: “The maid will take care of you at home, or you can go back to your parents’ house. I’m really too busy to get away.” The child wasn’t saved in the end. When I was four months pregnant, I was pushed down the escalator by a brat in the mall, and the child was gone on the spot. My parents and Caleb’s parents called Caleb several times, even went to the hospital to find him, but Caleb didn’t appear in my hospital room until the next afternoon. I cried and questioned him: “Why did you just come? Do you know our child is gone? The doctor said I might never have children again!” Caleb stood by the bed, his expression unchanged. What was a huge event for me didn’t even make him frown. “It was my fault. I should have used protection. I won’t let this happen again.” “As for the child, I never thought about having children. Now that it’s gone, let’s just say this child wasn’t meant for us.” That was when I was most vulnerable. I picked up the pillow and smashed it on him repeatedly: “Caleb, are you human? How can you say such things? Do I have no place in your heart? You don’t care about my life or death, and you don’t like me at all, do you?” Caleb didn’t move, letting me hit him with the pillow. I was tired and told him to leave, and he really left. I stayed in the hospital for half a month, and Caleb didn’t visit me once. My parents regretted it, saying they shouldn’t have forced the marriage, and told me to divorce. Half a month later, I returned home. Caleb transferred the house to my name. He told me: “Chloe, this is all I can give you.” “If you want my heart, I can tell you clearly, I can’t give it to you.” “If you want a divorce, you can. I will leave the marriage with nothing.” At that moment, I completely gave up on him. But I didn’t divorce him. He had money and was generous. I just needed to guard the money. What sapiosexual? Sometimes it’s money-sexual!

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Just as we arrived at City Hall, Dominic leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Actually, I have a child.” He looked at me, his expression earnest. “This certificate… I can’t give it to you. But I can give you everything else.” I stared down at the marriage license application in my hand, my mind blank. It took a long moment before I could force out the words. “Why… why didn’t you tell me before?” Dominic shrugged, a smile playing on his lips that wasn’t quite an apology. “I thought you cared more about me than a piece of paper.” “What if I insist on the certificate?” My lips trembled as I asked. He couldn’t know. Without that piece of paper, he wasn’t just facing a broken engagement. He was facing one body, two lives. … Dominic didn’t answer right away. He just watched me, his gaze calm, as if my question was utterly redundant. After a long silence, he sighed and gently wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Her family saved my parents’ lives,” he said softly. “They’re old family friends. I love you, Anya, but she has to be my wife.” Rage, bitterness, and despair churned in my chest, a toxic bile rising in my throat. He guided my stunned form into his Maybach, continuing his explanation. “The child… it only happened because they drugged me. My family’s condition for letting you in was that I had to keep the child.” He paused, turning his head to look at me. “Anya, I have no feelings for her.” “You love me, not some piece of paper…” But it wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was my life. It was my right to stand by his side, the only thing that guaranteed the child in my belly could be born. The system’s cold, mechanical voice suddenly exploded in my mind, repeating over and over: MISSION FAILURE: TARGET ACQUISITION FAILED. TERMINATION IMMINENT. YOU HAVE 48 HOURS REMAINING. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing down the storm of emotions. I clutched his sleeve, my voice a desperate plea. “I don’t care about the other child. I just want the certificate.” Dominic’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. “You want me to risk my inheritance, to go home and start a massive fight to divorce her, all to give you a piece of paper?” “Anya, when did you become so selfish?” With that, he yanked his sleeve from my grasp. The sudden movement felt like a physical blow to my heart. I stared at the reflection of the man in the car’s mirror. He was still the picture of aristocratic grace, his features as handsome as ever. But the tender affection in his eyes had been replaced by a sharp edge of impatience. Tears came faster than thought, splashing onto my open palm. Dominic, seeing my tears, softened. He took out a handkerchief and gently dabbed my cheeks. “I promise you, I’ll be yours. The title of Mrs. Croft will be yours in all but name. Even my assets will go to you and our future children. Stop crying… please?” He spoke words he thought were the epitome of devotion, but they only silenced me further. He thought my obsession with the certificate was about the status and the inheritance it brought. “I’m giving you a choice,” he said, his index finger toying with a strand of my hair. He looked at me with absolute certainty. “Either we proceed with the ceremony as planned, or…” It was the same look he’d given me five years ago when he knelt before me with an armful of tulips, promising me a home. The same certainty that I would never, ever refuse him. Our eyes met. I said nothing. My hand rested on the slight curve of my stomach. I stroked it for a long moment, then nodded. Dominic, I’m giving you a choice, too. Either you be a father to my child, or you can prepare to bury us both. As if to punish me, Dominic dropped me off at my apartment and left immediately. I got into a taxi and followed him to Tulip Hills. The villa, which I had suggested multiple times as our marital home, only to be refused, now held the silhouette of another woman. The moment Dominic’s car stopped, she threw herself into his arms. He expertly scooped her up, carrying her through a sea of flowers glowing in the sunset, before pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. I watched, frozen, from the window of the taxi, tears blurring my vision. The driver, seeing my distress, silently passed me a tissue. “Miss, it’s not a good life, being the other woman…” My lips trembled. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t the other woman. I was the one he loved. But the words that came out were a choked whisper. “Who said they were… husband and wife?” The driver chuckled softly. “In my line of work, you learn to read people. The way that man looks at her, it’s like he’s devouring her with his eyes. Who wouldn’t believe they’re married?” I slowly covered my mouth, tears seeping through my fingers. He was right. Only a fool like me would have believed Dominic’s lies about not loving her. It all made sense now. The few days every month he would disappear. The unanswered calls, his secretary’s feigned ignorance. The way he’d lounge on the sofa, telling me I was being too picky about the wedding details while I was drowning in arrangements for the venue, the photos, the invitations. It made sense why the jewelers looked at me with such pity when he brought me in to design our rings. Why his friends always called me the “little wifey”—I thought it was because I was young, but it was because he already had the real one. It made sense why his parents always looked down their noses at me. Who wouldn’t despise the homewrecker who was ruining their son’s marriage? I pulled my gaze away and wiped my face. “Let’s go, sir.” As the engine rumbled to life, a message from Dominic popped up on my phone. Meeting with a client. Don’t wait up for me. Sleep well. As he typed that message, he was holding her, his eyes soft with a love I now knew was a lie. For the first time, I didn’t reply. I just turned off the screen. The system, I remembered, had given me two targets at the start. If he had just been honest with me, I wouldn’t have clung to him like this. Five years. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days. He’d had countless chances to tell me the truth. But he hadn’t. He had just wrapped me in a cocoon of false tenderness. I stumbled out of the taxi, feeling hollowed out. As I looked up, I saw Dominic standing at the door to my apartment, already changed into casual clothes. Seeing the look on my face, he rushed over, taking my coat with one hand and wrapping the other around my waist. I couldn’t stop the image of her, smiling in his embrace, from flashing in my mind. A wave of nausea rolled through me. As he leaned in to kiss me, I shoved him away. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until nothing but bile was left. Dominic pounded on the door, his voice frantic. “Anya! Anya, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” “Open the door! I’ll take you to the hospital!” Involuntary tears mixed with the saliva at the corner of my mouth. I remembered a camping trip, back when we first met. I had a fever of 104. He had been just as frantic then, carrying me barefoot from the mountaintop all the way down to the base. It wasn’t until I was on an IV drip that I saw his feet were covered in blood. I’d told him to get them treated, my eyes red with worry. He had refused, insisting on waiting until I fell asleep. The entire city’s elite envied me for finding such a devoted man. He’d buy out entire auctions for me. Luxury cars and jewelry were delivered like groceries. He had broadcast his proposal on every public screen in the city. He even had my initials tattooed over his heart. The irony was crushing. He was already someone else’s husband, someone else’s father. When I finally opened the door, my composure was back in place. Dominic pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you answer me? You scared me to death…” I pushed away and held out the pregnancy test in my palm. I asked him one last time, my voice deceptively calm. “This child. Are you willing to give him a name?” Dominic stared, then his brow furrowed. He didn’t take the test. There was no surprise, no shock, no joy. Just a complex, scrutinizing look. “Anya. To get a certificate, you’d go this far? You’d fake a pregnancy to trick me?” He grew more agitated as he spoke, not giving me a chance to defend myself. “My mother was right. People from your background… your worldview is just too small.” Without another glance, he swatted my hand away. The pregnancy test clattered to the floor. Like my shattered heart. I instinctively bent to pick it up, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over. I sniffled, bit my lip, and looked at the man standing under the lamp. “You never trusted me,” I said, my voice shaking. “In your eyes, I’ve always been nothing more than a gold-digger.” “That’s why you feel no guilt, even after deceiving me for five years with a wife and child.” “That piece of paper you dismiss so easily? To me, it represents two lives. Two futures. What’s wrong with fighting for the child I’m carrying, for the five years of love I gave you?” “Dominic, you shouldn’t have done this to me.” I didn’t want to cry. But I couldn’t stop. The tears streamed down my face and into my mouth, a taste more bitter than the death I’d faced from terminal illness in my original world. I clutched the test stick and stared at him. The warm light was the same. He was the same man. But the tenderness was gone from his face, replaced by an expression of utter disbelief. Even his voice was laced with accusation. “Anya, what are you talking about? What lives? What futures?” “I understand you’re angry, but I gave you a choice. You agreed to proceed as planned. Why are you throwing this insane tantrum now?” “First a fake pregnancy test… what’s next? A forged doctor’s report?” As he spoke, he scanned the room, and his eyes landed on a document on my vanity. He shoved past me and snatched it up. Without even looking at it, he ripped it to shreds. As the paper fragments snowed down around us, his voice was tight with suppressed fury. “Take the next two days. And calm the hell down.” His footsteps faded, followed by the slam of the door. I was left frozen in place, still clutching the test stick. Outside, the city lights twinkled. Inside, the proof of my child’s existence lay in pieces on the floor. I knelt, slowly gathering the scraps, trying to piece them back together. But they were too small, too torn. Impossible to restore. Just like us. No matter how much Dominic pretended, he couldn’t change the fact that he was a liar and a cheat. And just like my child and me. No matter how hard I fought, I couldn’t change the fact that his father didn’t want him, and that we were both about to die. The apartment was silent, except for the incessant pinging of my phone. Several messages from Dominic. I’m sorry, Anya. I was angry just now. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. But I don’t want to hear any more of that crazy talk. Just wait, and be my beautiful bride. The dress and rings are ready. The invitations have been sent. I’ve invited hundreds of media outlets. The day after tomorrow, I will make you the happiest woman in the city. Almost simultaneously, a dozen texts came in from an unknown number. Anya, you’re so pathetic. The man you’re so proud of? I’ve slept with him. The wedding dress you’re so excited about? I’ve already worn it. The ring? I’ve tried it on. Do you even know what the day after tomorrow is? It’s my son’s birthday. You’re having your little ceremony on my son’s birthday. Dominic really put a lot of thought into this for you, didn’t he? I stared at the words for a full fifteen minutes. I thought I would be heartbroken, that I would cry. But all I felt was a profound numbness. Dominic, your thoughtfulness deserves a special gift in return. MISSION FAILURE. 12 HOURS UNTIL TERMINATION. I ignored the system’s warning, swinging the hammer in my hand with all my might. The clay figurines we had made together shattered into dust. I took a pair of scissors to the giant wedding portrait, leaving it in tatters. I emptied the closets, donated the jewelry, and threw out the custom-made dolls he had given me. This apartment, the one he used to call our “love nest,” was now an empty, desolate ruin. At 8 PM, right on schedule, Dominic called. “Anya. Tomorrow is our big day. Are you happy?” “I’m at my parents’ house tonight. I’ll go straight to the venue tomorrow and wait for you.” His voice was as calm and confident as ever. He knew my deep-seated craving for a family, a product of my loveless past. He was certain I wouldn’t abandon him now. This was just a routine check-in call. “I’m happy,” I heard myself say, my voice flat and distant. “Good. Get some sleep, rest up. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He muffled the receiver, but I could still hear the tinkling laughter of his wife, Seraphina, in the background. I hung up and closed my eyes, letting sleep take me. I paid no mind to the system’s relentless countdown. The next day was bright and sunny. The venue was filled with the city’s elite. I heard someone whisper, “Dominic is so generous. Throwing such a lavish party for a mere mistress…” “It’s not a wedding, you fool, it’s a public declaration. He’s solidifying his position as heir while keeping both women. Don’t you get it?” I acted as if I heard nothing, walking toward the man on the raised platform. Standing beside him was a woman and a young boy—Seraphina and their son. His parents stood behind them. A perfect three-generation family. And I, the bride, looked like the third wheel who had crashed their party. The moment Dominic saw me, his expression changed. “Anya, why aren’t you wearing the white gown?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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