Category: English

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

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I was out of town when I received a text from my neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez, claiming my husband, Arthur, had brought a glamorous woman home. I immediately rushed back. Arthur wasn’t there, so I tore through the house, overturning drawers and rummaging through closets. “You slut, where are you hiding? Get out here!” I peered under the bed, only to discover a blood-soaked female corpse. Her head had been severed, her eyes wide open, staring fixedly at me. Terror seized me, shaking me to my very core. Just then, footsteps sounded from outside the door. Arthur was home! 1 The lock clicked. A shiver shot through me, and almost instinctively, I glanced around, then darted into the wardrobe. It had louvered doors, and through the slats, I could still see the head under the bed. The woman wore heavy smoky eye makeup and exaggerated contact lenses. At first glance, her eyes were just two black voids, bulging as if they might pop out. I clamped a hand over my mouth, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would explode. I couldn’t fathom it. I came home to catch my husband cheating, and instead, I stumbled into this! Why would he kill her? Did they argue? My husband, Arthur, always had a short fuse. If a waiter was slow at a restaurant, he’d slam his hand on the table. Arguments were a regular occurrence. But even with his temper, he wouldn’t just kill someone, would he? That’s a crime! Didn’t he think about the consequences? Lost in my chaotic thoughts, Arthur stepped into the bedroom. He looked to be in high spirits, carrying a black plastic bag and humming a tune. “Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful day!” Humming, he slowly knelt, placed the plastic bag by his feet, and pulled the head from under the bed. He cradled the head in his left hand, and with his right, he playfully tapped the woman’s nose. “You know something?” “You just never listen!” His tone was teasing, as if they were flirting. “Look at you, so beautiful. I truly adore you.” “I told you to just lie still on the bed, but you had to go messing with my things.” “You found my secret. What could I do? I had no choice but to let you go!” “We haven’t been together long, I really am going to miss you.” Then he leaned in, planting two passionate kisses on the woman’s crimson lips. The thick, foul smell of blood assaulted my nostrils, and I nearly gagged. I never imagined my husband could be so utterly twisted. Kissing a severed head! He wasn’t some deranged serial killer, was he? And what “secret” was he talking about? We’d been married for four years. I cleaned everything in the house. His phone password was my birthday; I could look at it anytime. I’d never found anything unusual! 2 I stared at Arthur’s blood-stained face, twisted into a grotesque, unfamiliar expression. After those violent kisses, he started humming again. “Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful evening…” He tossed the head into the black plastic bag, then bent down and dragged the woman’s body out from under the bed. Only then did I see she was naked. Her figure was alluring, her waist impossibly slender. Alive, she would have been captivating. But now, a brutal gash sliced across her delicate waist, as if she’d been cut in half. A section of her intestines spilled out. Arthur reached out, slowly caressing the blood-soaked intestines, a look of profound sorrow on his face. “Such a shame, I didn’t mean to kill you so soon!” After that, he went to the kitchen and returned with a cleaver. He squatted on the floor and began to expertly dismember the body. Watching him carve away flesh and separate bone with each precise stroke, a wave of intense nausea surged through me. I was about to throw up. Everyone knows the saying about the skilled butcher, who, after nineteen years, could expertly carve an ox, his blade gliding through joints without resistance. Arthur gave me that exact impression. His movements were fluid, sickeningly smooth. I barely heard any sound of bones being chopped. He was clearly engrossed in his gruesome skill, a look of satisfied pride on his face. Soon, he had neatly separated the two legs, bones laid out, meat minced and packed into black plastic bags. He stood up, stretching his back, and then, his gaze suddenly fixed, his expression snapping to one of alarm. 3 I followed his line of sight, and my eyes widened, cold sweat trickling down my spine. My earring! I instinctively touched my earlobe. The left one was indeed empty. It must have fallen off when I was frantically searching the room earlier. Arthur’s brow furrowed. He walked over and picked up the earring. “I could’ve sworn Daisy was wearing this exact pair of pearl earrings when she left this morning?” He’d given them to me for my birthday. I loved them, and I’d carefully chosen my outfit around them before heading out. Arthur had teased me, saying most people picked jewelry to match their clothes, but I did it the other way around. He’d joked it was like baking a cake just to have frosting. He was clearly remembering that conversation, and his face grew darker. He lifted his head, scrutinizing the room, his eyes sweeping every corner. I held my breath, terrified. The next second, an idea flashed through my mind, and I fumbled for my phone in my pocket. My palms were slick with sweat, my fingers too slippery. I tapped the screen repeatedly, but couldn’t unlock it. My entire body trembled, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. Through the louvered doors, I watched Arthur pick up his phone from the nightstand and dial my number. My phone wasn’t on silent. If it rang, I was dead! In a desperate rush, a sudden thought struck me, and I pressed and held the power button on the right side of my phone, turning it off! At that very instant, a clear female voice echoed in the silent bedroom. “Beep, the subscriber you are calling is temporarily unavailable.” 4 “The subscriber you are calling is temporarily unavailable.” After several attempts, Arthur’s frown deepened. “Why is her phone off? Did the battery die?” “Never mind, I’m probably overthinking. She shouldn’t be back so soon.” “That silly girl, she probably dropped the earring before she even left.” Arthur shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. He slipped the earring into his pocket and went back to dismembering the body. About half an hour later, he had completely separated all the bones and minced meat, packing them into different large black plastic bags, which he then carried into the kitchen. I remained hidden in the wardrobe, my legs numb from crouching. The sound of running water came from the kitchen. I carefully flexed my numb ankles, then cautiously opened the wardrobe door a crack. Our apartment layout had been modified. The small room next to the kitchen was knocked through to become the dining room, and the kitchen’s sliding door also opened in that direction. There was also a cabinet partition between the dining room and the living room. This meant that if I could get out of the master bedroom without making a sound, I could reach the front door without Arthur noticing. I planned to seize this chance to escape. As for what would happen afterward, I had no idea how to deal with it, and frankly, I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. All I wanted was to get away from Arthur, this murderer. 5 After opening the wardrobe door, I stood still for a few seconds, letting my legs regain feeling. Then, on tiptoes, making sure not to make even the slightest sound, I slowly moved towards the front door. One step, two steps, three steps. The mahogany security door was right in front of me! Arthur was still engrossed in washing things in the kitchen, the sound of water constant. My fingers, white at the knuckles from gripping, had just touched the doorknob. Suddenly— “Knock, knock, knock!” The knocking exploded without warning, making me jump. “Daisy? Arthur? Are you home?” It was Mrs. Rodriguez, our neighbor, her voice booming, tinged with barely suppressed excitement. Almost immediately, the water in the kitchen stopped. My scalp prickled. I snatched my hand back from the door and frantically scanned the living room. It was an open space, nowhere to hide, except for the heavy L-shaped fabric sofa turned sideways to the door. I practically dove, curling up behind the sofa’s corner, my heart hammering like a drum. Arthur’s footsteps approached, moving past my hiding spot, towards the door. “Who is it?” he asked, his voice calm as ever. “It’s me, Mrs. Rodriguez from next door.” The voice outside was even more enthusiastic. “I just heard some noise from your place and wondered if Daisy was back?” “I just steamed some corn muffins. Daisy loves them, and they’re still warm.” “Oh, Mrs. Rodriguez.” Arthur opened the door a crack, not fully. “Daisy’s not back yet. I was just in the kitchen chopping bones for a rib soup. Would you like some?” “Really?” Mrs. Rodriguez’s tone shifted, her eyes peering through the gap in the door, as if she wanted to squeeze her whole body in. “That’s odd, I thought I saw her enter the complex this afternoon.” “Did you two have a fight?” “Arthur, you’re an honest man, but you shouldn’t be messing around behind our Daisy’s back!”

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At 10:00 PM, I finally got off work and headed home. Passing by a convenience store, I pulled over to grab a quick bite. Just as I stepped out of the store, I looked up. In my previously empty car, a child was sitting. He was pressed against the car window, staring blankly at me. Where his eyes should have been, there were only two black holes. 01 I shuddered in terror. The shopping bag slipped from my grasp, its contents spilling across the pavement. When I looked up again, the child was gone. The car was completely empty. The street was deserted; the only sound was a dog barking in the distance. I suddenly remembered the recent news about small animals being tortured and killed in this area. In a small town like ours, many of the street cameras were broken, making it impossible to catch the culprit. A chill of late autumn air swept over me. I pulled my coat tighter and hurried to my car. I rubbed my tired, aching eyes. I must be exhausted. My mind is playing tricks on me. I remembered a time when I mistook a child on a billboard for a real person, and laughed at myself for a good while. By the time I pulled into my garage, it was almost 11:00 PM. I grabbed the shopping bag from the passenger seat, ready to get out. As I looked down, I noticed something under the passenger seat. I reached out and touched it. It was a small, worn-out blue canvas shoe. The sole was stained with dark red mud. My hand trembled uncontrollably, and I quickly threw the shoe out of the car. The garage was empty; all I could hear was my own rapidly rising and falling heartbeat. I quickly locked the car and hurried inside. My boyfriend, Mark, was still awake. He jumped when he saw me. “Penny, what’s wrong? You look awful, like you’ve seen a ghost.” He chuckled, but I was in no mood for jokes. “I think… I really did see a ghost!” Mark’s brow furrowed slightly as I recounted what had just happened. “Come on, let’s go check out that shoe.” With Mark’s encouragement, we went back to the garage together. The shoe was still there. I was too scared to touch it, but Mark bravely picked it up. With his back to me, he stared at it for a long time without saying a word. “What did you find? You’ve been staring at it for so long.” I walked over. He was looking down, his lips moving slightly, whispering a few breathy words: “He found me… he really found me…” “What?” I didn’t hear clearly and put my hand on his shoulder. He jumped as if electrocuted, let out a startled cry, and threw the shoe away. “N-nothing,” his voice was unsteady. “Probably just some kids playing a prank, tossing it in your car. Let’s go back inside!” He turned and practically jogged toward the stairwell. I stared at the canvas shoe for a few seconds before turning to catch up with Mark. In the shadows by the corner of the building, the carcass of a black cat lay silently, its belly sliced open, its eyes staring blankly at the sky. 02 Back home, I asked Mark: “What did you… mean by ‘he found me’?” His eyes darted around. “Huh? Did I say that? You must have misheard. I said… it was probably a prank.” I didn’t press the issue. Mark’s reaction earlier had been even more intense than mine. He’s a medical student. In the three years we’ve been together, he’s always been logical and calm. I rarely saw him like that. We didn’t speak again that night. Lying in bed, I closed my eyes, and the face in the car window immediately appeared. Pale, ghastly. And those two deep black holes. As if they could suck away all the light. I don’t know how much time passed, but in a hazy state, I felt it getting colder and colder. I instinctively snuggled closer to Mark. But as I reached out, the texture felt wrong. It wasn’t Mark’s solid, warm body. It was smaller, thinner. By the moonlight, I pulled back the covers. I looked down. The child was lying in my arms, his black eye sockets bubbling with bloody water, his mouth wide open, dragging out a long, blood-red tongue! “Ah!” I screamed and shot up, scrambling backward like a madwoman until my back slammed against the headboard, the pain making me gasp. Mark turned on the light. The blinding brightness instantly banished the darkness. He sat beside me, looking bewildered. “Penny? What’s wrong? A nightmare?” Panting heavily, I looked at him in sheer terror, then quickly jerked my head toward the spot beside me. Besides me and him, the bed was empty. “I…” my voice shook violently. “I dreamt… that… child was lying where you are…” Under the light, Mark’s face seemed to pale slightly. He hugged me. “It’s okay, it’s okay, just a dream. You’re under too much stress.” I clung to him. In the darkness, his silhouette felt like a silent statue. I slept fitfully. Near dawn, Mark, who was leaning against the headboard, made an incredibly slight movement. I watched as he very slowly, carefully slipped out of bed, barefoot, stepping on the floor without making a sound. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, tiptoed out of the bedroom, and gently pulled the door shut. I immediately opened my eyes, quietly got up, and pressed my ear against the cold door. From outside came a muffled, heavily suppressed voice. It was Mark; his voice sounded incredibly tense. “Dr. Davis… that child… I think he found us… Penny saw him last night…” The person on the other end seemed to reply. “Okay… okay… we’ll go there shortly…” The call ended. The living room fell dead silent. Pressed against the door, my hands and feet were freezing. Mark was hiding something from me! 03 Mark didn’t come back to bed. I lay there, my mind racing with wild thoughts, finally making it to dawn. He warmed up some milk for me, his expression normal, showing no flaws. “It’s the weekend. Are you still working overtime?” he asked, his voice a bit hoarse. “Yeah, I have to go to school to grade exams.” I looked down, sipping the milk, avoiding his gaze. “What about you?” “Something came up at the hospital. I have to go out to the suburbs with Dr. Davis later.” He spoke quickly, turning to clear the dishes as soon as he finished. “I might be back late.” Dr. Davis is an attending surgeon and Mark’s supervisor. He was the person on the phone. After Mark left, I stood by the window and watched him buy something at the convenience store downstairs, put it in a black plastic bag, and drive out of the complex. The tension in my chest reached a breaking point. Follow him. Once the thought surfaced, I couldn’t suppress it. I didn’t dare drive my own car. Instead, I took an Uber and quietly followed him. Keeping a distance of a few cars, my palms were sweating the entire time. The driver even thought I was trying to catch him cheating and offered to help, which left me speechless. Mark’s car headed straight out of the city, taking the highway toward the suburban county. The farther we drove, the more desolate it became, with buildings giving way to farmland and weeds. “Miss, looking at this direction, it seems we’re heading towards West Hill Cemetery,” the driver noted, puzzled. My heart sank a little lower. Finally, the car turned down a narrow road and parked at a public cemetery in the suburbs. I paid and got out, hiding in the parking lot. After getting out, Mark didn’t go in immediately. He looked around the intersection, still carrying that black plastic bag. Soon, another car arrived. A man in his fifties got out, stern-faced and wearing glasses. That must be Dr. Davis. They exchanged a few low words, their expressions serious, and walked into the cemetery together. I followed from a distance. The dry grass brushing against my pants made a rustling sound that was unnerving in this quiet place. They stopped in front of a very new headstone. The area in front of the headstone was bare, with few signs of mourning. Mark took out incense, candles, joss paper, and a few paper toy cars from the black bag. He and Dr. Davis crouched down and lit the incense and candles. The firelight flickered in the wind, illuminating two faces heavy with worry. They started burning the joss paper. The yellow sheets curled and blackened in the flames, the ashes caught by the wind and scattered everywhere. Mark kept his head down, muttering something I couldn’t hear, his posture unusually reverent. By the firelight, I could clearly see the photo on the headstone. It was a young boy, not even ten years old. 04 I hid behind an old tree, my heart pounding. My mind was a chaotic mess, filled with terrifying theories. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. Startled, I accidentally stepped on a dry twig. Snap! It wasn’t loud, but in the silence of the cemetery, it was deafening. The two men burning paper stopped dead, whipping their heads around simultaneously! I turned to run. “Penny?!” Mark’s shocked voice rang out from behind me. Quick footsteps followed. Before I could run far, my arm was caught in a vice-like grip by a large hand. It was Dr. Davis. He was strong, his eyes sharp, looking me up and down. “Who are you? Why are you following us?” “Let her go!” Mark rushed over, stepping between me and Dr. Davis, looking upset. “She’s my girlfriend.” Dr. Davis frowned and let go. “Penny, why are you here?” Hearing him ask that, I exploded, throwing caution to the wind and demanding: “I should be asking you that! Sneaking around behind my back, coming here! Why?” Mark opened his mouth, looked at Dr. Davis, then at the headstone, lowered his head, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Penny. I just didn’t want to scare you.” “I’m already terrified! You always do this, assuming you know best!” He took my hand and led me to the new headstone. The photo showed a chubby-cheeked boy with a buzz cut. “Penny,” Mark’s voice was dry, “I’ll be honest. A week ago, a child was brought into the ER—this child. He was hit by a car on the highway, severely injured… Dr. Davis and I were on the trauma team.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately… we couldn’t save him.” Dr. Davis added grimly: “He was a left-behind child. His parents work in the south, and his elderly grandparents live in a remote valley. They took their eyes off him, and he wandered onto the highway…” “We did everything we could.” Mark looked at me, his eyes slightly red. “The shoe you showed me yesterday was identical to the one he was wearing! It’s the standard issue from the rural Hope Elementary Schools.” He squeezed my hand. “I told Dr. Davis about it this morning. We talked it over and decided to burn some offerings for the boy. I thought if it really was his spirit, I could handle it myself, and you wouldn’t need to know.” “Even though we’re doctors and believe in science, sometimes, you have to believe in these things,” Dr. Davis said solemnly. My tense nerves relaxed a little. “But,” I looked at the smiling boy in the photo, remembering that pale, hollow face behind the car window. “Why didn’t he go to you? Why did he come to me?” Mark and Dr. Davis exchanged a look. Neither of them spoke; only the wind howling from deep within the cemetery offered a response. It was a question with no answer. 05 I helped them burn the remaining joss paper. I bowed respectfully. Silently, I wished him peace on his journey. Having done that, I felt much more at ease. It should be over now, right? On the drive back, Mark was at the wheel. I suddenly remembered my phone vibrating earlier. It was my best friend, Chloe, calling. I called her back. She answered immediately, yelling frantically: “Penny! Where are you? You didn’t return my call for ages! I thought something happened to you! I did a tarot reading for you! It’s an omen of terrible disaster!” My best friend is great, but she’s a bit quirky and loves dabbling in feng shui, the occult, and tarot. “I’m fine. What are you doing?” “Oh, I just wanted to ask you about the rural teaching program we talked about. Have you thought about it?” “I don’t really want to go. I hear those kids are hard to handle since their parents are away.” We chatted until I got home. In the end, she said she was worried about me and wanted to come over tomorrow. I couldn’t argue with her and said, “Suit yourself.” Back home, exhaustion washed over me like a wave. Maybe it was the wind at the cemetery, but I felt a lingering chill. Mark looked exhausted too. After a quick wash, we went to bed early. In the middle of the night, that same coldness swept over my entire body. I snapped my eyes open! Mark was gone. In the darkness, a small, thin silhouette stood silently by my bed. It was the child. This time, he didn’t have that terrifying, ghastly face. Long hair covered his eyes. He slowly raised a single finger. And pointed directly at me. I screamed and sat up, gasping for air, cold sweat instantly soaking my pajamas. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, and my ears rang. “Penny?” Mark, startled awake, fumbled for the light switch. The light was warm, but I was shaking uncontrollably. “He’s here!” I clung to Mark, tears streaming down my face. “That child! He came back for me!” After crying for a while, I finally calmed down. “How about tomorrow, we go find a priest to do a ritual for the child,” Mark comforted me. “No!” I interrupted him. “The child who came to me… isn’t the same child you couldn’t save!” “What?” I told Mark that I saw him clearly tonight, and based on his build and appearance, it wasn’t the same boy. “Let’s go to the police!” Mark said. I nodded. Early the next morning, I felt incredibly dizzy, like I was coming down with a severe illness. Mark went with me. First, we checked the garage for the shoe—it was still there—and then we went to the police station. We didn’t say we saw a ghost; the police would never believe that. I asked the officer if any children had gone missing recently. Unfortunately, the answer was no. I handed over the shoe and briefly explained the situation. The officer seemed confused but took the shoe anyway, promising to look into it. When we got home, Chloe was hovering near our door, looking around anxiously. I called out to her. She turned, saw me, and her face went paper-white. She rushed over, grabbed my hands, and cried out: “Penny! You… you’re dying!”

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My family’s old estate was demolished, and we received a six million dollar payout. On the day the money was distributed, my parents stuffed the bankbook into my younger brother’s pocket and then handed me a bag of moldy local specialties. My dad avoided my gaze: “You’ll get married sooner or later. Giving you the money is just giving it away to outsiders. Your mom dried these sweet potatoes herself; don’t be ungrateful.” I smiled. To treat his lung cancer over the past five years, I had spent over four million dollars out of my own pocket. Even the $1.2 million imported targeted therapy drug currently being processed was paid for by me in advance. Right in front of them, I took out my phone and swiped to the chat with the pharmaceutical agent. “Ms. Smith, the drug has arrived. Should we make the payment and lock in the order now?” I replied word by word: “I don’t want it anymore. Process the refund and give it to the next person in line.” 1 It was Thanksgiving, and the house was bustling with activity. The table was covered in heavy, greasy, and salty dishes—all things I didn’t like. My mom, Martha, smiled so broadly her face wrinkled, constantly putting food on my plate. “Chloe, eat more. Mom specifically bought these ribs. It’s rare for our whole family to gather together for the holidays.” My younger brother, Liam, sat opposite me, jiggling his leg, his face glowing. His wife, Sarah, was busy calculating on her phone, grinning from ear to ear. My dad, David, sat at the head of the table, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. Under the swirling smoke, his expression was somewhat obscured. “Ahem, let me say a few words.” David cleared his throat and looked around. “It’s the holiday season, and our family has double the joy. The compensation for the old estate’s demolition has also come through.” I put down my fork, waiting for what came next. On the phone, Liam had solemnly promised that the six million would be split evenly between us siblings. To be honest, I didn’t lack that three million. Although my logistics company wasn’t huge, the cash flow had always been healthy. What I cared about was the attitude. For so many years, I had been dragging this family forward like an old ox. When David was diagnosed with a lung tumor five years ago, I was the one running around finding specialists. I was also the one who drained my savings back then to keep him on the expensive imported targeted therapy drug. That drug cost tens of thousands of dollars per injection. Over five years, millions had been poured into it. And Liam? Besides stretching out his hand for money, he just cried poor. If they could just treat us equally this time, even if it was just a gesture, I would feel comforted. David pulled a bankbook from his pocket and picked up a red plastic bag from by his feet. “Chloe,” David called my name and stubbed out his cigarette hard. I had told him more than once to stop smoking. But relying on the targeted therapy, he always did whatever he wanted, even complaining that I was trying to control my old man. “You’ve always been sensible and the most filial since you were little.” Hearing these words, my heart sank. This was his opening line every time they wanted me to give up my interests. “About this six million, your mom and I discussed it for a long time, and we’ve decided to give it to Liam.” David pushed the bankbook in front of Liam. Sarah was quick; she grabbed the bankbook and clutched it tightly, afraid it might fly away. Liam chuckled: “Thanks, Mom and Dad.” Only that red plastic bag was left on the table. David pushed it in front of me. “Chloe, these are dried sweet potatoes and peanuts from our hometown. They were grown by our family, all organic.” “You’ll get married sooner or later. If this money is given to you, it’s just a bargain for outsiders.” “Your brother just had a second child, the pressure is high, and he needs to buy a bigger house.” “As for you, your conditions are good, and you’re a boss. Don’t bicker with your own brother over this; don’t be ungrateful.” It was supposed to be a lively holiday moment, but the room was terrifyingly quiet. I looked at the plastic bag; it was a bit dirty, with mud spots on it. This was the fair treatment I got after five years and millions in medical bills. This was what they called treating us equally. Dried sweet potatoes, peanuts. Who will speak up for me? I didn’t speak, just quietly looked at David. He felt a bit guilty and turned his head to look at Liam. Martha tried to smooth things over: “Chloe, your dad is in poor health, he still needs to rely on this money for his retirement. Although it was given to your brother, he said he’ll be responsible for taking care of us in our old age.” I glanced at Liam, who was swiping on his phone, planning what new car to buy. Relying on him for retirement? The sun will rise in the west. Since you rely on Liam, then I don’t need to play the part of the great, filial daughter anymore. I picked up my phone and opened the chat with the pharmaceutical agent. It showed: [Ms. Smith, it’s time to transfer the 1.2 million advance payment for the next course of treatment. We need to lock in the order.] That was David’s life-saving drug. Supply that was extremely difficult to get domestically. My finger paused on the screen for a second, then I replied: [I don’t want it anymore.] The other side replied instantly: [Ms. Smith, are you sure? If this is cut off, the goods will immediately be given to someone else. It’ll be hard to get back in line.] I replied: [I’m sure.] After sending this message, I placed my phone face down on the table. “Okay.” I stood up and picked up the plastic bag. “I’ll accept this holiday gift.” “Since the six million was given to my brother, then Dad’s future retirement and medical care are also entirely my brother’s responsibility now.” Liam patted his chest: “Of course. I’m the pillar of this family, unlike some outsiders…” Sarah rolled her eyes beside him, seeming to notice something was wrong, and hurriedly stopped Liam. David nodded in satisfaction: “You really have to rely on a son for old age.” I smiled, a somewhat cold smile, turned around, and left. “Alright, then I’ll be going now. Remember what you said today.” Behind me came Martha’s shout: “Chloe, we haven’t even finished eating, why are you leaving? You’re becoming more and more outrageous.” 2 Walking out the door, I threw the plastic bag into the trash can. All the dried sweet potatoes spilled out, some already moldy. Just like my decaying, moldy familial affection. Returning to the company, I called the Chief Financial Officer. “Check how long until the guarantee we provided for Liam’s trading company expires?” “Ms. Smith, there are still three months.” “Notify the bank that we won’t renew the guarantee upon expiration. Also, send a formal letter to Liam demanding he immediately return the three batches of loan payments he borrowed, totaling eight hundred thousand.” The CFO was clearly stunned for a moment: “Ms. Smith, that’s your own brother…” “Business is business.” After handling these matters, my phone vibrated. It was from the pharmaceutical agent: [Ms. Smith, the procedures are done. The supply over there has already been transferred to another patient in urgent need of targeted therapy.] For the next week, all was calm. Liam was busy looking at cars and houses; his social media was full of it. Sarah posted pictures of newly bought designer bags and jewelry, with the caption: [A man who spoils his wife will prosper. Thank you, hubby.] David and Martha enjoyed the compliments from their neighbors, saying they had raised a successful son. Until the eighth day. David ran out of his medication. That medication was a special injection that required regular visits to the hospital for administration, and it required a supply order confirmed by my signature. So, the phone call came to me. It was Martha, her tone anxious. “Chloe, your dad needs to go to the hospital for his injection. That doctor said the medicine hasn’t arrived and asked you to contact them immediately.” I put the phone on speaker while pruning my plants. “Mom, I’m not buying the medicine anymore.” There was a full five seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a piercing sound. “What did you say? What nonsense are you talking about? That’s your dad’s life-saving medicine!” “I know. Wasn’t that six million given to Liam? Let him buy it.” Martha became anxious: “That money is for your brother to buy a house! Besides, you’ve always been the one buying that medicine. You have the channels. Your brother doesn’t know anything about this.” “If he doesn’t know, he can learn. He has all the money; do you really expect an outsider like me to pay?” “Chloe, how can you be so cold-blooded!” David’s voice cut in, sounding full of energy. It seemed the attack hadn’t started yet. “So what if I gave the money to Liam? He is the root of the Smith family. You, as spilled water, have no right to control how your old man distributes his money.” “Since I’m spilled water, naturally, this water won’t flow into your medicine jar either.” My tone was calm. “Over these five years, your medical expenses, nursing care fees, and nutritional supplements add up to over four million. Consider it my repayment for you raising me. From now on, we are even.” I hung up the phone and casually blocked the number. The world was quiet. 3 But I clearly underestimated their level of shamelessness. The next day, I was in a meeting. The receptionist ran in, panicking. “Ms. Smith, this is bad! Someone is unfurling a banner at the company entrance and live streaming!” I frowned, got up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down. Downstairs at the company, a banner with black characters on a white background was starkly displayed: [Heartless Daughter Chloe Smith, Worth Millions Yet Refuses to Support Severely Ill Elderly Father. Heaven Cannot Tolerate This!] David sat in a wheelchair, covered with a blanket, his face pale. Martha sat on the ground crying to the heavens, slapping her thighs while wailing. Liam held up a phone, loudly complaining to the surrounding crowd and the audience in the live stream. “Family, you be the judge.” “My sister is a big boss, drives luxury cars, and lives in a mansion. My dad got cancer, and she won’t give a single cent. She even stopped his medication.” “This is forcing her own father to death!” Sarah chimed in from the side: “People like this just have black hearts. She doesn’t even care about her own parents; she must be unethical in business too.” The surrounding crowd, unaware of the truth, pointed fingers, and the popularity of the live stream skyrocketed. A few radical influencers looking to piggyback on the trend even started rushing toward the company’s main entrance, claiming they were going to help educate this unfilial daughter. My assistant was pale with anger. I adjusted my collar and turned to walk out. I was going to let them know that some spectacles are not that easy to join in on. When I reached the company lobby, the security guards had already blocked a group of people. Seeing me come out, Liam immediately aimed the camera at me. “Look, this is Chloe. Everyone, take a good look at this face.” “Chloe, you actually have the face to come out. Dad is dying of pain. Hurry up and get the money, 1.2 million, not a cent less.” Liam roared at me, spit flying everywhere. I looked at him and sneered. “Liam, that six million demolition payout hasn’t even warmed your hands yet, has it?” Liam’s eyes flickered for a moment: “Dad gave that to me. What does that have to do with medical bills!” “Mom and Dad gave you six million, yet you refuse to pay even 1.2 million for medical bills, and you come looking for me, the daughter who didn’t get a single cent?” I faced the camera, my voice clear and powerful. The murmurs around us quieted down a bit. Martha climbed up from the ground, pointed at my nose, and cursed: “That’s your brother’s startup fund! You’re so rich, what’s wrong with pitching in this little bit!” “My money was earned through hard work. It’s not for filling your bottomless pit.” At that moment, a police car arrived with sirens blaring. Several police officers stepped out. “Who called the police?” “I did.” I stepped forward and pointed to the security camera overhead. “Officers, these people are gathering to cause trouble, disrupting the normal business operations of this company, and are also suspected of defamation. I have complete surveillance footage, as well as all transfer records and medical receipts from the past five years.” Hearing this, Liam’s arrogance immediately extinguished. “This is a family matter. The police have no jurisdiction.” “Unfurling a banner at the company entrance and live-streaming defamation is no longer a family matter.” The officer looked at the banner and frowned. “Take them all back to take statements.” David suddenly yelled: “It hurts! Oh, it hurts so much.” He was really in pain; the withdrawal reaction from stopping the medication had begun. That kind of pain that penetrates deep into the bones cannot be endured without the specific medication to suppress it. He curled up in the wheelchair, breaking out in a cold sweat. Liam panicked: “Dad, Dad, what’s wrong?” Sarah, however, subconsciously took a step back, afraid of getting involved. I glanced at David and the others, feeling no sympathy. “If it hurts, go to the hospital. Asking me for money is useless. You have six million in your hands; you can buy the medicine at any hospital.” “Stop putting on a show here.” 4 At the police station, the mediation did not go smoothly. Liam insisted that the six million was a gift and did not include any obligation for support. The police officers’ expressions changed as they looked at the thick stack of evidence I provided. Over five years, a full 4.8 million. Every single transaction was clear, including records of me paying off Liam’s gambling debts and buying Sarah a car. “Mr. Smith, from a legal perspective, your sister has already over-fulfilled her support obligations.” “You, on the other hand, took the six million demolition payout but let your father’s medication run out. This is truly unjustifiable.” Liam stiffened his neck, full of disdain: “My dad voluntarily gave that to me. It’s his money; he can give it to whoever he wants. But my sister is richer than me, so she should pay for his medical expenses!” This kind of robber logic left even the police officers speechless. In the end, because David’s condition had indeed flared up, they had to send him to the hospital first, while warning Liam that if he dared to cause trouble at the company again, he would be detained directly. I thought they would quiet down for a few days, but unexpectedly, they doubled down. Since hard tactics didn’t work, they resorted to underhanded ones. Sarah started a crowdfunding campaign online. The title was: [Heartless Female CEO: Severely Ill Elderly Father Urgently Needs Life-Saving Funds.] The text was tear-jerking, packaging herself as a filial daughter-in-law who, despite being poor, did her utmost to care for the elderly. It described me as an ungrateful wretch who turned her back on her family once she got rich. It claimed my parents made Liam drop out of school despite his good grades just to support my education, doing everything to lift me up, while I turned ruthless after achieving success. But the truth was, Liam was expelled for fighting, and it was only because my grandmother threatened suicide that I was able to finish my studies. Otherwise, I would have been married off long ago, becoming a tool for them to collect a bride price. Coupled with a video of David groaning in pain on his hospital bed. The netizens, unaware of the truth, were whipped into a frenzy once again. Although I had explained myself at the company entrance last time, a new narrative had taken hold. Who cared about the previous plot twist? My company’s phone lines were jammed, and some people even sent me funeral wreaths and photoshopped obituary photos. What’s worse, some directly contacted my partners, demanding they stop doing business with me, or else they would call on netizens to boycott their products. That evening, the CFO knocked and came in, looking grim. “Ms. Smith, two major suppliers called to say they want to suspend supplies, fearing it will affect their brand image.” “Also, the bank is inquiring about the public opinion situation.” I lit a cigarette and looked at the night view outside the window. After smoking three cigarettes, I took out my phone and made a call. “Lawyer Jones, please prepare the lawsuit materials. We are not suing them for defamation; we are filing to recover the gifted assets.” “The grounds are that the donee failed to fulfill the obligation of supporting the donor.” Although that six million was given to Liam by David. Most of the 4.8 million I gave to David was under the guise of making payments on his behalf, so there was still a chance to recover it. Moreover, I had an even bigger surprise for them. Half a year ago, while cleaning up one of Liam’s messes, I accidentally overheard a conversation between Liam and Sarah. I kept my wits about me and recorded it, but for the sake of family harmony, I suppressed the matter. I just didn’t expect it would come in handy now. Now, it was time for everyone to have a good listen.

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My wife believed money could solve every problem. On our wedding day, she allowed her junior assistant, Ashton, to accost me and call me a homewrecker. Seeing me attacked by the entire internet, she bought out my hurt for a million gold coins. Ashton “accidentally” shattered my father’s precious keepsake. She bought out my tears for three million gold coins. Until Ashton falsely accused me of stealing his watch, threatening to send me to prison. She remarked nonchalantly: “You’re always hovering around him; it’s natural he’d be annoyed. “It’s good that you’ll spend some time in prison to give him some peace. “Tell me, how much for your wounded heart?” “Ten billion gold coins.” I said the astronomical figure, my eyes red. She paused, just for a moment. Then smiled. “Alright.” I watched in shock as she walked away with Ashton. Beneath my hands, covering my face in feigned sadness, I finally couldn’t hold back a laugh: “She finally fell for it!” … Eleanor Howard led Ashton Tipton away, without a backward glance. Leaving me alone, heartbroken on the spot. Even the servants looked on with a mixture of pity and disdain. Some clicked their tongues and shook their heads, calling me a spineless fool. Others sighed mournfully, lamenting that my appeal as a true husband couldn’t even compare to an assistant. I entered the bedroom, eyes red, and slammed the door shut. Finally, I could laugh freely. Ten billion for a six-month prison sentence? Eleanor Howard, Eleanor Howard, you finally took the bait! It was worth all the grievances I’d endured before, repeatedly asking her if she still considered me her husband each time she offered money to soothe my distress. No, I shouldn’t say I was faking it. At first, I truly would throw the money back in her face. Back then, I’d still defiantly say money couldn’t buy love. I wanted my Elara, the Elara who had followed me since childhood, who used to sweetly call me ‘Brother Jackson.’ Later, I realized, a heart that had changed, had simply changed. Since it couldn’t be saved, I might as well make a huge profit. To compensate for our twenty years of shared history. When Eleanor’s car, meant to take me to turn myself in, pulled up downstairs, I feigned heartbreak while gracefully getting into the vehicle. It wasn’t until the navigation veered off the usual route, stopping in front of a secluded warehouse, that I suddenly realized something was wrong. “The driver today… it’s not Eleanor’s usual one, is it?” Just as I was about to jump out of the car, a handkerchief covered my mouth and nose from behind. When I next opened my eyes, I was tied to a chair. A somewhat familiar man stood before me. A phone was held to my ear, and I trembled as I spoke: “Eleanor Howard…” “Jackson? Is that really you!” Eleanor’s tone was momentarily chaotic. The man put the phone back to his own ear. “Did you hear that? If ten billion gold coins aren’t in my account by noon, in ten minutes, I’ll chop off one of his fingers.” “You dare kidnap my person?” Eleanor’s voice held suppressed anger. “Do you know who makes up Howard Security?” The man hesitated. “If you want to live, release him now, and wait quietly to be apprehended. I might consider letting you off the hook later.” “No!” Another man’s voice. My heart tightened. It was Eleanor’s assistant, Ashton Tipton. “Lady Howard, don’t call the authorities! He’s my brother!” Eleanor fell silent. “My brother never went to school. He worked hard to support my education. Without him, I wouldn’t be where I am today, and I wouldn’t have met you, Lady Howard! “He’s just been through some tough times recently. He’s truly desperate. “If you’re going to report him, then… arrest me too!” “What nonsense are you talking about?!” Hearing Eleanor’s voice, I knew she was distressed. No one understood the subtle shifts in her tone better than I did. My shoulders slumped, and I leaned back against the chair. Sure enough, she conceded. “I won’t call the authorities, and my security team won’t bother you. Ten billion is acceptable. “But you must guarantee his safety.” The man smirked. “Money in hand, everything’s negotiable.” I sat in that chair for three hours, not feeling nervous at all. Ten billion wasn’t an impossible sum for Eleanor Howard to produce. I was only worried that she wouldn’t charge this amount to my account. If she later claimed that the ten billion intended for me was used for my ransom, I truly would go mad. Two hours before noon, Eleanor Howard had the money ready. “We agreed, money in the account, you release him. Otherwise, Howard Security won’t let you off easy.” Hearing Eleanor’s warning, the man scoffed. “Of course. I want the money. Bearing a life on my conscience does me no good.” “Alright, I’m transferring it to you now…” “Lady Howard!” It was Ashton’s voice again. “That luxury car I saw earlier has just been released! It’s the only one in the world! If we don’t pay now, someone else will buy it!” Eleanor Howard fell silent once more. I felt a surge of anxiety. “Eleanor Howard!” She paused, then spoke. “Jackson, wait a little longer. That car is his favorite designer’s farewell masterpiece, and it costs exactly ten billion. He’s had his eye on it for a long time.” “But I’m currently…” “Enough! Can’t you even wait an hour?!” Eleanor sounded impatient. “He’s waited three whole years for this car. Can’t you be less selfish?!” I glanced at the clock, nearing eleven, and gritted my teeth. Eleanor turned to the man. “Mr. Tipton, for this last hour, I hope you’ll keep your word and not harm him.” “Of course, as long as you can raise it before twelve.” “Of course.” The call ended just like that. My once-relaxed heart now felt a slight tension. The hands of the clock crept towards twelve, and I felt my impending death drawing closer with each tick. No. I shook my head. Ten billion was no trouble for Eleanor Howard. It was merely a re-allocation of funds. Just a few signatures. Thinking this, my taut muscles gradually relaxed again. But with three minutes left until twelve, I grew tense once more. No call came in. No transfer came in. The man was starting to look impatient too. Seeing his cold eyes, I could only offer a forced smile. “She’ll definitely get it. Don’t worry. We’ve known each other since we were five. Twenty years of friendship; she wouldn’t really refuse you.” “Jackson Hayes.” He spoke coldly, “I’m at the end of my rope. If I don’t get this money today, I’m dying with you.” I swallowed hard. “She wouldn’t… she’ll give it…” The TV on the wall interrupted with a news flash. The moment I saw the screen, my heart sank. 【Renowned Designer’s Final Masterpiece Sells Out Upon Release】 【Mystery Tycoon Spends Ten Billion for Beloved Partner】 It was… a live broadcast. Ashton Tipton sat in the exquisitely designed luxury car, looking like an international superstar. Eleanor Howard sat in the passenger seat, smiling and waving to the crowd with him. It created iconic images. Soon, Ashton’s brother, Caleb Tipton, saw the trending hot topic. The hour hand reached twelve. I swallowed. “Your brother has a ten billion luxury car, so actually… it’s like you have it too.” “Cut that out!” My neck was suddenly gripped. He frowned, looking at me. “It wasn’t easy for us brothers to get where we are today. I will never use my brother’s money. “Since time’s up, Jackson Hayes, I have no other choice.” My hand was violently yanked and slammed onto the table. My nerves instantly tightened. “Wait! Let me call her!” He frowned. I pleaded, “She must have… she must have forgotten. Let me call her. She’ll send the money quickly! “Forget ten billion, twenty billion… it’s even possible!” Caleb Tipton paused. Then suddenly smiled. “I have a better idea.” This time, Caleb made a video call. The moment Eleanor saw me, she frowned. “Wait a little longer. Ashton values this public appearance opportunity greatly. Don’t cause trouble randomly.” “I didn’t! I… ah!” A needle jabbed into my neck. My pupils instantly constricted. The next second, the nail of my pinky finger was brutally pulled off with pliers. “Jackson!” Eleanor’s eyes widened. My body convulsed uncontrollably. “Damn it… why does it hurt so much… it shouldn’t hurt this much, ahh!!” “Jackson!” “Lady Howard.” Caleb held my fingernail up to the camera. “I injected him with a serum that amplifies pain tenfold. Just pulling off a nail will make him wish for death.” “Do you want to die?!” Eleanor’s eyes were red. “Lady Howard, I told you, ten minutes, I cut off a finger. Twelve o’clock has already passed.” “No… don’t!” My hand was forcibly pressed onto the table. He was about to sacrifice my first finger. Eleanor panicked. “I’m paying now!” “Lady Howard, no!” It was… Ashton again! In the camera, Ashton looked at my hand in shock, then frowned. “Brother! You’ve gone too far!!” “Brother, I…” Caleb looked somewhat flustered. Ashton turned, pleadingly looking at Eleanor. “Lady Howard! You can’t give him the money!” Eleanor and I both froze. “No, Jackson can’t endure the pain.” “Still no!” Ashton was agitated. “Lady Howard, I didn’t expect my brother to go this far this time. If you give him the money, he’ll do it again! “This time it’s Mr. Hayes he’s kidnapped, and you’ll help me, Lady Howard, but what about later? If he kidnaps someone else and gets caught, I won’t have a brother anymore!” Eleanor fell into deep thought. “So, Lady Howard, I beg you, let me talk him out of it. He listens to me most. If he can turn over a new leaf this time, it won’t just save you, Lady Howard, but also me and my brother!” “Eleanor Howard, don’t listen to him!” I was in such pain I was almost insane. “His brother is already mad! No one can persuade him! “He just wants to see me suffer! That bastard!” “Mr. Hayes, you!” Ashton’s eyes instantly reddened. Eleanor shielded him. “You’re mad! He’s actively trying to save you! Is this how you speak to your savior? “You’re so self-centered, don’t assume everyone else is like you!” “Eleanor Howard, I…” Ashton cut me off. “Mr. Hayes, I’ll go persuade my brother in a bit. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.” Eleanor frowned. “Ashton is entirely focused on saving you, yet you slander him so much. Do you deserve him?” Then she hung up the phone directly. But just as I had said before, there was no way Ashton could persuade Caleb to back down. Not only did he not. After Caleb hung up with his brother, his gaze towards me became even more sinister. “My brother said you not only stole his woman, but you’ve repeatedly targeted him?” I trembled, begging him not to. But I could only watch as he clamped the pliers onto my finger. “I’ve reached the end of my rope. I’m willing to die. “But luckily, before I die, I can drag a bastard like you down with me!” “No!!” I fell into complete despair. Luckily, Ashton’s call interrupted his action. He answered, but it wasn’t Ashton on the screen; it was Eleanor Howard. “Jackson!” The moment she saw me, her eyes widened in disbelief.

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When I arrived at the penthouse club, Dominic Vance was sitting in the head seat. He looked composed, but his eyes were bloodshot. A circle of trust-fund heirs didn’t dare to breathe. When they saw me, they looked like they’d seen a savior, straightening up instantly: “Hey, Chloe.” The girl sitting next to him paled. Her eyes welled up as she whispered to him, “Dominic, I’m back. Are you still going home with her?” I walked over and picked up the bottle of Cabernet from the table. “Dominic. Home or a hospital wing. Pick one.” 01 The lounge fell so silent you could hear the rhythm of uneven breathing. Dominic flicked his eyes up to look at me. In that single movement, I felt his raw impatience. The guys around him, sensing the coming storm, backed away to a safe distance. I held the wine bottle steady, standing like a statue in front of the two of them. After a long beat, Dominic smirked. “Who called your sister-in-law?” The moment he said it, the color drained from the girl’s face. She looked like she was made of glass, ready to shatter. She clutched Dominic’s arm, her voice trembling. “Dominic… are you really going back with her?” I let out a sharp, cold laugh and pulled up a chair. I sat down, leveling my gaze with hers. “Lily Rose, while I still have a shred of patience left, you’d better vanish.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “If you know who I am, then you must know…” I cut her off. “I know. I know you’re the ‘One Who Got Away.’ I know he still keeps your photo in his private study.” A shy blush crept onto Lily’s face. Her eyes lit up as she leaned her head gently on Dominic’s shoulder. “Dominic, I’m back. Divorce her. All these years later, being your wife is still my only dream.” “I know you’re not happy. You’ve suffered so much lately.” Dominic tried to keep his trademark poker face, but the vein throbbing in his temple betrayed the chaos inside him. He lifted his hand, reaching out to stroke Lily’s back. I sneered, breaking their little moment. “Mr. Vance, it seems you’ve lost interest in going home.” “My apologies, then.” I swung my arm high, and the wine bottle came crashing down—straight toward Lily’s head! 02 CRACK! The explosion of glass was met with screams. Lily stared, paralyzed, as Dominic shielded her in his arms. Blood, mixed with dark red wine, began to pour from his forehead. “Dominic! Oh my god, Dominic…” Lily scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking as she tried to help him sit. She grabbed a handful of napkins, pressing them desperately against the gash on his head. The paper was soaked in seconds. She turned to me, screaming like a banshee. “You’re insane! You tried to kill her! How could he ever marry a freak like you?!” Dominic caught his breath. He took a napkin, wiped the blood and wine from his eyes, and pulled Lily back. “Lily, don’t provoke her.” “Are you hurt?” Lily whimpered and held out her hand. There was a tiny half-inch scratch from a flying glass shard. Dominic stood up instantly, cradling her hand like it was made of gold. He started leading her out. “Why didn’t you say so? Come on, I’m taking you to the ER.” I looked down at my own hand. Blood was dripping from my fingertips, vanishing into the dark carpet. I had been at the office all day. I’d only had time for a few bites of a sandwich between meetings with major clients. I had barely clocked out when I saw the text and rushed here. Dominic, I’m exhausted. I’m hungry. And I’m bleeding, too. What happened to the boy who once fought off kidnappers until he was covered in bruises just to save me? How did he become this stranger? Dizziness hit me in waves. The room began to spin. I grabbed the edge of the table, collapsing into a chair. Someone shouted, “Dom! Chloe’s hurt too! She looks really bad!” Dominic’s voice echoed from down the hall. “She’s ‘The Boss.’ She can handle herself.” I watched his retreating back. Fine. It makes what I’m about to do much easier. 03 I looked up. These “Vanderbilt” types, the city’s most notorious playboys, were standing perfectly still, looking at me with genuine worry. I smiled and waved them off. “I’m hungry. Fix the table.” “On it, Chloe! Right away!” Parker, the son of the club’s owner, was the most eager. He immediately had staff clear the glass and bring out a fresh course. Watching them move reminded me of when we were kids, and they’d follow Dominic and me around like little shadows. When did I stop being “Chloe” and start being “The Wife”? Probably when I was five and got snatched by a rogue nanny. Dominic, only eight at the time, analyzed the tiny clues she left behind and found me before the police did. I still remember waking up on his thin back. He was gritting his teeth, carrying me, staggering out of that terrifying abandoned factory. That image was burned into my soul. Our parents used to joke that for the rest of his life, Chloe would always be Dominic’s “exception.” But then came Lily Rose. Unlike me—who lost her mother in that kidnapping and was raised as a shark-like heiress for the sake of the family business—Lily was soft. She didn’t demand he study financial journals or learn five languages. She just sat by him, smiling. She cooked for him. She spent hours sitting through classes she didn’t understand just to be near him. I couldn’t do that. I was raised to measure the world in profit and loss. Until Lily left. She said she couldn’t fit into his world. She moved abroad, and Dominic didn’t chase her. He wanted the Vance empire, and he wanted my family’s tech conglomerate. He wouldn’t give that up for a girl. So, when he proposed, I said yes. Dominic gave me every luxury money could buy. I enjoyed it, knowing that eventually, the Vance and Sterling empires would both be mine. I ate my dinner in silence, mentally reviewing my plan. After fifteen years of plotting, I wouldn’t allow a single mistake. “Chloe!” Parker suddenly slammed the table. “You’ve never been soft on the women around him! Why did you let her win today?” The table went quiet. I smiled. “Because she’s Lily Rose.” The “One Who Got Away” has a very specific lethality. I checked my phone. The screen was blank. No calls, no texts. I figured by now, Lily’s “life-threatening” scratch must have healed. 04 Dominic didn’t come home that night. I stayed in the living room, watching the city go from midnight to dawn. My time was coming. When the clock struck 8 AM, I was dressed in a power suit, heavy concealer hiding the dark circles under my eyes. I didn’t expect to see Lily Rose at the office. She was wearing a brand-new professional suit, sitting at the desk outside Dominic’s office. When she saw me, she stood up with a smug smile. “Good morning, Ms. Sterling.” The way her mouth curved into a triumphant arc made my skin crawl. I called the HR manager over immediately and asked what kind of “stray” they were letting into the building. Lily looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. Her face turned red, tears welling up under my interrogation. “Ms. Sterling, please,” she sobbed. “I really need this job. Don’t take this from me. You people have everything… can’t I have this?” Classic “damsel” dialogue. I looked past her shoulder at the office door. Right on cue, it opened. Dominic stood there, cold. “Chloe, you were born with a silver spoon, but that doesn’t give you the right to bully people.” “She’s my assistant, not yours.” With one sentence, he drew the line. He walked over, took Lily’s hand, and announced to the staff: “Starting today, Ms. Rose is my Chief of Staff. Her word is my word.” The “Exception,” indeed. I didn’t argue. I turned and walked into my own office. Near the end of the day, my assistant reminded me of a gala we had to attend. My biggest project of the year depended on this meeting. I did my makeup, put on my gown, and went to find Dominic. Before I could knock, the door opened. Dominic and Lily walked out, laughing. I froze. It was early autumn, and the draft from the window felt like ice on my bare shoulders. Dominic didn’t even stop. “Lily will be accompanying me tonight. Don’t bother coming, Chloe.” “Dominic, I’ve been working on this merger for six months.” His voice grew distant as they walked toward the elevator. “It’s Lily’s project now.” 05 Dominic signed the deal for her. Before the project even started, a commission check for Lily was sitting on my desk for approval. I sent it back unsigned. Even without the cash, Lily became the “it girl” of the firm overnight. Word even reached our partners. I got a call from Mr. Harrison, a long-time family friend. “Chloe, dear, Dominic just bought a villa in the Hamptons. Registered it in the name of a Lily Rose. I hear she’s already moved in.” The teacup in my hand tilted, spilling hot tea over the desk. It had been 29 days since Dominic last slept at home. The plan was falling into place. My life isn’t a romance novel; it’s a balance sheet. Parker and the boys tried to offer to “take care” of her for me, but I told them to stay out of it. Everything was under control. 06 Then came the Vance matriarch’s 80th birthday. I used my connections to get her a rare piece of calligraphy she’d wanted for years. I had it wrapped and signed it from Dominic and Chloe Vance. Regardless of the mess inside, the family facade had to hold. I dialed Dominic for the first time in a month. It rang until I thought it would go to voicemail. “Ms. Sterling,” Lily’s voice came through, dripping with faux sweetness. “Dominic told me he’s taking me to meet the family tonight. You should probably just head there on your own.” I pulled the phone away to check the number. It was Dominic’s. “Put him on.” Lily giggled. “Sorry, we just woke up. Dominic is making me brunch.” I hung up. A text came in from Parker: Plan A is a go. I had my stylist come over. If I was going to a massacre, I was going to look like a queen. At 6 PM, I walked into the Vance estate. The elders were all there, asking where Dominic was. I brushed them off, but when I saw Grandma Vance, my throat tightened. She had watched me grow up. She watched me marry into the family. She was a titan of industry herself; she knew what was happening, but she didn’t ask. That was her gift to me. Suddenly, a stir at the door. I turned. Dominic was walking in, hand-in-hand with Lily. The room went cold. They walked up to Grandma. “Grandma, this is Lily. I brought her to meet you.” Grandma didn’t even glance at her. “Security, escort this woman out.” Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “Dominic, I’m sorry. I tried, but I just don’t belong in your world. Forget me. Go back to Chloe.” She turned and ran out, sobbing. God, she’s good, I thought. Dominic panicked. He chased after her, catching her in the driveway. “Kneel!” Grandma barked. The house went silent. Dominic knelt on the marble floor. Grandma took her cane and struck him across the back. “You disgrace!” Lily came screaming back in, throwing herself over Dominic’s back. “What did we do wrong?! We just want to be together! He’s your grandson! He’s the heir! Nothing is more important than his happiness!” Grandma didn’t hesitate. The cane came down again, hitting Lily this time. Dominic shielded her, shouting, “Grandma, stop! Lily’s pregnant!” 07 All eyes turned to me. Dominic looked relieved. He stood up and walked over. “Chloe, let’s end this. I owe Lily a family.” My father, who had been silent until now, stood up. My father-in-law stepped forward to slap Dominic, but I stopped him. I walked up to Dominic and looked him in the eye. “Say it again.” “I want a divorce.” I nodded. Before anyone could react, I landed a blow across his face that echoed through the hall. “Dominic Vance, listen closely. The moment we divorce, the Sterling-Vance merger is dead. Every asset is decoupled.” My father nodded. “Chloe speaks for the Sterlings.” Dominic’s confidence shattered. “Dad, we can’t decouple! The losses would be catastrophic!” “My daughter’s happiness is worth more than your balance sheet,” my father snapped. I asked Dominic one more time. “Do you want the divorce?” He looked at his father, then at me, then at Lily. He couldn’t speak. Grandma Vance broke the silence. “I’m giving Chloe five percent of my personal shares. Whether she stays or leaves, they are hers. And I will never acknowledge that child.” Lily collapsed onto the floor. Dominic didn’t reach out to help her.

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It was midnight when my phone finally lit up. I stared at the screen, my heart doing a nervous little flutter-kick in my chest. “Dear Ms. Sharon Chan, wishing you a happy 28th birthday! Your account balance is $328.51.” It was just the bank app. I waited five more minutes, then ten, then thirty. The phone stayed silent. My boyfriend of three years, Ryan Jared, had texted earlier, claiming his flight was delayed due to a business trip, and he’d call as soon as he landed. My mom called last week: “Your brother needs $10,000 for the engagement, wire it over.” I said okay, and she hung up. My best friend, Maya Lin, posted on Instagram today: “Busy but fulfilling day!” The picture was a dozen perfect red roses. I flipped the phone face-down on the table. $328 was my total worth for the rest of the month. I’d given $300,000 for my brother’s down payment, $100,000 for his engagement, and God knows how much more over the last three years to fill various holes. Suddenly, I felt like there was nothing to celebrate on my 28th birthday. But that’s fine. I opened my laptop and pulled up a specific folder. Three years. It was time for me to collect my own debts. 01 Ryan’s flight delay was a lie. I’d known for a while. Because he hadn’t bought a plane ticket; he’d bought a train ticket. The order confirmation was pushed to my email late last night. We shared a joint rewards account. He’d forgotten to log out. The destination? A five-star hotel right here in the city. A “three-day business trip,” and the hotel was twenty miles away from our office. I didn’t confront him. I just wanted to see who he was spending his weekend with. At one in the morning, I lay in bed, wide awake. Staring at the ceiling, I drifted back through the past three years. Ryan was a senior from my college, now my co-worker. “Sharon, I’ve been watching you for a long time.” Back then, I thought he was kind, thoughtful, and ambitious. He told me, “Let’s work hard together. We’ll buy a house and get married before we turn thirty.” I believed him. My salary wasn’t high, but I saved every penny. I’d squirreled away eighty thousand over three years. I gave it all to him. He said it was for a stock market investment that tanked. He said it was for a startup that went belly-up. He said it was the down payment for a car that was stolen. I never questioned him. Because every time, he’d say, “Baby, when I make it big, I’ll pay you back tenfold.” I didn’t need tenfold. I just needed him to remember my birthday. At two in the morning, I messaged him: “Did you land?” No reply. Three in the morning: “Are you asleep?” Read, but ignored. He’d walked 12,876 steps today. A flight delay, stuck at the airport? Could you really walk twelve thousand steps in a terminal? I laughed. It was the first time I truly felt like an idiot. Five in the morning, I finally got his reply. “Just landed. So exhausted. Talk tomorrow, get some sleep.” Attached was a photo of a hotel room. The curtains were drawn tight. But I still saw it. There was a bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. Red roses. The exact same ones from Maya’s Instagram post today. 02 I didn’t lose it immediately. I hadn’t gathered all the evidence yet. At eight in the morning, I got up, washed, put on my makeup, and left for work, like a normal day. The office was forty minutes away by subway. Squashed into the morning rush hour crowd, I thought about Ryan and Maya. How did they even connect? Maya was my college roommate. That’s how she knew Ryan. When Ryan and I started dating, I was the one who introduced them. “This is my best friend, Maya. And this is my boyfriend, Ryan. Please look out for me, you two.” How naïve I was back then. I thought a best friend was a best friend, and a boyfriend was a boyfriend. I thought sincerity earned sincerity. The train was jammed. Someone stepped on my foot without apologizing. I looked down at my shoes. They were a pair I bought on clearance last year for $59. Ryan mentioned last week he wanted a pair of limited edition sneakers—$2,999. I told him, “I’ll get them when I get paid.” He sighed, “Forget it, I don’t want to burden you.” The next day, Maya posted an Instagram story. “A gift I picked out for a good buddy. Hope he likes them.” The photo was the sneaker box. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now, I realized. What best friend buys my boyfriend three-thousand-dollar sneakers? I was completely and utterly played. Nine on the dot, I arrived at the office. It was Monday, time for the weekly meeting. Our director, Ted Carson, sat at the head of the table and scanned the room. “Where’s Ryan?” Leo, a colleague, piped up, “Ryan’s on a business trip.” Ted frowned. “Business trip? What business trip? I didn’t approve any.” Leo laughed awkwardly. “I… I’m not sure.” Ted’s face darkened. The meeting continued, focusing on the proposal review scheduled for next Friday. This was the company’s biggest project this year—a major corporate client, an eight-figure contract. Our team submitted three proposals. I authored one of them. But during the kick-off, Ryan had said, “Just give me the first draft, I’ll help you refine it. We’ll co-author.” I gave it to him. In the end, only his name was on it. Ted had asked me once, “Sharon, the framework for this proposal doesn’t quite match Ryan’s usual style.” I’d said, “We collaborated; he incorporated some of my ideas.” Ted just looked at me and didn’t press. That look—I understood it now. He knew. But he never stood up for me. Because Ryan was his protégé. After the meeting, I returned to my desk and opened my computer. The original file for the stolen proposal was still on my USB drive. I’d saved everything. In three years, I’d learned one thing: Before you commit, always keep a record. 03 At noon, I ordered a $15 boxed lunch. I ate while scrolling through Instagram. Maya posted a second time: “Super happy today! Surprise coming this afternoon~” The photo was her fresh manicure—bright red with tiny hearts painted on the tips. A surprise? What surprise? I looked down at my own hands. My nails were clipped short, unpolished, practical for typing. It had been a year since I last got a manicure. It was for an anniversary dinner Ryan promised. I got my nails done specially. He canceled at the last minute, claiming an emergency. I sat in the restaurant alone for two hours, ate by myself, and went home. He said, “I’ll make it up to you next time.” There was no next time. “Sharon, my office.” Ted’s voice cut through my thoughts. When I entered, he was looking at Ryan’s proposal. The one that was mine. “Sharon,” he began, “how much of this proposal did you actually contribute?” I paused. “I…” “Don’t lie to me.” He looked up. “I know your writing. Ryan’s technical skills aren’t this good.” I kept silent. He sighed. “Forget it, you must have your reasons. I’ll just ask you this: Do you have a handle on next Friday’s review?” “What do you mean?” I asked. “The client has already internally decided on another firm,” he said in a low voice. “That’s insider information. All three of our proposals, no matter how good, are likely just a formality.” My heart sank. “Then why still hold the review?” “To follow protocol,” he said. “But if our proposal is groundbreaking enough, there’s still a slim chance.” He looked at me, a meaningful expression in his eyes. “Sharon, this project is important for you.” “For me?” “You’ve been here three years, and you’re still just a coordinator. Everyone below you has been promoted, and you’re stuck.” He paused. “Do you know why?” I didn’t. I made the PPTs for others to present, I pulled the all-nighters for others’ names to be on, and my ideas were used for others to take credit. But every time there was a promotion, I was passed over. Ted said, “Because you’re too accommodating.” He pushed the proposal toward me. “You present this one yourself.” I took it. I didn’t say yes, and I didn’t say no. Because a thought had suddenly sparked in my mind: Ryan was still “away on his business trip.” I had three days. I could do a lot of damage in three days. 04 After work, I didn’t go home. I went to the five-star hotel Maya mentioned. It was in the heart of the CBD. You needed a key card to get upstairs, but I could wait in the lobby. I bought a $58 latte, sat in a secluded corner, and watched the elevator. At 7:18 PM, the elevator doors opened. Ryan walked out. He was wearing the jacket I bought him—$2,800, three months of savings. The person on his arm was Maya. She was wearing a red dress, fully made up, more beautiful than I had ever seen her. They were laughing and chatting like a couple deeply in love. I took out my phone and snapped three photos. They didn’t see me. They would never in a million years think I’d be here. They walked toward the hotel’s fine-dining restaurant, sat down, and ordered. I watched from afar. I watched Ryan pour her water, serve her food, and cut her steak. He had never done any of those things for me. I watched Maya laughingly feed him a piece of food. He opened his mouth, took it, and they exchanged a look so sickeningly sweet it made my stomach turn. I suddenly remembered something that happened three days ago. Maya asked me out to lunch and inquired, “How are things between you and Ryan?” I said, “Good.” She said, “He got a promotion, you must be happy for him, right?” I said, “Of course.” She said, “Sharon, you’re so generous. I don’t think I could be so understanding.” I didn’t get what she meant then. I got it now. She was testing me. Testing to see if I knew. Once she confirmed I was an idiot, she could confidently move in for the kill. Eight on the dot, they finished their meal. Ryan called the waiter over and said something. The waiter nodded and walked away. A moment later, the restaurant lights dimmed. A cake was wheeled out, topped with candles. The staff started singing the birthday song. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” Maya covered her mouth, a look of surprise on her face. Ryan held her hand, saying something I couldn’t hear. But I saw Maya nod. Then Ryan took a small box out of his pocket. He opened it. A ring. Maya cried, laughing through her tears. Ryan slid the ring onto her ring finger. They hugged. They kissed. The surrounding diners applauded. I sat in my corner and watched the entire show. Today was October 15th. My birthday. Ryan was celebrating another woman’s birthday and proposing to her. Maya’s birthday was April 9th. I remembered it clearly. I sent her a gift every year. So this wasn’t her birthday at all. They had simply chosen the day of my supposed “business trip” to stage their little performance. No. They didn’t think they were staging anything. They just assumed I would never find out. I set down my coffee cup. And I laughed a quiet, sharp laugh. Fine. Very fine. 05 I didn’t storm out right then and there. That would be letting them off too easily. I wanted them to lose everything. That night, I returned to my apartment and started organizing the evidence. First, the proposal. My original draft was completed in March 2023, three months before Ryan submitted his. The revision history, the metadata, the backup emails—a complete chain of evidence. Second, the transfers. In three years, I’d wired Ryan $83,200. I had screenshots of every single transfer. The notes were explicitly clear: stock market, startup, car down payment, credit card debt. Third, the text messages. Including every time he said, “Baby, wait for me,” and every time he said, “I promise I’ll pay you back.” Fourth, my family. My parents had taken $470,000 from me in three years. $300,000 for my brother’s house down payment, $100,000 for his engagement, and the remaining $70,000 for various excuses. Every single transaction was documented. But they had never called to ask how I was doing. They had never once remembered my birthday. I finished organizing around three in the morning. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t cry. The tears felt like they’d dried up. The next morning, I went to work as usual. Ryan hadn’t “returned” yet. Maya had also taken the day off. They were probably still celebrating their engagement at the hotel. I opened my laptop and continued revising the proposal. Ted told me to present it myself, and I would. I spent those three days working non-stop to polish that proposal until it was flawless. Around noon, my mom called. “Sharon, did you send the $10,000 for your brother’s engagement party?”

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The $1,250.00 deduction. Success. I stared at the paycheck stub, reading the line item three times. The memo read: Dept. Retreat – Split Cost. But I never went. I didn’t request time off; I wasn’t even told it was happening. I opened my phone and scrolled through the department group chat. Nothing about a trip. Not a single notification. I switched to Instagram, where my feed was already saturated with colleagues’ posts. Blue skies, ocean waves, grilling, bonfires. The captions were all variations of the same saccharine sentiment— “The Department Family! Love these guys!” The family. I managed a small, dry laugh. 1. I’d worked in this department for three years. Three years. I hadn’t taken a single sick day, and I’d never once been late. I was the one who logged the most overtime, the one who handled the messiest, most tedious tasks. But now, looking at that deduction, I suddenly felt like a punchline. “Paige Miller, could you sign off on your pay stub, please?” Ms. Davis from Accounting handed me the paper, her expression utterly neutral. I pointed to the offending line: “What is this $1,250.00 for?” “The department retreat. Split cost.” “I didn’t go.” Ms. Davis paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “You didn’t? Wasn’t it mandatory for the whole team?” I stayed silent. She checked her computer. “The system shows your manager submitted a full roster, including your name.” “Who submitted the roster?” “Gillian Shaw. Your manager.” I nodded slowly, took the stub, and walked out of the accounting office. Gillian was our Department Head, promoted to Associate VP just this year, five years ahead of me on the corporate ladder. I stopped by her cubicle. She was sipping yogurt, and when she saw me, she offered a practiced, bright smile. “Paige, everything okay?” “Gillian, why wasn’t I notified about the department retreat?” Her spoon froze halfway to her mouth. “You were notified, sweetie. It was in the group chat.” “I didn’t receive a notification.” “You didn’t?” She put the yogurt down and pulled out her phone, scrolling rapidly. “See? It’s right here.” She tilted the screen toward me. It was a separate chat, labeled The Insiders’ Club. I scanned the member list. Twelve people. Our department had thirteen employees. The one missing was me. “Gillian,” I pointed to the chat. “I’m not in this group.” She blinked, then laughed, a slightly too-loud sound. “Oh, really? My bad, Paige. Must have slipped through the cracks when we set up the chat. So sorry about that.” “But the money was deducted from my paycheck.” “What?” She paused, genuinely surprised this time. “Well, then you need to talk to Accounting and get a refund.” “Accounting said the roster came from you.” “Then…” She hesitated for a moment. “I’ll make a note of it. I promise I’ll include you next time.” “Next time?” “Yes, next time we have a department outing, you’ll definitely be invited.” I just looked at her, saying nothing. She capped her yogurt container, stood up, and patted my shoulder—a gesture that always felt more like a dismissal. “Paige, don’t take this so personally. It was just an oversight. We’re all colleagues, after all.” “What about the money?” “The money is an Accounting matter. My end of things was just the standard paperwork.” With that, she grabbed her yogurt and headed toward the break room. I stood there, the pay stub clutched in my hand. $1,250.00. Not a fortune, but not insignificant either. It was the equivalent of three full weekends I’d traded my life for. Now, it was paying for a beach I’d never set foot on. I returned to my desk and opened my laptop. An unread email from last week was sitting in my inbox. Subject: Department Retreat – Travel Details. I clicked it open. Recipient: All members of The Insiders’ Club. I was not on the CC list. Attached was the itinerary: a three-day, two-night trip to Nantucket. The per-person cost was $1,250.00. It covered the charter bus, the seaside hotel, the dinners, and a special evening gala. I scrolled down to the attendee roster. My name was there. “Paige Miller—Fee Paid.” Who paid my fee? I scrolled to the very bottom. There was a line in small print: Fees will be collected via automatic payroll deduction. I understood. No one paid for me. It was simply taken from me. The notification went to a group I wasn’t in, and the expense was deducted from a paycheck I’d earned. It was all perfectly “normal.” So normal it was absurd. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. A memory flashed into my mind. Last Wednesday, lunchtime. I was finishing a proposal, so I skipped the cafeteria. Later, hungry, I headed to the lobby for a snack. As I passed the break room, I heard voices. “I booked the hotel in Nantucket. Ocean view, it’s going to be amazing.” “What day are we leaving?” “Next Friday. Back on Monday.” “Perfect, finally a getaway.” I froze outside the door. A trip? What trip? I was about to walk in and ask, but then I heard a warning— “Keep it quiet, though. Let Gillian handle the rollout.” It was Tiffany Brooks speaking. She was the newest hire in the department, fresh out of college, but she was sharp and highly skilled at ingratiating herself with Gillian. I stood at the doorway and walked away without going in. I waited three days. No one said a word to me. I assumed the plans had fallen through. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t canceled. I was. I minimized the email and opened Instagram again. I scrolled through the photos. Tiffany had posted a carousel, all vacation shots. The first was a group picture. Sunlight, sand, twelve people laughing. No me. The caption: “The Insiders’ Club, family forever!” I tapped the comments. Gillian’s comment was at the top: “Our team is the most united!” Tiffany replied: “All thanks to Gillian’s leadership!” A stream of back-patting followed. I kept scrolling and saw one comment from Scott Lewis: “Seriously had the best time. Hope we can do it again soon.” Someone asked: “Where to next?” Tiffany replied: “Whatever Gillian plans! I’m tagging along!” I put my phone down. Three years. I’d been here for three years. No one asked if I was going. No one even seemed to notice I was missing. I looked at the group photo and felt an odd kind of emptiness. Three years. I’d written the most proposals, worked the most overtime, and taken the most undeserved criticism. Yet, in that picture, I was completely absent. I had never truly been a part of it. The office suddenly came to life. My colleagues were filtering in from lunch. Tiffany’s voice was the loudest. “Hey, everyone, I finished editing the pictures. Sending them to the chat now.” “Great, send them over!” “Me too! Me too!” They clustered around her, chattering about the trip. Seafood dinners. Sunrises. The beach bonfire. Sand volleyball. No one looked my way. I put my head down and forced myself to work. The proposal I was working on was still open on my screen. I had rushed to finish it last Friday. I’d worked until 2 a.m. When Gillian presented it on Monday, she’d said: “This proposal is the culmination of our team’s hard work. Great effort, everyone.” Team. Culmination. Everyone. I looked up at her. She was shaking hands with a client, beaming. I looked back down. A notification popped up in the bottom right corner of my screen. It was a message from Tiffany in The Insiders’ Club group chat— “A-Team, let’s aim for Cabo next time!” A cascade of “Yes!”, “Count me in!”, and “Can’t wait!” followed. I wasn’t in that chat. But my name would probably still appear on the expense sheet. Wouldn’t it? 2. The next day, I went back to Accounting. “Ms. Davis, can I get a refund for the $1,250.00?” She checked her system and shook her head. “I can’t process it, Paige. Your department filed for mandatory attendance. We don’t have a process for individual refunds.” “But I didn’t attend.” “Then you’ll need a letter from your manager, confirming you were physically absent. Only then can we initiate an exception refund.” I nodded. “Understood. I’ll ask her.” I went straight to Gillian’s desk. She was chatting with Tiffany. Seeing me, she gave me a dismissive smile. “Paige, something else?” “Gillian, I need a letter certifying that I did not attend the department retreat.” “A letter?” “Yes, Accounting requires it to process my refund.” She paused, her smile turning brittle. “Paige, that… that’s going to be difficult.” “Why?” “Look, your name was on the roster. The bus was chartered, the hotel was booked. You say you didn’t go—how can I prove that?” “I definitively did not go.” “I know, I know,” she waved a hand dismissively. “But you’re putting me in a difficult position here. I submitted the official roster. If I certify that you didn’t go, it makes it look like I messed up my job.” I just stared at her, waiting. She sighed. “How about this? I’ll reach out to Ms. Davis and see if there’s another way to handle it, okay?” “When will you have an answer?” “The…” She glanced at her watch. “Things are crazy busy right now. I’ll try my best.” “How long is ‘try my best’?” Her forced smile finally cracked. “Paige Miller, I said I’ll try my best. Why are you being so difficult about this?” Tiffany chimed in from the side. “Seriously, Paige, it’s $1,250.00. Is it really worth this drama?” I turned to Tiffany. She was wearing a new dress, one she’d showcased in her Instagram stories, likely purchased on the trip. “$1,250.00,” I said, my voice even. “Is what I earned by working three full weekends straight.” Tiffany pursed her lips and looked away. Gillian put a hand on Tiffany’s arm and smiled at me again. “Paige, I understand, truly. But you need to understand me too, okay? I’ll try to handle this. Now, please, get back to work.” I stood there for a few seconds, then turned and walked away. Back at my desk, I opened my computer. One thought kept looping: Who put my name on the roster? I pulled up the email and reviewed the attendee list again. Next to every name was a detail: Registration Date. Tiffany Brooks: April 15th. Scott Lewis: April 15th. … I scrolled down to my name. Paige Miller: April 20th. April 20th. What was I doing that day? I remembered. It was a Thursday. I was rushing to finish the quarterly presentation deck. I worked until after 10 p.m. I had no time to check messages. More importantly, I wasn’t in the group chat. April 20th. The day before registration closed. Someone had “registered” me. Who? I checked the email sender again. Sender: Gillian Shaw. She submitted the roster. I took a deep breath. I remembered another incident. This past March. The department had a dinner to celebrate meeting the quarterly targets. I was working late that night and missed it. The next day, there was a receipt on my desk. For the dinner. Split cost: $75.00. I asked Gillian about it. She said: “Oh, you didn’t come? I thought you were. I already included you in the count. I’ll be sure to check next time.” I’ll be sure to check next time. I paid the $75.00 and let it go. Now, I wondered: Was I “forgotten” that time, too? I opened my phone and scrolled back through my texts. The notification for that dinner had also been posted in The Insiders’ Club group. I wasn’t in it. I scrolled back further. Last December. The company holiday party. The department was putting on a skit and rehearsing ahead of time. I remember seeing them huddled in the break room often. I’d asked once: “What are you all up to?” Tiffany had said: “Nothing, just messing around.” Later, at the party, the department performed the skit. Twelve people. I wasn’t one of them. I thought then that I just wasn’t involved enough, that they were too polite to ask. Now I knew the truth— I was “forgotten” then, too. I leaned back, staring at the ceiling tiles. Three years. How many times had I been “forgotten”? Dinner. Team-building. Rehearsals. The retreat. But the deductions were never forgotten. I picked up my phone and opened my contacts. I found Scott Lewis’s name. Scott was a peer, the closest thing I had to an ally, though even that was a stretch. I sent him a message: “Scott, quick question.” “What’s up?” “The Insiders’ Club chat. Do you remember when it was created?” He sent a thinking emoji, then replied: “End of last year, I think. Gillian started it.” “Why?” “She said it was for internal department-only communication.” “Why not use the existing department chat?” He didn’t reply immediately. After a moment, he wrote: “Paige, why are you asking?” I didn’t answer him. I already knew the answer. End of last year. What happened then? I remembered. That was when I completed a major project. I finished it single-handedly. The client was thrilled and signed a huge contract. When the annual reviews came around, I thought I was a lock for the “Outstanding Employee” award. The award went to Tiffany Brooks. I asked Gillian about it. She said: “Paige, your work ethic is fantastic. But you need to improve on team collaboration. Tiffany, on the other hand, is great at connecting with everyone. She has real team spirit.” Team spirit. My project involved countless nights of solitary overtime. While they were team-building, eating dinner, and rehearsing, I was working. Therefore, I “lacked team spirit.” I understood. I finally, truly understood. I wasn’t forgotten. I was cut out. Since the end of last year. Or maybe even earlier. I sat at my desk, looking at the computer screen. A new proposal was open, due today. Gillian’s morning assignment. She’d said: “Paige, you’re the most efficient. This one’s for you.” Most efficient. So I got the heavy lifting, the thankless tasks. The retreats and team-building? Those were for the “team.” I wasn’t part of the team. My phone vibrated. It was Scott. “Paige, don’t overthink this. She probably just forgot to add you when she created the chat.” Forgot. Always forgot. I replied with two words: “No problem.” Then I put the phone down. And I kept working. What else was I supposed to do? What could I do? I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys. $1,250.00. Three years. A group photo of twelve people. I wasn’t in it. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming weariness. Not physical fatigue. A deep, profound exhaustion that settled in my bones. Too tired to move. Too tired to speak. Too tired to pretend nothing was wrong anymore. I saved the document and shut down my computer. I stood up. “Where are you going?” Tiffany asked. “Restroom.” I left the office, but I didn’t go to the restroom. I went to the roof deck. The office was on the 18th floor. I went up to the rooftop terrace. The wind was strong. I stood by the railing, looking down at the city. Traffic, people, skyscrapers. I’d been here for three years. Three years. No days off, no tardiness, no complaints. I thought if I just did my job well, I would be recognized. I thought if I just worked hard, I would be integrated into the team. I was wrong. Wrong from the very beginning. Some circles don’t let you in just because you try hard. If you’re not in the chat, you’re never in the club. I took a deep breath. $1,250.00. I was getting that money back. Not because of the money. But because I refused to be the one who was “forgotten” anymore. Refused to be the one who was “easygoing.” Refused to be the one everyone could walk over. I turned and went back downstairs. Back in the office. Tiffany gave me a strange look. “That was a long trip.” “Mhm.” I sat down and opened my computer. Not to work. But to open my email. I searched and found every email related to department activities for the past three years. I went through them, one by one. Date, location, attendees, cost breakdown. I built an Excel spreadsheet. I logged every instance of being “forgotten.” Dinners: 4 times. Team-Building: 3 times. Rehearsal: 1 time. Retreat: 1 time. Total: 9 times. Total cost: $3,250.00. (Adjusting total cost to reflect the new per-event cost) Times I actually participated: 0. Times I actually paid: 9. I stared at the number, a small, cold smile touching my lips. Three years. I had paid over three thousand dollars for a place that didn’t exist. A hefty fee, indeed. 3. When it was time to leave, I didn’t stay late. Gillian looked at me. “Paige, that proposal—” “Due tomorrow.” “Tomorrow? The client is pressing.” “Then let Tiffany handle it,” I said, standing up and gathering my things. “She has team spirit.”

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My wife came home late that night, looking like a ghost. Her stockings were shredded, her dress barely clinging to her hips, and her skin was a road map of angry, crimson bruises. The moment she crossed the threshold, she bolted for the bathroom, locking the door. I heard the shower immediately—she scrubbed until her skin was raw, desperate to erase what had happened. I wanted her to call the police. I begged her. But after hours of relentless scrubbing, the police said there was no physical evidence left. When the district attorney’s office reviewed the case, the surveillance cameras in her boss’s office were, coincidentally, “under maintenance.” Eventually, the case was dropped due to insufficient evidence. Rage consumed me. I drove straight to her office and beat her supervisor into the floor. My reward was seven days in a local detention facility for assault. It wasn’t just the jail time. After the incident, Veronica developed severe psychological distress. For two agonizing months, she flinched away from my touch—any touch. I finally reached my limit. I called her family over, sat them down in our living room, and announced I wanted a divorce. Veronica stared at me, disbelief warring with pain in her eyes. “Is this my fault? Am I to blame because I was assaulted? And you’re leaving me over this?” I looked at her, my voice flat, hollowed out of all emotion. “Yes. Precisely because you were assaulted, I am divorcing you.” 1 Veronica’s face was slick with tears, her gaze full of shock and betrayal. “Nick, is this what you’ve wanted for months? Did you just use what happened as an excuse?” “You’ve wanted to leave me since day one, haven’t you? You think I’m dirty now.” I met the gaze of the sobbing woman in front of me, but I felt nothing. My heart was a stone. “Whatever you think, this marriage is over today.” Veronica gasped, startled by the finality in my voice. She hadn’t expected me to be so firm. My mother-in-law, Mrs. Peterson, immediately scowled. She started to speak, but Mr. Peterson squeezed her arm, stopping her. “Nick, son, I know this is hard for you to swallow, but Veronica is the victim here,” Mr. Peterson said, his tone softening in a bid for peace. “She didn’t ask for this. She’s suffering enough. This is the test of your vows, isn’t it? As husband and wife, you get through this.” Mrs. Peterson jumped in, her voice shrill. “That’s right, Nick! Veronica has been a good wife! Look at her—she’s beautiful, she’s successful. You got lucky marrying her! This is the kind of man you’re going to be? Abandoning your wife when she needs you most? Grow up, apologize to her, and stop this foolishness!” Veronica, recovering slightly, reached for my hand, playing the supportive wife. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you’ve been hurting, too.” “You don’t have to apologize. Let’s just put this behind us and move forward. Please?” The other Peterson relatives who had gathered in the living room chimed in, leaning into the pressure. “Nick, this is wrong. No one wanted this for Veronica. You’re the man, you need to be bigger.” “And honestly, you have some blame here. She was working late—why didn’t you go pick her up? If you had, none of this would have happened!” “Come on, forget the divorce talk. You two are young. This is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Your lives are just beginning.” Hope flickered back into Veronica’s tear-stained eyes. “Sweetheart, I know the last two months have been so hard on you.” “I promise I’ll adjust. We can just pretend it never happened, okay?” Her voice caught on a sob. If you didn’t know the full story, you’d think she was making the biggest sacrifice in the world. I took a step back, breaking her grip on my hand, ignoring the chorus of judging relatives. “Veronica.” My voice was ice. “I am going through with this divorce.” 2 Veronica froze, her whole body rigid with shock. Mr. Peterson’s face went dark with anger. “Nick! You are an animal! Divorcing your wife over something like this? You are no man!” I glanced at my father-in-law and gave a cold, short laugh. “You’re a man. If your wife came home after cheating on you, could you live with her?” Mrs. Peterson’s hand trembled as she pointed a finger inches from my nose, her voice cracking. “That’s not the same! Was she willing? Did she want this to happen?” I didn’t answer her. I looked down at Veronica. I remembered that night two months ago: Veronica floating into the house, lost, her stockings torn, her dress hanging like a rag. She didn’t see me, just went straight to the shower. The next day, she told me she was forced by her supervisor, Clay. She fought, she said, but it was no use. I was blind with rage. I dragged her to the police station. But all evidence had literally gone down the drain. The company cameras were “down,” and the police told us we had nothing. Case closed. Watching Veronica exist as a shell, dissolving into tears every day, I felt a desperate, helpless pain. I went to her company and gave Clay the beating of his life. I spent a week in custody. Two months had passed. The truth of what happened that night—whether she was forced or not—was known only to Veronica and Clay. A cynical smile touched my lips. “Veronica, why do I want this divorce?” “Don’t you actually know the reason?” She flinched, a flash of guilt flickering in her eyes. I stepped further away, putting distance between us. “After it happened, I told you to quit. I told you I could support us, cover the mortgage and the bills. I told you to stay home and heal. But you refused. You insisted on going back to that office every single day, to face the man you claimed was disgusting.” Veronica visibly relaxed at my words. She immediately played the martyr, tears streaming down her face. “We’ve only been married for two years! We have the mortgage, the car payment, all our debt. How could I let you shoulder all that alone?” “Nick, do you really think I’m an embarrassment? Do you think I’m ‘throwing myself out there’?” “I was doing it for you. For our family.” I scoffed. “You know exactly who you were doing it for.” Hearing our exchange, the relatives reached a fever pitch. “Nick, you are unbelievable! Veronica suffered a trauma, and you’re not even thinking about her feelings, you’re worried about her throwing herself out there?” “She’s pushing through all that pain to keep working for you and the family! She has to face that monster every day. Don’t you think she’s hurting more than you?” “You are the monster! The sheer ingratitude!” Mr. Peterson had heard enough. He grabbed Veronica’s arm, ready to pull her out. “Come on! You’re coming home with your mother and me! We don’t need to talk to this kind of filth!” Veronica pulled her arm away, tears still flowing, but her face set in a look of grim determination. “It’s okay, Dad. Nick and I are married. Whatever happens, we have to face it together.” “He’s just struggling right now. You two go home. I’ll talk to him. Please don’t worry about me.” Mr. Peterson’s face twisted with helpless anger and pity for his daughter. He wanted to scream at her, but looking at her tear-streaked face, he couldn’t find the words. He turned his fury on me instead. “Listen to me, Nick! You better think this through very carefully!” “You’re a stray! An orphan who only got a shot because we let you marry our daughter! If you leave her, you’ll be on your own—see how far you get then!” With that, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson and the other relatives stormed out, not looking back. The living room fell silent. I took one long, assessing look at Veronica, then turned and walked upstairs to the master bedroom. I locked the door and pulled out my phone, dialing my cousin, Danielle, who was an attorney. “Danielle, any progress on what I asked you to check?” Hearing her answer, a heavy weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying finally shifted. “Good. We may need to go to court in a few days. I need your full support.” 3 I got home late the next night after work, and stopped dead in the doorway. The dining table was set with an elaborate, beautifully plated dinner. Candles flickered softly, and Veronica was sitting there in a revealing, silky nightgown. When she saw me, her face lit up. “Honey, you’re home! Come sit down, look what I made for you.” When I didn’t move, she rushed over, took my hand, and gently led me to the table. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I thought everything through. I realized that I wasn’t the only one suffering these past two months—you were, too.” “I was so deep in my own pain, I didn’t consider your feelings. I won’t do that again. We can start fresh, together.” “Sweetheart, let’s stop fighting. Please?” As she spoke, Veronica deliberately straightened her back, pressing her chest forward. Two years of marriage meant I knew exactly what that gesture meant. Since that night two months ago, she had completely shut me out. Forget intimacy, even a simple arm around her shoulders would make her shriek in panic. She must have convinced herself that my demand for a divorce was purely about her physical rejection. She thought this elaborate setup would fix everything. How small she thinks I am. I slipped my hand free and flicked on the bright overhead lights, shattering the cozy atmosphere. “Veronica, stop the theatrics.” “I told you: this divorce is happening, no matter what.” She froze, stunned that I hadn’t crumbled. Before she could form a reply, two figures burst out of the guest room. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson stood there, faces contorted with rage. Mr. Peterson pointed a finger at me, but his words were directed at his daughter. “How did I raise such a foolish, blind daughter! How could you choose a man like this? Look at you, doing this for him, and he still wants a divorce! He is making a fool out of you!” Mrs. Peterson stepped forward, shielding her daughter behind her back. “I know what’s going on! This animal has been cheating on you!” “It’s the 21st century! No man leaves his wife over something like this unless he has someone else waiting in the wings! And why now? Why not two months ago? Why the sudden urgency?” “Nick, tell me the truth. Do you have a mistress?” Veronica looked at me, her tears suddenly stopping, her eyes wide with shock. “Sweetheart, is this true?” She didn’t wait for an answer, muttering to herself, “It must be. It absolutely is.” “You’ve been coming home late every night for two months, and you always brush me off when I ask where you’ve been.” “You really did find someone else! Nick, how could you do this to me?” I almost laughed at the sheer gall of the accusation. “Who is cheating? Who has a secret life outside this house?” “Veronica, your parents are right here. Do you dare tell them—” I was cut off. My mother-in-law, driven by righteous fury, lunged at me. “I’ll kill you! You bastard! You’re not even human!” “My daughter has been through hell, and you have the audacity to find someone else? You’re a pig!” I hadn’t anticipated her physical attack. She raked her nails across my cheek, leaving stinging, bloody lines. But she was an elder. No matter how much I despised her daughter, I wouldn’t hit her. I backed away quickly, putting space between us. Veronica, startled, grabbed her mother’s arm. I looked at Mr. Peterson, who still had a shred of composure. “Take her home,” I said, pointing to his wife. “I’ll say it one last time: If you don’t want me to make this ugly, agree to the divorce immediately.” 4 Mr. Peterson glowered at me, his expression one of pure, unrestrained hatred. Finally, he regained control, turning to his wife and daughter. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Three days later, Veronica came back. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled up. “You won’t answer my calls. You won’t reply to my texts.” “Nick, what are you trying to do? Why are you punishing me like this?” I didn’t look up, instead busy packing her remaining personal items into boxes. “We’re getting a divorce. There’s no reason to communicate.” Veronica’s face hardened. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke slowly, biting off each word. “Nick, I am asking you for the last time. Are you absolutely determined to end this marriage?” I didn’t reply. I didn’t even lift my head. Mr. Peterson’s patience snapped. He slammed a folder onto the floor at my feet. “Fine! We’ll divorce!” “But Veronica did nothing wrong in this marriage. Since you insist, you’ll walk away with nothing! You leave completely empty-handed!” I put down the box, picked up the settlement papers, and gave a cold smile. “Whether she did anything wrong is a question you should ask your precious daughter.” “And you expect me to walk away empty-handed? You people are sickening.” The second my words left my mouth, Mrs. Peterson darted out from behind her husband, raising her designer handbag like a weapon. “I should have never let my daughter marry you! I knew you were a rotten heart! You think you can claim she’s the fault? I’m telling you: either you sign these papers and leave with nothing, or we’ll see you in court. You won’t take a single penny of my daughter’s!” I grabbed her swinging arm, simultaneously feeling a rush of satisfaction. Court is exactly where I wanted to be. Mrs. Peterson, thinking I was intimidated, yanked her purse back and continued her tirade. “You’re a leech! An ungrateful stray! You’re an orphan with no family name! If the Petersons hadn’t given you a chance, you’d be nothing!” “Now you’ve got your girlfriend on the side, you want to throw my daughter out and pin the blame on her? I’m telling you, it won’t be that easy!” I was tired of the noise. “Since we can’t agree, we’ll settle it in court.” “Talk is cheap. We’ll let the judge decide.” A week later, the divorce proceedings began. Veronica’s family and a host of relatives filled the gallery, a wall of support and hostility. Their eyes burned with contempt and fury aimed squarely at me. Before the hearing began, Veronica walked up to me, her eyes red-rimmed. “Nick, do we really have to do this? We can still go home. We can be a family. We can forget everything that happened. Please?” I ignored her, walking straight into the courtroom. Once the initial paperwork was reviewed, the judge looked up at me. “Mr. Hayes, the incident involving Ms. Peterson was a tragic accident. You are entitled to file for divorce, but your secondary conditions are unreasonable.” (I had asked for a split that factored in her ‘at-fault’ behavior). “Under these circumstances, you cannot demand Ms. Peterson walk away with nothing.” I stood up, meeting the judge’s gaze. “Your Honor, I have additional evidence.”

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At eighteen, Caleb Thorne shielded me in his arms. He took a brutal beating from a gang, leaving him bloodied and barely clinging to life. As he lay on the gurney, someone asked if he regretted it. Barely conscious, he let out a reckless, wild laugh: “Regret? Hell no. What are two broken legs compared to this?” “I’ve got myself a wife for life now!” At twenty-eight, I slipped off my wedding ring. Along with a pink hair tie I’d found in his pocket, I handed it all back to him. He took the hair tie—the one his little college mistress had used to provoke me. He leaned against the wall, watching me with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes: “Honey, you don’t actually think this little stunt is going to make me have a change of heart, do you?” 1 I didn’t answer. I just kept packing my things. The hair tie was a soft baby pink, the kind that looks cute and playful on a college girl. Caleb slid it over his wrist, let out a dry chuckle. His gaze lingered on the pink band as if he were seeing someone else through it, and the curve of his mouth softened into something sweet. If this were the old me, I would have been triggered. I would have screamed, cried, and hysterically demanded to know if he was thinking about that brat. But now, I just pushed the wedding ring closer to him across the table. “Let’s get a divorce, Caleb. I’m serious.” Caleb didn’t respond. He maintained that same casual, indifferent posture, though his smile gained a sharp edge of mockery. I knew he didn’t believe me. Because “divorce” was a word I had thrown around a hundred times over the last few years. The first few times, he actually panicked. He’d get bloodshot eyes, making promises, swearing oaths. He’d do anything and everything to beg me to stay. Until that one time. His little side-piece caught a high fever. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I told him if he dared to go to her, we were done. That day was my birthday. Caleb never came home. When the girl sent me a voice clip of her moaning his name, I actually considered ending it all. I stood by the open window, the night wind chilling my skin to the bone. In the end, I didn’t jump. I just slumped onto the floor and sobbed like a broken animal. When Caleb finally came home, he knelt in front of me and laughed mockingly: “Wifey, weren’t we getting a divorce?” “Why are you still guarding the house like a loyal dog, hm?” 2 “Caleb, this time is for real.” I finished packing the last of my things and took a deep breath. Caleb was starting to look impatient. But then, a specific ringtone—one reserved for her—chimed through the room. Caleb stood up straight, and as he answered the phone, his features softened instantly. He let out a low chuckle, flirting as if I wasn’t even in the room: “What is it now, my little troublemaker?” “Oh, you’re asking me? It’s Valentine’s Day!” “Every other girl has her boyfriend with her, and my boyfriend is stuck at home with an old woman.” The girl’s voice was young, vibrant, and undeniably sweet. Caleb couldn’t resist her pouting. He surrendered immediately: “Alright, alright. I’m coming to find you right now.” He hung up, the doting look still in his eyes. But when he turned back to me, his voice was cold as ice. “Honey, you aren’t hitting menopause early, are you?” “Why all the drama today?” I watched his retreating back and sighed softly. I had loved him too desperately, too pathetically. So much so that when I finally meant it, no one believed me. 3 After Caleb left, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from a contact saved as “Lily.” [Hey Auntie, want to bet Caleb still spends Valentine’s with me?] [Hehe, looks like I won.] The girl’s provocations were childish but effective. Usually, they were enough to send me into a spiral. But I knew exactly where she got her confidence from. When Caleb first started cheating, he wasn’t this blatant. Back then, he hid Lily’s texts. He coaxed me, begged me, told me he’d cut it off. My heart was ripped open. I couldn’t believe the man who loved me so fiercely in our teens could stab me like this. Like every other betrayed wife, I went to his office. I screamed about his betrayal in front of everyone. I tried to drag out the woman who was destroying my home. But Caleb protected Lily perfectly. He kept her hidden. Until the day Lily lost her patience and came to me herself to brag. I didn’t even have room to fight back. She slammed down photo after photo of them in bed together. “Auntie, Caleb told me it was love at first sight, but he wouldn’t touch me until I graduated college.” “So, the moment I finished school, he took me. He even cleared his schedule to take me on a trip abroad.” “Oh, right. That was while you were back in your hometown for your father’s funeral.” “See? That’s how much he loves me.” Lily stood there with her high ponytail, gloating about Caleb’s devotion. I lost my mind. I grabbed a glass and smashed it against her. Then, in a fit of rage, I used a shard of glass to slice her face. Caleb arrived in a panic and pulled a sobbing Lily into his arms. He looked at me, his voice freezing. “I’ve spoiled you too much over the years, Winona.” “I’ve let you think you actually have the right to touch what’s mine.” 4 After that incident, Caleb stopped hiding her. He took Lily to every gala, every event, acting intimate in front of everyone. He turned me into a complete laughingstock. No matter how much I raged or cried, he remained a cold observer, like an outsider watching a play. During that time, I lived like a zombie. My nerves were stretched to the breaking point. I was a madwoman. When did I finally decide to give up on him? Maybe it was when my mother was hospitalized for a major surgery. I was exhausted, falling ill myself. Caleb, meanwhile, had the audacity to bring Lily to our house for a party with his friends. I dragged my sick body downstairs and overheard his friends talking about our past. “Caleb really used to love Winona, didn’t he?” “Yeah, man. Caleb was a star athlete. He had scouts from the pro leagues looking at him. His future was set.” “No one expected him to throw it all away to protect her. Getting both his legs smashed by those thugs. He’s carried those scars for life.” Lily, clearly annoyed, pressed for more details. She didn’t want to believe he had ever been that devoted to me. Since she was unhappy, Caleb’s expression soured too. One guy laughed, sounding crude: “It was simple. Those thugs had their eyes on Winona.” “They were trying to drag her into a bar to take turns on her. When Caleb got there, they’d already stripped her. They’d touched her everywhere.” “She was a total mess, crying like a baby.” Lily covered her mouth, let out a giggle. She leaned into Caleb’s chest and spoke with pure malice. “If I were her, being stripped and touched by all those men, I’d just die.” “And you know what they say—flies don’t swarm an egg unless there’s a crack. Who knows if she was the one who lured them in?” “She deserved it.” The moment those words left her mouth, Caleb told her to shut up with a cold face. Lily looked shocked, then her eyes turned red. She started a scene, demanding to go home. “I only said it because I feel bad that you lost your career for her! How could you be so mean to me?!” Caleb couldn’t stand her crying. He started coaxing her. Lily was stubborn, wiping her tears, refusing to give in. She grabbed Caleb’s tie, pouting. “Tell me you regret it then. Tell me if you could go back, you wouldn’t save that old woman. You’d let her rot!” Caleb sighed, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I wouldn’t save her. I wouldn’t.” In that moment, my sick, broken body felt like it finally dissipated. My heart felt a suffocation and despair I’d never known. It was also in that moment that I woke up from the dream. I finally realized. Caleb was no longer the boy who loved me. I needed to let him go. And I needed to let myself go. I gave myself one week to process it all. Today was the last day.

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