Category: English

I found an empty box in Ethan’s study. It should have held a stack of wish coupons that read: “Ethan promises to unconditionally fulfill one wish for Zara.” I made them by hand during our first year of marriage. He said he’d save them up, and we’d cash them in slowly when we were old. Now, the box was empty. He used the last one a week ago. I saw it with my own eye. He handed that coupon to Blair, his voice gentle. “Blair, ask for anything you want.” And I stood outside the hospital room, having just lost our second child. My phone buzzed. A message from Ethan popped up. “Zara, I’ll have my assistant take you to handle the paperwork tomorrow. Blair’s emotionally unstable. I need to stay with her.” I touched my flat stomach and suddenly remembered seven years ago. He was at this same hospital, kneeling beside my bed with red eyes. “Zara, I swear I’ll never let you down in this lifetime.” How ridiculous. The wish coupons were gone. So was the love. When I returned home from my hospital follow-up, my abdomen still ached with the dull pain from the D&C procedure. A woman’s soft laughter floated from the living room. I steadied myself against the wall and saw Blair sitting on my sofa, wearing my silk bathrobe. Ethan had his back to me, pouring her water. “Ethan, Zara won’t be upset that I’m wearing this, will she?” Blair’s voice was soft, her fingers brushing over the collar of the robe. “She won’t.” Ethan handed her the water, his tone carrying a tenderness I hadn’t heard in ages. “Your clothes were soaked through. You couldn’t go home in wet clothes.” I stood in the shadows of the entryway, watching this scene, and suddenly the pain in my lower abdomen intensified. “Ethan.” I spoke abruptly, my voice hoarse. They both turned around. A flash of panic crossed Ethan’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. He walked over, his tone softening. “How was the follow-up? What did the doctor say? Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?” I didn’t answer his questions. I just pointed at Blair. “Why is she here? Why is she wearing my clothes?” Blair immediately stood up, her eyes reddening on cue. “Zara, I’m so sorry. The rain was so heavy today. I came to drop off some documents for Ethan and accidentally fell.” “I let her take a shower and change clothes.” Ethan interrupted her, his tone matter-of-fact. “Zara, Blair’s father just went into the ICU. You’ve always been kind. I’m sure you won’t make a big deal out of this.” Make a big deal? I clutched my stomach and suddenly laughed. Ethan’s brow furrowed. “What are you laughing at?” “I’m laughing at myself.” I looked up at him, my eyes so dry they hurt. “Ethan, we lost our child.” “Last week, I was on the operating table alone. I signed the consent form alone. I heard the doctor say alone that everything had been cleared out.” “And you were here, pouring water for another woman, letting her wear my bathrobe.” With each sentence I spoke, Ethan’s face grew paler. Blair spoke up on cue, her voice tearful. “Ethan, I didn’t know Zara had surgery. I really didn’t know.” “It’s not your fault.” Ethan patted the back of her hand, then turned to me. “Zara, I’m sorry about the child, but Blair’s father was in critical condition. A life at stake. Surely that’s more important than-” “More important than my child.” I finished the sentence for him. “I know. I understand. The bigger picture comes first.” I walked into the living room, heading straight for Blair. She instinctively stepped back, but I grabbed the belt of the bathrobe. “Take it off.” I said calmly. “This is my robe. You don’t deserve to wear it.” Blair’s eyes grew redder as she looked pleadingly at Ethan. Ethan stepped forward, instinctively gripping my wrist. “Zara!” Seeing my pale face, he quickly let go, his tone urgent. “Are you okay? I was just worried.” “It’s just a robe. If you don’t like that Blair wore it, throw it away. I’ll buy you a new one.” When I looked up, I saw Ethan standing protectively in front of Blair. “Blair, go rest in the guest room.” He said softly, turning his head. Then he turned to me, his voice softening. “Zara, about the child-we can have another one.” I didn’t speak. I just turned and walked toward the bedroom. He followed, gently wrapping his arms around me from behind, his chin resting in the curve of my shoulder. “I’m sorry.” “I should have been with you yesterday, but Blair’s dad suddenly went into emergency. She couldn’t handle it alone. To keep everything stable, I had to be there for her.” It was always like this. When Blair needed him, he had to go. And when I needed him, I was always second to the bigger picture.

That night, Blair stayed at our house. Ethan let me have the master bedroom and went to the study himself. Late at night, I woke up from abdominal pain and wanted to get hot water from the kitchen. As I passed the guest room, I heard muffled crying inside. The door was slightly ajar. I saw Ethan sitting on the edge of the bed, Blair leaning against him, her shoulders shaking. “Ethan, I’m so scared. If Dad dies, I’ll have no family left.” “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” Ethan gently patted her back. Once upon a time, when I had period cramps, he held me like that and said, “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” Now, his embrace belonged to someone else. I turned to leave but knocked over a vase in the hallway. Crash! Both of them looked over. Ethan’s face showed panic as he quickly tried to explain. “Blair suddenly said she was scared tonight, afraid her father would leave her. So I came to talk with her.” I looked at him and suddenly felt so tired. “Ethan, right now, immediately-get her out of my house!” Blair walked out of the room. She’d already changed back into her own clothes, her eyes red and swollen. “Zara, I’m sorry. I’ll leave right now.” As she spoke, her legs gave out and she fell straight toward Ethan. Ethan instinctively caught her. “I feel so dizzy.” Blair leaned against him, her voice weak. “I think I caught a fever from the rain today.” Ethan touched her forehead, his expression changing. “You’re burning up!” He scooped Blair up in his arms and looked at me pleadingly. “Zara, look-Blair has a fever. Can she stay a little longer?” “I’ll help her with the medicine and then come be with you! I promise!” “Then call an ambulance.” I didn’t budge. “Or should I call one for you?” Seeing I wouldn’t relent, Ethan could only smile apologetically. “Okay, okay. Don’t be angry, Zara. I’ll take her away right now.” With that, he had Blair go downstairs first. I said nothing. He came over to kiss my forehead, but I turned my head away. He sighed and grabbed his coat. “Don’t be upset. Wait for me to come back, and we’ll talk properly.” The door closed. I stood there, listening to the elevator descend. I suddenly remembered last month, on my birthday. He promised to have dinner with me, but he left because of one phone call from Blair. That night I waited until dawn. He came back at three in the morning, reeking of alcohol, shoving a box into my hands. “To make it up to you. Open it.” Inside was a diamond necklace. “Do you like it?” He kissed my neck. “Zara, I love you most.” Back then, I still softened. I still thought that deep down, he remembered me. How foolish. Ethan didn’t come home all night. The next morning, he returned with breakfast. “Blair was in bad shape last night. I took her to the hospital planning to come right back, but then her father’s condition suddenly worsened.” He explained while changing his shoes. He set the coffee and bread on the dining table and came over to touch my face. “Why are your eyes swollen? Didn’t you sleep well?” I avoided his hand. His movement froze, his eyes dimming. “Zara, I know you’re angry, but that was a life at stake. I couldn’t just ignore it.” “So my child’s life doesn’t count?” I heard my own voice, terrifyingly calm. Ethan’s face went pale. He opened his mouth, but in the end just took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but what’s done is done. Can we please stop torturing each other? Blair really…” “She’s really pitiful.” I finished for him. “She needs you, and I’m strong. I can handle things myself, right?” He was left speechless, guilt and frustration flashing in his eyes. Finally, he crouched down in compromise, gripping my hand. “Zara, I promise this is the last time.” “Once her father’s condition stabilizes, I’ll keep my distance from her. We’ll live well together and have another child, okay?” His palm was warm, his eyes sincere. For a brief moment, I almost believed him. But then I saw his phone screen light up with a message. “Ethan, thank you for being with me. Without you, I really couldn’t hold on.” Sender: Blair.

My wedding anniversary with Ethan was on Friday. He’d promised a week ago to take me to my favorite stargazing restaurant. I’d even secretly prepared a gift. At 6 p.m., I started doing my makeup and picking out a dress. At six-thirty, his message came. “Sorry Zara, there’s an emergency meeting. I might be an hour late. Can you go to the restaurant first and wait for me? I’ll be there as soon as possible.” I typed back. “What meeting?” He replied instantly. “Final negotiations for the acquisition. The other party suddenly changed their terms. I have to be there.” Very reasonable. I went to the restaurant alone. The server came several times asking if I wanted to order. Each time I said to wait a bit longer. Seven-thirty. Ethan didn’t come. Eight o’clock. He sent a photo of a conference room. “Still at a standstill. Sorry, babe.” Nine o’clock. The restaurant was about to close. I picked up my bag to leave, but through the window, I saw the huge LED screen across the street at the mall. It was playing financial news. In the frame, Ethan wore a sharp suit, smiling as he gave an interview. And beside him, Blair in a white dress was holding his arm. The caption scrolled. “Jameson Group heir Ethan with his female companion at charity gala-wedding bells soon?” I stood on the street, cold all over. My phone buzzed. Another message from him. “Finally done! I’m heading over now. Wait for me!” I stared at those words and suddenly laughed. When Ethan arrived, the restaurant lights were already off. He found me on the street, his face full of apology. “Zara, I’m sorry. The negotiations dragged on too long. Why are you waiting out here? Aren’t you cold?” He took off his jacket to drape it over my shoulders. I dodged. He froze. “Are you angry? It really was work.” “Ethan.” I interrupted him, looking up at him. “Did the negotiations go well?” His eyes flickered, and he forced a smile. “It was… okay. The other party was difficult.” “I see.” I nodded. “And the charity gala? Did that go well too?” His expression changed drastically. The air went dead silent. After a few seconds, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “You saw? I didn’t mean to hide it from you. Blair insisted I accompany her.” “She said it was her father’s dying wish to see her in the spotlight once. I couldn’t refuse.” Couldn’t refuse again. “So you lied to me?” I heard my voice trembling. “Ethan, today is our wedding anniversary.” He panicked, reaching for my hand. “I know! I remembered! That’s why I rushed over!” “Zara, I was wrong. I’ll make it up to you. Let’s go eat somewhere else.” “No need.” I pulled my hand back. “I’m tired. I want to go home.” Finally, he said hoarsely. “Okay. Let’s go home.” In the car, he drove with one hand and gripped mine tightly with the other. It hurt. When we got home, he pressed me against the door, kissing me fiercely and urgently. “Don’t leave me…” His voice choked. “Zara, I can’t live without you. I thought about you all day today. Really!” I closed my eyes. I felt his tears falling on my face. But my heart-why wouldn’t it warm up anymore? After the anniversary, Ethan started trying to make it up to me. He canceled all evening engagements and came home on time every day. On the weekend, he took me to the countryside to relax. On the terrace of a bed-and-breakfast, he held me while we watched the stars. “Let’s have another child. This time I’ll stay by your side every step of the way. I won’t leave you for a second.” I leaned against him, saying nothing. For a moment, I almost believed everything could go back to how it was. Until his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, instinctively about to decline, then paused. “It’s Blair. Her father might not make it.” I closed my eyes. “Go.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll be back soon. Wait for me.” He left. I sat alone on the terrace until midnight. The inn owner came up with hot milk, hesitating to speak. “Did something happen at home? That gentleman left in such a rush.” I smiled. “Yeah. Something happened.”

Ethan didn’t come back until noon the next day. His voice was hoarse. “Blair’s father passed away at dawn. Blair fainted several times from crying. I couldn’t leave.” I poured him a glass of water. He took it and held my hand. “Zara, this is the last time. Once she finishes handling her father’s affairs, I’ll cut ties completely.” I looked at him. “Can you bear to?” He froze. “She depends on you so much. She needs you so much.” I spoke softly, mockery in my eyes. “Can you really bear to leave her when she’s at her most vulnerable?” His eyes showed struggle, and finally he looked away. “Even if I can’t bear it, I have to. You’re my wife.” I smiled and said nothing. On the day of Blair’s father’s funeral, I went too. Ethan was surprised. “After all, we knew each other.” I said flatly. At the funeral, Blair cried herself into a wreck, barely able to stand. Ethan supported her the entire time. Guests whispered. “Is that Mrs. Jameson? She looks so composed.” “How could she not be? Her husband’s practically someone else’s now.” “I heard Mr. Jameson didn’t even care when his own child was lost because of Blair.” Ethan clearly heard them too. He looked back at me, guilt and urgency in his eyes. He probably wanted me to leave so Blair wouldn’t feel more embarrassed. I didn’t move. After the funeral, Blair walked over with others supporting her and bowed to me. “Zara, I’ve caused you so much trouble during this time.” She looked up, tears streaming. “Don’t worry. Once I finish handling Dad’s affairs, I’ll leave this place and never bother you two again.” Ethan’s expression changed. “Blair, what are you talking about? Where would you even go?” Blair cried harder. “I should have left already. I’ve been too selfish, monopolizing Ethan all this time.” “Stop it!” Ethan cut her off, looking at me. “Zara, Blair has no family now. We can’t force her to leave at a time like this.” I quietly watched them. One crying her heart out, the other looking at her with pained protection. Like a pair of star-crossed lovers. And I was the cold-hearted villain. “Ethan, do you remember what vow you made when we got married?” He froze. I smiled. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter anymore.” I turned and left. He didn’t follow. That night, Ethan came home reeking of alcohol. He found me sitting on the balcony and hugged me tightly from behind. “Zara, I’m sorry.” I didn’t turn around. “You know what? Today at the funeral, I saw Blair wearing a necklace.” His body stiffened. “That necklace. I saw it last year and didn’t buy it because it was too expensive.” “You said it cost too much and you’d give it to me on our next anniversary.” The wind on the balcony was cold. Ethan’s breathing stopped. After a long while, he finally spoke with difficulty. “That was her father’s last gift to her before he died. I didn’t buy it.” “Really.” I laughed. “But the receipt is still in your study drawer, dated last Wednesday.” He let go of me, staggering back two steps. “Zara, let me explain!” “No need to explain.” I stood up and turned to face him. “The wish coupons are all used up, aren’t they?” His pupils contracted sharply. “The last one. You gave it to Blair, telling her to ask for anything she wanted.” I pushed past him and pulled out the very first coupon I’d never been willing to use. “So Ethan, this time my wish is to let me go.”

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My mom has a strange diary. Over the years, whenever someone treats me well, my mom makes them read this diary. I don’t know what’s written inside. I only know that everyone who reads it, without exception, distances themselves from me and turns to fawning over my sister instead. Later, I met my fiancé. He swore to me that no matter what happened, he would always stand by my side. I believed him. Until my mom handed him that diary. Just half an hour later, he became a completely different person. Not only did he publicly break off our engagement, but he also slapped me twice across the face, then turned and knelt before my sister, groveling for her favor. I was completely stunned. I needed to know. What exactly was written in that diary? “You disgusting viper!” “You’re not even worthy of carrying your sister’s shoes! Get lost!” The person speaking was my fiancé, Adrian. Just moments ago, he had been whispering sweet nothings to me. But after one glance at that diary, his face completely changed. I clutched my swollen, burning cheek, my ears ringing. This was the fourth time. Four relationships. Four men who once had eyes only for me. All of them came to despise me to their very bones after reading that black-covered diary. I stared at Adrian, trying to find some trace of a joke on his face. There was none. His eyes held nothing but undisguised disgust and contempt. My sister, Vanessa, lounged triumphantly on the sofa, holding a glass of red wine, a mocking smile playing at her lips. “Claire, I told you. No one could ever truly love trash like you.” She swirled her wine glass and took a sip. Looking down on me from above. The very picture of victory. Adrian immediately rushed over, snatching the glass from her hand and placing it on the table, his face full of fawning eagerness. “Vanessa, don’t drink too much. It’s bad for you. What would you like to eat? I’ll make it for you right now.” My stomach churned with nausea, the sick feeling rising in my throat. Just last night, this man had knelt on one knee and slipped a sparkling diamond ring onto my finger. He had cupped my face and sworn to take me away from this suffocating household. He said that no matter what happened, he would stand by my side without hesitation. But now, he was groveling before the sister I hated most. And my mother sat in the main seat, leisurely flipping through that thick diary. The black leather cover gleamed with an eerie oily sheen under the overhead light. “Claire, accept your fate.” My mother snapped the diary shut and slammed it onto the coffee table with a loud thud. “You’re a jinx. You’ve been cursed your whole life. Anyone who gets close to you ends up in misery.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. I stared at that diary with burning intensity. It was because of that thing that I’d ended up like this. It made everyone who truly loved me abandon me. So I strode toward the coffee table, reaching out to grab it. I needed to see with my own eyes what was written inside that could make everyone change their attitude in an instant. But my mother moved faster than I did. She clutched the diary to her chest and delivered a resounding slap across my face. The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the living room. I staggered back two steps and crashed into the hard edge of the mahogany cabinet. A sharp pain shot through my waist, and I collapsed to the floor. “Don’t touch my things!” my mother snarled. Adrian saw this and immediately rushed over, kicking me hard in the shin. “You dare raise your hand to her? Do you have a death wish?” He towered over me, pointing an accusing finger as spittle flew from his mouth onto my face. I braced my hands against the floor and slowly pushed myself up. I looked at each of them in turn. My mother. My boyfriend. My sister. All people I had once treated with genuine sincerity. But now, one had hit me, one had kicked me, and one watched with cold indifference. How utterly absurd. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I pointed at them and screamed, “You bastards!” “Since you’re all treating me like this, then get the hell out of my house! You don’t deserve to be here!” Yes, this house was mine. I had worked dawn to dusk to save for the down payment. After renovating it, I had joyfully invited my parents and Vanessa to live with me, thinking I could finally have a warm family. But what I got in return was their favoritism and endless pandering to Vanessa. Over the years, they took my salary to buy her new clothes, yet wouldn’t spare me even a bite of meat. They treated Vanessa like a precious treasure and discarded me like garbage. And they used this cursed diary to turn against anyone who was willing to treat me kindly. I’d had enough. Today, I was going to cut ties with these parasites once and for all. Adrian froze for a moment, then burst into wild laughter. “Your house? Claire, stop dreaming.” He turned to look at my mother, his face shifting into a fawning expression. “Your mother already agreed to transfer the deed to Vanessa. This is Vanessa’s house now.” I whipped my head toward my mother. When the property deed first arrived, she had locked it in her safe under the pretense of safekeeping. At the time, I thought, well, she’s my own mother, so I didn’t make a fuss. But I never imagined she would secretly transfer ownership to Vanessa behind my back! “What are you staring at?” My mother snorted coldly. “The money you earn belongs to the family. Vanessa is getting married soon, and this house is perfect for her wedding home.” “I’m your mother. Don’t I even have the right to make that decision?” Vanessa covered her mouth and giggled. “Thanks for the house, Claire. Adrian and I will take good care of it.” I felt the blood in my entire body freeze. They had not only stolen my fiancé but were now seizing my property. It was revolting. But there were three of them against me. The situation wasn’t in my favor. I needed help. After thinking for a moment, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number pinned at the top of my contacts. Professor Martin. He was my college advisor and the only person in this world I truly respected and trusted. Back when I couldn’t afford tuition, he used his own salary to cover it for me. When I got sick with a high fever, he and his wife made soup and brought it to my dorm. To me, he was more like a father. He would surely be willing to help me seek justice. Calling him was the best choice. The phone rang three times before he picked up. His warm, concerned voice came through the line. “Claire? It’s so late-what happened? Why is your voice shaking?” I bit my lip hard, but I couldn’t hold back anymore. A sob broke from my throat. “Professor Martin, my mom took my house. Adrian broke off our engagement. They’re trying to throw me out of my own home.” There was a second of silence on the other end, followed by the loud bang of someone slamming a table. “This is outrageous! Has your mother lost her mind? Where are you right now? Don’t move. I’m coming to you immediately!” Half an hour later, Professor Martin’s black sedan screeched to a halt in front of our building. With a loud crash, he kicked open the half-closed door.

Everyone froze, staring at each other. Seeing an outsider barge in, the smile on my mother’s face instantly vanished, replaced by vicious anger. “Professor Martin, what the hell are you doing barging in here in the middle of the night? This is trespassing! I could call the police!” Professor Martin stormed to the coffee table and swept the champagne tower onto the floor. The crisp sound of shattering glass mixed with Vanessa’s shrieks echoed throughout the room. “Call the police? Go ahead! Claire is your own daughter-born from your own body! You’ve bled her dry, stolen her house to give to this brat, and you still have the nerve to talk about humanity?” My mother let out a cold laugh, slowly rising to her feet and brushing wine droplets off her skirt. “Professor Martin, as an educator, you should watch your language. This is our family’s private matter. What right do you, an outsider, have to interfere?” “Bullshit! Claire is my most outstanding student, and I absolutely will not stand by today!” Professor Martin turned and pointed directly at Vanessa, his voice thundering. “And you, you ungrateful wretch! Don’t forget who raised you all these years!” “Treating your sister like this-do you have any conscience at all?” Adrian shrank back, not daring to say a word. Professor Martin turned back around, placing his broad hand heavily on my shoulder. “Claire, don’t be afraid. I’m here today. Let’s see who dares lay a finger on you.” Looking at Professor Martin’s towering figure, the grief and despair in my heart finally found a small measure of comfort. Just then, my mother suddenly let out a strange laugh and strode into the master bedroom. Ten seconds later, she emerged clutching that black diary. My heart seized, and every hair on my body stood on end. “Professor Martin, don’t rush to play the hero just yet.” My mother forcibly shoved the diary into Professor Martin’s hands, her lips curling into a deeply malicious smile. “Take a look at what’s inside first. After you read it, then decide whether you still want to defend this bitch.” Professor Martin frowned, his face full of suspicion as he accepted the diary and flipped directly to the first page. The living room fell into a deathly silence. Even the sound of breathing was clearly audible. I stared intently at Professor Martin’s face, my nerves stretched to the breaking point. At first, Professor Martin only casually scanned the words on the page. But in just half a minute, his hands began to tremble violently, beyond his control. His breathing became labored, his chest heaving dramatically. Large beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead and slid down his cheeks. I watched as the color drained from his once-ruddy face, leaving him pale as a sheet. “This… this can’t be… you… you actually…” Professor Martin’s voice shook so badly he couldn’t finish a single sentence. He slammed the diary shut and looked up, fixing me with a terrifying stare. That look was filled with endless shock, fear, and bone-deep hatred. “Professor Martin?” I called out tentatively, trying to reach for the edge of his sleeve. But he jerked away. The next second, Professor Martin let out a roar like a wild animal and raised his hand, slapping me hard across the face. He used all his strength. I was sent flying and crashed heavily onto the floor covered in broken glass. Sharp shards pierced my palms and cheeks. Blood streamed down. “You beast wearing human skin!” Professor Martin pointed at me, his eyes bloodshot with rage. I clutched my bleeding face, staring at him in disbelief. “What happened? What the hell is written in that thing?” Professor Martin charged toward me, raised his shoe, and kicked me mercilessly in the chest. The pain curled me into a ball like a shrimp. I opened my mouth wide but couldn’t make a sound. “You have the nerve to ask! You’re an absolute monster! I must have been blind to ever treat you like my own daughter!” Professor Martin turned to my mother, his attitude completely reversed. He even bent slightly at the waist, his tone full of deep apology. “Mrs. Harrison, I apologize for my earlier rudeness. A social menace like her truly doesn’t deserve to stay in this house. She should have been beaten to death long ago!” My mother smugly snatched the diary back and locked it in the bedroom again. Professor Martin crouched down, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and forced my head up. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll submit an application to the university to revoke your degree immediately and remove you from my research team! Trash like you doesn’t deserve to exist in this world!” He slammed my head against the floor and stormed out without looking back. I lay on the cold floor, staring hard at the bedroom. The diary. That diary again. Everyone who read it changed. What secret was hidden inside? What could make them turn on me in an instant? Could it be that my mother deliberately slandered me in the diary? But that didn’t make sense. Professor Martin was a university professor with critical thinking skills. How could he be stupid enough to believe things without evidence? Unless- There was something even more damning in that diary. No. I had to see it with my own eyes. I struggled to crawl forward, trying to rush into the bedroom and open that diary. But Adrian stepped on me, pinning me down. He kicked me in the chest, his eyes vicious. “You want to know what’s in the diary?” “You don’t deserve to know!”

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Three months after I married the wealthy Eleanor, she passed away. She left behind a vast fortune and a rebellious teenage son. Caleb was volatile and sullen, filled with an intense hatred for me, his stepfather. To force me out, he’d put cleaner in my food, scatter cockroaches on my bed—he stopped at nothing. But I didn’t care. I continued to dutifully look after him. Finally, when Caleb turned eighteen, I had fulfilled his mother’s dying wish. I packed my things, ready to leave. But Caleb, eyes red, tackled me onto the bed. “Didn’t you promise my mom you’d always take care of me?” He bit open a condom wrapper with his teeth, then pulled my legs up to rest on his waist. “Physical care counts too, doesn’t it?” The first time I met Caleb, he was wearing a school uniform, lounging on the couch, listening to his mother introduce me. When he heard we were married, Caleb let out a dismissive scoff. His dark eyes, framed by messy hair, burned with intense disgust, his voice dripping with mockery. “Stepparent? A stepfather only seven years older than me?” His challenging tone clearly embarrassed his mother. I tried to smooth things over: “Don’t worry about titles, you can call me whatever you like.” Kids his age are often rebellious and sharp-tongued, and Caleb was notoriously difficult. “Anything?” Caleb jutted out his jaw, a cocky grin on his face. “Then I’ll call you a bastard.” That day, Caleb infuriated his mother so much she ended up in the hospital. After that, he began to act. He played the part of a dutiful son in front of his mother, seemingly getting along with me. But when we were alone, he revealed the viciousness of a cornered animal. Caleb’s first ‘welcome gift’ to me came after his mother was discharged. At the dinner table, Caleb looked at me, eyes sparkling with feigned expectation. “Why aren’t you eating?” I stirred my spoon in the soup. A pungent smell wafted from it, a clear sign it had been “enhanced.” Seeing I still didn’t move, his expression instantly softened into a pitiful pout. “Mom, does he hate me? He won’t even eat the soup I served.” “It’s okay, we’re not real father and son anyway. It’s normal for him not to like me.” His mother quickly put an arm around him, trying to comfort him. Where his mother couldn’t see, Caleb’s eyes glinted sharply, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. I feigned illness, claiming I wasn’t feeling well enough to eat, and went hungry that entire night. Later, in the middle of the night, when I went downstairs to the kitchen for food, I ran into Caleb. He casually leaned over, lighting a cigarette off the stove burner, then stood lazily, leaning against the counter. “Hungry?” The cigarette flickered between his fingers, his face obscured by the smoke, making him hard to discern. Just as I was about to leave, he suddenly grabbed my collar, pulling me back. We were inches apart. Caleb suddenly laughed, blowing a puff of smoke directly into my face. His dark pupils were filled with malice. “Get out now, or I’ll make your life a living hell.” I remained silent for a moment. Then I peeled his fingers off me. I plucked the cigarette from his hand and crushed it in the sink. “Don’t let your mom find out. She’d be upset.” Caleb froze, surprised by my words. As I started to walk upstairs, Caleb’s angry voice followed me. “Don’t pretend like you care about my mom, you fake!” “You just finished grad school and married into my family. It’s obviously for the money, isn’t it?” “I’ll give you money. Just stay away from my mom!” The impatient teen couldn’t hide his true feelings; his real intentions came spilling out in just a few sentences. But before Caleb could pull off any more stunts to force me out, his mother became seriously ill and was hospitalized. Barely a month later, she passed away. When I found Caleb, the rain poured down, but he sat motionless at his parents’ grave, looking like a lost puppy. I held the umbrella over his head. “Come on, let’s go home.” Caleb snapped back to reality as if waking from a trance. He looked up at me, his dark eyes devoid of any emotion. “Home? Do I even have a home anymore?” That day, I forcibly carried Caleb home. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for three days. On my shoulder, he went from cursing me loudly to quietly shedding tears.

Back home, I brewed a strong mug of ginger tea and offered it to Caleb. Perhaps it was embarrassment from having cried earlier. He awkwardly turned his face away, refusing to look at me. Out of nowhere, he blurted out: “Why haven’t you left yet?” I sat on the sofa, carefully cleaning a framed photo of his mother. Seeing I didn’t respond, after a long silence, he suddenly stood up and smashed the bowl on the floor. “My mom is dead! Why aren’t you gone yet?!” I carefully placed the photo back before looking at him. “I’ll take care of you until you’re an adult.” Caleb scoffed. “Are you drunk? You really think you can be my dad?” Leaving an enraged Caleb, I went upstairs alone. “Your mother and I signed an agreement. I only get the inheritance if I care for you until you’re an adult.” From that day on, Caleb and I settled into an unnervingly strange peace. After accepting the reality that both his parents were gone, he dedicated all his energy to spite me, determined to make me leave. Because I told Caleb he needed to focus on his studies, he’d skip school every day to hang out at the local gaming cafe. After several days of this, I finally lost my patience. Inside the gaming cafe, cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. Caleb was gaming with his friends online, headphones on. Judging by the screen, their game wasn’t going so well. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he impatiently swore under his breath. He turned, saw me, and raised an eyebrow. “Caleb, what the hell? Why’d you go AFK?” The punk next to him yelled in frustration, his character’s health bar bottomed out. Caleb looked completely innocent, pointing at me. “He won’t let me play.” The punk shot me a dirty look, then shoved me roughly. “Who the hell are you? Looking for a fight?” Immediately, a few of his punk friends gathered around, their eyes narrowed menacingly. I pulled up the nearest chair and sat down. “Want to make a bet?” “One game. If I win, you guys have to beat Caleb up every time you see him here, so he won’t dare step foot in this place again.” The punk’s eyes lit up. “What if you lose?” I tossed a stack of a thousand dollars onto the table. “If I lose, consider it on me for your games.” In the end, they put forward Caleb, who was supposedly the best among them, to compete against me. Caleb raised an eyebrow, confidently launching the game. He thought he’d completely crush me, but he was shocked when I landed headshot after headshot. By the end of the game, Caleb’s face was as dark as a storm cloud. I couldn’t help but laugh. He had no idea that back in college, to earn money for living expenses, I’d been a professional booster for four years. A few kids gathered around me, excitedly begging me to help them rank up. The punk leader enthusiastically clapped Caleb on the back. “Is he your brother? He’s amazing! You should get him to help us out!” Caleb sat there, stone-faced, not saying a word. Seeing him so deflated, my mood brightened. “I won. You guys have to uphold your end of the bet.” The punk glanced at Caleb but started to backtrack. “No way, Caleb’s my buddy. He covers all our internet fees. We’ve got a bro code!” The group huddled around Caleb, spouting their so-called loyalty. Caleb, seated on the chair, looked at me with a fake smile. “You really think you can control me?” At that, the kids all started laughing, seemingly mocking my overconfidence. But I didn’t care. I just glanced at my watch. Then I flashed Caleb a big smile. “Technically, I can’t. But right now, principles are calling.” As soon as I finished speaking, police cars swarmed outside, sirens blaring. Operating a gaming cafe and letting minors in during school hours is a big no-no, and the owner could get fined. Before the police could even come upstairs, the manager, looking stressed, started herding them out. “What did you guys do to get the cops here?! Don’t you dare come back!” Once we were in the car, Caleb coldly fastened his seatbelt. “You’d already called the police, hadn’t you? Why bother with the bet then? Just to stall for time?” My mood was excellent as I dropped Caleb off at the school gates. As he got out of the car, I told him: “No. I just genuinely wanted to completely crush you in a game.” Caleb glared at me, his fists clenched. One foot was already out of the car when he heard my parting words. “Caleb, I have to say, your gaming skills are just like you: a total scrub.” Leaving a fuming Caleb behind, I drove off. From that day on, Caleb never skipped class to go to a gaming cafe again. Perhaps it was because of my “discipline” that day. Or perhaps it was because I’d conveniently donated to the school’s updated security system.

Another time, I pulled back my covers, ready for bed. Hundreds of cockroaches scattered, swarming off my bed. Caleb leaned in the doorway, watching the spectacular scene, a smile playing on his lips. “Oh dear, how are you going to sleep now?” Looking at his malicious grin, I walked out of the room, only to find all the other rooms in the villa were locked. “The news says there’s been a lot of burglaries lately. I didn’t feel safe, so I locked them all up.” Caleb followed behind me, carrying a cup of hot milk, explaining slowly. I went to the living room, planning to spend the night on the sofa. But Caleb suddenly, like his hands suddenly failed him, dumped the hot milk all over the sofa. Then he looked at me with an innocent expression. “Oops, my hand slipped.” Seeing me look at him, Caleb struggled to suppress his laughter. “Well, looks like you have nowhere to sleep now. But there’s an unlocked storage room downstairs, you could go…” But before he could finish, I walked straight to his room. I entered, collapsed onto Caleb’s bed, and immediately fell asleep. He stood by the bed, fuming. “Get up! You’re not sleeping in my bed!” I burrowed deeper into the covers. “My bad, my foot slipped.” His plan backfired spectacularly. Caleb angrily tugged at me, trying to make me get up. “If you sleep in my bed, where am I supposed to sleep?” “Well, then it looks like you’ll have to make do with the storage room for the night.” “……” No matter how much Caleb cursed at me, I remained unmoving. Eventually, in the middle of the night, Caleb grew tired of yelling. He sat on the edge of the bed and had a breakdown for a bit. I knew Caleb struggled with sleeping in unfamiliar beds. He agonized for a long time, then threw back the covers and lay down beside me. “This is my bed! Why shouldn’t I sleep in it!” He unceremoniously kicked me. Seeing I still didn’t stir, Caleb finally succumbed to sleepiness. The next morning, I woke up to find Caleb wrapped around me like an octopus. I have a habit of hogging the covers when I sleep, so he must have gotten cold in the middle of the night. I stretched and got out of bed, preparing breakfast for Caleb. Caleb ate with a scowl, clearly having not slept well. I considerately served him a bowl of porridge. He gave me a cold glance, then sniffed it. I leaned back in my chair and smiled. “I’m not like you, using childish tricks.” After confirming there was no strange odor, Caleb took a spoonful of porridge, ignoring me completely. Once I was sure he’d eaten, I started to serve myself. The first spoonful I scooped up contained a large cockroach carcass. Caleb happened to see it. Caleb’s expression gradually froze, then cracked. He turned and rushed into the bathroom, throwing up violently. I leaned against the bathroom doorway, kindly explaining. “There were so many cockroaches last night. A few probably made their way into the kitchen.” “But don’t feel too bad. Just think of it as extra protein.” Clutching the toilet, Caleb vomited for a long time, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. He shot me a furious glare, deliberately bumping my shoulder as he stormed past me. He then got into the car waiting outside and left for school. By noon, I suddenly received a call from the school. The homeroom teacher’s voice was anxious on the phone. She said Caleb had gotten into a fight in class and split a kid’s head open.

By the time I arrived at the school, the teacher had already given Caleb a severe scolding. The other child, his head bandaged, stood behind his parents, looking smugly at Caleb. “He’s an ill-mannered brat, clearly with no one teaching him right from wrong, hitting my son like that!” “And to think such an uncultured student is allowed to attend this school?” The opposing parent was aggressively demanding. Caleb remained silent throughout. The teacher tried to defend him but was quickly silenced by their aggression. Upon seeing me, she looked at me like I was her last hope. “You’re Caleb’s……” But when it came to the title, she hesitated. I looked to be in my late twenties, not much like an elder, yet Caleb had no siblings. As I stepped into the room, Caleb lazily looked up at me. He stared intently, a playful glint in his eyes, a smirk on his lips. “This is my…… stepfather.” Everyone’s expression changed upon hearing that. Scrutinizing, mocking stares enveloped me. Caleb maintained his lazy smile. Clearly, this was his revenge, willing to even hurt himself to spite me. “Yes, I’m Caleb’s stepfather,” I introduced myself directly. “Regarding Caleb hitting someone, we need to know why.” The father opposite snorted. “What reason could there be? With Caleb’s upbringing, he’s capable of anything.” Caleb clicked his tongue against his cheek and smirked. He looked as if he didn’t care what anyone said. But I knew he did. He cared about people’s love and affection, and he minded being blamed or insulted. “But from what I understand, that’s not right.” I looked directly at the injured child. “You know very well why Caleb hit you, don’t you?” The child was so scared by my gaze that he hid behind his parents. “Before I came, I already checked the school security footage. Your child was verbally abusing Caleb first!” “Of course, hitting someone is wrong no matter what. I hope both children can apologize to each other, and I will cover all of your child’s medical expenses and damages.” Hearing “medical expenses and damages,” the other parents’ attitude softened, and his parent’s tone immediately softened, eager to settle. “Actually, boys will be boys. Fights are normal, it’s not a big deal.” He nudged his son, who reluctantly lowered his head to apologize to Caleb. Caleb, meanwhile, remained propped against the table, his cap pulled down low, completely still. “Caleb, apologize.” He suddenly looked up at me, his gaze intense. “Why do you think I should listen to you?” He dropped his usual playful smile, stubbornly refusing to bow his head. After a long moment, I bent down and bowed to the child. “I apologize. I apologize on Caleb’s behalf for hitting you.” Caleb’s body, which had been leaning against the table, slowly straightened. He looked at me with a strange expression. He seemed surprised that I would humble myself and apologize for him. By now, the office doorway was crowded with students eager to watch the show. I spoke each word clearly: “Caleb is not a child without guidance or parents. He has me.” “If anyone dares to bully Caleb again, then I apologize, but I will deal with it in my own way. Feel free to test me.” On the way home, he suddenly spoke. “Why?” The question came out of nowhere, but I understood what he meant. “A stepfather is still a father. I promised your mother I would take good care of you.” Caleb snorted, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes, resting. When we got home, several extra cars were parked in the garage. As we approached the front door, we saw a group of people lounging on the sofa. Seeing Caleb, they enthusiastically greeted him. “Caleb, Uncle Mark missed you so much!” Faced with Caleb’s indifference, Uncle Mark wasn’t annoyed, still smiling broadly. “I heard about your mother’s passing. How will a child like you manage? Come live with your Uncle Mark.” As soon as he finished speaking, another person grabbed Caleb’s arm. “Caleb’s last name is Smith. He’s our family. Why should he go with you?”

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My former boss called me, and before I could even speak, he tore into me: “What time is it and you’re still not here? If this project falls through, can you take responsibility? Get over here right now!” My former boss spoke as if it were perfectly natural, like I was still some disposable workhorse he could summon at will. Before I could say anything, he hung up. Then HR called: “Why aren’t you here yet? The boss is furious! You’re usually so reliable! Even if you’re upset about your year-end bonus, you can’t just abandon your work!” I laughed and explained: “It’s not that I won’t work—I resigned last month!” Today was supposed to be my first day at my new company. When I mentioned my resignation from before the holidays, Melissa from HR’s tone became dismissive: “Oh, that. I saw your resignation letter, Mr. Grant saw it too. But you know how busy everyone was before the holidays—we just didn’t get around to discussing it properly. Now that the holidays are over, let’s sit down and talk it through, okay?” “Talk about what?” I asked. I’d already successfully resigned. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing left to discuss. “Terms, of course!” Melissa immediately replied. “Mr. Grant said he’d give you a $500 raise. In this economy, what other company would give you a raise so easily? Think about it—that’s $6,000 over a year.” I couldn’t help calculating in my head. Those few employees in the department who left right at quitting time every day and never followed through on projects—I heard they each got a $10,000 year-end bonus. Last year, I generated over a hundred million in revenue for the company. That major project I followed from start to finish had a contract value of eight million dollars. I did the work of three people alone, had the most overtime hours in the department, and didn’t take a single sick day. But at the annual meeting when they handed out the Outstanding Employee awards, all the projects I’d signed became Claire’s. She got a $50,000 bonus plus the latest smartphone. My year-end bonus was $250. Just thinking about it felt absurd. I wanted an answer: “Melissa, why was my year-end bonus $250?” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Sophia, you have to understand—the company has its policies.” She chose her words carefully. “Even though you do a lot of work, sometimes you’re too rigid, you don’t focus enough on teamwork. You rarely attend team-building activities, and you don’t communicate much with colleagues. Year-end bonuses naturally have to consider overall performance.” I laughed bitterly. I remembered last year’s company team-building—a weekend mountain hike. I didn’t go because I had to work overtime. Friday night dinner. I didn’t go because I had to rush a proposal. And that time the department went to karaoke—I declined. Because I had a client meeting the next day and couldn’t afford to be careless. Every time I skipped a department gathering, it was to do better work. And now they were using that against me? What about everyone else? What were they doing when I wasn’t there? Drinking, singing, taking group photos, posting on social media. The captions were always: We’re family, best team ever. So that’s what “overall performance” meant. “Are there other reasons?” I asked. Melissa thought for a moment, then lowered her voice: “Also, Mr. Grant said that last year you had a few projects where, um, client feedback had some issues, so…” “Which client? What issues? When was this feedback given? Why have I never heard about it?” I immediately pressed. “Well… I’m not really clear on the details. It’s just what I heard.” They heard I didn’t do well. They heard there were complaints about me. They heard I didn’t fit in. So my year-end bonus was $250—no more, no less. The perfect insult. I gave up completely, my voice calm: “Melissa, I understand.” “But I already resigned before the holidays and completed the normal exit procedures.” “Sophia, why are you being so stubborn? Listen to me—” “Melissa.” I cut her off. “Seven years. I never missed a day of work, never took a day off sick, never refused overtime once. I believe I’ve done right by this company. If there’s anything that needs to be handed over, I can cooperate. Beyond that, don’t call me again.” “Sophia Bennett” She lost it, her voice shrill: “What kind of attitude is that? I’m trying to help you and you don’t know what’s good for you!” I hung up directly. I didn’t want my former company ruining my good mood on my first day at the new job.

My phone hadn’t been quiet for five minutes when it rang again. This time it was a FaceTime call from Claire, my former subordinate who’d stolen my Outstanding Employee award last year. I declined. Half a minute later, SnapChat messages popped up, one after another. “Hey, why aren’t you answering?” “Mr. Grant is really angry. Please reply!” “You’re usually so reliable—why are you being so difficult this time? Don’t make things hard for Mr. Grant.” I looked at these messages, my heart perfectly calm. Claire—full name Claire Patterson—had been with the company three years. I was the one who trained her from an intern. I taught her how to negotiate with clients, how to step in when projects had problems. But she stole my credit and my year-end bonus. My phone buzzed again. She sent a long message, probably panicking because I hadn’t replied: “Look, I know you’re upset about the bonus, but you can’t blame the company for this.” “Last year was tough for everyone with the economy. Mr. Grant actually values you a lot. If you quit over this little bit of money, what will people say? Besides, the company invested so much in training you all these years—can you really just walk away with a clear conscience?” Conscience. I stared at those two words and suddenly found it almost funny. I typed back: “Who secretly copied my client files while I was on sick leave? Who repackaged my ideas at staff meetings and presented them as her own? Who bought bubble tea for the entire department before year-end evaluations—and ‘forgot’ only me?” “You’re the last person who should talk to me about conscience!” Less than three minutes after I sent that message, she sent another one with a tone of disappointment: “What’s the point of saying all this? You’re just making trouble, and you’re the only one who’ll suffer in the end. Where do you think you can go after leaving the company? Do you know how many graduate students can’t find work right now? You’re just a bachelor’s degree holder, thirty years old and still unmarried. Everything impressive on your resume came from company resources.” “Melissa already said if you don’t come back, Mr. Grant will spread the word. Who in this industry will dare hire you then?” So this was a threat! My phone buzzed again: “Hello? Say something! We’re all waiting.” I opened the chat and sent an emoji: A smiling bean. Then I blocked her and got up to wash up. My new job today was at Horizon Group—our former company’s client, the one with the eight-million-dollar project. The client contact was Mr. Walker. We’d gotten to know each other through the project, and he was very straightforward. When my former company backstabbed me before the holidays, Mr. Walker sent me a message: “Ms. Bennett, our company desperately needs talent like you. You’re wasted where you are. Name your salary—contact me anytime if you’re interested!” I finished washing my face and looked at myself in the mirror. This year, I was going to live differently.

I walked through the doors of Horizon Group, my new company. The receptionist already recognized me and greeted me with a smile: “Ms. Bennett! Mr. Walker is waiting for you in his office.” Mr. Walker’s office was at the end of the corridor, door open. He was looking at something on his computer. When he heard the knock, he looked up and smiled: “Sophia, come in. Have a seat.” I sat across from him. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.” He got straight to the point. I sat up a bit straighter: “Go ahead.” “That project from before the holidays—you remember it, right? The eight-million-dollar contract with your former company.” The project I’d pulled countless all-nighters for, revised endless times, only to have Claire accept the award for it in the end. Mr. Walker continued: “This project needs to be inspected now. Originally I was going to send someone else, but then I thought—you followed this project from beginning to end. Nobody understands it better than you.” “So I’d like you to go,” he looked at me, “to your former company this morning to inspect the project.” I looked into Mr. Walker’s candid eyes. I remembered the day I resigned, how Mr. Grant didn’t even look up as he set my resignation letter aside. I remembered Claire standing on stage accepting my award, eyes red as she thanked everyone. I remembered Melissa saying my $250 year-end bonus was because I didn’t fit in. I remembered this morning—the phone calls they’d taken turns making, ordering, threatening, coaxing, finally turning into furious cursing. “Alright, I’ll go right away.” I smiled slightly. “Besides, I’m curious to see what they’re like on their first day back.” After leaving Mr. Walker’s office, I went to HR to complete my onboarding. Finally, the HR manager handed me an ID badge. It read: Project Director—Sophia. Back at my desk, just as I sat down, Mr. Grant called. Over seven years, this number had appeared on my phone countless times. Late-night urgent calls, weekend overtime orders, last-minute tasks during business trips. Every time, I answered immediately, saying “Yes, Mr. Grant,” “Right away, Mr. Grant,” “No problem, Mr. Grant.” I answered. “Sophia!” He was furious. “Well, well! Not answering calls, not replying to messages, blocking everyone! Think you’re something special now, don’t you?” “Let me tell you—don’t be so ungrateful!” He got angrier as he spoke. “If you don’t show up today, I’ll mark you as absent without leave and fire you! I’ll put it on your record—let’s see which company will dare hire you then!” Fire me. I laughed internally. “Mr. Grant,” I said calmly, “I’ll be at your company shortly.” Mr. Grant’s voice couldn’t hide his smugness: “Ha, so you do know what’s good for you. Hurry up—I’m waiting.” When I received Mr. Walker’s job offer before the holidays, I didn’t accept immediately. The night of the annual meeting when Claire stole my credit, I received that $250 year-end bonus. That night, I stayed awake until six the next morning. I figured something out. This company never valued ability. All it could give me was more work, more blame, more silent suffering in the corner. And when you finally broke through, the person on stage accepting awards would always be someone who knew how to play the game. That very night, I decided to resign and join my former biggest client’s company. Coming back to the present, I stood up and hung the ID badge around my neck. When I showed up at my former company as a client, I wondered what their expressions would be. I was looking forward to it.

The taxi stopped in front of the familiar office building. I pushed open the door. Everything was still the same as before. I’d barely taken a few steps inside when Melissa walked over with a cup of tea. “Sophia, I thought you had such backbone,” she stopped in front of me, looking me up and down. “That attitude on the phone this morning—I thought you were going places. What happened? Flew around in a circle and landed right back here?” I looked at her and let out a cold laugh without saying anything. Seeing I wasn’t responding, Melissa got bolder: “What, playing meek now? Where’s that attitude from yesterday?” As she spoke, she deliberately glanced at my chest, then made an exaggerated sound: “What’s that? What’s with this badge? Our company badges aren’t this color. Sophia, did you walk into the wrong building? Or—” Her eyes darted around, her face showing that look of sudden realization, laughing even louder: “Or did you become a delivery driver? That blue lanyard—don’t all delivery drivers wear those? Hahaha!” Because the badge was flipped around, they couldn’t see the company name. Claire’s voice rang out: “There you are! Finally!” “Look, you’ve made your point, haven’t you? Hurry up and wrap up the project—the client’s people are coming soon.” She tried to grab my arm. I shook her off. Claire’s expression turned unpleasant. She lowered her voice: “I’m trying to help you. Mr. Grant’s in a bad mood today. Just do your work and don’t provoke him. You don’t want to get chewed out when the client’s people arrive!” I sneered: “Didn’t you complete this project independently? Mr. Grant said so himself at the annual meeting—you handled it all alone and did an excellent job.” “The Outstanding Employee award and bonus were both yours. Why do you need me to finish it now?” Melissa chimed in from the side: “Sophia, that’s not right. This isn’t the time to be petty! Just get to work!” I stood there without moving. During the standoff, Mr. Grant’s roar came from inside: “Where’s Sophia? Is she here yet? Tell her to get in here now!” Mr. Grant strode out of his office. He looked at me, sizing me up and down. “Sophia, look at you,” he said condescendingly. “You’ve made your scene, caused your drama. Now you know to come back?” I nodded calmly: “I’m here on business.” Mr. Grant snorted: “I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Do a little work and think you’re something special, think you’ve been wronged, want to make a scene so the boss will coddle you. Let me tell you—it won’t work! That’s just how the world is. The earth keeps spinning without anyone. You think the company would collapse without you? Ridiculous!” He put his hands on his hips, his voice getting louder: “I thought you actually had some backbone. But here you are, back like a good little employee, aren’t you?” “First official day back and you’re already late. That attitude won’t fly. This month’s salary—completely docked. Maybe that’ll teach you a lesson.” He looked at me, waiting to see that familiar expression of resignation on my face. I laughed coldly: “Are you sure you want to treat me this way?” Claire chimed in: “Mr. Grant, please calm down. Ms. Bennett might just be in a bad mood. I asked her to work earlier and she snapped at me.” Mr. Grant glared at me: “Bad mood means you can abandon your work? Bad mood means you can ignore phone calls? Let me tell you—the workplace isn’t your home. Nobody’s going to indulge you!” He waved his hand: “Hurry up and get ready. The client’s sending someone today to coordinate on the project. You’re in charge of reception. They’re paying the bills—be polite and don’t screw this up for me.” “Mr. Grant, the client’s representative is already here.” He froze: “Already here? Where?” “Right here!” I flipped my badge around. All three of them froze in place when they saw what was written on it.

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There’s a whiteboard in our house. It tracks my countdown. “Days until Memoria’s estimated heart failure: 47 days.” Every morning, Mom carefully erases yesterday’s number and writes the new one. Just like a supermarket sale countdown. Precise, cold, full of anticipation. My name is Memoria. I’m twelve years old. Congenital heart disease. The doctor said without surgery, I won’t live past six months. The surgery costs three million dollars. My dad, Richard Monroe, is worth two billion. But he said: “Three million. Not worth it.” Because there’s another healthy child in the family. My younger brother, Adrian. Eight years old, smart, handsome, plays piano, knows how to please adults. He’s the only one “worth it” in this family. 1 The first time I heard them discussing my death was on a Wednesday evening. The study door wasn’t fully closed. I was passing by with my medicine bottle when I heard the conversation inside. Mom Diane’s voice was calm, like she was discussing an investment. “The insurance company confirmed it. Memoria’s policy is worth five hundred thousand. Death benefit, with us as beneficiaries.” Dad Richard was flipping through documents. “Five hundred thousand? We only paid eighty thousand in premiums when we bought it. That’s a solid return on investment.” Diane nodded. “And if it’s death by illness, there’s no waiting period. Direct payout. I had the lawyer confirm it.” “Then let’s not do the surgery.” Richard put down his pen. “Three million for surgery with only a sixty percent success rate. Better to save it, wait for the insurance payout, net five hundred thousand profit.” “That five hundred thousand would be perfect for Adrian’s Swiss summer camp, plus buying a property in a good school district.” Diane hesitated. “But people will talk.” “Talk about what?” Richard sneered. “Congenital heart disease. The doctors said it’s incurable. We’re just respecting medical facts.” “When the time comes, we’ll tell everyone we tried everything, but it was God’s will.” “We’ll hold a respectable funeral, invite some reporters for coverage. Perfect opportunity for positive PR for the company.” My medicine bottle slipped from my hands. Crash. The study went silent instantly. I picked up the bottle and turned to leave. Diane’s voice came from behind: “Memoria? Why are you out there?” I didn’t turn around. “Getting my medicine.” “Take your medicine and get to bed early. You have a hospital checkup tomorrow.” “Okay.” I returned to my room and closed the door. Looking at the whiteboard on my nightstand. 47 days. So this wasn’t a countdown. It was their “profit arrival date.” That night, I made a decision. Since they’re waiting for me to die. Then I’ll die for them to see. But not the way they want. The next day, I didn’t go to the hospital checkup. I went to the insurance company. The receptionist was startled to see a twelve-year-old girl walk in alone. “Sweetie, who are you looking for?” “Ma’am, I’d like to check my policy. My name is Memoria, the policyholder is Diane.” The receptionist hesitated but looked it up for me. “Your policy… death benefit of five hundred thousand, beneficiaries are your parents Richard and Diane.” “Ma’am, can the beneficiary be changed?” “Yes, but the policyholder needs to agree. Your mother is the policyholder.” I nodded. “What if the policyholder doesn’t agree?” “Then it can’t be changed.” I thought for a moment. “What if I buy a policy myself? Can I name someone else as beneficiary?” The receptionist looked confused. “Sweetie… you’re only twelve. You can’t buy insurance yourself. And… why are you asking these things?” I smiled. “Nothing. Just wondering if, when I die, the money could go to someone other than my parents.” The receptionist’s expression changed. She crouched down, looking into my eyes. “Sweetie, is something wrong?” “No. Thank you, ma’am.” I turned and left the insurance company. Standing on the street, the sunlight was beautiful. But I knew I probably wouldn’t see many more of these sunny days. Not because of my heart disease. But because I’d decided that before they receive that five hundred thousand, I would spend all the money. Or give it to someone else. So they wouldn’t get a single cent. When I got home, my brother Adrian was practicing piano in the living room. Seeing me return, he didn’t even look up. “Memoria, Mom said you didn’t go for your checkup. She’s really mad.” “Oh.” “She said if you don’t cooperate, she’ll reduce your medication.” I stopped walking. “What do you mean?” Adrian played a chord, saying casually: “Just what it sounds like. Your medicine is expensive, right? Twenty thousand a month. Mom said if you don’t cooperate with treatment, she won’t buy it anymore. Because anyway—” He paused, seeming to find the next words difficult. “Because anyway what?” “Because anyway it can’t be cured.” My eight-year-old brother said this with exactly the same tone as Dad. Casual, matter-of-fact. I looked at him. This child who’d been treasured since birth. He wasn’t bad. He just never thought my life had any value. Because from the day he was born, everyone in this house had been telling him— Sister is a burden, a money pit, a defective product that could break at any moment. “Adrian.” “Yeah?” “You play really beautifully.” Adrian finally looked up, somewhat surprised. “…Thanks.” I went upstairs to my room. I opened the old tablet Dad gave me—this was the only electronic device that belonged to me in the house, and it was Adrian’s hand-me-down. 2 I started searching: “Can a minor write a will?” “How to prevent parents from receiving insurance payouts?” “If a beneficiary commits a crime, can they still get the money?” The search results gave me one key piece of information: If the beneficiary intentionally causes the death of the insured, the insurance company will not pay out. I stared at that line for a long time. Then I started writing a diary. Not an ordinary diary. Evidence. I used that old tablet and started recording audio and video. Every time they discussed my insurance, every time they reduced my medication, every time they updated the countdown on the whiteboard. I recorded it all. Three days later. The number on the whiteboard changed to 44. Mom Diane did reduce my medicine. I used to take three pills a day, now only two. “Mom, I’m missing a pill.” Diane was cutting fruit for Adrian, not even looking up. “The doctor said at this stage you can reduce the dosage.” “The doctor never said that.” Diane’s knife paused. “I’m your mother. If I say reduce, you reduce.” I said nothing more. Back in my room, I turned on my recording pen. Saved the conversation I just had. That evening, Richard came home. He brought a strange man. Wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase, with a professional smile. “Memoria, this is Uncle Lewis, a claims advisor from the insurance company.” Richard’s tone was unusually gentle. Whenever he was gentle with me, it meant he needed me to cooperate with something. “Uncle Lewis needs to do a health assessment. Can you cooperate?” Advisor Lewis crouched down, smiling: “Sweetie, uncle just needs to ask you a few questions. It’ll be quick.” “How are you feeling? Is anything bothering you?” I glanced at Richard. His eyes held a warning. I smiled. “Pretty good. Just sometimes my chest feels tight.” “Are you taking your medicine? Taking it on time?” “On time. Three pills a day, not one less.” Richard’s lips curved slightly upward. Diane let out a sigh of relief nearby. After Lewis finished his notes, he shook Richard’s hand. “Mr. Monroe, rest assured, I’ll get the materials organized quickly. If… something unfortunate really happens, I’ll expedite the claims process for you.” “Thank you, Lewis.” After seeing Lewis out, Richard patted my head. “Good job today. As a reward, you can watch an extra half hour of TV tonight.” An extra half hour of TV. That was my payment for cooperating with their “death rehearsal.” I returned to my room and exported the file from my recording pen. Filename: “Evidence_007_Insurance_Claims_Pre-Review.” I backed up all files in three copies. One on the tablet. One on a USB drive, hidden under the mattress. One I needed to give to someone I could trust. But I had no one I could trust. Classmates? They only knew me as a rich family’s daughter, never getting close. Teachers? Last time I had bruises on my arm, the teacher asked once, and Mom settled it with one phone call. Relatives? They all worked at Richard’s company. No one dared offend him. I thought about it all night. The next morning, I saw someone at the neighborhood entrance. A homeless man. He sat on the bench across from our complex every day, holding a dirty cat. Security had chased him away many times, but he always came back. I walked over. “Sir, what’s your name?” He looked up, cloudy eyes looking at me. “Mark Smith.” “Mr. Smith, do you have a phone?” “No.” “Can you read?” “…I used to be a teacher.” I paused. A homeless man who used to be a teacher? “Mr. Smith, can I come talk to you every day?” He didn’t speak, just nodded gently. From that day on, I went to see Mark every day after school. Brought him a bottle of water, a piece of bread. All saved from my own meals. Mark used to be a teacher. After his wife died, he ended up on the streets. We gradually grew close. One day, I pulled out the USB drive from my backpack. “Mr. Smith, if I die someday, can you give this to the police for me?” Mark’s hands trembled. “You… what are you saying?” “My parents bought me five hundred thousand in insurance. If I die, they get the money. So they’re not treating me, and they’re reducing my medication.” “This USB has all the evidence. If the police determine they deliberately didn’t treat me, the insurance company won’t pay.” “When they wait for me to die, they won’t get five hundred thousand. They’ll get a prison cell.” Tears streamed down Mark’s face. “I can’t let you die. You’re only twelve!” I crouched beside him, gently patting his back. I was the one about to die, yet I was comforting a stranger crying for me. 3 The number on the whiteboard changed to 3

My body was getting worse. Before, I just occasionally felt chest tightness. Now I was out of breath after a few steps. Diane looked at my pale face with no sympathy in her eyes. Only calculation. “One more month.” She told Richard in the kitchen. “The insurance company has everything ready. We’ll say the condition worsened, natural death.” “What about the medicine?” “Already down to one pill. In a few days, we’ll stop completely.” “Good. Just make sure no outsiders find out.” I stood outside the kitchen door, the recording pen quietly spinning in my pocket. Filename: “Evidence_015_Medication_Cessation_Plan.” That afternoon, I collapsed at school. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. The attending physician was Dr. Brown, a woman in her forties. She looked at my medical records, her expression grim. “Your medication dosage is wrong. Given your condition, you should be taking three pills daily. Why only one?” I said nothing. Dr. Brown was silent for a moment, then sat by my bed. “Memoria, tell me the truth. Is something wrong at home?” I looked at her. Her eyes were serious, not dismissive. “Dr. Brown, if I tell you something, can you keep it secret?” “What is it?” “My parents want me dead.” Dr. Brown’s pupils constricted sharply. “They bought me five hundred thousand in insurance with themselves as beneficiaries. They’re reducing my medication, waiting for my heart to fail naturally so they can collect the insurance money.” “I have evidence. Recordings, videos, diary entries. Everything.” Dr. Brown’s hands were shaking. She’d practiced medicine for twenty years, seen countless life-and-death situations. But she’d never seen a twelve-year-old child describe in such calm tones how her parents were murdering her. “Why… why didn’t you call the police?” “My dad is Richard.” Dr. Brown froze. Richard. The city’s biggest real estate developer. The new inpatient building at the hospital was built with his donation. His name still hung at the building entrance—”Monroe Tower.” “Memoria, stay at the hospital for a few days. I’ll keep you here under the pretext of observation.” “During this time, I’ll contact someone for you.” “Who?” “My college roommate. She’s a prosecutor in the provincial capital now. Your father’s reach, however long, doesn’t extend to the provincial level.” I looked at Dr. Brown. This was the second person willing to help me. The first was the homeless man, Mark. The second was this doctor. Both were strangers with no blood relation to me. “Dr. Brown.” “Yes?” “Thank you. But… if my dad finds out, will he do something to you?” Dr. Brown smiled slightly. “The first day I became a doctor, I took an oath to heal and save lives.” “Your father donated a building. Very impressive. But one building can’t buy my conscience.” Diane came to the hospital to pick me up. Her face wore a standard “loving mother” expression. “Memoria, Mommy’s here to take you home.” Dr. Brown stopped her. “Mrs. Monroe, the child’s condition isn’t stable. I recommend a few more days of observation.” Diane’s smile froze for an instant. “Dr. Brown, we can take care of her at home.” “Then why is the child’s medication dosage wrong?” Dr. Brown looked directly into her eyes. “Given her condition, she should be taking three amiodarone tablets daily. But the drug concentration in her system is only one-third of normal. Unless someone reduced her medication.” Diane’s face went white. “What… what are you implying?” “I’m not implying anything. I’m stating medical facts.” Dr. Brown closed the medical record. “The child can’t be discharged for now. If you insist on taking her, please sign a ‘Refusal of Medical Advice Discharge Statement.’ This statement will be filed, and if anything happens to the child, the hospital will submit it to the relevant authorities.” Diane stood there, lips trembling. She knew that signing that statement would be leaving evidence against herself. “…Then let her stay.” She turned to leave. Passing by my bed, she whispered: “Memoria, don’t think you can make any waves.” I didn’t look up. Just pressed the save button on my recording pen under the blanket. Filename: “Evidence_019_Hospital_Confrontation.” Almost enough now. Without hesitation, I packaged all the evidence and sent it out, Quietly watching the other end confirm receipt. Mom, Dad, this is the last gift I’m giving you. You’d better catch it.

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After the seventy-eighth time I received nude bed photos of my husband with his mistress. I posted all the photos on social media. My husband’s mistress cried her heart out, shouting that she was utterly humiliated. The next second, Adrian Chase’s call came through: “Delete them.” I didn’t delete them. Ten minutes later, all my social media accounts were logged into from remote locations. Deleting posts, deactivating accounts, removing trending topics. The entire operation took Adrian Chase less than ten minutes. Three days later, he came to me with divorce papers, his voice a soft threat: “It’s just a game to humor the girl. Play along.” I nodded and signed. He probably didn’t believe that I could actually give up being Mrs. Chase. Half an hour after signing the divorce papers. Adrian Chase probably didn’t know that his “innocent” lover actually had a vicious heart. Even after I divorced him, she still couldn’t wait to have someone run me over with their car. I lost the baby in my belly. Good. With the baby gone, the last tie between him and me was gone too. My phone rang shrilly just as I was wheeled out of the operating room after my miscarriage. The anesthesia had just worn off, and the pain made beads of sweat break out on my forehead. I answered the call through the pain. Adrian Chase’s icy voice came through: “Jade, take all your things and get out.” “Okay.” I agreed readily. Five years of marriage, and he’d kept one girl after another on the side. To keep me from interfering with his relationships with these girls. He had his secretary rent me a house on the outskirts of North City. He said: “If I want to find you, I’ll contact you. I’ll have my secretary transfer living expenses to you. Without my permission, you’re not allowed to appear in front of me.” Last time he knelt before me, begging me to come back. He sincerely said he’d settled down and wanted to live a good life with me from now on. I was foolishly moved to tears and believed him easily again. So I moved back home. But one week later. A girl stumbled during a modeling show, stepping on her dress hem and falling, bursting into his line of sight like a startled deer. I saw the way he looked at her. My resentful emotions screamed in my heart, but I had to admit—he’d fallen again. That evening, news of him taking the model into a hotel dominated the headlines. I became everyone’s joke once more. This girl seemed truly special. For a whole year, Adrian Chase didn’t tire of her. And in that year, I received seventy-eight provocative videos and photos, and countless harassing texts. Every word revealed the sender’s desire to take my place. Until three hours ago. For the first time, he placed divorce papers before me: “It’s just for show. Be good, don’t make me angry.” I struggled to hold back my emotions, looking at him with reddened eyes. Unwilling to sign. No matter how he’d played around before, this document had never appeared. But now, he calmly stroked my head, like soothing a bristling kitten. I knew the consequences of making Adrian Chase angry. Just like this time—he only needed to lift a finger. And he could solve all of Bianca Cole’s problems. So I signed the divorce papers, writing only “Okay.” When I returned home, I didn’t see Adrian Chase or Bianca Cole. Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen. She saw me come back and asked happily: “Jade? How did the prenatal checkup go?” My face was pale. I shook my head. I’d originally planned to tell Adrian Chase tonight that I was pregnant. But plans couldn’t keep up with changes. In just a few days, I’d lost my marriage and my child. “I had a miscarriage.” Under Mrs. Hudson’s shocked expression, I spoke slowly, “Maybe it’s for the best. This child wouldn’t have been happy anyway.” Before Mrs. Hudson could respond, the door was pushed open. Bianca Cole was carrying armfuls of luxury goods. The dozen or so bodyguards behind her had their hands even fuller. Seeing me, Bianca Cole wasn’t surprised. She leaned against my chaise lounge, smiling, but her words dripped with sarcasm. “Actually, I really don’t understand—Adrian Chase treats you this way, yet you still won’t leave. Why?” “Yesterday, I said I wanted chestnut cake, and without a word, he walked five kilometers through heavy snow to buy it for me.” “Have you ever gotten that kind of treatment?” I was silent for a moment. Yesterday was the anniversary of my father’s death. When I contacted Adrian Chase through his assistant, I heard the wind howling through his phone. But I still clearly heard him say he wasn’t available. So he’d gone to buy chestnut cake for Bianca Cole. I helplessly clutched at my clothes. Once upon a time, Adrian Chase was the person who loved me most in this world, aside from my parents. He was my family’s driver’s son, not some noble identity, completely out of place among the surrounding young masters and ladies. Back then, the other children loved to bully him. But he never cared what others thought of him. He said: “I only care about Jade.” When I had a fever as a child, he stayed by my bedside all night without sleep. When the earthquake happened, he shielded me with his body, letting debris hit his head. He endured the pain without a sound, even gently comforting my emotions. In college, he and I had an argument. Holding my favorite candied hawthorn and a handwritten ten-thousand-word apology letter, he stubbornly stood outside the dorm building through heavy snow all night. On graduation day, we had our wedding. At the wedding, when my father placed my hand in his, his tone was serious. “If I find out you’ve changed your heart, I’ll take her away without hesitation. She doesn’t lack people to love her.” Adrian Chase clenched his fist and solemnly promised he would never change his heart. He said: “I want to make you the happiest person in the world, to banish sadness from your life.” From school uniforms to wedding dress—the envy of everyone. A year after marriage, my father passed away, and Adrian Chase managed everything in the company. He was exhausted, collapsing into the hospital several times from overwork. I felt sorry for him. The formerly pampered young lady cooked for him, making soup with her own hands. Every day after work, he’d bring me a bouquet of my favorite yellow roses. He said they were flowers full of love. Every day he’d sit in the courtyard with me counting stars. He’d hold me as I fell asleep. When did things start to change?

I thought about it. Probably when he completely shed the label of “the driver’s son” and transformed into CEO Chase. He started having endless business dinners, and when he came home, his clothes reeked of cheap perfume. Facing my questioning eyes, he smiled and explained: “It’s from a business partner’s perfume. Honey, don’t overthink it.” I believed him. He used clumsy excuses to repeatedly consume my unconditional trust. Until he gained complete control, he stopped pretending. And I, foolishly immersed in the prison of love Adrian Chase had woven for me. Unable to break free. The first time I caught him cheating was at the surprise birthday party I’d prepared for him. The party was on a yacht. Everyone waited until exhausted, but the guest of honor never showed up. I had no choice but to have someone check his location and discovered he was working overtime at the company. The whole way there, I complained in my heart about him not taking care of himself. When I pushed open the office door, I was still holding the cake I’d made myself. But on his office desk sat the remains of a candlelit dinner. Intimate clothing was scattered on the floor. Most ridiculous of all, two bodyguards stood outside his lounge. When I kicked the door open, Adrian Chase’s face showed no panic. He gently covered the person beneath him with a blanket, then casually draped a bathrobe over himself. When he looked up at me, he was as cold as a block of ice. “Close the door. If you have no shame, she does.” His calmness made me look like a clown. I rushed forward like crazy to drag out the homewrecker. But I was slapped dizzy by a bodyguard beside Adrian Chase. In the chaos, I finally saw clearly who was lying in the bed. It was the little nurse who had changed his dressings after he collapsed in the hospital. The little nurse was scared to tears: “Ma’am, please don’t misunderstand. I just came to bring Mr. Chase some liver-protecting medicine today. I never meant to interfere with your marriage.” “We had some drinks, and in our confusion, we…” Adrian Chase pressed his lips together, his cold eyes fixed on me. “Jade, I’m warning you, don’t lay a finger on her.” So he’d been cheating this early on. The so-called flowers of love were just random compensation to his wife after he’d had his fun outside. From then on. At business dinners, as wine flowed freely, the women around him changed too. He no longer cared about my feelings, no longer cared about anything about me. It seemed only the fame and fortune in business and different women keeping him company in pleasure. Could truly make him feel the meaning of life. I gradually grew numb in the sense of loss. Until one day, I no longer expected him to appear before me. I ignored Bianca Cole’s mockery. I went upstairs to get my passport and some ID documents, then came back down. When I came downstairs, I saw Bianca Cole going through the purse I’d left on the sofa. I caught my breath and immediately rushed forward to snatch the bag back. Bianca Cole spread her hands and rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing valuable anyway. What are you so nervous about?” I felt for the hospital examination report at the bottom of my bag and breathed a sigh of relief. Bianca Cole walked up to me and suddenly smiled. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” “I saw the vitamin pills in your bag.” “You know, right? Adrian Chase hates kids the most. If he finds out you’re pregnant, he definitely won’t let you keep this baby.” “I advise you to get rid of it early, otherwise…” Just then, Adrian Chase came back. Adrian Chase glanced at me, his tone casual: “What fell?” I smiled and stuffed the documents back into my bag: “Nothing.” Adrian Chase was silent for a moment. As I was about to leave, he took out two cards and held them before me. “The presidential suite at Cloud Court Hotel—you can stay there for now.” “This card has ten million on it. Use it for now.” “Yesterday… I really was busy.” Busy? Busy buying chestnut cake for Bianca Cole counts as busy? At this moment, I only found the man before me utterly disgusting. I smiled gently. The next second, a slap landed on Adrian Chase’s face. I shook my numb palm, the smile on my face unchanged. “Adrian Chase, you’re disgusting.” “A driver’s son who, by chance, rose to power, and now you’ve forgotten how you used to beg me to help you through hard times?” I’d never said such hurtful words to him before. Adrian Chase didn’t strike back, but his face darkened suddenly. But before Adrian Chase could react, Bianca Cole grabbed an ashtray and smashed it at my head. Warm blood flowed down from my temple. My head spun. The living room lights suddenly became blinding, making me almost unable to stand. Mrs. Hudson rushed forward to support me. She anxiously shouted at Adrian Chase: “Adrian! Don’t you know that Jade, she…”

I cut off what Mrs. Hudson was about to say. ” Mrs. Hudson, I’m fine.” The man before me had no reaction, only casually glancing at Mrs. Hudson. His voice was cold: ” Mrs. Hudson, remember clearly whose servant you are.” “Since she’s divorced me, she’s no longer Mrs. Chase.” Mrs. Hudson looked at me anxiously. I shook my head gently. There was no point saying anything to him now. He was no longer the Adrian Chase who would smile and lean down to listen carefully to what I said. Adrian Chase nervously gripped Bianca Cole’s trembling hand: “Did you hurt your hand?” Bianca Cole shook her head with slight sobs: “It doesn’t hurt… I just can’t stand seeing someone bully you…” The light illuminated the tenderness in his eyes when he looked at Bianca Cole: “Silly girl, it’s okay if they bully me, but I can’t let you be wronged.” Hearing this, Bianca Cole became smug immediately. “That slap just now—I want to pay it back tenfold for you.” Seeing Adrian Chase didn’t respond. Bianca Cole shook his arm coquettishly: “You’re CEO Chase. If word gets out that your ex-wife slapped you, how embarrassing!” Adrian Chase still didn’t agree. Seeing this, Bianca Cole stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. Adrian Chase finally smiled with satisfaction. He wrapped his arm around Bianca Cole’s waist and kissed her lips lightly. “Alright, I’ll listen to you.” I stepped back in disbelief, staring at the two in shock. The bodyguards immediately pushed Mrs. Hudson aside roughly and grabbed my wrists. I began to struggle: “Adrian Chase! You…” Bianca Cole sneered and delivered a quick, vicious slap to my face. At the same time, sharp pain attacked from my abdomen and head, making me break out in cold sweat. After ten slaps, I collapsed miserably on the floor. Tears streamed down my face, disappearing into my hair. I used all my strength to suppress the sob in my throat, keeping myself from crying out loud. He didn’t look at me once, taking Bianca Cole upstairs. Before leaving, I heard Adrian Chase’s low, magnetic voice: “Wear that hollow lace tonight?” Bianca Cole blushed in his arms, looking at me lying on the floor with provocation. After the door closed. Mrs. Hudson helped me stand up. But the dull pain in my abdomen didn’t decrease—it only grew stronger. I don’t know how long I lay unconscious. I only know that when I woke up, Adrian Chase sat in my hospital room with cold, indifferent eyes. His voice held no emotion: ” Mrs. Hudson told me you fainted. With such a weak body, don’t make trouble for yourself. If you behave, I can relax too.” The lazy tone seemed casual, but every word cut deep. “Jade, I’ve reached this level. Everyone around me plays with women. Your requirement for me to be faithful to one person for life is too demanding.” “I can’t do it. Whether in life or business, everyone is pushing women toward me, openly or secretly.” “I’ve said before, this divorce is just an act. As long as you’re obedient and give me some time, once I’ve had my fun, I’ll return to the family. We’ll have children and be even happier than before.” “But the premise is that I need to tire of playing around first.” He paused, only now lazily lifting his eyelids to glance at me. The moment our eyes met. I saw not a trace of guilt in him, only his certainty that I would give in. “Jade, you really should learn to be more obedient.” Be more obedient? But Adrian Chase wasn’t like this before. He liked when I threw little tantrums at him. He said obedient girls were mostly spineless, without character. I looked down at the wedding ring on my hand. Dense pain surged in my chest, like ten thousand arrows piercing my heart. After a long silence, I spoke in a hoarse voice. “I understand.” “In the bag I left on the sofa, there’s something Bianca Cole wants. When she sees it, she’ll be very happy.” My concession made Adrian Chase smile genuinely. “The pigeon blood jewelry set from the auction? Jade, if you’d realized this earlier, things between us wouldn’t have gotten this bad.” No, it’s the hospital bill for my miscarriage surgery and post-procedure care instructions. I silently answered his question in my heart. We’ll never have children again. Adrian Chase took my silence as confirmation. He left happily. And I checked out of the hospital and moved into the presidential suite Adrian Chase had prepared for me. I spent half a month liquidating all the jewelry Adrian Chase had given me over the years and transferring the money to a trust company. After the money from the last piece of jewelry came through, I bought a plane ticket leaving North City. As I left dragging my suitcase, the bodyguards asked where I was going. I didn’t answer. They asked when I’d be back. I thought about it. “In a couple of days.” Later, two days became many more days, and I never came back. A month later. The first to realize I’d completely disappeared were those two bodyguards. They tremblingly dialed Adrian Chase’s number, saying I had vanished.

One second, two seconds, three seconds. “Beep beep beep…” The person on the other end hung up with heavy breathing. At that moment, Adrian Chase was pressing Bianca Cole against the huge floor-to-ceiling window. He hadn’t heard the content of the phone call at all. As kisses fell like a storm, Bianca Cole’s clothing was gradually removed. At the critical moment, Bianca Cole pressed against Adrian Chase’s burning chest. “Wait.” Adrian Chase gripped her chin, forcing her misty eyes to meet his. “What’s wrong?” Bianca Cole blushed. Like a magic trick, she produced a pregnancy test report, her voice unable to hide her excitement. “Adrian Chase, you can’t have me tonight because I’m pregnant.” The air around them grew cold with Adrian Chase’s emotions. The burning desire vanished in an instant. Adrian Chase released his grip weakly and methodically put on his bathrobe. Looking at the stunned woman before him. He couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. This woman had crossed the line. Like other foolish women, overestimating herself. He gave a flat “Mm,” sat on the sofa, pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it. Nothing more. Just an “Mm”? Bianca Cole was confused. This wasn’t what she’d imagined. In her fantasy, Adrian Chase should have excitedly embraced her and told her he would take responsibility. Then she would naturally marry him, have servants waiting on her, never worry about food or clothing, and live a life of luxury. But now, the man before her had only given a flat “Mm.” The huge gap made her emotions start to crack. “What does ‘mm’ mean? Don’t you want this child? Before, in bed, didn’t you say you only wanted children I gave birth to?” Adrian Chase’s voice turned cold, the desire in his eyes completely gone. “You believe what men say in bed?” “Bianca Cole, I thought you were different from other women, that you knew your place. I didn’t expect you to be as stupid as them.” Bianca Cole staggered back several steps, almost thinking she’d heard wrong. “What…” Adrian Chase slowly exhaled a smoke ring. “If you abort it tomorrow, I can overlook your rashness tonight.” “If you insist on having this child, I don’t care.” “I’ll pay child support every month, but as for how much, I decide. Could be a million, a hundred thousand, ten thousand, one thousand, or maybe a hundred. If you want to sue, fine—I’ll hire the world’s top lawyers.” “Your chances of winning are less than ten percent.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it ruthlessly crushed all of Bianca Cole’s pre-planned schemes. After weighing the pros and cons. Bianca Cole lowered her eyes, bit her lip hard, and nodded in humiliation. Adrian Chase smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. This type of woman was easiest to handle. No cards to play, no confidence—living in fantasy on a man’s scraps of mercy and gifts, willing to compromise everything. He suddenly remembered what Jade had said in the hospital. So he reached into the bag beside him to feel for the pigeon blood jewelry set, preparing to use it to pacify Bianca Cole. He didn’t feel the velvet box but instead touched some papers. Curious, he pulled the papers from the bag. The large characters on the examination report jumped into his vision. “Jade Warren.” “Patient’s pregnancy loss due to major traffic accident.” He froze. His hand holding the paper grew sore and painful, yet he still hadn’t processed it. What did “pregnancy loss due to major traffic accident” mean?!

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My roommate is a competitive show-off who always speaks in sarcasm. When someone posted about being insecure due to illness-related obesity, she commented below: “I’m so jealous you can be soft and chubby. I’m 5’3″ and only 110 pounds. Please share your weight gain tips.” When someone celebrated escaping their toxic family, she posted screenshots of her parents doting on her, adding: “Support you. My mom forgot to give me my goodnight kiss today. So mad.” Because I’m mute, she’s never taken me seriously. Until our dorm dinner, when a child complimented me on my looks— She AI-generated photos of me drinking with different men in bars and posted them online. “I’m so jealous of my roommate. She’s so beautiful and gets to hang out with so many guys.” “Unlike me—not only am I not as pretty as her, I’ve never even held a man’s hand.” The comments below all called me a slut while praising her as a pure innocent flower. Soon, the rumors spread. I was reported and lost my guaranteed admission to an Ivy League graduate program. She took the replacement spot and looked at me: “Lyra, being mute means you have to take your losses in silence.” “But honestly, I really envy that you get to experience society. Unlike me—I can only go to grad school.” Looking at her smug expression, I narrowed my eyes. What she doesn’t know is that I’m not actually mute. I don’t speak because I have the supernatural ability of reality manifestation through words. Since she loves speaking in reverse so much, I’ll make her reverse words come true.

“What’s that awful smell?” In the classroom, Clara circled around me, covering her nose in disgust. “Lyra, you should really get yourself checked out. I swear there’s a nasty smell coming from you.” Hearing her words, the students sitting near me immediately scattered. I only smell like soap, but no one cares about that except me. Their gazes swept over me like searchlights, as if they wanted to strip me naked. “I knew I smelled something earlier—turns out it’s her!” “Stay away from her. Playing around that much, who knows what diseases she’s carrying. I’m done for if I catch something!” “She kept looking at me during class. Is she feeling the itch? I don’t want this kind of trash!” Overwhelming shame engulfed me. I almost bent down to smell myself. I glared furiously at the smug Clara, wanting to explain but unable to speak a single word. Because I was reckless as a child and caused plenty of trouble with my reality manifestation ability, my mom took me to many places. We finally found a temple where a master helped seal my vocal cords, warning me: “This is a great fortune. You cannot use it carelessly—it damages your karmic merit.” He gave my mom a vial of medicine: “When the child understands right from wrong, you can use this to break the seal. Then she’ll be able to speak normally.” My mom gave me the medicine when I left for college. “Honey, being mute isn’t so bad. Once you start using this ability, it’ll be very hard to stop.” “I’m giving this to you so you have a way to protect yourself. Promise me you won’t misuse it, okay?” For over a decade, I’d never wanted to speak this badly. I tried to explain in sign language, but no one could understand. At that moment, my phone rang. It was my academic advisor. A flicker of hope rose in my heart—had the school cleared things up? After I answered, the advisor’s cold voice came through. “Lyra, due to your personal conduct issues, the school is revoking your scholarship and financial aid.” “Additionally, you need to submit a ten-thousand-word self-criticism to the Academic Affairs Office tomorrow.” “Do you have any objections? Speak now.” I anxiously made sounds, but all I heard was the busy tone of a disconnected call. At the same time, Clara answered a phone call. “Clara, the department just had a scholarship spot open up. It’s been reassigned to you. Come fill out the paperwork.” It was the advisor’s voice. After Clara hung up, she saw me glaring at her viciously and smiled. “Lyra, I really don’t want this money, but what can I do about the school’s decision?” “Oh right, I forgot you need this money for your mom’s medical bills.” “But I’ve always envied you for juggling school with three part-time jobs—such a fulfilling life. Unlike me—all I can do is travel and see the world.” I couldn’t be bothered arguing with her. I turned to go find the advisor. My mom had a sudden heart attack this year, and her health has been deteriorating. This money was all I needed to get her a cardiac stent procedure. Before I could even leave the classroom, I heard a familiar voice. “You’re spreading lies! My daughter would never do these things!” It was my mom’s voice. And it was coming from Clara’s phone!

I rushed over and snatched the phone away. In a livestream, a man was holding forth: “Everyone, support Clara! Let’s see what the mom who raised such a slut looks like!” “Maybe the daughter learned it from the mother? You all say I’m so manly—what if she takes a liking to me!” “Actually, never mind. She’s been played into the hospital—bit too dirty for me!” As he spoke, he turned the camera toward my mom lying pale in her hospital bed. The man threw a handful of photos onto her, his voice dripping with malice. “Do you know your daughter’s selling herself out there?” “Did you introduce her clients? Why don’t you two offer a package deal—sell yourselves together. Business might be even better!” My mom lunged at him angrily, like a furious lioness: “Get out! My daughter would never do such things! If you keep slandering her, I’m calling the police!” Her emotions grew more and more agitated, yet her face grew paler. Suddenly, she clutched her chest and collapsed onto the hospital bed! The man panicked and left without pressing the call button for help. My hands trembled as I dialed the hospital, trying to call a doctor for my mom. But when the call connected, I couldn’t say a single word! I could only listen as the nurse on the other end said “Hello?” twice before hanging up. I looked pleadingly at my classmates—people I’d spent day and night with—but they all avoided my gaze, looking toward Clara instead. Thick despair consumed me. Clara laughed lightly: “Lyra, don’t worry. I’ve always thought you were so free without a father—one less person controlling you.” “Maybe you’ll be completely free soon. Unlike me—my parents make me call them every day to check in. Later I’ll just have to go home and inherit the family business. No autonomy at all.” The surrounding students began flattering Clara. “That’s not no freedom. That kind of life—I’d literally get on my knees to accept it.” Clara looked at me provocatively amid the crowd’s adulation. I ignored her, just kept messaging and calling my mom’s attending physician. I don’t know how much time passed before the doctor finally answered. Knowing I couldn’t speak, he reassured me while checking his messages. His voice grew serious. Soon, my mom was rushed to the operating room. My taut nerves finally relaxed slightly. My back was already soaked with cold sweat. Clara walked up to me, her gaze challenging: “Lyra, I’ve discovered being mute is actually really nice. You’re always so quiet, giving people a sense of emotional stability.” “I just got the scholarship, so I’m treating the whole class to afternoon tea. I’m so envious that your money can go toward saving your mom—so meaningful!” “Unlike me—I have no worries at all. My money can only be used for enjoyment.” With bloodshot eyes, I shoved her hand away and rushed toward the hospital. When I arrived at the hospital, the surgery was still ongoing. I don’t know how long passed before the operating room doors opened! I rushed forward urgently, looking at the doctor. The doctor shook his head heavily. “Your mother’s body was already weak, and we got to her too late this time.” “We did our best. She’s now in a vegetative state. With good care, she might wake up—it’s just that the costs will be quite high.” The doctor looked at me with difficulty, taking in my clothes washed so many times they’d faded to white. I staggered, my eyes erupting with bone-deep hatred. Clara must pay the price! Since she loves speaking in reverse so much, I’ll make it come true for her.

I first went into the hospital room, stroking my mom’s pale, gaunt face, my heart full of self-reproach. Because of my reality manifestation ability, my dad treated me like a monster. It was my mom who resolutely divorced him and left our hometown with me, searching for a solution. But now she was lying in bed because of me, with no telling when she might wake up. I deposited most of my part-time job earnings into her medical account. Then I went back to the dorm to find the medicine. When I pushed open the dorm door, I found my area in complete disarray. My desk was piled with junk, my closet had been opened, and my clothes were thrown on the floor, covered in gray footprints. I took a deep breath and decided to find the medicine first. I’d hidden it in a storage box at the foot of my bed. As soon as I climbed onto my bed, I discovered the entire bedding was wet and reeked of an unidentifiable stench. But fortunately, my storage box was still there. I pulled out the key and opened it, tucking the intact vial of medicine into my pocket. I needed to find a place with no people to use it, ensuring I wouldn’t be interrupted. As I climbed down, Clara watched my lack of reaction and pouted with boredom: “Lyra, I’m so envious of emotionally stable people like you. Even when we accidentally spilled mop water on your bed, you don’t get angry.” “Unlike me—my parents spoiled me so much I can’t handle the slightest grievance.” The other roommates quickly chimed in: “That’s actually better! Having a real personality means not getting bullied. Not like Lyra—what a doormat!” Their mockery didn’t change my expression one bit. Because her retribution was about to arrive. I left the dorm and checked into a hotel for an hourly room. I took out the medicine from my pocket and was about to apply it to my lips when the door was suddenly shoved open. Clara burst in, livestreaming. “Everyone, my roommate just came back to the dorm to get something, then rushed out again.” “I was worried something would happen to her, so I followed. I can’t believe she came here to rent a room!” “I can’t just watch my roommate fall this far!” After Clara rushed in and found only me in the room, disappointment flickered in her eyes. When she saw me bringing the medicine to my lips, her face took on a pitying expression. “Lyra, I actually really envy that you can’t speak—saves so much social hassle.” “But even if you’re dissatisfied, you can’t just put random unlabeled medicine in your mouth. Aren’t you afraid of poisoning yourself?” Comments flew rapidly through the livestream: “Liked. Clara is beautiful and kind-hearted. She even feels sorry for this kind of trash person—way too nice.” “Clara’s right. There’s so much meaningless socializing in society now. Being mute means she can avoid so many hassles!” “Exactly. She just can’t speak—there are people way worse off than her. I don’t know what she’s putting on an act for!” Clara smiled with satisfaction. At an angle the livestream couldn’t see, she reached out and pushed the medicine into my mouth. Half the medicine went down my throat, half spilled on my lips. An intense burning sensation spread across my mouth. Pain appeared on my face. Clara sighed, looking at me. “Lyra, I really envy your courage and freedom—you dare to consume anything. You get to experience so many things.” “Unlike me—my parents only allow things verified by professionals into my mouth.” The livestream comments uniformly read: “Good advice can’t save a ghost determined to die. Clara, don’t learn from her. This kind of trash has a hard life. Your delicate body can’t handle such treatment!” At that moment, a hoarse voice spoke. “Clara, are you speaking from your heart?”

Clara looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost. I stared straight at Clara, questioning her: “Do you really want to become mute? Do you really want to play around with lots of men? Do you really want a college life working three part-time jobs?” I returned her previous words to her, one sentence at a time. Clara’s face turned iron-gray from my questioning, but with the livestream still running, she couldn’t slap herself in the face. She gritted her teeth and nodded. The livestream started praising her again. “See everyone? Some people said Clara was being passive-aggressive and deliberately showing off, but these are clearly her true feelings!” “Protecting the world’s most straightforward and sincere Clara!” I smiled. “Clara, those are your words. So from now on, every sincere word you speak will come true.” With that, I walked past her and left the hotel. I didn’t go to the hospital. Instead, I came to an old residential complex. After Clara started doing social media, she went viral with her persona of a naive young heiress. Every month she’d have a livestream, posting malicious remarks under various videos. A pet blogger posted a video showing her face. Fans all said the blogger was beautiful. She commented: “I’m so envious that you’re cat is so well-behaved. Unlike mine—a little rebel. What method do you use to make your cat so obedient?” One ambiguous sentence led Clara’s fans to directly attack the blogger for animal abuse. When the blogger tried to defend herself, extreme fans found her address and fed her cat poisoned treats. With no evidence left, it ended with the blogger’s mental breakdown and withdrawal from the internet. Even a middle schooler who simply posted a video recording her joy at academic improvement— She commented below: “Really envious of how smart you are, improving so fast. Unlike me—I can only progress step by step. What study method do you use?” Countless people began speculating whether the child had cheated. Even when the parents came forward to clarify, Clara just smiled innocently. “Oh my, you can’t just say things like that. We’re just curious.” In the end, the child took medical leave due to depression. Not only should Clara reap what she sowed, she should also face legal consequences. I knocked on the door and explained my purpose to the pet blogger. She nodded firmly. Together we contacted the child’s parents. They agreed to go to the police station with us to file a report. After filing the report, I returned to the hospital to stay with my mom. The next day, Clara started this month’s livestream as usual. Seeing someone abnormally obese from medication, she casually said: “Your chubbiness looks so blessed. I wish I could be like you.” I watched Clara suddenly gain weight in the livestream and smiled. She continued. A girl felt insecure about persistent acne scars, and she laughed: “Your face is like the starry sky. Unlike me—I have nothing. So envious!” Someone sought help about an arranged marriage, and her eyes lit up: “I’m so envious you don’t have to worry about anything—your parents arranged everything. Unlike me—my parents make me find my own partner. If I can’t find one, I’ll just stay home and keep them company!” As she spoke, Clara noticed the livestream had gone eerily quiet. Only a couple scattered comments said: “Did the host always look like this?” She looked down to see her abnormally bloated body, covered in stretch marks, and a profound unease rose in her heart. Clara’s hands trembled as she grabbed a nearby mirror. Seeing the pockmarked face in the reflection, she let out a piercing scream!

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The first time I discovered Milena cheating was in our marital home. Young and hot-headed, I demanded a divorce on the spot. She cried and said she was drunk and mistook him for someone else, kneeling before me and begging for forgiveness. “If you want a divorce, I’ll jump from the 10th floor right now.” That one sentence made me soften for five years. During those five years, she was gentle and considerate toward me, as if the affair had never happened. But on my mother-in-law’s sixtieth birthday, she suddenly asked Milena. “Milena, where’s my grandson? Why didn’t he come?” I froze, thinking she was confused, and hurried to answer with a smile. “Mom, you forgot—Milena still has two months until her due date.” My mother-in-law calmly glanced at me and murmured under her breath. “Oh, so you still don’t know.” My heart tightened. I instinctively looked at Milena. She calmly set down her teacup and said: “Actually, I have a son. He’s five years old.” The shrimp in my hand instantly dropped to the floor. My brain buzzed. My vision blurred. “What?” My lips trembled as I asked instinctively. “Five years ago, that night with John, I got pregnant.” Milena didn’t hide anything. When she said this, she even seemed relieved. “It’s good that you know. I’ve been exhausted hiding this for five years.” I felt helpless and looked at my mother-in-law. “Mom, stop joking around with Milena. It’s your birthday. You’re both messing with me, right?” But my mother-in-law just calmly took a sip of tea. She said nothing in response to my question. My heart sank. Milena continued, “I’m not joking. When I found out I was pregnant, the doctor said that aborting the child would be bad for my body.” “There was a high chance I’d never get pregnant again.” She placed her hand on her swollen belly. Inside was my child, already eight months along, close to the due date. “Jeff, you should be grateful I didn’t abort him.” “Otherwise, we’d never have children of our own in this lifetime.” No matter how much I wanted to disbelieve, Milena and my mother-in-law’s attitudes made it clear they weren’t lying. No wonder she went on that six-month business trip back then. Every day she video-called to check in with me, but it was actually to give birth to someone else’s child. For the next five years, she went on business trips for a week every month—actually to spend time with John and their son. And I actually believed it all. I forced a bitter smile, my eyes stinging. “Weren’t you hiding it well? Why tell me today?” Before Milena could speak, my mother-in-law slammed her forks on the table, her tone agitated. “Because I wanted to see my grandson!” She took a deep breath and spoke to me earnestly. “Jeff, I’ve been good to you, haven’t I? I know you’re a good kid, but my grandson has been hiding for five years. It breaks my heart.” My hanging fingers clenched sharply. My pupils trembled. So everyone knew about this—everyone except me. My mother-in-law took out a document from the safe. The contract listed assets totaling ten million dollars. “Jeff, we won’t shortchange you. All you need to do is accept this child. You don’t need to worry about anything else.” “Milena promised me she won’t have any more contact with John…” Before my mother-in-law could finish, Milena interrupted her. “If you can’t accept this, we can get divorced.” She pulled a divorce agreement from her bag. The signature was already filled in. I stared at the paper as if I wanted to bore a hole through it. Five years ago, I had mentioned divorce. It was Milena who begged desperately, even threatening suicide. Just when I’d finally let go of my resentment. She told me she wanted a divorce. The atmosphere grew silent, with only the sound of the clock ticking, until the door was pushed open. A crisp voice rang out. “Mom, I brought Mark to celebrate your birthday…” John walked in holding the hand of a five-year-old child. When he saw me, the smile on his face instantly froze, replaced by hesitation. “Mr. Jeff…”

The moment Milena’s mother saw Mark, her face lit up with a smile. She scooped up the little boy. “Mark’s here! Come over here.” I sat in my seat, motionless. Before, I hadn’t really looked at John’s face. Milena had protected him very well. Now they were one happy family—and the most absurd part was that Milena was still carrying my child. “Milena, is this the explanation you promised me?” “Did you have fun lying to me for five years?” Everyone present turned pale. John protectively held the child, looking tense. “I can take the humiliation, but not my son. He’s also Milena’s biological child.” “He’s also Mother’s grandson. If you won’t let the child in the door, then Mark will act like he never had a mother!” His words were firm and forceful, as if I were the one oppressing him. John threw down these words and left with the child. Milena jumped to her feet, suppressing the discomfort in her belly, and chased after them. Milena’s mother glared at me fiercely and threw the agreement in my face. “Jeff, is ten million enough to buy your future?” “The child must enter our family. You’re not allowed to interfere.” Watching their retreating figures, I felt dazed. I crouched down and picked up the agreement from the floor. Besides the enormous compensation, there was only one requirement. I had to play dumb and deaf, and not interfere in matters between Milena and John. My chest tightened. I tore the document to pieces. I never imagined Milena would hide this from me for five agonizing years. It was the third month after Milena and I got married. I had just returned from a business trip. When I walked through the door, I saw the whole house in disarray. Torn clothes, underwear, and mysterious stains on the carpet. Milena and a strange man lay naked in the bed I shared with my wife. Seeing this scene, I couldn’t accept reality. Milena wrapped herself in the sheets, stumbled over, and knelt while clutching my leg, her voice trembling with pleading. “Jeff, believe me, I was drunk and mistook him for you.” “I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t.” She was incoherent, hands clasped together, explaining to me over and over. “I’ll never drink again. As long as you don’t divorce me, I’ll agree to anything.” This incident also reached her mother. That day, her mother slapped her more than ten times. Her mother bent over, head lowered, apologizing to me. “Jeff, she only made one mistake. She still loves you.” At that time, I didn’t want to hear anything. I only wanted to divorce her. When Milena saw I still hadn’t changed my mind. She climbed onto the window ledge, ready to jump. “If you divorce me, I’ll jump from here.” “Without you, I won’t live anyway!” Those words made me soften. I couldn’t watch her hurt herself in front of me. So I pulled her down from the ledge. “We won’t divorce. But there won’t be a second time.” After that incident, the knot in my heart hadn’t completely dissolved. To make it up to me, she brought everything good before me. The house, the car, company shares—everything she had. Even my friends envied me. “Jeff, what good deed did you do in your past life to marry a wife like this?” As time passed, people around us got married and divorced one after another. They started betting on how many more years Milena and I would stay together. Later, she told me that because of company business, she needed to stay abroad for a year. We video-called every day. She knew I felt insecure, so she even made time to come back and see me. She always told me not to give up my career because of her. I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. But I never imagined that her talk of being busy, her business trips— It was all to give birth to someone else’s child. Only I was stupid enough to believe it for five years. Tears blurred my vision. I wiped the corner of my eyes. Looking at the divorce agreement on the table with Milena’s signature already on it. I silently put it away. If that’s how it is, then I’ll grant them their wish.

Milena and her mother still brought John and his son back. Milena’s mother protected her precious grandson. “As long as I’m here, Mark is my grandson. I won’t let anyone bully him.” Her gaze kept glancing at me, full of vigilance. Hearing this, a trace of smugness flashed in Mark’s eyes. Gone was his earlier unease. He puffed out his chest. “Mr. Jeff, don’t worry, I won’t take your place.” “I just hope my son can stay by his mother’s side instead of bearing the stigma of being illegitimate.” I pulled at the corner of my mouth with a mocking smile. “That stigma isn’t unfair. No matter what, it won’t change.” Mark’s face went pale. Then he looked at Milena with a wounded expression. Milena frowned. “Jeff, where are your manners?” Her cold words made my heart tremble. My hands hanging at my sides clenched powerlessly, then loosened. My voice was hoarse. “Five years ago, I said there wouldn’t be a second time…” Milena squeezed her son’s palm and answered carelessly. “Didn’t I already give you the divorce agreement? I agreed to divorce. I’m not stopping you.” “But you seem to have forgotten I’m still carrying your child.” Her hand rested on her swollen belly. “Jeff, I just want to bring Mark back. He’s only a five-year-old child. He can’t live without his mother.” “Can you not be so petty? Besides, wouldn’t it be good for our child to have an older brother?” She didn’t seem to think she’d done anything wrong. Her nonchalant words shattered the last hope in my heart. Before I could say anything else, she told me. “Mom and I have discussed it. We’re planning to hold a banquet next week.” “To have Mark acknowledge you as his father. That way, people won’t gossip anymore.” I suppressed the sadness in my heart. I never expected she’d already thought of this. “I won’t agree.” Milena laughed coldly. “Fine. Then I’ll go to the hospital right now for an induced abortion.” I looked up sharply and roared. “Are you insane?! The baby’s not even eight months yet!” Milena’s expression was calm, but her words were brutally cruel. “I’m the child’s mother. I have that right. Once born, it’s a child. Before birth, it’s just a lump of flesh.” “Think carefully—either let Mark acknowledge you as his father, or I go to the hospital for an induced abortion.” After dropping these words, Milena left with John and his son. For a long stretch of time, we had no contact. She didn’t come home either. Perhaps because everything was out in the open now, Milena’s rarely-updated social media started posting frequently. Mostly photos of her with John and his son. Even the captions were suggestive, as if they were the real family of three. After friends saw her posts, they called one after another to ask. “Jeff, who is that person? That child looks so much like her, could it be…” “And who’s that man?” Faced with my friends’ questions, I had no mood to answer. Only those who knew about the incident five years ago advised me. “Are you and Milena having relationship problems? I told you five years ago you shouldn’t have forgiven her.” “If there’s a first time, there will be countless more.” I smiled bitterly. What everyone else could see clearly. Only I was this stupid.

A week passed quickly. The banquet to bring Mark home was held on a grand scale. Almost everyone who mattered in our circle came. Milena held my arm, lowering her voice to warn me. “You should have thought it through these past few days. Don’t cause any trouble.” I said nothing and didn’t look at her. Not until the five-year-old boy came forward, grabbed my hand, and called me “Dad” in front of everyone. Only then did I speak. “I’m not your father. And I won’t acknowledge you as my son.” My words instantly caused an uproar. People looked at each other, suddenly understanding something. The looks they gave Milena were full of mockery. Milena lost face. Her expression shifted between pale and flushed. She gripped my wrist. “What do you mean?” “If you don’t acknowledge Mark today, I’ll go to the hospital right now!” Her attitude was resolute. I couldn’t imagine that as a mother, she could say such things. She knew how hard it had been to conceive this child. Drinking bitter medicine, getting shots to prevent miscarriage. Now, for the sake of an illegitimate child, she’d throw it all away just like that. “I won’t raise another man’s son.” John in the distance instantly looked aggrieved. At that moment, the previously silent hall’s screen suddenly lit up. The large screen began displaying intimate photos of Milena and John in bed. The photos were timestamped from five years ago. The scene instantly became chaotic. Milena also froze in place, staring blankly at the screen. John immediately pointed at my nose, his face flushed red. “Jeff! I know you have a problem with me, but how can you show these kinds of photos at an event like this!” “Yes, five years ago was all my fault. Milena was drunk and mistook me for you.” “But what does that have to do with now? No matter how dissatisfied you are, you can’t deny that Mark is Milena’s biological son.” John’s words made everything clear to everyone. “So it’s an illegitimate child. I wondered why it felt so strange.” “Well, they put on quite a show for us.” Suppressed laughter spread. Milena frantically had someone turn off the screen and slapped me hard across the face. The metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth. I felt dazed. I looked up into Milena’s hate-filled gaze. She was so angry her chest heaved violently. She clutched her aching belly, her face twisted in pain. Seeing this, Milena’s mother immediately called emergency services. When they arrived at the hospital, Milena’s face was deathly pale. Just as the doctor was about to administer the injection to prevent miscarriage, Milena suddenly spoke. “Help me induce labor. I don’t want this child anymore.” My head buzzed. “I didn’t upload those photos!” Milena pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Whether it was you or not, Jeff, I just want to teach you a lesson so you’ll never dare bully them again.” Thinking of the child, I still lowered my head and pleaded. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. The child is innocent. It’s a life…” But no matter how I begged, it was useless. Milena still went into the operating room. The induced baby came out as a stillborn. It was a daughter who never got to open her eyes to see the world. I covered my face, crying and laughing, and placed the divorce agreement in her bag. Carrying my dead daughter, I left. Looking back five years ago led me into the abyss. This time, I won’t look back again.

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Eight months into my pregnancy, my husband sent me to the manor of the Lord Regent. He did it because the Regent, Lord Cassian Thorne, had specifically asked for me. “Everyone knows the Regent is a monster,” the servants whispered. “If the Lady goes, she’ll never come back alive.” My husband paid them no mind. Instead, he brazenly brought his mistress, whom he’d kept hidden on the outskirts of the city, into our home. “Don’t blame me for being cruel, Elara,” he said, his face a cold mask. “It was a direct command from the Lord Regent. No one dares to defy him.” Then, right in front of me, he promised his mistress my title. I didn’t cry. I didn’t protest. I simply climbed into the carriage that would take me away. Because in my last life, when I had threatened to kill myself to stop him, my husband sent his pregnant mistress in my place. Within a fortnight, she was tortured to death. My husband hid his grief, waiting until the day I gave birth. Then, he took our newborn son and smashed him to a pulp on the floor. When I tried to stop him, he drove a dagger into my heart. “This,” he had snarled, “is what you owe Dahlia.” But this time, I would give him exactly what he wanted. “Did you hear? The Lord Regent demanded that our Lord send his own wife to… attend to him, in exchange for ending the inquiry against him at court.” “But Lord Thorne is a notoriously cruel man! They say no woman who enters his manor ever comes out alive. It’s a death sentence!” “I know. And our Lord agreed. In three days, he’s sending her. Poor Lady Elara, she’s always been so kind to us. And with a child on the way… Such a tragic fate.” The window was open, and the servants’ gossip drifted in clearly. My handmaiden, Luna, was weeping, her eyes red and swollen as she brushed my hair. “My lady, please, you must beg Lord Alistair! You two have always been so devoted. Surely he wouldn’t send you to that monster’s den!” “Oh, you sweet, foolish girl,” I said, my gaze distant. “Begging is useless.” He is more than willing. The entire city spoke of the great love between Lord Alistair Croft and me. They thought our marriage was a perfect union. In my previous life, when the Regent’s summons first arrived, Alistair had been shocked. But to save himself from ruin at court, he had reluctantly agreed. It was I who had knelt and wept, threatening my own life to stop him. So Alistair had made a substitution. He sent his mistress, Dahlia, to the Regent’s bed instead. But within two weeks, she was dead, her body returned bearing the marks of unspeakable torture. Alistair had her buried quietly and told me to focus on my pregnancy. He was so gentle, so caring. Then, on the day our son was born, he revealed his true face. He murdered our child and then drove a blade into my heart. Only then did I understand the depths of his deception. He had loved that mistress with a desperate, all-consuming passion. So yesterday, when the Regent’s messenger arrived and named me specifically, and Alistair agreed without a moment’s hesitation, I knew. He had been reborn, just like me. And this time, he would protect Dahlia at any cost. He would send me to my death. “The master has returned!” The familiar sound of his footsteps echoed in the hall, followed by his cold, hard voice. “Where is your lady? Tell her to come out and meet Dahlia.” A wave of shock rippled through the household staff. Luna rushed back to my chambers, her face pale with panic. “My lady, he’s brought a woman back with him! And she’s… she’s…” “She’s pregnant,” I finished for her. Luna stared at me, dumbfounded. “My lady, how did you know?” In my last life, Alistair, coveting my family’s immense wealth, hadn’t dared to send me away so openly. He had played the part of the doting husband, swearing his undying love with tears in his eyes. To keep me and my fortune, he had brought his hidden mistress to me. “Elara, my love,” he’d said, “this is a servant girl I purchased. She, like you, is with child. The Regent has never seen you. He won’t know the difference.” He had gambled on a clever deception, sending Dahlia to the Regent’s manor while begging the Regent to spare his “wife’s” life. But his plan had failed. She had died anyway. Only on my deathbed did he finally confess the truth: the child Dahlia had carried was his. I smiled faintly at the memory and shook my head. “Luna, you should stop calling me ‘my lady.’ The woman outside is Alistair’s new wife.” “Go and pack our things. In three days, we will be leaving this place for good.” The words had barely left my lips when Alistair kicked the door open. “Elara, you have some nerve,” he sneered. “Too proud to answer a servant’s summons? Do you think because you’re about to become the Regent’s plaything, I have no power over you?” I ignored him, but the woman behind him, Dahlia, immediately fell to her knees, her face a mask of artful sorrow. “My lord, please don’t be angry,” she whimpered. “Lady Elara comes from the House of Valerius, one of the wealthiest merchant families in the kingdom. It’s only natural that she would look down on a poor orphan like me. I should have come to pay my respects to her, not the other way around.” Before her knees could touch the floor, Alistair swept her up into a protective embrace. “Dahlia, my love, you must not kneel,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a tenderness he never showed me. “You are with child. You owe her no courtesies.” He then turned his cold gaze on me. “Besides, in three days, Elara will be in the Regent’s manor. You will be the true lady of this house.” At his words, I stood and picked up a small, black lacquered box. Alistair instinctively shielded Dahlia. “What are you doing?” I smiled. “Why, I’m handing over the household to its future mistress, of course.” I opened the box, revealing the keys to every room and the household ledgers. Under their astonished gazes, I held it out to Dahlia. “Take it.” Dahlia hesitated, her hand reaching out. But Alistair slapped the box from my grasp. The keys and ledgers scattered across the floor with a loud clatter. “Elara, who knows what poison you’ve smeared on it?” he spat, his eyes filled with disgust. “You’re being sent to a eunuch’s bed in three days. You think I believe you’d be this calm? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re plotting.” He glared at me. “You want to harm Dahlia, don’t you? You wish she were the one going to die in your place!” I couldn’t help but shake my head. He was just as foolish as he was in our last life. Who said that being sent to the Lord Regent’s bed was a guaranteed death sentence? My silence seemed to unnerve him. His expression shifted. “Elara, don’t think me heartless,” he said, his tone softening into a parody of reason. “Lord Thorne himself asked for you. No one in the kingdom dares to cross him. But if you go quietly, and solve this problem for me… when you return, I might be generous enough to allow you to stay on as my concubine.” “There’s no need,” I said, cutting him off. I nudged the scattered ledgers with my foot. “Since you don’t trust me, have a servant gather them for her.” Dahlia was installed in the main wing of the house. Alistair announced to the entire staff that any disrespect shown to the “Lady Dahlia” would be punished with fifty lashes and immediate dismissal. Luna was telling me this as I sat embroidering a gown, a wedding gown. Seeing my calm composure, she burst into tears of frustration. “My lady, how can you let that woman bully you like this? When Lord Alistair came to your family to ask for your hand, he swore a sacred oath to never take another woman, or be struck down by the heavens!” “He betrayed you…” I shook my head, a weary sigh escaping my lips. “What’s the point in arguing with a man like that? Are our things packed?” Luna wiped her tears. “They are, my lady. But… all this packing, and now you’re sewing a wedding gown… it’s as if you’re planning on staying at the Regent’s manor.” My hand stilled. This sweet, simple girl. She, too, thought I was going to my death. Before I could speak, a cup of cold tea was thrown in my face. The icy liquid streamed down my cheeks, soaking the delicate silk of the gown in my lap. “Oh, my deepest apologies, sister,” Dahlia cooed, though her voice was laced with triumphant malice. “My hand slipped. I’ve ruined your beautiful gown.” She stood there, her swollen belly pushed forward, her chin tilted in an arrogant sneer. “But it is strange, isn’t it? Being sent to serve a eunuch, and yet you’re sewing a wedding dress as if it were a real marriage. Aren’t you afraid of becoming a laughingstock?” Luna stamped her foot in fury. “You go too far!” “Luna, stand down.” Dahlia, seeing my passivity, grew even bolder. She assumed I was a condemned woman, too afraid to fight back. Her eyes, filled with cruel amusement, fell to my own rounded stomach. “Sister, I’ve heard the Regent is exceptionally brutal. I fear by tomorrow night, that child of yours will be no more…” she said, her voice dripping with false pity. “It truly is a shame.” The gown was ruined. I tossed it aside. “You needn’t trouble yourself with my affairs.” I turned to leave, but she grabbed my arm. “Elara, what do you think my lord would do to you if something… were to happen to me?” A wicked smile spread across her face, and then she threw herself backward, toward the ornamental pond in the courtyard. At that exact moment, the sound of Alistair’s approaching footsteps echoed from the colonnade. “Ah, help me!” she screamed as she hit the water. Alistair’s face contorted in panic. He dove into the pond without a second’s thought and pulled her out. “My love, don’t blame her,” Dahlia sobbed, clinging to him. “She’s just jealous that I’m carrying your child, jealous that I will be the one by your side forever. It was just a moment of weakness…” Her feigned innocence fueled his rage. A sharp, stinging slap cracked across my face. “You wretched bitch!” Alistair roared. “It was you who seduced the Regent in the first place, and now you’re trying to murder Dahlia and my unborn child out of jealousy?” On my final day, Alistair, in his fury, had me locked in the woodshed. “Without my command, she is not to have a single drop of water!” Luna knelt outside, begging and crying. “My lord, you can’t do this to her! She is eight months pregnant! Even if she can endure it, your own son cannot!” Alistair didn’t hear a word. Dahlia, however, who had supposedly suffered a terrible fall, was perfectly fine. She marched over and slapped Luna hard across the face. “Insolent slave! I am the lady of this house!” she shrieked. “Elara is nothing but a whore being sent to serve a eunuch! That bastard in her belly is probably from some stable boy she seduced!” Luna, utterly enraged, tried to lunge at her, but Dahlia’s servants held her back. “You truly are a loyal dog,” Dahlia sneered. “Too bad your mistress won’t live to see the day after tomorrow.” Luna kept vigil outside the woodshed all night. The next day, when the Regent’s carriage arrived, Alistair finally unlocked the door. “Drink this,” he commanded. A servant brought forward a bowl of dark, steaming liquid. “It’s a tonic to protect the child. Drink it, and then go and serve the Lord Regent well.” I smiled a cold, humorless smile. He gripped my chin, his voice softening with a false tenderness. “Elara, you and I were once deeply in love. If you manage to survive this, I will grant you and the child a place in my home.” He forced the bowl closer. “This is the finest tonic. It will protect our child.” I lowered my eyes and took the bowl. He thought I didn’t know. It wasn’t a tonic. It was an abortifacient. The night he brought Dahlia home, I had overheard her whisper to him. “Since Elara only has a few days left to live, there’s no reason to keep her child.” Alistair had hesitated. “But…” Dahlia had wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice a seductive purr. “My love, you still have my child, don’t you? You promised me that my son would be raised as your legitimate heir.” In the end, Alistair had agreed. And still, I drank the poison without hesitation. My child, I thought, a silent apology in my heart, forgive your mother. You were simply born at the wrong time. Alistair smiled, satisfied. “Servants, prepare the lady. Dress her and see her to the carriage.” The Regent’s attendant had been waiting for a long time. When he saw me emerge in my red wedding gown, his eyes widened, and he bowed respectfully. “My lady, please, this way.” As I turned to leave, Alistair grabbed my sleeve. “Elara,” he whispered, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face. “I’ll be waiting to collect your corpse.” “Go and die peacefully in the Regent’s bed. It is your fate. And the Valerius fortune, all those businesses and properties… they will all be mine.” After a long moment, I smiled back. “Perhaps you’ll be disappointed.” The moment I turned away, my smile vanished. My hand clenched around the document hidden in my sleeve: a writ of divorce. Dahlia had come to me a few days prior, gloating. “Elara, did you really think he loved you? He only married you for your family’s fortune. He would have divorced you years ago otherwise. One night, when he was drunk at our villa, I coaxed him into it. He wrote this writ of divorce with a single stroke of his pen.” She had dangled the document in front of me, her face alight with victory. “You can’t even hold onto your husband’s heart. You truly are a failure.” But all I had felt was an immense, overwhelming relief. I was even a little grateful to her. As the carriage pulled away from the Croft estate, I lifted the curtain. I watched Alistair and Dahlia, standing together, shrink into the distance. A slow smile spread across my face. The real performance was just beginning. Halfway to the Regent’s manor, a dull ache started in my belly. Soon, it sharpened into an agonizing pain. The poison was working. I knew exactly what Alistair had planned. A man’s pride could not stomach his wife being defiled by another man, even a eunuch, even the all-powerful Lord Regent. He knew that at eight months, any complication with the pregnancy would mean certain death for both me and the child. He wanted me to die on the road, an unfortunate accident. But I would not give him the satisfaction. “Luna,” I gasped, sweat beading on my forehead. “The child… it’s lost. Help me… help me get it out.” Luna’s face went white with terror. “My lady, you’re mad!” “Hurry! There’s no time!”

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My husband implanted an embryo—his and his first love’s—inside me. I pretended not to know. For twenty-five years, I meticulously raised their son. The day our son secured the company shares and officially became the CEO of the Keane Corporation, my husband wheeled his first love, Serena, onto the stage at the press conference. “Veronica,” he announced, “Flynn is my and Serena’s child. You’ve had him for twenty-five years. It’s time to give him back to her.” I offered a cryptic smile. “Of course. But I’m afraid my son might not agree.” 1 “Veronica, how can you do this to Flynn? He’s so young, and you’re making him do so much homework!” My sister-in-law, Serena, swept a crying Flynn into her arms, cooing and comforting him. “There, there, Flynn, don’t cry. Mommy is the worst, isn’t she? Making us write so much when we’re just little boys.” She tossed his pen aside and took his hand, her voice soft and maternal. “How about Auntie Serena takes you outside to dig for crickets?” The mention of digging for crickets in the backyard instantly transformed Flynn’s tears into a smile. He threw his arms around Serena’s neck, then glanced back at me, a flicker of fear in his eyes. Serena’s husband, my husband’s younger brother, had died in a car accident. She had lost both her legs saving my husband, losing the ability to ever become a mother. As a result, she poured all her maternal affection onto Flynn. Outsiders praised her for her nobility, for staying a “widow” for a decade, for respecting her in-laws and doting on her nephew. Despite being in a wheelchair, she insisted on taking him to and from school every day, never missing one, even in the heaviest snow. Once, the snow was so deep her wheelchair tipped over, and she cut her forehead. That evening, she was still there at the school gate, a bandage on her brow. She personally cooked his meals, picked out his clothes, and was on call for everything from getting him a glass of water to playing with him. Her rationale was always the same: since she couldn’t have children of her own, Flynn was her son, and she would depend on him to care for her in her old age. The truth was, Flynn was her son. Hers and my husband’s. I never exposed her. I let her lavish all her motherly love on him. It worked out for me; I was swamped with company matters and couldn’t be there for him all the time. A child needs companionship. But I never slacked on his education. I brought him to events, cultivating his perspective and instilling a proper worldview. I was afraid he’d pick up her underhanded, classless ways. Seeing Serena wheel Flynn out of the living room, I strode over and pulled my son back. “Serena, you can’t indulge him like this. He’ll grow up lazy and spoiled.” She shot me an annoyed look. “He’s just taking a little break. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Veronica.” She stroked Flynn’s face lovingly. “Our Flynn is going to be the CEO of both the Keane and Kent corporations one day. He’s not some poor kid from the slums. Even if he doesn’t learn a thing, he’ll have people waiting on him hand and foot.” She turned her wheelchair and reached for Flynn again. I scoffed. Such a small-minded, short-sighted view of the world. I didn’t waste my breath arguing. I pulled Flynn back toward his desk. On paper, at least, he was my son, and I would not compromise on his education. The sudden pull sent Serena tumbling from her wheelchair. She let out a pained cry, clutching her head as she hit the floor. When she looked up at me, a flash of pure hatred crossed her eyes. A panicked voice boomed from the doorway. “What happened? Why are you on the floor?” A tall, lean figure strode in and swept Serena into his arms. It was my husband, James. Serena’s expression immediately shifted to one of pure anguish, tears streaming down her face. “James, I was just taking Flynn out to play for a bit, to let him relax. He’s been doing homework for over an hour.” “Veronica said I was spoiling him, and then she just… she just…” She buried her face in my husband’s arm and sobbed. James’s face darkened. He turned on me, his voice sharp with anger. “Veronica, you’re a workaholic, a powerhouse, that’s fine. But can you please stop torturing my son?” “He’s only eight years old! Stop trying to mold him into some kind of robot with your twisted ideology.” 2 I watched James coolly, this man I had chosen for a husband. His ambition and abilities were average, but he was handsome enough, and his family background was a good match. In families like ours, marriage is less about love and more about strategic alliance. I never had deep feelings for James. I certainly couldn’t be like the women on the outside, all gentle and considerate, worshipping him with stars in their eyes. Years ago, as the second son, James was at a disadvantage in the Keane family power struggles. He couldn’t compete with his older brother, who was already entrenched in the company, nor could he match the cloying obedience of his illegitimate younger half-brother. Pursuing me was his best move. The Kent and Keane families were the titans of their respective regions. As the sole heiress to the Kent fortune, I held absolute power. At the time, our families were negotiating a five-year renewable energy partnership. James showered me with affection, deferring to me in all things. I, on the other hand, was in a pique of defiance after a falling out with someone else, and I impulsively agreed to marry him. My expression was icy as I met his gaze. “Flynn is the heir to both Keane and Kent. Do you really think letting him do whatever he wants is what’s best for him?” “If he develops the habits of a spoiled brat, aren’t you afraid he’ll squander everything our ancestors built?” James hesitated, glancing at his tear-streaked son. Before he could speak, Serena piped up, her voice fragile. “Veronica, you’re being too dramatic. Is he going to become a degenerate just by skipping a little homework?” “Flynn is only eight. You can’t just see him as a financial asset and rob him of his childhood.” She looked up at James, her eyes pleading. “Don’t you agree, James?” He looked down at Serena and smiled tenderly. He gently placed her back in her wheelchair, then scooped up our son. “Veronica,” he lectured, “you should learn from Serena. Learn how to be a gentle woman, a good mother. Stop being so obsessed with money. You have no warmth.” I let out a cold laugh. Looking at the picture-perfect family of three, I couldn’t resist twisting the knife. “James, Flynn is my son. I don’t think his education is any business of an outsider.” I shot a provocative glance at Serena. James’s face contorted in anger. He quickly looked at Serena, then back at me. “Veronica, how can you say something so cruel? Serena is my savior. My son is her son.” “I’m warning you, as long as I am in this house, Serena is part of this family. If you ever call her an outsider again, don’t blame me for what happens.” He pushed the wheelchair, and the three of them strode out of the house. A moment later, I heard the sound of happy laughter from the yard. I stood on the second-floor balcony, watching my son perched joyfully on James’s shoulders, watching Serena’s look of utter contentment, and I sighed. It was my own youthful willfulness that led to this, to someone’s child being separated from them. With James’s backing, Serena became even more brazen. She started making household decisions without even consulting me. Watching them on the security cameras, flirting and exchanging loaded glances, I could only feel a sense of pity. She had ruined her own life for James. I wondered if one day, she would regret it. When it came to our son’s upbringing, they could handle his daily life, his playtime. But on the important matters, the matters of character and future, I never relaxed my grip. Every evening, unless it was an absolutely essential business dinner, I delegated to my VP and stayed home to read with my son, to tell him stories. Every school break, I took him to visit the world’s top universities, to let him witness the wonders of academia. I spent a fortune to have him mentored by an Ivy League professor in business administration. Though my son disliked my strictness, as he grew older and his horizons broadened, he began to enjoy discussing life with me, sharing his own fantastic ideas. Whenever we were away for a couple of weeks, Serena would bombard him with calls, nagging him to wear more clothes or not to eat strange food. Seeing the slight frown on my son’s face, I once asked him with a faint smile, “Flynn, do you think I’ve been too strict with you? Not as gentle and caring as your aunt?” 3 Flynn thought for a moment. “Mom,” he said, “don’t you think a sapling has to be kept straight from the beginning to grow tall and strong?” “I’m a man. I need to absorb as much knowledge as possible so I can contribute to society, like the great people who came before me. That’s a life of value.” I patted his shoulder. As expected of a top expert’s son. Genetics truly are a marvel. Under our combined, albeit conflicting, styles of parenting, Flynn grew into a cheerful, outgoing, and diligent young man. He was a standout among his peers. At eighteen, he was accepted into MIT. His grandfather, the patriarch of the Keane family, had high hopes for him and gifted him twenty percent of the company’s shares. To put that in perspective, my brother-in-law’s own children had received nothing, and he himself only held twenty percent. Over the past eighteen years, with the financial backing of my company, the Kent Corporation, James had solidified his position in the Keane family business, surpassing his older brother. The old man rubber-stamped every one of James’s decisions, knowing that I was behind him. Even if James made a mistake, I would cover it with my own money. The top executives at Kent had long since tacitly pledged their allegiance to James, leaving his brother a figurehead with no real power. Three years later, Flynn returned from his studies abroad. That day, I showed him a four-hour video, a compilation of all the sordid, dramatic secrets of our wealthy family. Flynn was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “Mom, what do you want to do?” I asked him calmly, “You’ve been with them for twenty years. If we make a move, can you bear to do it?” He considered it. “Mom, I know what to do. If he has a conscience, I’ll know how to proceed.” I patted his shoulder, a gratified smile on my face. My son was a man now. In some ways, his ideas and abilities had already surpassed my own. I trusted he wouldn’t disappoint me. Following my plan, Flynn quickly started an internship at the Keane Corporation. With the support of his father and grandfather, he managed to make the company’s stock price jump three times in just two years. The old man was clearly thinking of bypassing his own son and handing the company directly to his grandson. A few days before Flynn’s twenty-fifth birthday, we held a family meeting. I announced my intention to transfer all my shares to Flynn, making him the CEO of the Kent Corporation while I retired to the background. I was a woman who had fought in the corporate world for over two decades. I was tired. A flicker of delight crossed James’s face. I subtly glanced at Serena, sitting in the corner. A raised eyebrow, a mouth struggling to suppress a grin, eyes blazing with ecstatic joy. Old Mr. Keane tapped his cane, deep in thought. If Flynn took over Kent, he couldn’t generate profits for Keane. The two companies weren’t one entity. He didn’t want his grandson’s talents benefiting another family. With a little prompting from me, he finally understood. The Kent and Keane corporations would merge into one, with Keane as the dominant name. The new entity would be called the Flynn Group, with our son as its CEO. The Flynn Group would become the undisputed titan of the city. The old man was ecstatic. The Keane name would remain, and his own grandson would be at the helm. The Kent name would be erased. The Keane dynasty would be unshakable. It was, in essence, a complete absorption of my company. James’s older brother protested, but I quickly bought out his shares at a premium. I didn’t want any loose ends. Under pressure from his father, he knew he couldn’t win and stormed off with his money. As for James’s younger half-brother, Serena, acting as his representative, naturally gave her full support. She even made a noble speech: “My dear Nathan is gone, and I have no children of my own. I’ve always thought of Flynn as my son. I’ll depend on him in my old age. All of Nathan’s assets will go to him.” 4 The plan was set. On Flynn’s twenty-fifth birthday, we would hold a press conference to announce the merger and his appointment as the new CEO. The day was a media circus. The city’s elite, business magnates, and socialites were all there. The air buzzed with envy and congratulations. The Flynn Group was the new pinnacle, the partner everyone wanted. With lawyers as witnesses and the unanimous support of the board, my son walked onto the stage. He signed the share transfer agreement and delivered his inaugural speech. The applause was deafening. The crowd was electric. Just as his speech ended, James wheeled a lavishly dressed Serena onto the stage. With James’s help, she stood up shakily and threw her arms around Flynn. “My son,” she cried, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re finally a man. I no longer have to be forced to be separated from my own flesh and blood.” She pulled out a twenty-year-old paternity test report and, in front of all the cameras, shoved it at me. “Veronica Kent, you were jealous of James’s love for me. You couldn’t stand to see me happy, so you orchestrated a car accident that killed my husband, Nathan, and crippled me. Then, you stole my son.” I watched her cold-eyed as she spouted her lies. I knew she had no shame, but I never imagined she could be this audacious, twisting facts so brazenly in broad daylight. I was surprised lightning didn’t strike her dead on the spot. The crowd stared, stunned, their eyes darting between me, James, and Flynn. A murmur rippled through the room. “What’s going on?” “Flynn isn’t Veronica’s son?” “She forced her sister-in-law to give up her child?” “But if he’s not her son, doesn’t that mean all her years of raising him were for nothing?” “Wait, she just gave him the entire Kent Corporation. If he’s not her son, she’s lost everything!” James spoke, his voice filled with regret. “Veronica, I know you were devastated when you delivered a stillborn baby. That’s why you clung to the belief that Flynn was yours. For all these years, for the sake of your mental health, Serena has endured the pain of being separated from her child. Now that Flynn is grown, it’s time he knew who his real mother is.” I stared at him, at his self-righteous performance. It’s true what they say: birds of a feather flock together. He could spin such lies without batting an eye. My gaze swept to old Mr. Keane. He coughed and turned away, avoiding my eyes. In that instant, I understood. They all knew. James’s great deception had been a family affair. That explained why Serena had remained “unmarried” in the Keane household for so many years without anyone objecting. They had all been stringing me along, making me raise a child and build an empire for them. What a masterful, ruthless plan. If I hadn’t been so vigilant all those years ago, I really would have ended up with nothing, thrown out on the street for them to torment. Under the shocked gazes of the crowd, I smiled faintly at my son. “Flynn, what do you think? Do you want to acknowledge your birth mother and cast me out? Or will you remember the years I raised you and continue to treat me as your mother?”

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