Category: English

I was the woman Christopher Pierce chose for himself. But after all his friends married women from their own world, from families of equal standing, I could feel it. A shadow of regret had begun to creep into his eyes. His parents never approved of me. I couldn’t keep up with their conversations about art auctions and European politics. I didn’t have the right pedigree. One by one, these became his reasons to resent me. The day he praised another woman in front of me for the third time that week, I finally untied the apron that had become a second skin. I put on my makeup again. I slipped into my favorite dress. This marriage—I was done fighting for it. 1 I was dropping off lunch at Christopher’s office when I saw his friends were already inside with him. The door was slightly ajar. I hesitated. A voice drifted out from within. “Christopher, you seem on edge lately. Trouble with the wife?” A cigarette was wedged between his fingers as he sat hunched over a stack of documents. He paused for a moment at the question. Then he shook his head. “No. It’s just… I’m irritated.” He paused again. “I can’t explain it. She hasn’t done anything wrong, but I find myself getting inexplicably annoyed by her.” The lunchbox in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy, its weight pulling my arm down. The real reason, the one he couldn’t bring himself to say… I think I already knew. When a life together is no longer sustained by love alone, every other difference becomes a chasm. To put it plainly, he was tired of me. I had just turned to leave when his childhood friend—and newly appointed personal assistant—Victoria Vance, blocked my path. I didn’t miss the playful, mocking glint in her eyes. With a light push, the door swung open. “Christopher, darling, your wife is here with your lunch.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “I’m so jealous. You get to enjoy her amazing cooking every single day.” He rose from his chair. I am certain of this: his eyes never once met mine. He simply walked past me, took the container from my hands, and placed it on his desk. “You little brat,” he said, his voice softening as he turned to Victoria. “I’ve given you my lunch almost every day this week. Still not satisfied?” Victoria gave a delicate shrug, a playful pout on her lips. “Hmph. You were the one who said Becca’s only good at cooking and that I should order whatever I wanted. Now you’re blaming me!” She shot me a triumphant glance before sinking into the plush leather of Christopher’s executive chair. She opened the container and began to eat, slow and deliberate. My fingernails dug into my palms. The sting was sharp, but Christopher’s hand gently pried my fingers open as he came to stand before me. His eyes, when they finally looked at me, were still filled with that deep, practiced affection. Not a trace of the annoyance he’d just confessed to. “Becca, Victoria’s been having some stomach issues lately. I’m sure you can understand.” I pulled my hand away without a word. He caught it again, his grip firm this time, refusing to let me go. He stroked the back of my hand, a gesture that felt more like a restraint than a comfort. Victoria, having finished her meal, turned her head. “Let’s all go for drinks tonight! It’s been ages since we all got together.” A chorus of agreement filled the room. Christopher nodded. “Sounds good.” He stood and handed the now-empty lunchbox back to me. “You head home. Don’t wait up for me tonight.” I should have been angry. But I felt hollowed out, the capacity for anger gone. I turned and walked out. Behind me, Victoria’s voice, artificially high and cloying, chased me down the hall. “Christopher, why not ask Becca to come along? It would be fun!” His reply was flat, devoid of emotion. “She doesn’t get any of it. She can’t contribute. It’s awkward for her, and it’s awkward for us.” My feet froze to the floor. I stood there for a long time before I found the strength to walk away. 2 That night, I didn’t wait for Christopher. But deep in the night, my phone rang. It was Victoria. “Becca? Christopher’s had a bit too much to drink. He refused to go home, so I brought him back to my place.” A small laugh. “Now, don’t get the wrong idea,” she explained. “I just kicked him out of my bed. He’s sharing a room with my brother now.” The room was pitch-black. I hadn’t turned on any lights. The silence was absolute. On the other end of the line, she was waiting for my response. Was she trying to provoke me? I didn’t have the energy to play her game. “Let me talk to Christopher,” I said. Less than three seconds later, a man’s voice, thick with feigned drunkenness, came through the speaker. “Becca… they kept pushing drinks on me. My head’s killing me, can’t drive. I’m not coming home tonight.” There was an undercurrent of resistance in his voice. This house, our home, had me in it. Had that become a source of irritation for him, too? “Christopher, do you regret it?” He gave a noncommittal “Hmm?” and I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard me. Before I could say another word, the phone seemed to move away from his mouth. But he didn’t hang up. I heard Victoria’s soft, feminine laughter. “Christopher, being so dismissive of Miss Thorne… aren’t you afraid you’ll hurt her feelings? What if she starts to suspect there’s something going on between us? You’ll ruin my reputation.” The drunken slur was completely gone from his voice now. In its place, a hint of amusement. “You were my fiancée to begin with. She’s always been bothered by it. What’s one more night?” It was true. Before he married me, he and Victoria had been engaged. I only found out after we were married, from one of his friends. For me, Christopher had rejected the arranged marriage his family had planned for him since birth. Back then, he must have loved me. But three years can change so many things. Just as, back then, he had loved me so deeply. And just as, now, he didn’t want to come home. 3 Christopher didn’t come home until dinnertime the next day. Usually, when he knew he’d done something to upset me, he’d bring a small gift to smooth things over. A bouquet of flowers, or a pastry from that bakery I loved with the ridiculously long line. But today, his hands were empty. He mumbled a greeting and sat down across from me. After only a few bites, he slammed his chopsticks on the table. He directed his anger at me. “Why is this dish so salty? Becca, you’ve been married to me for three years. Don’t you know how to taste your own food?” I don’t know where his rage came from, but he was unleashing it all on me. But for the first time, I felt something shift between us. Our housekeeper, hearing the commotion, hurried out from the kitchen. She apologized timidly. “I’m so sorry, sir. Ma’am wasn’t feeling well today, so I prepared the meal. I’ll take these dishes away and remake them for you right away.” Christopher looked as if he’d swallowed something sharp. His expression turned ugly. After a long, tense silence, he waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t bother. This is fine.” Even after his outburst, even after he’d wrongly accused me, Christopher said nothing to me. No apology. No acknowledgment. It was as if it was my duty to absorb his anger. I put down my own chopsticks, letting them clatter against the bowl. “Christopher, do you hate me?” His head, which had been bowed, seemed to flinch. When he looked up, his face was a blank mask, scrubbed of all emotion. “Becca, why would you say that? I raised my voice, and if that made you uncomfortable, I apologize. But since you’re home all day, maybe you could handle small things like cooking yourself, instead of always troubling the staff.” I stared into his eyes, searching for something, anything. “I am your wife, Christopher. Not your maid. And I am certainly not Victoria Vance’s private chef. I will not be setting foot in the kitchen again.” As expected, the mention of her name lit a fire in his eyes. He shot to his feet. “This is about us. Why do you always have to bring her into it? You’re being irrational.” 4 That night, for the first time, Christopher and I slept in separate rooms. I sat on the vast, empty bed. I suddenly remembered something he had told me on our wedding day. He said that even if we fought, we would never sleep apart. Because a conflict that lasts overnight creates a crack in a relationship that can never be repaired. He wouldn’t allow it. I turned off the light. In the middle of the night, I felt a hand reach for me. A man’s warm breath ghosted across my neck, his voice laced with a placating tone. “Honey, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you. Can you forgive me?” I lay still, letting him hold me, my gaze fixed on the window. “Why did you come here?” Christopher snuggled closer, his words muffled. “Can’t let a fight last overnight. I haven’t forgotten.” A single tear hit the pillowcase. I had made up my mind. So why was I hesitating now, just because of those few words? Behind me, Christopher started to explain. “Becca, I was in a terrible mood when I left work. That silly girl Victoria really got under my skin. That’s why I forgot to buy you a gift.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I tried to sound casual. “What did Victoria do?” Maybe it was my imagination, but his voice suddenly sounded more animated. “She printed an important document with a dozen typos. I said a few words to her, and she had the nerve to get upset with me. Started crying and throwing a fit. In the end, I was the one who had to calm her down. God, it’s exhausting.” He seemed to realize halfway through that he was saying too much. He added, lamely, “You know there’s nothing between Victoria and me, honey.” I turned over onto my back. “I know. Otherwise, you never would have married me.” The hand resting on my waist slowly pulled away. He whispered, as if to himself, his voice tinged with regret. “Yes. In the end, I married you.” 5 From that day on, the dynamic between us shifted into something fragile and strange. He started making excuses, finding reasons not to come home for dinner. And I, true to my word, never stepped into the kitchen for his sake again. One afternoon, while cleaning, I found a stack of dozens of brand-new, unopened aprons in my closet. They were piled on top of my own clothes, a thick, suffocating layer that had buried the last three years of my life. I thought back. What had turned me into a woman who only revolved around a kitchen? After we were married, Christopher said: “Becca, I’m a picky eater, but I love your cooking more than anything. You don’t need to work.” His mother said: “Our family can’t afford the embarrassment of you working. Just take good care of my son.” I knew being the daughter-in-law of a wealthy family would be difficult. So I tried my best to please them. I gave up my budding career as an illustrator, a passion I had loved, and dedicated myself to managing every detail of Christopher’s life. And in the end, all I got for it was a dismissive comment. “Becca? Oh, she’s only good at cooking.” So, from now on, I was done. I threw every single apron into the trash. Then I went to the mall and bought a new wardrobe. I put on a beautiful dress and did my makeup. I took dozens of selfies, all of them flattering. On my professional art account, which still had a small but loyal following, I posted a single message announcing my return. I was going back to what I loved. I no longer cared if Christopher came home at night. I no longer cared who he was with. And I no longer cared when he would finally get completely tired of me. None of it mattered anymore. 6 One evening, Christopher, with whom I hadn’t had a proper conversation in what felt like weeks, came home to pack a bag. He didn’t even tell me he was back. I only ran into him by chance when I went downstairs for a glass of water. He looked startled to see me. His lips moved for a moment, as if he were wrestling with what to say. Finally, he spoke, his tone cautious. “A few friends and I are going camping this weekend. Becca… do you want to come with us?” As he asked the question, his entire body was tense. Was it anticipation, or resistance? I couldn’t help but laugh. At the sound, the tension in his eyes grew even more pronounced. A mischievous impulse took hold of me. “Sure,” I said brightly. “It’s been years since I’ve been camping!” He just stood there, stunned. Christopher knew I didn’t fit in with his friends. The invitation had been a mere formality. He crouched down and began unpacking the clothes he had just folded. He didn’t look at me, but it was clear he was annoyed. “You know, I just remembered I have some urgent work to deal with at the office. I’m not going to go. You shouldn’t either.” “Oh.” I didn’t say another word, just turned and went back downstairs. I drank a full glass of water, feeling strangely light. A few minutes later, I heard a car start. To avoid me, Christopher had tiptoed down the stairs, carrying his suitcase. In the past, he might have been afraid I would embarrass him. But now, he was probably just afraid I’d interrupt his good time. I stared at the spot where his car had disappeared. Christopher, when are you finally going to ask for a divorce? I’m ready. 7 Victoria updated her social media story. It had zero likes or comments, which meant she’d made it visible only to me. I watched it carefully. It was a video from the campsite. Two-person tents. Everyone else was there with their wives. Only Christopher and Victoria were single. Someone in the video joked, “Christopher, you two should just share a tent. Victoria’s a scaredy-cat, she’ll be terrified on her own tonight.” Victoria’s brother shot a meaningful look at the two of them, who had been silent until now. “Christopher, if you’re sharing, keep your hands to yourself.” Christopher laughed. “Get lost. Am I that kind of guy?” The next second, he held open the flap of a tent, his gaze on Victoria heated and intense. “Alright, Your Highness, get in. I’ll keep you company tonight.” I saved the video. Then I liked it. It was clear from the footage. Christopher had crossed a line. It was no longer just an emotional affair. He had taken action. A man like that. Was there any point in continuing this entanglement? I spent the entire night wrestling with that question. By dawn, I had my answer. Without hesitation, I packed my bags. I moved into the small apartment I had bought with my own hard work before the wedding. It was two full days and nights later that Christopher finally called me. His first words were, “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.” I gave him the address and sat on my sofa. Waiting. 8 When I opened the door, his eyes were clouded with exhaustion. He sighed, a look of weary resignation on his face. “Becca, I’m sorry. I was wrong to hide the trip from you. If you still want to go, I can take time off work right away and we can go together.” I let him in and poured him a glass of water. Then I spoke. “Christopher, I don’t want to anymore.” He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He clearly wasn’t taking my “tantrum” seriously. As he was talking, he even pulled out his phone and sent Victoria a quick text, telling her to get some rest. Then, he glanced at me casually. “Alright, then. Let’s go home.” He took a few steps toward the door and realized I hadn’t moved. He looked back, confused. “I said, I don’t want to be with you anymore.” The look of impatience on Christopher’s face flickered into one of brief, sharp panic. I showed him the video on my phone. After he watched it, he started to stammer, trying desperately to explain. I cut him off. “We’re not right for each other anymore. I know you’ve realized it, too. That’s why you regret it. You regret not choosing the marriage with Victoria, and now you’re trying to correct that mistake.” A look of shame, of being seen too clearly, crossed his face. Under my calm, steady gaze, he finally nodded. “Yes. I have thought about what might have been if we hadn’t gotten married. But Becca, we are married, and I will be responsible for this marriage. What you saw in the video is real, but nothing happened between us. I can promise you that, and I can promise that I will have no further relationship with her.” Fearing what I might say next, Christopher stumbled to his feet. He fled like a coward. I couldn’t understand it. He was clearly tired of me and already planning a divorce. So why, the moment I called him out on it, did he suddenly start playing the part of the devoted husband? Over the next few days, I kept asking Christopher when we could file for divorce. But he remained resolute, refusing. I didn’t know what he was clinging to. We lived separately, at a stalemate. Until his grandfather’s birthday banquet. Christopher called me in advance. “Becca, I hope you’ll come with me tomorrow. If not for me, then for Grandfather, who has always treated you like his own granddaughter.” I couldn’t refuse. In the entire Pierce family, his grandfather was the only one who had never looked down on me because of my background. This meeting would be a farewell.

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On our fifth wedding anniversary, Simon promised me a grand wedding. He said he regretted that we never had a proper ceremony when we first got married. He said I would be the most beautiful bride. Then, on the day of the wedding, he got a text message and bolted. I chased after him in my heavy, cumbersome gown. “Karen,” he said, trying to soothe me, “something really important came up at the office. I have to go.” His lies were so clumsy, but I no longer had the energy to call him out on them. Because I had cancer. I didn’t have much time left. 1 Simon didn’t know that I had received the message first. I was sitting at the vanity, the chime of a notification breaking the silence. I opened my phone and saw the words: “Karen Grant, I will never bother you again. Are you satisfied now?” My heart hammered against my ribs. Before I could even process it, I saw Simon glance down at his own phone, and then, with a look of pure panic, he rushed out of the room. He was always so calm, so composed. I had never seen him like that before. I stood up to follow him, nearly tripping over the hem of my dress. I stumbled, my knee slamming into the doorframe with a searing pain. He didn’t even look at me. He just slammed the car door shut, leaving me with those words hanging in the air. For this wedding, I had chosen a strapless, mermaid-style gown, even in the cool autumn air. I had hoped, just once, for a beautiful moment in my life. Just one. And he left me there, alone, in front of all our friends and family. For a split second, I wanted to run. I was so tired. I didn’t want to clean up the mess he had left for me. He was the one who had promised me a surprise. He was the one who had filled me with hope. And he was the one who abandoned me. But I looked at the expectant faces in the crowd. We weren’t a young couple, going through the motions of a wedding. We were a married couple, five years in, who had carefully considered who to invite. These were our closest friends, our family—less than six tables in total. My college roommates were there, friends from work, people who had traveled from far away to be a part of my “silly, romantic dream.” My body felt stiff as I turned back. I changed into something simpler and then went from table to table, playing the gracious host. Simon’s best friend joked, “You two really know how to keep things interesting! A wedding after five years of marriage. Make sure you invite us to your golden and silver anniversaries too!” I smiled and said of course. But I knew in my heart, there would be no more anniversaries. Even if I lived that long, our marriage wouldn’t. My best friend, Zoe, rubbed my hands. “Your hands are freezing! And where’s Simon?” I forced a smile. “Oh, you know him. Workaholic. The office called him in for an emergency.” She squeezed my hand tightly. We had known each other for over a decade; we could read each other’s minds. I met her worried gaze and almost broke down right there. I tried to act normal, but a storm of frustration was raging inside me. Finally, after everyone was settled, I collapsed into a chair, completely drained. Then my mother called. “Do you have a heart?” she screamed into the phone. “Your cousin is dying, and you’re throwing a wedding?” I didn’t even have the strength to stand. I just listened to her tirade, my body numb. It took me a moment to understand. My cousin, Savannah, had a history of depression. She had tried to kill herself, slitting her wrists on the roof of her university dorm. I finally found my voice. “The groom has already gone to save her, hasn’t he? What more do you want from me? Should I kill myself to appease her? Will that cure her illness?” There was one more thing I didn’t say. I don’t have long to live. You’ll all be satisfied soon enough. But I didn’t want them to know. I didn’t want to see any of them in my final days. “What are you talking about? Even your husband couldn’t stand by and do nothing! The cousin you grew up with is dying, and you have no reaction at all? How can you be so cold-blooded?” My mother’s voice continued to grate on my ears. She didn’t know that just saying those few words had made my throat burn with a raw, searing pain. I held back a cough, hung up the phone, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a ghost. When it came to Savannah, I always lost. She had a way of effortlessly taking everything that was mine. Savannah was my uncle’s daughter. After my aunt and uncle died in a car crash, she came to live with us. From that day on, I heard the same thing every day: “Savannah has already been through so much! Why do you have to compete with her? Can’t you just let her have it?” 2 Simon came home late that night, looking exhausted. I was tending to the gash on my knee. I hadn’t wanted to bother, but it looked serious, and even the smallest infection caused me immense pain now. It would trigger a cascade of inflammation throughout my body. I treated it numbly. I’ve always been afraid of pain, and sleep had become a nightly struggle. Ever since college, I’ve suffered from severe anxiety. When it flares up, I vomit and can’t sleep. I’d throw up until my mouth was filled with the bitter taste of acid. Simon glanced at me. He was heading for the shower but stopped when he saw the raw, bloody wound on my knee. “What happened? How did you manage that? Why weren’t you more careful?” I didn’t answer, just continued to clean the wound. I didn’t have the energy to talk to him anymore. He slowly sat down beside me and reached for the gauze. I looked up, my eyes cold and hard. “Karen, I’m sorry,” he pleaded, his gaze full of a practiced sincerity. “Today was an accident. Please don’t be angry with me.” If I hadn’t known the truth, I might have fallen for that look again. “Simon, let’s get a divorce. I’m so tired.” I looked back down at my knee. I finished wrapping the bandage, and he suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace. It felt desperate, the panicked gesture of a guilty man. He held me so tightly it hurt my wound. I hissed in pain, and he finally loosened his grip, sinking to his knees in front of me. “Karen, we’ll have so many more anniversaries. Please don’t say that word. It’s so hurtful.” “Simon,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “This afternoon was the last shred of dignity I was willing to give you.” He froze, his expression crumbling into one of pure panic. “Karen, it’s not what you think. It was an emergency, I had to go. I didn’t want to tell you the truth because I was afraid you’d misunderstand. I—” For the first time in his life, Simon stammered. “What are you afraid of, Simon?” I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Am I that terrifying? Or are you all just afraid I’ll bully Savannah, and now you’re afraid I’ll bully you too?” “Karen, you’re too emotional right now. I don’t want to fight with you.” He dodged the question and retreated into the bathroom. I didn’t say another word. I went into the study and closed the door. My hands were shaking. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was a luxury I could rarely afford, usually managing only three or four hours a night. I should have woken up to the truth a long time ago. Savannah was the vibrant red rose, the permanent mark on Simon’s heart. When I met Simon, he and Savannah had already broken up. He never showed me a picture of his ex-girlfriend; I only knew that the relationship had left him heartbroken. I never knew his ex was Savannah. We had an unspoken agreement not to talk about our pasts. It wasn’t until after we were legally married, during a New Year’s visit to my parents, that Savannah was also there. That day, I saw a flicker of panic in Simon’s eyes for the first time. A woman’s intuition is a powerful thing. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I wanted to ask him about it, but every time I brought it up, he would shut me down, saying it was in the past and dredging it up would only make us unhappy. And then, after the holidays, Savannah went abroad to study the violin, her lifelong passion. To support her, my parents sold their house and moved back to their hometown. I couldn’t describe the feeling then. It was the same as it had always been. Savannah got to take expensive music lessons while I couldn’t even afford tutoring. I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face when she found out Savannah was continuing her studies. She was beaming with pride, saying she never thought our family would produce a musician. Simon was with me then. He squeezed my hand and whispered, “In my eyes, my wife is the best.” He was good to me. He let me look at his phone whenever I wanted, gave me his bank cards to manage. He was the perfect husband, by all online standards. My appetite was poor, so he learned to cook, coming home every night after work to make me dinner. We would go for walks in the evening, holding hands. Life was simple, pure. I thought it would always be like that. Then Savannah came back. She hadn’t become a famous musician. She had developed severe depression. Her arms were covered in a latticework of scars from a brow razor. My mother held her and sobbed. She came to me, her face gaunt. “Karen, I regret it. Can you give Simon back to me?” The absurdity of it was staggering. She spoke as if Simon were a dress, a toy, a room, a snack—all the things she had taken from me in the past. She was used to getting what she wanted, simply by asking. I ignored her, treating her like a madwoman. She was the one who told me they had been together. I remember it was New Year’s Eve, fireworks exploding in the sky. She was unusually friendly, insisting we go watch them together. Simon was inside, playing cards with the elders. Savannah led me on a long, winding walk. 3 We ended up at a park bench, far from the house. She sat down and started reminiscing. “Karen, it’s hard to believe the little girl I knew is married now.” I didn’t know what to say. Then her tone shifted. “Karen, you’ve always hated me, haven’t you?” “Say something!” I was still at a loss for words. “You hate me so much that you married Simon, just because he was my boyfriend.” As she spoke, she burst into tears. The fireworks bloomed in the sky at that exact moment, illuminating the tears streaming down her face. I had never seen Savannah cry like that before. A chill ran through me. Simon was her ex-boyfriend. We had been married for less than a month. God as my witness, if I had known they were together, I would have stayed as far away as possible. But I didn’t know! Simon had burst into my life, telling me how much he liked me, helping me through the toughest of times. “I didn’t know you were together,” I finally managed to say. She glanced at me, then turned and walked away without another word. A few days later, she left to pursue her musical dreams. Before she left, she sent me a text: “You’ve let me have my way so many times. This time, I’ll let you have him.” I showed the text to Simon, furious. What did she mean, “let me have him”? If he couldn’t get over her, he should just get back together with her. I would admit I’d made a mistake. Simon threw his hands up in the air, claiming he was an innocent victim. He showed me his phone. “Karen, you can’t do this to me. I don’t even have her on WeChat. I didn’t know about your relationship.” “And if you had known?” “I would have gotten together with you sooner, and I would have run in the opposite direction every time I saw her. I would have closed my eyes and pretended she didn’t exist.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he said it. He made me laugh, and he immediately pulled me into a tight hug. For the next few years, Savannah really did disappear from our lives. I had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Until she came back, her studies finished, her body and spirit broken. She was like a wilting rose, even more pitiful and heart-wrenching. It was winter when she returned, and she was always cold. My mother was so worried she developed gray hairs. I even gave her the numbers of a few doctors I knew. Then I saw the way Simon looked at her. I couldn’t fool myself. You can’t hide the look of pity in your eyes. A steel needle seemed to pierce my heart, making it hard to breathe. I confronted him. For the first time, he got angry. “Enough! Karen, she’s already in this state. What more do you want?” Tears streamed down my face. He quickly tried to comfort me. “I’m sorry, Karen. I didn’t mean to snap at you. We’ve been together for so long. Don’t you trust me?” I tried to push the incident out of my mind. The years of love and companionship we had shared became a comforting dream I clung to. Later, he went on a business trip to Tibet. He came back right on New Year’s Day, and we went to my parents’ house with gifts. Without my knowledge, he pulled out a bag of saffron and handed it to Savannah. “The locals say this helps with the cold.” Then, under her surprised and grateful gaze, he took out a protective amulet. “They also say this can keep you safe.” I was silent, in a daze. It was like being a child again, watching my parents come home with piles of gifts for Savannah while I could only watch, a pathetic dog begging for scraps. On the way home, Simon tried to take my hand. I pulled away, and that’s when I noticed a large gemstone ring on my ring finger. I was stunned. He pinched my cheek. “Are you a little jealous? Your mother asked me to buy the saffron. The amulet was just something I picked up. They think your cousin might be cursed.” “But the ring,” he said, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur, “I spent a long time choosing this for you. As long as I’m with you, you’ll always be safe.” He was always so good with words. I stared at the pigeon-egg-sized ruby, mesmerized. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Karen, let’s have a wedding. I’ve always felt bad about not giving you one.” Our eyes met. In that moment, I truly believed that everything before had been a misunderstanding. He loved me. Tears welled in my eyes. He panicked, wiping them away, asking me what was wrong, looking like a guilty child. In that moment, I wanted so badly to tell him. While he was away, my insomnia had gotten worse. I was throwing up constantly. At first, I thought I might be pregnant. I went to the hospital, overjoyed. But the doctor, seeing how sick I was, recommended a full check-up. When I got the diagnosis, I couldn’t believe it. How could this be happening? I was so young. I went to several other hospitals. The result was the same. I wanted to call him, to tell him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even face it myself. I didn’t know who to tell, how to say it. The doctor asked me why I hadn’t come in sooner. I told him I’d been like this since college, throwing up whenever I was anxious. He sighed. “Young people are under too much pressure these days.” In college, my mother, who was paying for Savannah’s expensive education, couldn’t afford to give me much. She paid my tuition and then bombarded me with messages and calls, telling me to work hard, to remember our family’s financial situation. Sometimes, at six or seven in the morning, I’d wake up to a text from her, asking if I’d found a part-time job, if I was earning any money, if I was going to get a scholarship. She said she was anxious, that the family could never save any money. What would they do when they got old? I asked her why she was still paying for Savannah’s expensive music lessons. She flew into a rage. “Why are you always so petty? Why can’t you just let it go? Savannah finally has a dream. Shouldn’t I support her?” “What about me?” “What more do you want? I’m already putting you through college! Are you trying to kill me?” She was determined to give Savannah the life she wanted, at the expense of my own survival. But she never saw it as a problem. She would just say, “I gave birth to you, I raised you. What more do you want?” I worried constantly about living expenses, about how to earn money, how to make my resume look better, how to find a better-paying job. That’s when I met Simon. He comforted me, understood me. Later, when he started his own business, I was by his side, traveling all over the country. To save money, we would buy standing-room-only tickets for twenty-hour train rides. He would buy two small stools, and we would huddle together, him shielding me from the crowds. He would whisper in my ear, “I will give you a good life.” But now, I had no life left. 4 Simon didn’t know that on the way home from the “wedding,” we passed by a jewelry store, and the name sounded familiar. On a whim, I went inside and asked the salesperson about the ruby ring on my finger. She was a young girl, and she blushed as she told me, “Oh, this ring? Just last Sunday night, right before we closed, a gentleman who had just gotten off a plane rushed in to buy it for his wife.” “He must love her very much, to be in such a hurry.” “Or maybe he did something wrong?” I whispered, to no one in particular. The girl stared at me, embarrassed. I turned and left. So that’s why he had suddenly bought me a ring. He had bought gifts for everyone on his trip, but had forgotten about me. To assuage his guilt, he had bought me an expensive ring. My gratitude now seemed so ridiculous. All those nights, I had been so scared, wanting to tell him about my illness, wanting to grasp at some non-existent warmth. It was all just my own wishful thinking. I lay in bed, numbly crying. The door suddenly opened. Simon pinned me down, kissing away my tears. “Karen, what do I have to do to make you stop overthinking things?” A wave of nausea rose in my throat. With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed him off me and ran to the bathroom, retching violently. He looked humiliated. “Karen Grant! What are you doing? I can’t even touch you anymore? How could you do this to me?” I ignored him, slumping to the floor. When I finally found the strength to stand, I splashed cold water on my face. “Let’s get a divorce. I’m serious.” He threw a towel at me and turned away. “In your dreams!” I watched his retreating back. You will, I thought. 5 I went to the hospital for a painkiller shot. I couldn’t even swallow pills anymore. Then I went directly to Savannah’s hospital room. I just sat there. She became incredibly agitated, yanking the IV needle from her arm. Blood spurted everywhere. “Karen Grant, what do you want? Can’t you just leave me alone?” I didn’t say anything, just quietly peeled an orange. When I was done, I realized I couldn’t eat it. I was on a liquid diet now. There were so many things I wanted to taste, but I couldn’t even do that. I held out the orange to her. “Want an orange? It should be sweet.” I wanted so badly to taste it, even if it was sour. But Savannah only became more agitated. She slapped the orange out of my hand and burst into tears. My mother rushed in, carrying a container of food for Savannah. The dishes looked familiar, but I didn’t have time to think about it. She slapped me across the face. “What did Savannah ever do to you? Why can’t you just leave her alone?” The slap made my nose bleed. I stared at the blood on the floor, then turned and left the room. My mother followed me out, wanting to say something. Finally, she grabbed my arm. “Karen, what’s wrong with you? Do you have a fever? You’ve lost so much weight recently.” “What’s it to you?” “I’m your mother!” she shrieked. “Really? I don’t believe you.” I smiled at her, and then the tears came. She cried even louder than I did. “I’m your mother! What do you want me to do? Can’t you try to understand me?” “I named you Karen, which means understanding. You were such a considerate child. How did you become like this?” I couldn’t listen anymore. Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten, but my head was spinning. I ran away. But as long as Simon refused to sign the divorce papers, I would keep coming back. We would all suffer together. 6 Simon rushed home. I was staring at a bowl of mushy porridge, trying to swallow a few spoonfuls, but I threw it all up. I managed to choke down some sugar water. “Karen, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and tight, trying to control his anger. “Can you make me a bowl of noodles?” Simon was an excellent cook, and his noodles were especially delicious. But he hadn’t cooked in a long time. I couldn’t remember if it was because of work or something else. I had been on a liquid diet for so long, sucking my meals through a straw. I suddenly craved noodles, the kind Simon made. I had been to so many restaurants, but I could never find anything like them. I knew I couldn’t swallow them, but just smelling them would be enough. “She’s already in such a bad state. Please, just leave her alone,” he begged. His words were like a knife, twisting in my heart. I remembered a time when we were madly in love, and I had told him he was the person I was closest to in the world. I had meant it then. But the intimacy had been so fleeting. “Then divorce me. If you divorce me, I’ll leave her alone,” I said stubbornly. “You’re being irrational!” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Simon had once promised that he would never make me regret marrying him. But I did. I didn’t understand why I wanted a divorce so badly. I only had a few days left. But when I thought about those days, the pain was unbearable. Do people change? How could it happen so suddenly? How could he do this to me? Why did I offer up my heart to be trampled on? They all liked to trample on me. All I wanted now was to get away, but even that wasn’t allowed. I went to see Savannah every day. Anyone who didn’t know would have thought we were the closest of sisters. And then I finally understood who had been cooking her meals. Savannah saw me looking at her food and said, mockingly, “Want some? Simon made it. It’s the only thing I can eat right now.” For the first time, I almost broke down in front of her. I hadn’t even left the hospital when Simon called, his voice full of frustration. “Karen, can you just stop? Savannah is sick.” “Then divorce me! If you divorce me, I’ll stop,” I repeated. I stood at a crosswalk, wanting to step out into traffic. But then I thought, it wouldn’t be fair to the driver. Everyone has their own struggles. I couldn’t add to someone else’s by dying. I stepped back, watching the endless stream of people and cars. All I could think about was Simon, cooking for Savannah. The irony was suffocating. He always looked so tired, and I, trying to be considerate, had been learning to cook his favorite dishes, waiting for him to come home, even though I couldn’t eat a thing myself. I was trying to be considerate of his hard work, but he was spending his energy cooking nutritious meals for Savannah. Simon, how could you? If I had the time, I would have taken him to court, fought him, torn him apart. But I only had a few days left. Maybe God heard my prayers, or maybe Savannah just couldn’t take it anymore. That day, I went to see her as usual. We were arguing on the stairs. I envied her, that she could yell and still have enough breath and energy. My mother had called Simon. Savannah was crying, her face streaked with tears. “I don’t want to see you! Just die!” I was silent. She grabbed my arm, shaking me violently. “What do you want?” I looked at Simon. The message was clear. Savannah was hysterical. She was pulling at me, lost her footing, and almost fell. And then I saw Simon rush over, grabbing her to steady her. I tumbled down the stairs. There were some glass panels at the landing. I put my arms up to protect myself. CRASH! The glass shattered. My arm, in its white sweater, was embedded with shards of glass. My face was cut too. I must have looked a mess, so ugly. It had been so long since I had looked beautiful. I couldn’t even stand to look in the mirror anymore. I was so ugly. Simon rushed down, his voice panicked. “What happened? How did it get this bad?” Blood stained my sweater red. He tried to pick me up, but I pushed against his chest, fighting back tears. “Divorce me. Please? If you divorce me, I won’t come back.” “I promise I won’t bother you.” “Please, just divorce me.”

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After Liam Harrison and I broke up, I found out I was three months pregnant. I raised our daughter, Ellie, alone for five years. But working three jobs took its toll, and a sudden stroke claimed my life. I floated in the air, a voiceless spirit. And then, I saw him. Liam Harrison, now a celebrated, award-winning actor, was knocking on the door of my small apartment. 01 It took a while for the door to open. “Who are you?” The one who opened it was my daughter, Ellie. She had to stand on her tiptoes just to reach the door latch. Her eyes, usually so bright, were wary as she looked up at my ex-boyfriend—her biological father, Liam Harrison. Seeing it wasn’t me, Ellie immediately tried to close the door. Liam wedged his foot in the gap. He frowned. “Where’s Serena Vance?” Ellie paused for a moment, then looked up, a bright, disarming smile lighting her face. “Oh, you’re looking for Mommy? She’s not home right now.” “She’s at work.” Liam’s expression darkened. He asked another question: “Where’s your dad?” [It’s you! You are her father, Liam!] I yelled desperately in the air, but he couldn’t hear me. Ellie thought for a moment. “My daddy is far away, making a lot of money. Mommy said once he makes enough, he’ll come back to pick us up.” Liam’s brow furrowed tighter. Suddenly, he gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. He muttered to himself, low enough for only him to hear. “God, I must be crazy. I actually thought she might still be waiting for me.” With that, he turned to leave. But he stopped abruptly. He asked Ellie for her full name. “Eleanor Vance.” “Mommy says I’m her little treasure, so she calls me Ellie.” Ellie said this with immense pride. Liam’s gaze searched her face, lingering, as if seeking some undeniable proof. But in the end, he said nothing. He stepped into his long, black sedan. I watched the car retreat into the distance, screaming silently. [Don’t go, Liam! If you leave, what will happen to our Ellie?] [She’s only five! How is she supposed to survive alone?] I gently pleaded with my daughter, who was blinking innocently at the dust of the departing car. [Ellie, sweetheart, chase after him! Mommy isn’t here anymore. He’s the only one who can take care of you now.] But Ellie couldn’t hear me either. She simply mumbled, “What a strange man,” and closed the door. In that moment, I wished I could slap myself. Why didn’t I tell Ellie who her father was sooner? Why didn’t I ever show her a picture of him? All of this was my fault. My death didn’t matter. But what about my daughter? 02 Ellie sat inside, swinging her short legs, waiting for me to come home. The last streaks of twilight faded. The sky grew heavy and dark. By all accounts, I should have been back hours ago. Ellie was terrified of the dark. But I was dead. My colleagues had just received the notification from the hospital: I had succumbed to my illness despite all efforts. They needed to notify my next of kin. But when they opened my phone, the ‘Family’ section in my contact list was empty. However, they knew I had a child. That evening, the home phone rang. Ellie, with her little legs pumping, rushed to answer it. “Hello?” Her small, childish voice brought tears to my colleague’s eyes. She didn’t know how to tell a little girl that her mother was dead. And wasn’t ever coming back. “Is that Mommy?” Ellie’s voice was excited. “Are you working late again? It’s okay, Ellie’s fine. I’m not hungry at all. I just ate the bread Mommy bought me.” She patted her round tummy proudly. “Ellie, your mother… she passed away a little while ago.” Ellie asked, confused: “Passed away? Where did she go? That’s okay, Mommy always takes Ellie with her when she goes far away.” Once, due to a work assignment, I had to travel to a neighboring state. I didn’t feel safe leaving Ellie alone. So, I brought her along. It was Ellie’s first time on a train, and she was ecstatic, pointing at the scenery outside the window. So now, Ellie thought I was just away on another business trip. My colleague sighed, unsure how to proceed. She simply hung up. Later, she represented the company and arranged for my cremation. All that was left of me was an urn of ashes. 03 That night dragged on, interminably long. It was the first night I hadn’t come home. Every so often, Ellie would run to the door, checking for a glimpse of me. But the darkness would quickly frighten her back inside. She ran back and forth countless times. Overcome by exhaustion, she finally fell asleep clutching the teddy bear I had bought her. The sun rose. A rooster crowed somewhere nearby. She woke up with a start. And rushed to the door again. Seeing I still hadn’t returned, a flicker of disappointment crossed Ellie’s face. But she quickly comforted herself. “It’s okay. Mommy is just very busy. She’ll be home soon.” Having eaten little all night, Ellie’s tummy rumbled. She had no choice but to snack on the remaining bread. Then, she unwrapped the carton of milk I had purchased. Mimicking my actions, she tried to heat the milk on the stove. “Mommy said cold drinks are bad, or I’ll get a tummy ache.” Ellie talked to herself as she carried the small pot, filled with water. But her hands were tiny. How could she manage? I watched, frantic, pleading with her to stop. But I was powerless. Ellie stood on a stool, just about to place the pot on the stove. But she lost her grip. Water splashed everywhere. The heavy pot crashed down onto her small foot, instantly swelling the tender skin. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart by blades. Yet, I was also relieved it hadn’t been boiling water. Ellie began to sob quietly. Then, she quickly hugged her foot and started blowing on it. “Mommy’s not here, so Ellie will blow on it herself. It won’t hurt then.” She wiped her tears. She dragged the stool back. She sat in the living room, her eyes fixed on the door. “Don’t cry, Ellie. When Mommy comes back, she’ll say I was very brave.” Ellie was so good. So sensible. Sensible enough to break my heart. I desperately wished she would resent me, curse me for being an unfit mother. Instead, she waited, so patiently, so sweetly, for my return. 04 Two hours later. A car stopped outside the apartment door. My former colleague knocked. Ellie was ecstatic, thinking it was me. She ran so fast she stumbled. Her leg scraped against a sharp stone. But she only winced, quickly scrambled up, and rushed to open the door. When she saw it wasn’t me, her composure shattered. She burst into heart-wrenching sobs. “Mommy, why haven’t you come home yet?” “Ellie’s foot is swollen, and my leg hurts, but Ellie was brave!” “But Mommy still isn’t here. Mommy doesn’t love Ellie anymore!” “Does Mommy hate me?” Ellie’s cries were tearing my heart to shreds. My colleague rushed to comfort her. She found the first-aid kit and gently cleaned Ellie’s leg with antiseptic, applying a plaster. Once everything was calm. My colleague brought in my urn and the box of personal effects from the company. Ellie looked confused. But then she saw a framed photo we’d taken recently at the fair. In the picture, I was hugging Ellie, and we were both smiling widely. She recognized me. She asked my colleague, “Miss, are these all my mommy’s things? Then where is my mommy?” The colleague held back her tears. She pointed to the urn. “Your mommy is right here, sweetheart. If you miss her, you can hug this and talk to her.” Ellie shook her head vigorously. “My mommy can’t be a jar! She’s not like those characters in storybooks who can change shape! You’re lying!” She hugged the photograph tightly. “This is my mommy.” She pressed a sweet kiss to the photo, smiling softly. My colleague sighed, placing the urn on a high shelf. She looked around the tiny, dilapidated apartment. “Where is your father? Are you all alone here?” Ellie lowered her head. “Mommy said Daddy went far away to make money. I’ve never met my daddy.” The colleague was shocked. “Do you have any other family? Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?” Ellie shook her head. The woman couldn’t hold back her tears any longer and pulled Ellie into a hug. “You poor, poor child.” “You’re so young. How could your mother bear to leave you alone?” Ellie argued fiercely. “Mommy would never leave me! Mommy loves Ellie the most.” The colleague slipped a card into Ellie’s hand. “This is the compensation money from the company after your mother’s death. There’s twenty thousand dollars on this card. The pin is six eights. Keep it safe, don’t lose it.” Ellie nodded seriously. She clutched the card tightly. Because of our poverty, I had taught Ellie from a young age that money was precious and must be protected. She remembered. After careful consideration. The colleague called the local Child Protective Services. It was the institution designated for children without guardians. I was immensely grateful, bowing repeatedly in the air before the woman. [Thank you so much.] If Ellie could be placed in an orphanage, at least she would survive. 05 When the Child Protective Services came to pick Ellie up, she refused to go. She clung to the door, screaming and wailing. “You’re kidnappers! Don’t take Ellie! Ellie isn’t worth anything!” The CPS workers tried to smile through their distress. The lead social worker, a kindly woman, knelt down. She spoke gently. “I’m not a kidnapper, dear. We’re taking Ellie to a new place where she can stay.” Ellie frowned. She told them seriously. “This is my home! If you take me away, Mommy won’t see me when she comes home, and she’ll be worried!” I covered my mouth, tears streaming down my incorporeal face. The social workers exchanged glances, their eyes moist. They gently coaxed her. “Ellie, sweetie, your mommy asked us to bring you here. Your mommy has to travel for a while and won’t be back immediately, so she wants us to take care of you.” “Besides, there are lots of kids like you there, so you won’t be lonely.” Ellie listened carefully. She blinked her big eyes, staring at them. “Really?” “Of course.” Only then did Ellie slowly release the door. But before getting into the car. Ellie ran back inside. She grabbed the teddy bear I had bought her and the photograph. She hugged them tightly to her chest. The car started moving. It was Ellie’s first time traveling with strangers. The calm she had forced earlier vanished. Fear and panic rushed in. She finally burst into tears. “Mommy, Ellie will be very good and very obedient.” “Please hurry and come get Ellie, okay?” I followed the car, floating behind. Wherever Ellie went, I followed. But she couldn’t see me. And I couldn’t touch her. 06 On her first day at the St. Jude’s Children’s Home, Ellie was strangely silent. She just stared blankly out the window. Every time someone passed, she would widen her eyes, scrutinizing them, searching for me. When she realized it wasn’t me. Her face held only disappointment. A curious boy approached her, trying to start a conversation. “Why did you come to the Home?” Ellie answered seriously: “My mommy had to go away, so she sent me here. But she’s coming to pick me up soon.” The boy seemed to mock her innocence. He suddenly snatched the teddy bear from her hands. “Your mommy abandoned you.” “She’s not coming back for you.” “What’s this? Let me play with it.” Ellie was furious. She rushed forward, shoving the boy to the ground. “You’re lying!” “My mommy would never abandon me!” “That’s the teddy bear my mommy gave me! Give it back!” The boy was equally aggressive, quickly climbing back up. He pushed my Ellie to the ground. He was a year or two older than Ellie. His strength was naturally greater. He straddled Ellie. He yanked at her hair and clothes. He even tore the teddy bear, and white cotton stuffing burst out of its broken seam. “I’m not lying! Your mom doesn’t want you! All the kids here were abandoned by their parents!” “It’s just a broken toy, I don’t even want it.” Ellie hugged the damaged bear. Fighting back hard. “You’re a liar! I don’t believe you!” “Don’t rip my bear! Mommy gave it to me!” The noise alerted a staff member. She hurried over. She separated the two children. After learning what happened, she severely scolded the boy. But the boy didn’t think he had done anything wrong. “I just told the truth! Her mom is never coming back!” “She’s the one who pushed me!” He made a face and ran off. Ellie stood there. Her hair was a mess, her clothes stained with dirt from the floor. She looked like a defeated fighter. But she still insisted, “My mommy would never abandon me.” “Don’t try to fool me.” From then on. Ellie became even quieter. The other children stopped interacting with her. They whispered privately that she had been abandoned but was too stubborn to admit it. Whenever Ellie heard the whispers. She would quickly walk away. But I saw her retreat to a deserted spot, hugging her damaged teddy bear, and secretly wiping away tears. “Mommy, is what they said true? Did you really abandon me?” I gently wrapped my arms around Ellie. Just like I used to hug her to sleep. [Ellie, Mommy is always here. Mommy would never abandon you.] [Mommy is with you forever.] 计费点 07 A month passed. Ellie ate very little. And slept even less. Her once round, cherubic cheeks had grown sharp and thin. The laughter in her eyes had faded. She no longer looked out the window or at the door. She stopped nagging the staff, asking: “Did my mommy come for me today?” Today, the Children’s Home was unusually bustling. I heard the director talking and learned the reason: Liam Harrison was coming to visit the children today. Apparently, after becoming a major star, he donated a lot of money to the Home. And he visited this specific Home every year. I knew why. We had both grown up in this Home. I felt a surge of hope. If he saw Ellie. He would surely realize I was gone. And surely, he wouldn’t be heartless enough to let our Ellie stay here. After all, we had once loved each other so very much. A crowd of people gathered at the entrance, waiting for the philanthropist, Liam Harrison. Even the children flocked towards the door. Only Ellie watched the excitement with cold indifference. [Ellie, sweetheart, go to the door! Your daddy is coming soon!] [If he sees you, maybe you won’t have to stay here anymore.] [You could have a good life. Then Mommy could rest easy.] She couldn’t hear my words. But she picked up a crayon, and in clumsy, childish handwriting, she wrote a note. [Ellie is going to find Mommy. Don’t look for me.] She placed the note next to her pillow. Then, she started running. But she didn’t join the group at the entrance. She ran in the opposite direction. I was shocked and frantic. [Ellie, what are you doing? Where are you going!] She ran faster and faster. I had thought she had accepted the Home. Accepted the reality that I wouldn’t come for her. It wasn’t until I saw the note that I understood. She was leaving the Home. If I wouldn’t come for her. She would find me herself. … A Maybach pulled up to the entrance of the Home. His manager, Ryan Lee, shielded Liam as he stepped out. A swarm of people greeted him. No one noticed that Ellie had slipped away. Just moments ago. Just that close. Liam would have seen Ellie. Now, she was alone outside. How would she survive?

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The second year after my birth parents took me in, my entire family was dragged into a horror game. A Siren, his silk robes hanging open to reveal a half-finished skin he was painting onto himself, asked his victims if he was beautiful with a voice that chilled the bone. A Vase Maiden giggled as she rolled across the floor, searching for a replacement to star in her little show. I stared at the familiar faces in this terrifyingly familiar place, and with a sharp cry, I clapped my hands over my eyes. “Elara? Lysander? What in the world are you two doing?!” The Siren froze, swiftly pulling his robes shut. The Vase Maiden instantly sprouted a body, suddenly looking prim and proper. “Oh, our little star,” they murmured in unison. “What are you doing back here?” 1 [Attention all players, you have now entered the Horror Game.] [Current Instance: Hollow Creek] [Difficulty: SSS-Rank. This is a Merged Instance.] [Objective: Survive for ten days.] [Number of Players: 10] [Good luck to all players.] The robotic voice echoed in my ears, leaving me dazed. A moment ago, I was in the middle of a family tribunal, locked in a crying competition with my sister, Cassandra. Cassandra was bawling because her final exam scores were lower than mine, milking it for all the parental sympathy she could get. I was crying out of sheer terror. I’ve always been able to see things others can’t. Right then, a phantom doll was perched on Cassandra’s shoulder, while the ghost of a woman clung to her back. In the blink of an eye—the time it took to wipe away a tear—my surroundings had changed completely. I looked around. Besides my family of five, there were five strangers. Cassandra, trembling, burrowed into our mother’s arms. “Where are we?” she shrieked. “What is this place?” My father, Robert, shielded my brother Nathan like a mother hen, his eyes darting around nervously. I stood off to the side, completely alone. The five strangers—three men and two women—seemed to know each other. Their leader, a man with a jagged scar across his face whom the others called Blade, glared at us. “Dammit. What rotten luck,” he grumbled. “An SSS-rank Merged Instance, and we get saddled with five rookies.” “Look at them,” another one scoffed. “Useless. All they do is cry.” “So damn loud.” I cautiously approached them, picking out a woman who seemed slightly less hostile. “Excuse me,” I asked, my voice small. “Do you know where we are?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, her sharp features giving her an air of superiority. “Well, look at that. A newbie who knows how to use her mouth. A rare find.” Her gaze flickered dismissively toward Cassandra. “Better than the professional mourners over there, at least.” She gave me a once-over. “This is the Horror Game. People with intense desires are usually the ones who get pulled in. Clear an instance, you get points. Points can be exchanged for anything—a longer life, money, power. Anything you want.” “And if you fail the game?” I asked, my heart sinking. Her expression darkened, a wave of sorrow washing over her. “You die. You become fuel for the game.” She paused, her eyes meeting mine again. “My name’s Sienna. Stick with me. You can call me Sienna.” A surprised smile bloomed on my face. Tough on the outside, but kind on the inside. I’d chosen the right person. “Okay, thank you, Sienna.” “I’m Seraph. You can call me Seraph.” 2 Suddenly, lines of text materialized in the air, a live chat feed visible only to us. [SSS-Rank Merged Instance? These guys are toast.] [The Hollow Creek instance has three bosses. Survive ten days? They’ll be lucky to last three.] [That newbie Seraph hit the jackpot, latching onto Sienna right away.] [What kinda luck do Blade and Sienna have? SSS-rank, five dead-weight rookies… Someone play ‘Taps’ for them.] I stared at the floating comments in fascination. “Sienna,” I whispered, “I can see this chat. Can you?” “Normal,” she replied curtly. “Every instance is live-streamed to boost our survival odds. You can get intel from the comments.” I nodded, only half-understanding. An iron gate before us creaked open slowly, and in a blink, we were standing in a quaint, old-fashioned town. But this town… it was chillingly familiar. It looked exactly like the one at the foot of the mountain where I grew up, before my birth parents found me. Even the stone griffin at the town entrance, with its chipped wing, was identical. [Mission One: Enter Hollow Creek and evade the Vase Maiden’s attack.] [It is the annual Midsummer Festival, and Hollow Creek is alive with celebration. On the main stage, the ringmaster has unveiled his main attraction: the Vase Maiden. Tormented by her limbless form, she seeks a replacement to take her place in the show.] [The Vase Maiden will appear in thirty seconds. Players are advised to hide immediately. Anyone caught will be assimilated and become the new Vase Maiden.] [The show begins in ten minutes. Good luck.] 3 The announcement sent everyone scattering, scrambling for cover. Sienna grabbed my arm and pulled me into a large wooden wardrobe inside a nearby cottage. Instinctively, Cassandra and my mother, Eleanor, followed us, piling in right behind me. The cramped space was now suffocating with four people. Sienna scowled, clearly wanting to find a new spot, but it was too late. With a grimace, she pressed herself against the wall of the wardrobe. A hollow, scraping sound began outside, growing closer, accompanied by a mournful, lilting song: “The hills are green, oh, the road is long~” The Vase Maiden giggled between verses as she rolled around, searching. “Are you in here?” she cooed. “Or maybe… over here? Hee hee~” The scraping sound rolled through the town, then suddenly stopped. A shrill laugh pierced the silence. “Found you~!” A man’s horrifying scream tore through the air. It sounded horribly familiar. It sounded like my father. Tears streamed down my mother’s face as she clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling a sob, her body rigid with fear. [Player Robert Sterling has failed the mission. Assimilated by the Vase Maiden. Remaining survivors: 9] The chat feed exploded. [This is SSS-rank for you. Someone dies two minutes in.] [That rookie had the worst luck. Caught almost instantly.] [Wait, wasn’t that his son next to him? He shoved his own father out to die! That’s cold-blooded.] [Oh god, the assimilation process is brutal. They’re tearing off his limbs and stuffing him in the vase right now.] Reading the chat’s graphic descriptions of my father’s fate, Cassandra and my mother began to sob uncontrollably. I just felt a hollow sort of pity. In the year since they’d found me, I’d been blamed for everything and hit more times than I could count. I couldn’t find any tears for him. 4 The scraping sound started again. This time, it stopped right outside our wardrobe. A chilling voice whispered, “Is anyone in here?” Everyone inside the wardrobe froze, holding their breath. “Hee hee hee… I see you… I see you.” “Don’t hide… Come out and play…” Beside me, Cassandra’s body went ramrod straight. Sienna held up a finger, silently warning us not to move. The chat was buzzing with advice: [She’s bluffing! Don’t open the door!] [Damn, this boss is smart. She’s trying to bait them out.] [It’s no good. You have to sacrifice one person. Once the Vase Maiden kills someone in a room, she won’t return to it.] The scraping sound moved into the cottage. My mother and Cassandra exchanged a look—a silent, desperate agreement. Then, with a unified shove, they pushed me out of the wardrobe. Sienna gasped, her hand shooting out to grab me, but she was too late. I stumbled forward and fell right at the feet of the Vase Maiden. A beautiful porcelain vase with the head of a gorgeous woman perched on top. Skin like cream, a face like a blossoming rose. So, so familiar. Our eyes met, and tears instantly welled in mine. “Elara,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “What have they done to you?” Chapter 5 The chat feed was flooded with question marks. [????] [Is the girl delirious from fear? Why’s she calling the monster a name?] [It’s over. The Vase Maiden is gonna be pissed. Hope this newbie gets a quick death.] [The Vase Maiden literally rips people’s limbs off. For a stunt like this? It’s gonna be so much worse. A moment of silence for her.] Seeing my tears, the Vase Maiden jolted. In a flash, her form shifted. The porcelain vase melted away, reforming into a stunning, form-fitting silk gown. A full body materialized beneath it, graceful and elegant. She produced a honey cake from thin air and gently pressed it into my hand, her voice soft and soothing. “Oh, my little star, what are you doing back here? Don’t cry, don’t cry. Your big sister is just… working a temp job.” Her voice was laced with panic. “Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.” “Here, have something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.” The Vase Maiden was none other than Elara, my eldest sister-in-training from the Sanctuary, the one who had practically raised me. I was seventeen when my birth parents found me. Before that, my entire life had been at the Sanctuary on Azure Mountain. From my earliest memories, it was always Elara and Lysander by my side. Elara taught me to read, flew kites with me, bought me snacks and my first phone, and baked the best cakes. But seeing her now, her true form crammed into that tiny vase… an unbearable ache filled my chest. The chat was stunned silent, then erupted. [Wait, the Vase Maiden is ACTUALLY her sister?!] [Does this newbie have some kind of mind-control skill? How can a player have a connection to a BOSS?] [I don’t believe it. The Vase Maiden actually showed mercy.] [Am I the only one who noticed the BOSS LITERALLY GREW A BODY for this player?] Seeing a familiar face, all the misery and injustice I’d felt at the Sterling’s house came rushing back. The tears I’d been holding back now streamed down my cheeks. All the times Cassandra had framed me, all the times my parents had ignored me… I’d wanted to run back to the Sanctuary, but I could never find the way. 6 My sobbing intensified, and Elara went into full-blown panic mode. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry! Tell me what’s wrong. Tell your sister everything.” Her eyes narrowed, her gaze locking onto the wardrobe where my mother and Cassandra were hiding. A dangerous glint appeared in her eyes, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Are they treating you badly? That family of yours… Say the word, and I’ll end them for you.” The threat, cold and lethal, made the two women in the wardrobe tremble. I just shook my head, unable to speak. Elara thought for a moment. She pulled out a smartphone, quickly opened up my favorite streaming show, and pressed it into my hands, gently patting my back. “There, there, my little treasure. Don’t cry. Your sister is fine, see? Everything’s fine.” Suddenly, her body tensed. “Little star,” she said, her expression apologetic, “I have to get back to work. It’s… busy. You just watch your show, okay? I’ll come find you later.” Her phoenix-like eyes flickered to the wardrobe again. She shot a withering glare at my mother and Cassandra before pointing at Sienna. “You. Come here.” Sienna hesitated for a second before stepping out. Elara handed her a pile of snacks—honey cakes, peach tarts, chips, soda. “My little sister is timid, and she loves to eat. Take care of her for me. Protect her.” When Sienna nodded, Elara smiled, satisfied. She tossed a dagger to her. “This is your payment for looking after her.” [Congratulations, Player Sienna, you have obtained the SS-Rank Attack Item: Dagger of Shadows.] Sienna stared at the ornate dagger, her expression one of utter disbelief. Elara then knelt and tied a small silver bell to my belt. “Little sister, if you need me, just ring this.” [Congratulations, Player Seraph, you have obtained the SS-Rank Summoning Item: Silver Bell.] I nodded, wanting to ask her to stay but managing only to whisper, “Be safe, Elara.” With her instructions given, Elara closed the cottage door behind her. The hollow, scraping sound of the vase started up once more outside. 7 After Elara left, everyone still alive looked at me with an impossibly complex mix of awe, fear, and jealousy. The chat, which had been quiet, roared back to life. [Damn. Everyone else comes to these instances to survive. This girl came for a vacation.] [I’m so jealous I could scream. She just got two SS-rank items handed to her?] [Did this newbie trigger a hidden questline? Why is the Vase Maiden so soft on her?] [I’m reporting Seraph for cheating! This is impossible! Last time the Vase Maiden appeared, she killed nine people in ten minutes!] I ignored the chat’s uproar. Sienna looked at me, her expression a whirlwind of emotions. “Seraph,” she began hesitantly, “you know the Vase Maiden?” I finished chewing the piece of honey cake in my mouth and corrected her. “She’s not the Vase Maiden. She’s Elara, the eldest sister from my home, the Sanctuary. And she’s the kindest, gentlest person in the world…” I launched into a gushing speech, singing her praises. The chat was speechless. [Are you kidding me? The Vase Maiden? Kind and gentle?] [I want to see you say that again when she’s tearing a man limb from limb.] The flood of information was overwhelming. Cassandra finally snapped out of her shock and lunged at me, ready to strike, but Sienna kicked her away with a sharp movement. “Seraph! Why are you so damn lucky?!” Cassandra shrieked. My mother, Eleanor, marched forward, her hand raised to slap me. Sienna caught her wrist in an iron grip. Eleanor’s face was contorted with grief and fury. “You knew her! Why didn’t you save your father?! You let him die such a horrible death!” Before I could answer, the chat jumped to my defense. [? Is this woman serious? Seraph didn’t know it was her sister.] [I’ve seen shameless people before, but this mother-daughter duo takes the cake.] [Wow. Just… wow. What a pair of witches.] I wasn’t known for my patience, and with Elara backing me up, I fired back. “I didn’t know it was her! And even if I did, why would I have saved him?!” My mother stared at me, aghast. “He was your father!” “Was he?” I shot back. “You could’ve fooled me. From the way you all treated me, I thought I was just some stray you picked up off the street.” It was the truth. When my birth parents brought me home, I discovered they had already adopted another girl, Cassandra, to replace me. From day one, they criticized me for not being “sophisticated” enough, for lacking the “grace of a wealthy heiress.” Cassandra and my brother Nathan went out of their way to torment me, and my parents always looked the other way. I even had to earn my own allowance by telling fortunes for strangers. My words left my mother stunned, her shock quickly turning to rage. She pointed a trembling finger at me, calling me ungrateful, but Sienna shut her up with a sharp glare that could cut glass. 8 Screams echoed from outside the cottage as the system continued its grim broadcast. [Player Donovan has failed the mission. Assimilated by the Vase Maiden. Remaining survivors: 8] [Player Lynn has failed the mission. Assimilated by the Vase Maiden. Remaining survivors: 7] The ten minutes passed quickly, with no more deaths. We pushed open the door and met up with the other three survivors. We all looked shaken and disheveled, but the game waited for no one. The Vase Maiden’s show was about to begin. The stage was a cacophony of music and celebration. Three large vases, each half the height of a person, sat center stage, covered with red cloths. A ringmaster gave an impassioned speech about the wonders of the Vase Maidens. Then, with a flourish, he whipped off the cloths. Inside each vase was the twisted body of a dead player—my father and the two others. Their heads lolled against the rims of the vases, their faces ashen and defeated, like wilted flowers. The “Vase People” were paraded around the stage for the townspeople’s amusement. The remaining players turned away, unable to watch. A chilling sense of “that could have been me” settled over us. Nathan’s face was pale as a sheet as he covered his mouth, trying not to be sick. The somber mood didn’t last long. The system issued its next mission.

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Benjamin Cohen, the billionaire scion, posts a late-night pic from a private jet tarmac. Caption: [Operation Win-Her-Back is a go.] Half an hour later, the newly-crowned heiress, Melody Nolan, posts a pic of a matching rose and a massive diamond ring. Caption: [He found me!] The internet exploded. As fans went into a frenzy, Benjamin himself crashed a live stream and went on the attack: “Win who back? You? Are you allergic to shame or something?” “It’s bad enough I can’t get her back, but now you’re trying to ruin my reputation!” “Do you have any idea how important a man’s reputation is?!” He finished his rant, then whipped his head around, his voice dropping to a pathetic whimper as he looked at me. “Babe, you gotta say something!!!” 1 The day the real heiress returned was the day I was kicked out of the Nolan family home. While the entire internet was laughing at me, a reality TV show offered me a contract. They wanted me to be Melody’s on-air punching bag, her ‘control group.’ To utterly humiliate me, during the ‘borrow money’ challenge, Melody conspired with the producers. We were both forced to call the same person: the infamous Benjamin Cohen. “Let’s just see, sis,” Melody whispered to me, covering her mic when the cameras weren’t looking, her smile dripping with venom. “Will Mr. Cohen lend money to a disgraced fake like you, or to the real, beloved heiress?” “We’ll see,” I said, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure Benjamin would lend me the money, but I was damn sure he wouldn’t lend it to her. For dramatic effect, the host had me call first. As the phone rang, a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. What if he didn’t pick up? The last time we spoke, when we broke up, he swore that if he ever spoke to me again, he was a dog. Thirty seconds ticked by. Nothing. Melody could barely contain her smug grin, though she feigned concern. “Oh no, it looks like Mr. Cohen isn’t picking up for my sister…” Her comment sent the live chat into a frenzy of mockery. LMAO, who does this fake think she is, calling a Cohen for a million bucks?! She couldn’t even borrow a hundred! If she gets a single cent, I will eat my own shoe on a live stream! Careful what you wish for, buddy. You never know. ^^^ Is that a Thea fan? People actually stan the fake heiress? LOL. Yeah, I said what I said! The chat was a warzone, and the tension on set was thick enough to cut with a knife. Melody’s triumphant smile grew wider. Just as everyone expected the call to go to voicemail, it connected. Melody’s smile froze on her face. For a split second, she looked stunned, before schooling her features back into a mask of disdainful confidence. She was certain he wouldn’t lend me the money. The line was dead silent. Benjamin didn’t say a word. I had to be the one to speak first. “It’s me, Thea.” Still nothing. The silence stretched. “Look, um… can I borrow a million dollars?” I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end. It was a sound of pure disbelief, quickly morphing into fury. “Thea,” Benjamin’s voice, usually a deep, magnetic rumble, was now tight with rage. “You call me for the first time in months just to ask for money?!” “Mhm,” I mumbled, steeling myself. “No money! But you can have me!” he snarled, and then—click. He hung up. He’d spat the words out with such fury that the last part was garbled. Everyone on set, including Melody, only heard one thing clearly: “No money!” “Oh, what a shame. It seems Mr. Cohen isn’t willing to help you out, sis,” Melody said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy while her eyes danced with glee. The moment she finished, Vivian, an influencer who’d been kissing Melody’s ass since the show began, rolled her eyes at me. “Some people need to learn their place. She’s lucky a man like Mr. Cohen even answered her call.” Then, her face morphed into a fawning smile as she turned to Melody. “Melody, you should call him! He wouldn’t just lend you a million, he’d give you fifty!” Melody preened under the praise, but then she noticed I was staring down at my phone, completely silent. She subtly motioned for a cameraman to zoom in on my screen. The live feed was suddenly filled with the contents of my phone: [NOTICE: A wire transfer of $50,000,000.00 from an account belonging to BENJAMIN COHEN has been initiated to your account ending in 0553 on 07-29-2025. Please verify…] “Fifty million?!” Vivian shrieked, sucking in a sharp breath. 2 Her scream snapped me out of my shock. Before I could even process it, a text from Benjamin came through. [Is that enough? If not I can send more… actually just give me your address, I’ll have a black card sent over. Don’t get the wrong idea, it’s just less hassle. You know how busy I am, I don’t have time to keep sending you transfers…] The text was broadcast live, and a fresh wave of gasps rippled through the studio. I stared at the message, clearly sent before he’d finished typing. I knew Benjamin. That dog was about to say something utterly filthy. Without a second thought, I blocked his number. I’d deal with returning the money after the show. After blocking him, I calmly slid my phone into my pocket and looked straight at the camera. “It’s a scam text. Phishing for my address.” But the live chat had already detonated. FIFTY MILLION?! I wouldn’t even burn that much fake money for my ancestors! Is this what life is like for the 1%? Just casually wiring fifty mil?! Hey, where’s that guy who promised to eat his shoe? Don’t be a coward! Who’s a coward? That text is obviously fake! I’ll double down. If Princess Melody gets a single dollar from him, you’re the one eating a shoe! Deal. And if your princess gets nothing, you eat two? …Fine! The entire internet is our witness! The back-to-back bombshells had wiped the smile off Melody’s face. Vivian, ever the loyal lackey, tried to salvage the situation. “Melody, it’s your turn! I bet that text was fake. After all, Mr. Cohen hung up on her.” She shot me a contemptuous look. “If I got rejected like that on national television, I’d quit showbiz forever. The humiliation!” Vivian’s words seemed to soothe Melody’s frayed nerves. She pasted on her signature sweet, innocent smile. “Okay, here I go!” She dialed Benjamin’s number with an air of absolute certainty. The call was immediately rejected. A look of disbelief and mortification flashed across Melody’s face. “He probably just got spammed and rejected the call without looking,” Vivian said quickly, shooting me a pointed glare. “Try again, Melody.” Melody’s expression softened. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and dialed again with a bright, sugary smile. Rejected again. Now she was starting to look desperate. The other guests were watching her with a new, speculative glint in their eyes. She ignored them and tried again. Rejected. She tried one more time, her thumb jabbing at the screen. This time, it connected. A visible wave of relief washed over Melody. She shot me a look of pure triumph. But before she could even say hello, Benjamin’s impatient voice barked through the speaker. [I told you, I’m not buying insurance! Stop calling me, are you crazy?] Click. He hung up. The entire studio fell silent. For a moment, even the live chat froze. All the color drained from Melody’s face. Her eyes were wide with shock as her trembling fingers dialed one last time. A cold, robotic voice answered: [The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…] 3 He’d blocked her. Somewhere in the studio, someone let out an audible snort of laughter. The chat was a waterfall of LMAO MELODY GOT REKT and Where’s shoe-eating guy? Show yourself! But a flood of PRINCESS MELODY IS THE PRETTIEST bots quickly washed them away. Melody’s face was thunderous. Vivian rushed to comfort her. “It’s okay, Mel! So he blocked you? You can just ask him to unblock you later! And you didn’t borrow any money, but neither did Thea, so…” The more Vivian talked, the more flustered she became, each word a clumsy step on a minefield of Melody’s insecurities. Melody’s face turned stony. She shot a dark look toward the production crew, and her manager, standing off-camera, gave a slight nod. Three seconds later, Melody’s body began to sway. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed. The set was thrown into chaos. Paramedics rushed in and, after a brief examination, announced that Melody had fainted from exhaustion due to her “frail constitution.” Predictably, the chat filled with a new narrative: Melody’s health was poor because she’d spent her childhood suffering in poverty. The live broadcast was abruptly cut short. It was rescheduled for ten o’clock the next morning. 4 Because it was an emergency, the production hadn’t arranged for our accommodations. I found a hotel nearby. After a quick shower, I collapsed into bed. I’d been up all night writing music, and my eyelids felt like they were lined with lead. I slept like the dead, completely oblivious to the drama that had unfolded online overnight. When I finally woke up and checked my phone, I saw that Benjamin and Melody were trending. [BREAKING] #BenjaminCohenAndMelodyNolanSpotted [VIRAL] #OperationWinHerBack MelodyNolan SaysYes [HOT] #CohenNolanMerger WeddingBells The trending page was a wall of their names. Just as I was about to click on a link, the topics vanished. Moments later, Cohen Industries’ official corporate account released a statement. It clarified that the rumors of a relationship between Benjamin Cohen and Melody Nolan were entirely false, and any talk of a merger or marriage was pure fabrication. The statement concluded with a promise to pursue legal action against anyone spreading misinformation. The gossip sites immediately fell in line, deleting their posts and issuing apologies. But Melody’s fans only got louder. They flooded the corporate account’s comments, insisting Benjamin was just playing hard to get and that this was no way to win a girl’s heart. They created a fan page for the “couple,” deepfaking Benjamin’s business interviews and Melody’s reality show clips into romantic montages. As the fans were shipping them to death, they got served. Cohen Industries sued them. Every single fan who had participated in spreading the rumor was named in the lawsuit. Unsurprisingly, this also went viral. The sheer scale of it—suing thousands of people at once—was a jaw-dropping display of wealth and power. The scandal was so huge that even when it was time for the show to resume, Melody was still sulking in her trailer, refusing to come out. The director was pacing frantically. I, on the other hand, was leisurely scrolling through my phone, enjoying the drama. I was watching one of the AI-generated videos of Benjamin and Melody, marveling at how insane fan edits could be, when the director announced we were live in fifteen minutes. I nodded and was about to put my phone away when I realized my thumb had slipped. I’d just liked the video. I LIKED THE VIDEO!!! I frantically unliked it, breathing a sigh of relief at my quick reflexes. But it was too late. A flood of DMs from a “special contact” poured in. Benjamin Cohen: [? You have time to watch garbage edits of me with someone else, but you don’t have time to answer my texts?!] [Thea, you have no heart! I hate you! You seductress who stole my body and my feelings, you evil woman…] [Damn it, why won’t these stupid videos delete?!] [Cry emoji…] [You’re filming a show? Fine. I’m coming to find you.] My eyes widened in horror at the last message. What the hell was that lunatic coming here for?! My fingers flew across the screen. [Respectfully declined.] [Don’t forget what you said when we broke up. If you ever spoke to me again, you were a dog!!] [You don’t want to be a dog, do you?] I hit send, shut down my phone, and prepared to go live. 5 Just then, Melody emerged from her trailer. Her manager must have said something to her, because she looked much calmer. When she saw me, a smug, triumphant look crossed her face. She mouthed two words at me: You’re finished. I just stared back, bewildered. What was her problem? The show resumed. The topic shifted to our love lives. This time, the host started with Melody. “So, Melody, are you seeing someone?” “Mhm!” She nodded shyly, casually tucking her hair behind her ear to flash the enormous diamond ring on her finger. Her cheeks were flushed. “We were, but we broke up. But… we got back together yesterday.” “Wow!” The host’s eyes widened, zeroing in on the ring. “Isn’t that the same ring Mr. Cohen posted on his socials late last night?! So the rumors were true! Are we going to be hearing wedding bells soon?” Melody didn’t answer directly, but she adopted the bashful, glowing expression of a woman deeply in love, which was an answer in itself. The other guests immediately started congratulating her. Vivian, in particular, shot me a look before gushing in an outrageously loud voice. “Oh my god, Mr. Cohen must be so in love with you! A ring that big must have cost hundreds of millions! It’s true what they say, diamonds and flowers for a true beauty!” She then looked at me, adding pointedly, “Unlike some people, who just make things up.” The live chat was now a stream of Congratulations Benjamin & Melody Being Together Forever! Melody basked in the flattery, her smugness growing by the second. She glanced at me and, as if to show off, waved her hand right in front of my face. I couldn’t help it. “You can stop waving it. The diamond is fake.” It was probably a lab-grown diamond. To the naked eye, it looked real enough, but under the studio lights, the fire was just… off. If you looked closely, you could tell. My words were a bomb. The live chat instantly exploded. FAKE?! How dare that bitch Thea slander our princess!! Sour grapes! Melody would never wear a fake! That was a gift from Benjamin Cohen! Exactly! As if a Cohen would give someone a fake ring! She’s just jealous and trashy! You Melody fans are still at it? Benjamin’s company literally issued a statement and is suing people for this. Wake up. Not a fan of either, but as a professional jeweler, I can tell you that ring is 100% fake. ^^^ You’re just a hater! Get lost! Talk trash again and I’ll dig up your ancestors’ graves, I swear! It wasn’t just the chat. The entire studio fell silent. Everyone’s eyes swiveled to Melody’s ring. She instinctively covered her hand, a flicker of panic in her eyes. But Vivian didn’t see it. She leaped to Melody’s defense. “Thea! What are you talking about?! Just because you don’t have one, you’re making up lies! Why would a gift from Mr. Cohen be fake?!” “And you’re so sure it was a gift from Benjamin Cohen?” I shot back. Vivian was momentarily stunned, then puffed up her chest. “Well, who else would it be from? You think Melody would buy a fake ring herself and pretend it was from him? How pathetic would that be!” At that, Melody’s face turned a sickly shade of green. Seeing her reaction, I figured I’d hit the nail on the head. I just shrugged and said nothing more. A strange, awkward silence descended on the set. The host, sensing disaster, quickly tried to change the subject. “So, Melody, can you tell us how Mr. Cohen pursued you?” Melody’s expression relaxed slightly. But just as she was about to speak, the screech of tires from a sports car pulling up outside cut her off. Everyone instinctively turned to look. Stepping out of the car was none other than Benjamin Cohen himself. The set buzzed with excitement. Everyone was thrilled, except for me and Melody. She looked terrified. I was completely dumbfounded. He actually came?! Benjamin strode towards us, his impossibly handsome face a thunderous mask of suppressed rage. Despite the unscheduled arrival, the host was a pro. He hurried forward to greet Benjamin with a warm, respectful welcome before turning the chaos into content. “Mr. Cohen, you really are so devoted to Melody! Following her all the way to the set! We were just asking her how you won her over, but now we can ask the man himself…” The live chat started shipping them again. But at the host’s words, Benjamin, who was usually the picture of cool composure, finally snapped. He whipped his head around to face the terrified Melody and let loose. “Are you insane? Who said I was chasing you? Do I even know you? Who the hell are you? Spreading lies about me all over the internet, is there something wrong with your brain?” “It’s bad enough I can’t win my wife back, but now you have to go and ruin my reputation!” “Do you have any idea how important a man’s reputation is?!” His words hung in the stunned silence. Everyone was now looking at Melody in a completely different light. After eviscerating Melody, Benjamin spun around, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. He looked at me, his expression crumpled and pathetic. “Babe, you gotta say something!!!” Me: ??? The entire on-set audience, mid-gossip: !!! The live chat: ?!?!?! “Mr… Mr. Cohen,” the host stammered. “When you said ‘Operation Win-Her-Back,’ you didn’t mean… you meant Thea?” “Who else?!” Benjamin snapped. He then pulled a small jewelry box from his pocket, opened it to reveal a dazzling diamond ring, and slid it onto my finger as I stood there, completely frozen. While he did it, he threw one last verbal jab at Melody. “Mine’s real, by the way, babe. Not like some people who wear fakes and go around looking for attention. Honestly, she might as well have worn a sugar cube. It would’ve saved her the money, and she could lick it when she gets hungry.” I’d always admired Benjamin’s vicious tongue. After that last comment, Melody let out a choked gasp, her eyes rolled back, and she fainted for real this time. The set descended into chaos, and for the second time, the live broadcast was cut short.

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Just before graduation, my boyfriend of four years, Scott, ended our relationship. As a parting gift, he gave me a villa, a Bentley, and eighteen million dollars — a token of gratitude, he said. Stunned, I demanded to know why. His voice turned cold: “For people like me, love and marriage are separate. I’m returning home for an arranged marriage.” He was engaged — to someone else. At the engagement party, I saw Scott, handsome in a bespoke suit. But opposite him stood his fiancée — short, severely overweight, with severe acne. Was this who he chose over me? My mind flashed to last night: he’d pinned me to the bed, whispering roughly, “Forget I’m human,” before devouring me. By morning, he was gone. His number disconnected, social media deleted. He vanished completely — until his lawyer arrived. He arrived at noon, explaining that Scott had given him specific instructions not to come any earlier, so as not to disturb my rest. He handed me a folder. I read the documents in a daze. It was a deed of gift. It stated that Scott was voluntarily transferring ownership of the villa, the Bentley, and eighteen million dollars to me, as a thank-you for our four years together. So that was it. He dumps me out of the blue and throws money at me like I was some prized canary he was setting free. The irony was, I didn’t need his money. I’d told him as much when we first got together. He’d just smiled with that infuriating confidence of his and said, “No matter how rich you are, you’ll never be as rich as me.” I never bothered to argue. I was in love with him, so what did it matter? But why break up now? Last night, the man who was usually so cool and composed had been so fierce, so desperate, whispering “I love you” over and over again like a prayer. How could it all be gone? I forced myself to be calm. Using my family’s resources, I found out where he was in less than an hour. And that’s how I ended up here, at his engagement party. I could see it in his eyes—Scott wasn’t happy. Was he being forced into this? “Kiss her! Kiss her!” someone in the crowd yelled. I watched as the woman reached for Scott’s hand. He flinched back, a purely instinctual retreat. Her face soured. Her thick lips twisted as she hissed, spittle flying, “Have you already forgotten what you promised me?” The color drained from Scott’s face. He took a hesitant step forward. He was being threatened. I was sure of it. I pushed my way through the crowd. “Scott!” I shouted, my voice ringing through the hall. “If you’re in trouble, just tell me! Don’t do this to yourself!” Every head in the room turned to stare at me. When Scott saw me, a flicker of joy ignited in his cold eyes, only to be instantly extinguished by a frost of panic. “Who is this bitch?” the woman on stage screeched, glaring at me. “Calling my fiancé by his first name. How very intimate.” Before I could declare who I was, Scott cut me off. He knitted his handsome brows, his voice dripping with disdain. “She’s just some pathetic groupie who won’t let go. Have security throw her out. Ignore her.” Groupie? I could feel the weight of their contemptuous stares. No one respects a desperate hanger-on. But that wasn’t me. We met at a university club event. I had just finished Muay Thai practice and was so hungry I could have eaten a horse. I ended up sneaking some of my roommate’s snacks. She teased me about it, jokingly demanding I call her “mommy” as punishment. We were always messing around like that, so I did it. Scott, ever the gentleman, stepped in to defend me. He told her she shouldn’t bully someone just because they were poor, then gently told me I shouldn’t steal. He was always like that—a man with a strong moral compass, always standing up for what was right. So I played the part. The poor, pitiful girl. I followed him around like a lost puppy until, before long, he was mine. The whole campus gossiped that he was my sugar daddy, that I was his gold-digging girlfriend. I was worried it would tarnish his reputation, so I told him the truth—that my family was ridiculously wealthy. He just shrugged it off, not seeming to care one way or the other. Our four years together were a sweet, steady love story. No dramatic highs or lows. We almost never fought. Which is why this sudden, brutal breakup felt like a betrayal I couldn’t comprehend. I had to know the real reason. I stared at the man on the stage and started walking toward him. Before I could reach him, the woman intercepted me. She was so short she had to crane her neck to look up at me, and I had to look down to meet her gaze. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming up here,” she snarled, and then she lunged, her hand swinging for my face. I stepped back easily, dodging the slap. I looked past her, my eyes fixed on Scott. “You broke up with me for this?” “What did you just say?” Scott strode forward, his hand raised. He slapped me. I could have dodged it. I dodged hers. But I didn’t dodge his. He’d been sick recently, and I was afraid a sudden movement might make him lose his balance. He was about to marry someone else, and here I was, still worrying about him. How pathetic could I be? I touched my stinging cheek, my heart shattering. “So you’re the college girlfriend,” the woman said, sauntering over with a sneer. “A cheap gold digger putting on airs. Do you have any idea who I am? I’m Veronica Thorne. The Thornes are the richest family in St. Claire.” I ignored her, my gaze locked on Scott. “You just left. No explanation. That wasn’t fair to me.” “Fair?” he shot back. “I gave you the villa, the car, the money. What more could you possibly want? Stop making a scene, Jane. We’re over.” His brow was furrowed in frustration. “You know how it is for families like mine. Love and marriage are separate. Thank you for the last four years, but my wife can only be Veronica. Understand?” “I just want to know one thing,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Do you love me?” I knew all about strategic marriages between powerful families. My own parents were a product of one, though they were lucky—childhood sweethearts whose union was a natural conclusion. As for me… I was supposed to have one too, but my family’s position in New York was so secure, it was no longer a necessity. “Love?” Scott let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Jane, I’ve known since I was a child that my marriage would be an alliance. I don’t believe in love. I was with you because you were beautiful, and frankly, you were poor enough to be easily managed.” He smirked. “There. You have your answer. Now go.” So that was it. What I thought was a deep, sweet love was just an illusion I’d created for myself. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a beautiful, obedient pet. A canary in a gilded cage. It was laughable. I nodded, a bitter taste in my mouth. If that’s how it was, then fine. My heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest, but I knew how to let go. I came here to fight for him. But if the fight was already lost, I would walk away. “Alright,” I said, forcing a brittle smile. “I wish you happiness, Scott.” With that, I turned to leave the stage. I saw Scott clench his fists out of the corner of my eye, but he looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. But Veronica stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “You’re not going anywhere,” she sneered. “You came all this way. You’ll stay and watch. If you leave now, you’re disrespecting me, my family, and all of St. Claire.”

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My buddy asked me once, after you cheat, do you still have feelings for your wife? I had to really think about it. How do you explain it? It’s not like there’s nothing there. After all, for the longest time, we were family. But if you ask if I’m still deeply in love with her… then no, that’s gone. I thought I’d finally figured out the true nature of marriage. Until one day, on a crowded street, I saw her laughing with another man. 1 I was on the balcony, slowly letting a smoke ring dissolve into the cold air, just about to answer Cole’s question when my phone buzzed. It was my wife, Yara. “What’s up, honey?” I kept my voice warm and gentle. She giggled before she even spoke. “Haha, Sean, when are you coming home? Gizmo learned how to do a backflip! You have to see it!” I smiled back into the phone. “Alright, I’ll be home soon. You in the mood for some of those caramel-glazed chestnuts from downtown? I can swing by and grab some.” “Yes, please!” “So, what’s the vibe for tonight? Starfall Dynasty or Midnight Bloom?” We hung up in a fit of cheerful laughter. When I turned back, Cole was staring at me, a blank, dazed look on his face. I just smirked. I wasn’t surprised. He’d just clawed his way through a brutal divorce battle with his wife over his mistress. The whole ordeal had skinned him alive, and now they were mortal enemies. And then there was me and Yara. The picture of a perfect couple, sickeningly sweet. Four years of marriage hadn’t led to the usual boredom; if anything, we seemed stronger, more deeply connected than ever. The truth is, I’d always been good to her. But after I started cheating, I became even better. By anyone’s standards, she was an enviably happy woman, living a charmed life. Cole nudged me with his chin. “Hey, you still haven’t answered my question.” I shook my head with a sigh, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “Let me put it this way,” I said. “When you touch your own hand, do you feel anything?” “Feel what? It’s just my hand.” I took a long drag, my eyes narrowing at the snow-dusted skyline in the distance. “That’s how it is with Yara now,” I said slowly. “Touching her is like touching my own hand. But if that hand got hurt… I’d feel the pain just as sharply.” Cole blinked. “And that’s your excuse for being with Celeste?” I shot him a serious, warning look. “Celeste is a proud woman. Don’t you ever, ever say something like that in front of her.” 2 I don’t think of myself as some kind of monster. Even though I slept with Celeste while I was married. Some things in this world… they just don’t go the way you plan. A year ago, at our high school reunion, I ran into Celeste—the girl I’d secretly worshipped from afar all those years ago. The moment I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Celeste I remembered was radiant, untouchable. From a wealthy family, top of her class. For a guy like me, still wrestling with the awkward, insecure shadows of adolescence, she was a goddess, an impossible dream. But the woman I saw that day had been completely reshaped by life. She looked worn-down, gaunt, and haunted. The lines around her eyes and mouth were drawn tight, a permanent defense etched by years of hardship and struggle. An ache bloomed in my chest. It was like watching the moon you once prayed to fall from the heavens, crashing into the dirty, mundane world. Its light was gone, its surface covered in dust. As the reunion wound down, everyone was gathered around my new car. Celeste murmured, “That must’ve cost, what, sixty, seventy thousand?” Someone next to her scoffed. “Are you kidding? That’s a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car. Sean’s a regional director now, he’s made it. This isn’t high school anymore.” A flush crept up her neck, and she pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. “It’s not that much, don’t listen to them,” I said quickly. She glanced at me, her face a rigid mask, then turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye. As the crowd buzzed with chatter, I pieced together the story of her lost years. Her family’s business went bankrupt while she was in college, their fortune vanishing overnight. After graduation, she married the wrong man—a violent drunk. During one of their fights, he ended up dead. She sold everything she had to cover legal fees and restitution, but still ended up in prison. Now divorced, she was raising their four-year-old son, Leo, alone in a cramped rental, scraping by selling insurance policies. “She never used to come to these things,” someone commented. “Guess she was hoping to drum up some business. Nothing wrong with trying to make a living, but with that attitude, who’s going to bother?” Two weeks later, Celeste called me out of the blue, asking if I needed a commercial insurance plan. Yara, who works in the bancassurance division at her bank, had already set me up with full coverage years ago. I could hear the disappointment in Celeste’s voice, so I passed along a few of my friends’ numbers. To thank me, she invited me to dinner. I accepted. Not long after, her son came down with a high fever during a blizzard. She couldn’t get a cab and called me in a panic. Naturally, I dropped everything to help. After that, it became a casual thing. She’d cook something nice and have me over. Her son, Leo, started calling me “Uncle Sean,” clinging to my leg whenever I was about to leave. One night, a heavy snowstorm rolled in, and I was stuck at her place. We’d both had a couple of glasses of wine. After Leo was asleep, she got up and went into the bedroom. A moment later, she called my name. I walked in. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a sheer, revealing nightgown, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked up at me. She bit her lip. “Sean,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t have any other way to thank you. If you don’t mind… this is all I have to offer.” I was so flustered I turned to leave, stammering, “Celeste, I… I never expected you to… repay me. We’re old friends. It’s what friends do.” A low, melancholic sigh came from behind me. “I remember in class,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow, “you used to pretend you were sleeping, but you were always watching me. I know. I know I’m not what I used to be.” “If you’re worried about anything,” she continued, her voice gaining a desperate edge, “don’t be. I’m never getting married again. I would never, ever destroy your family. I just want… this. Right now.” The snow swirled furiously outside the window, a world away from the charged silence of the room. Suddenly, I turned around and lunged for her. 3 I got home late that night. As I pulled up to our building, I saw a small, bundled-up figure standing in the snow, peering down the street. It was Yara. When she saw my car, she let out a visible sigh of relief and came jogging towards me, her steps clumsy in the deep snow, a huge grin on her face. “Sean! Any later and you would’ve come home to a wife-sicle!” I had a lot of work events, so she never questioned where I’d been. She just unwound her own scarf, wrapped it snugly around my neck, and beamed. “Considering you made it home in one piece through this blizzard, I, your magnanimous ruler, will forgive you for not answering your phone.” That night, the bitter cold masked the stiffness of my body and the frozen expression on my face. … I adapted quickly to this new rhythm in my life. Celeste had a flexible schedule, and I often spent my afternoons visiting our various branch locations, so my absence from the office wasn’t unusual. We had plenty of time and places to meet. Even with her changed circumstances, Celeste carried herself with an air of pride, at least around me. Or maybe she just knew that was the version of her I was obsessed with. It reminded me of how she used to be. Cole, my best friend and old classmate, didn’t get it. “Look, Celeste was a knockout back in the day, I get it,” he’d said. “But now? She can’t hold a candle to Yara.” He didn’t understand. They say you spend your whole life chasing the one thing you couldn’t have as a kid. Celeste was that impossible thing. And now, she was beneath me. The thought filled me with an intoxicating, almost primal satisfaction every time we were together. She refused to take my money, saying it made her feel cheap. So, I found other ways to help. I referred friends and colleagues who needed insurance. I used her phone number to prepay for services at various stores. I’d pass on expensive gifts I received from clients. No matter how you looked at it, Celeste’s presence in my life felt like the ultimate testament to my success. I was a man who had it all. I never considered divorce. Yara and I were a perfect match. Our home was my sanctuary—a happy, stable life that I cherished. Being with her was easy; she was cheerful and easily contented. Around her, I felt relaxed, confident, alive. Besides, I’d made a promise at her mother’s deathbed. I swore I would always love her, always be good to her. And for years, I had been. As for the pain my affair could cause her? I’d thought it all through. She would only suffer if she knew. If she never found out, then there was no actual harm done, was there? If anything, life would be better for her. I was already providing for her every material and emotional need. Now, weighed down by a sliver of guilt, I was doubling my efforts, treating her better than ever before. And it was working. Our relationship was stronger now than it had ever been. 4 Every year on my birthday, Yara took the day off. She’d start her preparations in the morning, driving ten miles to the city’s best seafood market for the freshest ingredients. She’d spend the entire day washing, chopping, simmering, and frying, all in anticipation of the lavish feast that would be waiting for me when I got home from work. And I’d do my part, clearing my schedule to get home early. We’d finish the last bits of cooking together, laughing and talking before settling in for our celebratory dinner. But this year, Celeste called. “Can I be the one to celebrate your birthday with you?” she asked. I hesitated for two seconds, then said yes. For the past six months, Celeste had been true to her word. She hadn’t made a single unreasonable demand. In fact, after each of our trysts, she would meticulously check my clothes, my skin, making sure there were no stray hairs, no lingering scent of her perfume. I figured she must be feeling sidelined. It was understandable. Yara and I had every day together. A lifetime of days. We could celebrate countless birthdays. Missing one wouldn’t matter. I called Yara, telling her I had a last-minute dinner with some city officials and would be home late. Over the sound of sizzling oil, she asked, “Okay, what time do you think you’ll be back?” I thought for a moment. “Around seven.” “Got it!” Seven seemed reasonable. But that day, the moment I stepped into Celeste’s apartment, she was on me, kissing me with a fierce, desperate hunger. She’d sent Leo to a friend’s house and was wearing a provocative, see-through dress. She was bolder, wilder than I’d ever seen her. In bed, it was like she was trying to devour me whole. She used every trick she knew, pushing us both to the limit, again and again. When I finally drifted back to consciousness from a heavy, sated sleep, I glanced at my phone. It was already 11 PM. A jolt of panic shot through me, and I scrambled to get dressed. Celeste suddenly wrapped herself around me from behind, nipping my shoulder gently. Her eyes welled with tears as she whispered, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you this long today.” Her vulnerability made me feel guilty all over again. I finished dressing and soothed her. “In a little while, I’ll take you away for a few days. Just us. We’ll be like a real husband and wife. You can call me your husband, and I’ll do anything you want.” She laughed through her tears. “You and your silver tongue.” On the drive home, I assumed Yara would already be in bed. She was a creature of habit: asleep by eleven, up by seven, every single day. But when I walked in, I found her slumped over the dining table, fast asleep. The table was a feast, covered with elaborate dishes, fresh flowers, and a birthday cake. I checked my reflection in the entryway mirror to make sure there were no tell-tale signs, then walked over and gently shook her awake. Yara looked up at me, her eyes bleary with sleep. It took her a second to register who I was, and then her face split into a wide grin. “Honey, happy birthday!” My lips thinned. “Why were you sleeping out here?” She yawned. “Well, you said you’d be home at seven, and it’s your birthday, so of course I was going to wait for you. But I didn’t want to bother you while you were with city officials… I guess I just dozed off.” “You haven’t eaten?” The question came out sharper than I intended. “I tasted so much while I was cooking, I’m not even hungry,” she said with a cheerful wave of her hand. Looking at her, a strange, baseless anger surged inside me. “Are you crazy?” I snapped. “If I’m not home by this time, it obviously means I’ve already eaten out! Why wouldn’t you just eat by yourself?” Yara froze, her smile faltering. After a few seconds, she asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” I instantly realized how I sounded. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’m just… tired today. I’m going to bed.” I fled to the bedroom like a coward. As I lay in bed, trying to make sense of my own bizarre emotions, I heard a rustle behind me. A warm body pressed against my back. “Honey, I’m sorry,” Yara whispered. “I know you were just worried about me going hungry. I promise next time, I’ll eat when I’m supposed to. Did something bad happen at your dinner tonight? Do you want to do something… fun… to take your mind off it?” This was our little ritual. If one of us was down, stressed out from work, or just in a bad mood, the other would initiate. It was a small, tender comfort we offered each other. I knew my anger was completely out of line, and her gentle gesture was the olive branch I needed. I started to turn towards her. But maybe it was exhaustion from my time with Celeste, or maybe it was something else entirely. I just… couldn’t perform. Nothing was happening. The more I tried, the more anxious I got, and the worse it became. “Let’s just sleep,” I muttered, my voice tight with frustration. Yara, thinking I was still sulking, started playfully tickling me. Something in me snapped. I let out a low growl. “Stop it! For God’s sake, have some dignity!” Yara’s hand froze mid-air. In the dim light of the bedroom, her eyes were wide with shock as she stared at me. 5 Yara was angry. The next morning, she left for work without a word. In all the years I’d known her, I could barely remember a time she’d been truly angry. We met six years ago at a charity event. I was captivated by the easy grace and confidence she projected while speaking on stage. I pursued her relentlessly. The more I got to know her, the more I discovered. She and her mother had faced incredible hardship, but Yara had cultivated a spirit of pure sunshine. Optimistic, generous, forgiving, and content with the simple things. She was almost always happy. To her, life’s obstacles were just “mini-bosses you have to beat before you can level up.” Sprained her ankle? “Guess the universe is telling me to take a break. Better listen!” Purse got stolen? “Awesome! Now I have an excuse to buy a new one!” I grew up in a tense, stifling household. Even after achieving some professional success, I was wound tight, always on edge. Being with her taught me how to finally unwind. How to appreciate a flower, how to watch the clouds drift by. How to accept myself. I bought a massive bouquet and went to pick her up from the bank, much to the amusement of her colleagues. When she saw me, she walked over, her lips pressed together, saying nothing. I theatrically slapped my own face. “It’s this stupid mouth’s fault! It deserves a beating! Honey, you want to take a swing?” She didn’t move. I made a grand gesture of getting down on one knee, which finally made her rush forward to stop me. A snort of laughter escaped her. “Fine. I’ll add it to your tab.” “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me!” I grinned. She was quiet for a second, then looked at me, her expression serious. “Sean. This is a one-time thing. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded like a bobblehead, and finally, her smile returned. The incident was quickly forgotten. Life went back to normal. A few days later, a massive blizzard hit the city, and the temperature plummeted. My chronic pharyngitis flared up. Yara announced she’d managed to get an appointment with a renowned traditional medicine specialist, famous for treating persistent throat issues. She was going to pick up my prescription the next day. The clinic was far, she said, and asked if I could drive her. I hesitated. Celeste’s son, Leo, had slipped on the ice and twisted his ankle. With the snow making travel impossible, I’d been driving them to and from his school and appointments. “If you’re busy, it’s fine. I can just get a cab,” Yara said breezily. I seized the opening. “That’s probably for the best. I have an important meeting tomorrow that’s going to take up the whole day.” The next day, I picked up Celeste and Leo. She mentioned he had a physical therapy session at a specialist’s clinic. The snow had started falling again, thick and heavy. When I pulled up to the clinic, a small, unassuming building, I was surprised to see a long line of people snaking out the door. I parked the car and was about to get out when I saw her. Near the back of the line stood Yara. She was bundled up in her thickest coat, her neck buried in her scarf, blowing on her hands to keep them warm. A fine layer of snow dusted her hair and shoulders. She’d clearly been standing out there for a long time. Celeste froze. “What is she doing here?” she whispered. My brow furrowed. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The alley was too narrow to turn around easily. “Don’t get out yet,” I said, thinking fast. “The sound of the door will make her look over, and she might recognize the car. Let’s wait until she’s inside.” Celeste bit her lip, silent. After a moment, she murmured, a bitter edge to her voice, “I’m just taking my son to the doctor. Why do I feel like I’m sneaking around?” I didn’t answer. I just sat there in the heated car, watching Yara shiver in the biting wind. She always hated the cold. At this rate, it would be another forty minutes before she got inside. Half an hour later, Celeste’s patience wore out. “If we wait any longer, we’re going to miss his appointment.” And then, she opened the car door and got out, holding Leo. Thump. The sound of the door closing echoed in the quiet alley. Instinctively, Yara turned her head, her gaze sweeping towards the sound. Her eyes landed first on Celeste, then slowly drifted to the car. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, which was red with cold. The next second, our eyes met. Hers and mine. A silent, staring match through the windshield of my car. And in that frozen moment, everything shattered.

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The night before my engagement party, my stepsister’s reckless driving left me broken. Joey Sterling, my once-gentle fiancé, lost his mind. He locked Ailsa away, pulling every string to make her pay for what she’d done. He burned through his fortune and called in every favor to keep me alive, but it was no use. I slipped into a vegetative state. In the last moment of consciousness, I saw Joey kneeling by my hospital bed, his face a mask of tears. “Elara,” he choked out, “I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait for you.” Three years later, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was Ailsa, her hand resting on a swollen belly as she flaunted a diamond ring on her finger. “Joey and I are getting married soon,” she purred. “So be a good girl, stay quiet, and get the hell out of our lives.” She flicked a wad of cash at my face, the bills scattering across my lap. I picked them up, one by one. Then, under Ailsa’s disbelieving stare, I shoved them into her mouth. As Joey rushed to her side, pulling her protectively into his arms, I swallowed the coppery taste of blood in my throat and slapped him across the face. “You’re disgusting, Joey.” 1 The force of the slap snapped Joey’s head to the side, a raw, red mark blooming on his cheek. His eyes were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He reached for me, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before falling uselessly to his side. After a long, heavy silence, all he could manage was a hollow, “I’m sorry.” I wanted to scream at them to get out, but the words wouldn’t form. My breath came in ragged gasps. Panic flared in Joey’s eyes. He shot up, calling for a doctor. The physician who arrived assumed Joey was my next of kin and began to speak, but Ailsa suddenly clutched her stomach, crying out in pain. In an instant, Joey abandoned the doctor’s report. He swept Ailsa into his arms, barking orders and summoning half the medical staff to her side. “Elara, just wait for me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” Then he was gone, leaving me in the sterile silence of the room. A dark drop landed on the pristine white sheet. It wasn’t a tear. It was a grim reminder of my borrowed time. The doctor had barely finished explaining my prognosis when my father, Arthur Gabriel, walked in carrying a bouquet. Trailing behind him was Ailsa’s mother, Miranda. After a few empty pleasantries, Miranda slid a stack of photos onto my bedside table, her smile saccharine sweet. “These are some of the most eligible young men in the city, Elara. See anyone you like?” I kept my eyes down, refusing to acknowledge her. She shot a wounded look at my father. He took his cue, his voice stern. “Your sister is getting married. It’s time for you to stop dwelling on the past and find someone to settle down with.” A flicker of triumph lit Miranda’s eyes. “Love doesn’t wait, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s a shame you and Joey didn’t work out, but you can’t interfere with their happiness now.” That was it. I snatched the photos and threw them in her face. “My mother is dead,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Played the homewrecker for so long you’ve started to believe you’re the lady of the house?” For a moment, even Miranda’s practiced mask slipped, a flash of pure hatred in her eyes before she dissolved into crocodile tears. “Elara!” my father roared, his hand raised to strike me. For the first time in my life, I fought back. I grabbed his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong. My voice was ice. “A story about you cheating on my dying mother, or one about you striking your sick daughter… which do you think the tabloids would prefer, Dad?” We were locked in a standoff. Finally, he backed down, his face turning a shade of purple as he stormed out, dragging Miranda with him. “I can’t believe three years in a coma turned you into this monster!” he spat as he left. Only when they were gone did I allow myself to collapse. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. My eyes landed on the bouquet they’d left behind—a cluster of yellow roses, now trampled on the ground. With my mother gone, no one remembered my allergy. Leaving the hospital, the doctor’s words echoed in my head. I was diagnosed with stomach cancer right before the wedding, three years ago. They said I wouldn’t live to see twenty-five. I’d been on my way to tell Joey, to call everything off, when Ailsa’s car slammed into me. I had missed the window for effective treatment. Now, the clock was ticking. I had two weeks left. 2 A heavy rain began to fall as I arrived at the house my mother had left me. It was supposed to be my wedding gift, the home where Joey and I would start our lives. Only the two of us knew the passcode. I stood in the downpour, trying every combination I could think of, my fingers numb and clumsy. Finally, on a whim, I typed in Ailsa’s birthday. The door clicked open. The entryway was cluttered with Ailsa’s designer shoes. On the main wall, a large wedding portrait of her and Joey had replaced the landscape painting that used to hang there. My mother’s photograph was tucked away in a dusty corner, forgotten. Ailsa was lounging on the sofa, a smug look on her face, while Joey knelt before her, gently massaging her feet. The sight of me turned them to stone. Joey froze, his expression a mixture of shock and guilt. I didn’t even look at him. My voice was a shard of glass. “Get out.” Ailsa’s disbelief quickly curdled into a malicious grin. “This is my house now. You’re the one who needs to get lost. Guards! Drag her out of here!” As two burly men moved toward me, Joey shot to his feet. He kicked them both to the ground, his face dark with fury. “Don’t you dare touch her!” His gaze softened as he turned back to me, and he reached out to cup my face. I flinched away as if his touch were acid. “I said, get out,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Don’t you understand English?” A shadow passed over his features. “Ailsa loves this house, Elara,” he said, his tone pleading. “I have other properties. You can have any of them. Just… let her have this one, please?” My stare was glacial. “Hit-and-run. Unlawful occupation of private property. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you both thrown in jail.” Ailsa laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t you know that Joey already—” “—Take Miss Gabriel back to the main estate,” Joey cut her off, his voice sharp. Ailsa’s face fell. As she was escorted out, she deliberately knocked over my mother’s portrait, the frame shattering on the floor. “Oops,” she said with a vicious smile. “Slippery hands.” The glass splintered, and a gust of wind from the open door caught the photograph, sending it tumbling into a pile of trash by the curb. Joey sighed, a familiar weariness in his voice. He didn’t even notice the note of indulgence as he made excuses for her. “She’s young, she’s used to getting her way. Don’t mind her.” I ignored him, bolting out the door and into the rain. I fell to my knees beside the garbage heap, desperately clawing through the filth, all dignity forgotten. Joey saw me, my hands covered in grime, clutching the torn, wet pieces of the photograph like they were priceless treasures. A strange ache bloomed in his chest. He pulled me up from the mud, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re Elara Gabriel. What do you think you look like right now?” I slapped him again. “You have no right to tell me what to do, Joey,” I sneered. The look in my eyes seemed to shatter him. “Elara, I can explain everything,” he pleaded. “I’m not going to marry her.” But his words were cut short by one of his men running up to him, breathless. “Sir, it’s Miss Ailsa! She’s street racing again. We couldn’t stop her!” Joey’s mouth snapped shut. He looked at me, his face a canvas of regret, and uttered a single phrase: “Wait for me.” Then he turned and ran, leaving me standing alone in the storm. The old Joey would have run to me, no matter what. The new Joey only ever showed me his back. A bitter smile twisted my lips as the rain washed over my face, mingling with tears I couldn’t stop. Joey, I’m done waiting for you. 3 News of my miraculous recovery slowly trickled through our social circle, but the lack of an official announcement fueled rampant speculation. Unable to stand the gossip, my father insisted on throwing a party to celebrate my return. It was the perfect opportunity to retrieve my belongings from the family home, so I agreed. At the party, Ailsa was the center of attention, preening in a designer gown as sycophants flocked around her. She caught my eye from across the room and raised her glass in a mocking toast. “You’re so pathetic, Elara,” she whispered as I passed by, her voice laced with venom. “Did you really think this party was for you? It’s my engagement party with Joey.” I clutched the documents in my bag, ignoring her. Her perfect face twisted in a snarl. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path and tilting her neck to reveal a series of fresh, angry-looking bruises. “Don’t run off just yet. I wanted to thank you. Joey was so angry last night… he didn’t stop until dawn.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “I bet you didn’t know this, but during the first week you were in that coma, Joey and I tried out every inch of your wedding bed. Have you ever seen him when he’s rough, when he just takes what he wants?” Her eyes were filled with contempt. “You’re just as useless as your mother. I hit you with my car three years ago, and no one lifted a finger to help you. I could still crush you today without a second thought.” “So tell me,” she purred, a strange smile playing on her lips, “who do you think he really cares about? You, or me?” With that, she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. “Elara, I already apologized! Why would you push me?” she shrieked, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at me with a look of pure betrayal. A crowd gathered instantly, their whispers and pointed fingers a fresh wave of assault. Joey pushed through them, his face a mask of concern as he rushed to Ailsa’s side and helped her up. The movement jostled me, and I stumbled back, the sharp corner of a marble pillar digging into my spine. The pain was blinding. I didn’t say a word. In front of everyone, I walked over to Ailsa and slapped her, hard. “How old are you?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Is this pathetic little act the best you can do?” “Elara!” Joey’s shocked voice and Ailsa’s shriek of outrage echoed through the room. “The security cameras are right there,” I said, my gaze locked on Ailsa. “I dare you to let them play the footage. Do you?” I turned back to her. “You deserved that slap for your filthy mouth. We can settle all our scores, old and new. Why don’t you repeat those threats you just made to the police?” I pulled out my phone to dial 911. Joey knocked it from my hand. It clattered to the floor, the screen cracking. “That’s enough! Calm down,” he commanded. He stood there in silence for a moment before scooping Ailsa into his arms and carrying her away. The room erupted. Voices, sharp and pitying, sliced through the air. “Even if Ailsa’s a terrible actress and rotten to the core, she has him wrapped around her finger.” “Didn’t you hear? Mr. Sterling personally erased the records of the accident three years ago. No one even dares to mention it.” “It’s all part of their twisted game. The imprisonment, the drama… it’s just their version of foreplay. The great Elara Gabriel is nothing but a pawn.” My cold stare swept across the crowd, and they fell silent. A hot surge rose in my throat, and my hands began to tremble uncontrollably. I stumbled away from the scene, my legs barely holding me. Once I was out of sight, the strength I’d been faking deserted me. My whole body seized with pain, a fire tearing through my organs. I could barely stand. In a daze, I wiped away the blood streaming from my nose and mouth, but it just kept coming, a relentless tide telling me my life was about to end, right here, right now. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me enough to pull out my phone again. My voice was steady. “Yes,” I said to the person on the other end. “I have the evidence.”

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In my wildest years, I was reckless and wild. I made the mistake of sleeping with mob boss Rocco Kane—never expecting his obsession would grow so dark. When I became pregnant, he locked me away. I overheard him say: “Once the baby is born, she’s useless. With an heir, we can take the Ashworth empire.” Fury consumed me. That night, I stabbed him in the eye. Enraged, he broke my legs repeatedly to prevent my escape, yet kept doctors close to protect the baby. So I cut open my own pregnant belly. “You’re asking to die,” he snarled, carrying me out. I smiled, twisting the knife toward his other eye. “No. We die together.” Rocco wrenched my arm with brutal force. The knife missed his eye, plunging deep into his left shoulder instead. Blood bloomed across his crisp white shirt, spilling onto the floor in a growing crimson pool. “Nora, are you fucking insane?” he roared, his free hand clamping around my throat like a vice. The ruined socket of his blinded eye was a terrifying void. I stared back at him, gasping for air, but a cold smile touched my lips. “I’ve always been a psycho. Is this the first you’re hearing of it?” Panic for the baby must have finally broken through his rage, because he let go. He threw me to the floor. My legs, already broken and reset so many times, were useless. I struggled to push myself up, a pathetic, futile gesture. Still, I wasn’t afraid to spit venom. “Rocco, I will never, ever give birth to this child.” “Get her!” Rocco cursed, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he barked orders at his bodyguards. “The baby in her belly cannot be harmed. If anything happens to it, you’ll all be eating lead!” As his men dragged me away, Rocco shot me a chilling smile. “Nora,” he purred, his hand, impossibly gentle, caressing my face. “Remember this. As long as I’m here, you won’t die. And there is only one future for that baby in your womb—” He leaned in closer. “It will be born.” I was thrown back into my gilded cage. The sprawling villa was decorated like a princess’s fairytale, all pinks and golds. A cruel joke, considering I was a prisoner who couldn’t even move. Several private doctors tended to the gash on my stomach, bandaging it with practiced efficiency. “Mr. Kane,” the butler’s voice drifted in from outside my window. “Miss Ashworth’s baby is fine. Just a little shaken, but there are no serious issues.” I could almost feel Rocco’s relief. He doubled my guard, posting ten more men around the villa. Every day, he had the finest food and drink sent to my room. Every sharp object was confiscated; not even a butter knife remained. “Miss Ashworth, the Master has already promised to marry you,” the butler said one day, sighing with a look of genuine confusion. “You only need to deliver the child safely, and you can live a life of luxury. Why are you so determined to throw it all away?” I didn’t answer. I just laughed, a cold, empty sound. “That sham of a wedding? He’s not marrying me. He’s just putting on a show.” The butler tried to reason with me again, but I silenced him with a single glare. Everyone in Rocco’s mansion thought I was a lunatic. They learned to keep their distance, afraid my madness was contagious. After a week confined to my bed, I noticed a new, curious face peeking in through my window. A young girl in a frilly princess dress. “So you’re Nora Ashworth?” she asked, her nose wrinkled in a sneer. “You’re not even that pretty. Do you really think my brother Rocco would look at you if it weren’t for your Ashworth blood?” She tossed her hair back. “And that wedding? Don’t even dream about it. To my brother, you’re nothing but a cheap incubator.” My eyes locked onto her. She was so clean, so delicate. So fragile. My interest was piqued. I’d heard the rumors—that Rocco kept a sweet, innocent young thing hidden away like a treasure. A girl named Clara, his adopted sister. And, more importantly, the one who had saved his life six years ago. A wicked idea began to form. Rocco had destroyed me. What kind of look would cross his face if I killed his precious little Clara? A cruel smile spread across my face. It seemed a new prey had just walked into my trap. I beckoned to her with a single finger. “Come here. I have something for you.” That evening, after having his shoulder patched up, Rocco finally graced me with his presence. “Nora, since you’ve heard the truth, I won’t hide it anymore,” he said, his voice flat. “Be a good girl, have this baby, and I’ll have your legs properly set. I’ll even let you go.” He sneered, tossing a check onto the bed. It was for fifty million dollars. “Consider it payment for your services.” His gaze raked over me, cold and devoid of any emotion. “For a slut like you, that’s enough to keep you in boy toys for a lifetime.” I laughed from my wheelchair. “And if I say no? Rocco, why should I accept your terms? Don’t forget, I’m the one carrying what you want. You should be begging me.” My voice hardened. “I’ll be the one making the demands. You’ll be the one deciding whether to accept.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, turning to leave. But then, I smiled softly. “Rocco, you call yourself a mob boss? You’ve already lost one eye. How can you still be so naive?” He froze, turning back to me with a flicker of confusion. “What do you mean?” I clapped my hands lightly and pointed toward a massive construction crane in the distance. “You hid that little girl so well, didn’t you? Terrified one of your enemies would find her.” My smile turned sharp as a razor’s edge. “Rocco, now it’s my turn to offer you a deal.” I held up two fingers. “You have a choice. The baby in my womb…” My gaze flickered toward the crane. “…or your precious little sister.” The color drained from Rocco’s face. He whipped his head around, his eyes following my gesture. Suspended high in the air, dangling from the crane’s hook, was a small figure in a white dress. Her hands and feet were bound, and muffled sobs echoed from the gag in her mouth. “Rocco, help me!” Clara’s terrified cry was faint but clear. “She’s a monster!” A thick vein pulsed on Rocco’s forehead. His eyes, burning with a murderous fury, locked onto mine. “Let her go.” “And if I don’t?” I shot back, a crazed light dancing in my eyes. “Rocco, don’t make me repeat myself. Her, or the baby. Choose.” He just stared at me, his face a mask of conflict. I knew what he was weighing. The child, his heir, the key to the Ashworth empire… against the girl he’d sworn to protect. I knew six months ago that a mob boss’s bed wasn’t an easy place to climb out of. The night I got drunk and tore off his clothes, he was so receptive because he’d already done his homework on me. He wanted the Ashworth fortune, and he wanted an heir to secure it. He laid the trap, and I walked right in. But there was one thing he never knew. I would have a child with any man in the world, but not him. Never him. “Have you made up your mind?” I asked, my voice dripping with impatience. He gritted his teeth, his voice a raw, broken whisper. “Nora… do you really want to get rid of my child that badly?” “I do,” I replied, my eyes lazily lifting to meet his. “You have fifteen seconds to decide. Save Clara, or let me walk away from this.” My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you hesitate… that rope on the crane is going to be cut…” I made a sharp, downward motion with my hand, my smile widening into a cruel grin. “And then… splat.” “You’ll be scraping your little sister off the pavement.” “I choose… Clara!” Rocco’s eyes squeezed shut in despair as he finally made his choice. A satisfied smile spread across my face. “I’m sorry,” I said sweetly. “It’s been eighteen seconds.” “What are you doing?!” His eye flew open, widening in horror just as a sickening snap echoed from the direction of the crane. Clara’s scream tore through the air, cut short by a heavy thud. “What a shame. You were just a second too slow,” I murmured, admiring my fingernails as if nothing had happened. Rocco stumbled, his body swaying. When he finally regained his senses, he sprinted toward the crumpled figure on the ground. Clara lay in a heap, her head bleeding profusely, the pristine white of her dress stained a brilliant, horrifying red. “Doctor! Get the private doctor, now!” Rocco roared, gathering her limp body into his arms with a desperate tenderness. “NORA!” He spun to face me, his gaze pure, undiluted hatred. “You bitch! I made my choice! Why did you still have to hurt her?!” He held Clara tighter. “You leave family out of this! If you hate me, come after me!” Seeing the raw anguish in his eye, the utter devastation, brought a savage pleasure to my heart. “Oh?” I said softly. “Is that what you were thinking three years ago… when you murdered Leo Kane?” The words hung in the air. The blood drained from Rocco’s face, leaving it a waxy, pale canvas. “How… how do you know that name? What are you to my brother?” “If you hadn’t killed him,” I said, my voice cold as the grave, “I’d be your sister-in-law by now.” I lifted my gaze, meeting his shattered one. “Rocco. He died the night before he was going to propose to me.” I’d known for a long time. Rocco had murdered his own twin brother. Leo was supposed to join my family, to leave the criminal world behind. I was so close to wearing his ring. But Rocco took him from me, leaving a void that could never be filled. So I crafted a new persona for myself—the reckless, wild party girl—all to get close to the man who killed my love. Rocco’s eye was bloodshot, his arms still cradling the unconscious Clara. He let out a harsh, grating laugh. “So that’s what it was. I always thought the timing of you falling into my bed was suspicious. This was all for revenge?” He sneered. “Nora, you’re so naive. A failure like Leo could never have run the Kane family. He was weak.” He took a step closer, a twisted smile on his lips. “Besides, we have the same face. And now you’re carrying my child. Why not just marry me? It’s perfect, isn’t it?” The sharp crack of my hand across his face echoed in the silence. He turned his head slowly, a bloody hand coming up to touch his cheek. “No woman has ever hit me before,” he said, his voice like shattering ice. “You’re the first.” He looked up, his good eye burning with cold fire. “Since your hands can’t behave… I’ll have them broken.” He stood, holding Clara, and started to walk away. He paused by the bodyguards who had betrayed him. “These traitors… break them, too.” But the bodyguards didn’t move an inch. They stood like statues, their eyes fixed on me, waiting for my command. Rocco was careless. So utterly arrogant. He assumed these men were his. He assumed this whole world was his to command. “Miss Sinclair,” a man I knew as Mr. Sterling said, stepping forward respectfully. “That boy has caused you enough trouble. Shall we show him a fraction of our power, so he understands his place?” I was calmly trimming a bonsai tree. “Not yet.” I smiled to myself. “Rocco… the show is just getting started.” Everything he took from Leo three years ago… I would make him give it all back, piece by painful piece. “The child,” I said, my voice flat. “Get rid of it.” Just before they wheeled me into the operating room, Mr. Sterling hesitated. “Miss Sinclair, are you certain? If he finds out the child is gone, he might do something… drastic.” My smile deepened. “Are you afraid of him?” I looked at him, my voice steady. “Mr. Sterling, with the power of the Sinclair family, ten men like Rocco Kane would be nothing.” My gaze drifted to a photograph of Leo on the nightstand. “If he didn’t have Leo’s face,” I whispered, “he wouldn’t still be breathing.” “Yes, miss.” Mr. Sterling said no more and signaled for the surgery to begin. When I opened my eyes again, a heart-wrenching roar echoed from outside my room. “Nora! How could you?” “Without my permission, how dare you get rid of my child?!” Rocco’s screams were a grating annoyance. The procedure had left me feeling lighter, my face pale and drawn, but I still managed a weak smile for him. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be at your precious Clara’s bedside?” I taunted. “I guess her injuries weren’t that serious if you still have time to stand here and shriek at me.” Rocco looked like he was about to explode. He had believed I was helpless here, a lamb for the slaughter. “Nora, why are these men listening to you?” he demanded, his eyes darting between me and the guards. “Who the hell are you?” I idly twisted the simple band on my ring finger. “You’ll find out soon enough.” His gaze fell to the ring, and he stiffened. “Is that… the ring Leo was going to give you?” “No. And yes.” Leo had died before he could place the real ring on my finger. So I had an exact replica made. A symbol of a promise I had accepted in my heart. “What do you have against Clara?” he pressed, his voice strained. “Even if you hate me, you should have come after me. She’s just my sister! It wouldn’t have stopped me from marrying you!” He took a shaky breath. “And… you agreed to marry me, didn’t you? I have the same face as Leo. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all this time?” I reached out, my fingers tracing the lines of his face, a face I had once loved more than life itself. “Yes,” I whispered. “It’s identical.” My voice was soft, almost longing. “If it weren’t for your harsh voice, I could almost believe you were him.” But I knew. My Leo would never have treated me this way. He was pure, he would never have become a monster. He would never have kept a fragile white flower like Clara locked away. And he would never have left my bed in the middle of the night, only to sneak into Clara’s room, his breath catching as he watched her sleep, his desire a palpable thing in the dark. He would never have a cold, dead void where one of his eyes should be.

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The richest man in the country wanted me. Not for himself, but for his son. He wanted me to be his wife. My job? To whip his spoiled, playboy, trust-fund-baby of a son into shape. He asked if I was up to the challenge. Are you kidding me? From this day forward, if that brat so much as looks at another girl, I’m breaking his legs. 1 I was at a dive bar with my best friend, demolishing a plate of BBQ wings. She was scrolling through her phone, making little “tsk-tsk” sounds. “Look at this,” she said, shoving the screen in my face. “The nation’s golden boy has a new girlfriend. Again.” I glanced at the screen. It was an article about David Brown, son of the wealthiest man in the country. The accompanying photo showed a guy more handsome than any movie star, with an air of effortless privilege that screamed “old money.” Too bad the guy was a complete train wreck. He went through a dozen girlfriends a month. With his looks and money, women lined up. He never said no, and when he inevitably broke up with them, he’d pay them off with a hefty “severance package.” “So what?” I said, downing another beer. The room was starting to spin. My friend nudged me, raising an eyebrow. “What would you do if he were your husband?” “What would I do?” That question sobered me up real quick. “If I were married to that moron?” I slammed my glass on the table. “If he even thought about another woman, I’d break both his legs!” “And don’t get me started on his ‘investments’!” I continued, getting louder. “He buys a stock, it tanks. He touches a company, it goes bankrupt. If he were my husband, I’d lock him in a closet. He wants to go out and burn through my money? I’d kill him!” “And look at those dark circles under his eyes! How many kidneys does he think he has to burn through at this rate?” Halfway through my rant, my friend’s eyes went wide with terror. She stared at something behind me, blinking frantically. I let out a boozy burp. “You got a twitch?” “And his dad! His dad’s an idiot too! He’s got one son, and he’s letting him run wild like this? What a mess!” “If I were his mom, I’d give him a good smack upside the head, then hurry up and have another kid. Start over with a new character!” I was getting worked up, losing control of my volume. Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder. “I think you have some excellent points,” a calm voice said. “Would you be willing to manage him for me?” Who? I squinted and turned around. Crash. The beer bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. Standing behind me was a middle-aged man in a crisp white shirt. His gaze was sharp, his posture impeccable, and he looked incredibly familiar. Harrison… Harrison Brown? The richest man in the country? Can someone please tell me why the richest man in the country is eating at a dive bar on a Tuesday night? My friend covered her face and made a swift exit. “Don’t be alarmed,” Harrison Brown said, his expression serious. “I meant what I said. I think you’re right. Would you be willing to be his…” My eyes lit up. “His mom?” Harrison’s face darkened. “His wife.” 2 Harrison Brown brought me to the legendary Crestwood estate. I’d never seen a mansion this big in my life. The marble floors probably cost more per square foot than my entire apartment. I sat on a plush sofa while Harrison sat across from me. A few minutes later, the front door opened. A man in a black Gucci t-shirt walked in, holding a leash. David Brown. Harrison’s son. He froze when he saw us. “Dad? What are you doing here?” “What is this?” Harrison asked, his face grim as he pointed at the leash. “It’s my dog. You’ve seen him before… wait, holy crap, where’s my dog?” David panicked, yanking on the empty leash and looking around wildly. I just stared. A moment later, a husky trotted in nonchalantly. David dropped the leash and pointed a shaky finger at me, his face turning sour. “Are you really bringing your new girlfriend here? In front of me?” Harrison’s expression grew even darker. “My wife is still very much alive.” “Ahem.” I cleared my throat, feeling like I should probably say something. I chose my words carefully. “David, is it? Come here, kneel down. Mom has something to tell you.” David’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What is the meaning of this?!” he snarled, turning to his father. Harrison was unfazed. “Get acquainted. This is the wife I’ve found for you. From now on, you will listen to her.” David was speechless. “Her?!” He looked me up and down with disgust. “She looks like she crawled out of a sewer. And you want me to listen to her? You must be dreaming.” Harrison ignored him and handed me a bank card. “This is for you. From now on, all of his allowances will be deposited into this account.” “What do you mean?” David sputtered. Harrison narrowed his eyes at his son. “From now on, all of your money is in your wife’s hands. That includes your cars and properties. They’ve already been transferred to her name. Understood?” “On what grounds?!” David roared. “Even my money is managed by your mother. You think you get a choice?” Harrison’s voice was like ice. “Now, shut up before I decide to slap some sense into you.” I held the heavy, black card in my hands, a giddy smile on my face. So this is what wealth feels like. “From now on, this waste of space is your responsibility,” Harrison said to me. “Keep him in line. The money is yours to spend as you see fit.” With that, he turned and left, ignoring David’s furious protests. Just before the door closed, he gave me a final nod. “Don’t hold back. Hit him if you need to. You were right.” “If you accidentally kill him, I’ll just start over with a new one. I’ve still got time.” Slam! The door shut. Me: … David: … There’s some fatherly love here, but not much. 3 What does it feel like to become a millionaire overnight? I was clutching the black card, too excited to sleep, so I texted my best friend. Me: I’m rich. Her reply was instantaneous. BFF: Blink twice if you’ve been kidnapped. Me: … Even if I had been kidnapped, you wouldn’t be able to see me blink. After I explained the whole story, she sent back a single number: 6. BFF: I almost feel sorry for David Brown. You, in charge of him? Tsk tsk. He’s about to experience all the childhood discipline he ever missed. I scoffed. I can be gentle. “Hey, you!” An annoyed voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned around. Whoa. David stood there, a towel wrapped low around his hips, his eight-pack abs glistening. He offered a sly smile. “Well, what do you think, gorgeous?” “Nice,” I said honestly, then added, “My name is Hannah.” He really was ridiculously handsome. “Hannah…” David moved closer, the scent of citrusy body wash filling the air. He leaned in, his face just inches from mine. Oh no. I think I’m about to get a nosebleed. “So… can I have my money back?” His words were a splash of ice water. I hugged the card to my chest and spat out a single word. “No.” He was handsome, sure. But he wasn’t “a limitless black card” handsome. Trying to seduce me? He picked the wrong woman. I’ve spent ten years gutting fish at the city market. My heart is colder than a walk-in freezer. Unless you’re offering cash. David’s face instantly darkened. “Don’t push your luck. That’s my money!” “No.” Still the same word. “Fuck!” he cursed, his face flushing with anger. “If you were a man, I’d punch you!” I tilted my chin up proudly. “If I were a man, I couldn’t be your wife, could I?” “Get out.” Now it was his turn to say it. 4 The next morning, I woke up with massive dark circles under my eyes. I’d been too excited to sleep. There was a knock on the door. I yawned and opened it to find a man in a black suit. “Ms. Reed? I am Mr. Brown’s assistant, Mr. Davies.” “These are Master David’s car and house keys. Mr. Brown asked me to deliver them to you.” Before I could process what was happening, Mr. Davies handed me a heavy, custom-made tote bag from a private bank. It was filled to the brim with keys of every shape and size. I nearly dropped it. His task completed, Mr. Davies gave a curt nod and left. Carrying the heavy bag, I took the elevator down to the underground garage. I hit the light switch by the door. One by one, rows of lights flickered on, illuminating the space. The bag of keys slipped from my fingers and hit the concrete with a loud jangle. Before me was a garage the size of an amusement park, filled with an endless sea of luxury cars. There were no Mercedes or BMWs here. The lowest tier was a Porsche 911. Further in, I saw Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, McLarens, Maseratis… you name it, he had it. I fell to my knees. So this was the fortune of a billionaire’s son. My apologies for my earlier disrespect, Master David. … After hauling the keys upstairs and locking them securely in my room, I made myself some breakfast. A little while later, David stumbled down, rubbing his eyes. The moment he saw me, his face soured. “Why the hell are you still here?” I just smiled and dangled the key to the Crestwood estate. “Sorry, this is my house now.” “Fuck!” He cursed, grabbing his jacket from the sofa. “Fine! You stay here, I’m leaving!” “Where are you going?” I stepped in front of him. “I’m your wife, remember? You have to tell me where you’re going.” “I’m going to the Dynasty Club, and you’re not following me!” he snapped, pushing past me. He stormed out the door, then stopped, patting his pockets. An enraged roar echoed back into the house. “Where the FUCK are my keys?!” Right here with me. I chuckled. David shot me a look that could kill before stomping off. I went back to my room, grabbed a random key, and headed down to the garage. I picked a sleek McLaren and sped off towards the Dynasty Club. Alright, pretty boy. Let’s see if I can’t knock you back into line today. 5 Before heading to the club, I made a detour to the city’s most exclusive shopping district. I bought myself a new outfit from head to toe. Looking in the mirror, I had to admit, I cleaned up pretty well. Dressed like this, I could almost pass for the heiress of some great fortune. Hey, all of David’s assets were mine to command now, right? By the time I arrived at the Dynasty Club, over an hour had passed. I figured David was probably well into his party by now. Time for my grand entrance. “Good evening, miss. Who are you here to see?” a hostess asked, rushing to greet me. I gave her a warm smile. “I’m looking for David Brown. Could you take me to him?” “Of course. Right this way.” She led me to the top floor, to a private suite at the end of the hall: 1603. As I approached the door, I could already hear David’s voice. “I swear, my dad has lost his mind. He found some trashy hick off the street and wants me to marry her. It’s driving me crazy.” “And he gave her all my money! All of it! Is he senile? He’s barely even met her!” So much filial piety. Another voice, a woman’s, cooed, “Oh, David, don’t be angry.” “Your father was probably just tricked by that woman. Don’t worry, we’re all on your side.” David sighed. “You’re the only one who understands me, Tiffany.” Understand this. I’d had enough. I kicked the door open and stormed in. The chatter in the room died instantly. David was sitting on the sofa directly across from the door, a delicate-looking girl practically draped over him. Four or five of his cronies were scattered around the room. “What are you doing here?” David asked, a flicker of shock in his eyes before it was replaced with his usual disdain. “David, who is this?” the girl, Tiffany, asked, tightening her grip on his arm. “She looks so… aggressive.” I smiled. What a perfectly brewed pot of green tea. “I’m his mother,” I said. And before anyone could react, I walked over, grabbed the fruit platter from the table, and slammed it upside down on David’s head. He was stunned, staring at me with a mixture of fruit salad and fury. “What the hell—” He didn’t get to finish. I stepped onto the coffee table, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the sofa. Then, I executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw. THUD! David hit the floor, hard. I started training in taekwondo, kickboxing, and Muay Thai when I was ten. I was the national champion for fourteen years straight. Taking down a pampered pretty boy who spent his days chasing skirts? Child’s play. Everyone in the room was frozen in shock. 6 The little green tea, Tiffany, was especially terrified. She swallowed hard, trembling. “Ah… fuck!” David groaned, trying to push himself up. I promptly sat down on his back, pinning him to the floor. He was stuck, propped up on his elbows, unable to move. I calmly lit a cigarette and smiled sweetly at the room. “Hello, everyone. I’m David’s wife, Hannah.” “My apologies for the poor upbringing. Please forgive the embarrassing display.” His friends stammered, exchanging nervous glances, their earlier bravado completely gone. “Uh… Mrs. Brown… you’re… quite something.” “Yeah, definitely…” I nodded, taking a drag from my cigarette, and turned my gaze to the trembling Tiffany. She flinched under my stare. “Sweetheart,” I began, my voice dangerously soft. “I’m his wife. I assume you know that?” “I… I know…” she squeaked, shrinking back. “You know, and you’re still draped all over him like a cheap scarf?! Do you think I’m a vegetarian?!” My sudden roar made her burst into tears. I shook my head. Tsk. This generation of home-wreckers is so fragile. “I’ll let it slide this time,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette. I stood up, and David collapsed face-first onto the carpet. “But if I ever see you near him again, I’ll break your legs.” Tiffany nodded frantically, sobbing. “Get up. We’re leaving.” I hauled David to his feet and offered a final, apologetic smile to his friends. “Sorry to cut the night short. We’ll have to do this again sometime.” David croaked, “Help me!” His friends all stood ramrod straight, their faces grim. “Goodbye, Mrs. Brown!” “Come back anytime, Mrs. Brown!” No one paid any attention to David’s plea for help. Who would dare? I’d take them all on. “You’re all useless!” David roared in frustration. I backhanded him across the face. “Shut up.” 7 I drove David straight back to the mansion. In the living room, I leaned back on the sofa. David was squatting in the corner. “Did you have fun today?” I asked with a smile. “No… no, not at all!” David grimaced. I sighed and patted his shoulder. He flinched. “Look, David, we’re technically a married couple now… or at least in a relationship, right?” “There are some things I’d really rather not get physical about.” “You can probably tell that I’m a very gentle person. It takes a lot to make me angry enough to hit someone, don’t you agree?” David looked at me with a pained, conflicted expression and nodded. I smiled, satisfied. “See? You have me now, but you still went out looking for other girls. Don’t you think you deserved that?” Even though our relationship was a transaction, I still had a job to do. And I don’t tolerate cheating. As long as we were together, if he dared to look at another woman, I’d break his legs. It was the only way men like him learned. David opened his mouth to protest, but I narrowed my eyes, and he immediately started nodding vigorously. “Good. So you agree you deserved it. What happens next time, if you go looking for other girls again?” I was getting into his head. David looked confused for a moment. “…You’ll hit me again?” “Exactly.” I patted his head consolingly. Hey, his hair was surprisingly soft, like petting a dog. “So learn your lesson, okay? Don’t do it again.” “Any time you’re with another girl, it’s going to hurt my feelings, understand?” David nodded. I grinned. This brat. Not only was he physically weak, but his brain wasn’t much better. No wonder he lost money on every business venture. “Excellent. Now, sign this.” I pulled a document out of my purse and handed it to him. He stared at it, bewildered. “What’s this?” “The rules of engagement.” I crossed my legs. “From now on, if you break a single rule on this list, you lose all your allowance for the month, plus you get a beating.” David shot to his feet, his earlier submissiveness gone. He glared at me. “Hannah! This is exploitation! Are you some kind of slave driver?!” “I swear, today I’m breaking my rule about not hitting women! I’ll show you what a real fight looks like!” “Heh.” I scoffed. “You and what army, pretty boy?” “Fuck!” David’s face turned red. He rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me. 8 I sent him flying with a single kick. He landed several feet away. “Fuck!” David clutched his stomach, sprawled on the floor. “You… you really hit me?!” “What did you expect?” I retorted. “You were coming right at me. I’m a delicate flower, you know. I get scared easily.” “You call that delicate?!” David scrambled up and lifted his shirt. A nasty purple bruise was already forming on his perfect abs. Oops. That was from my foot. Well, it was self-defense. “Ahem.” I cleared my throat. “It’s not my fault you wanted to start something.” David gritted his teeth. “Can I ask what you do for a living?!” “Isn’t it obvious? I’m your wife. I’ll probably be a housewife after we’re married,” I said innocently. He just kept glaring, so I waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. I’m a martial arts coach. For the national team.” “Right.” David just stared at me, his expression a mixture of awe and horror. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “My dad is a goddamn genius for finding you to manage me.” I tried to be modest. “I do my best.” … Later that night, David was lying on his bed after a shower, waiting for me to put some ointment on his bruise. Every time I rubbed it in, he yelped. “Can you please shut up?” I said, annoyed. “I’ve been beaten up twice by you today! I think I’m allowed to make some noise!” he whined. Fine, fine. I glanced at him. He really did have a great body. Great face, too. Body, check. Looks, check. Brains… well, he had great looks. Aside from being a bit of an idiot, he was basically perfect. “A girl like you will never get married,” he grumbled after I finished. “You’re a monster. A she-devil.” “Don’t worry,” I said soothingly. “I’ll do my best to marry you.” “Get out!” he yelped, horrified.

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