Category: English

I recently discovered my computer had been hacked. The intruder’s goal? To read the spicy stories I write in secret. Determined to catch the culprit, I spent four months crash-coursing computer science. Armed with my newfound knowledge, I traced their IP address and hacked into their webcam. Heavy, ragged breaths filled my speakers, sending a shiver down my spine. After a long moment, a face I recognized from the university’s honor roll page appeared on screen. Caught in a… compromising position, he stammered, his face bright red, “You… you found me.” My computer had been hacked. Lately, writing has felt like a paranormal activity. Typos in my latest steamy scene would magically correct themselves. My messy formatting would be neatly reorganized. A document I’d frantically saved to the wrong folder would reappear in the correct one. Just as I was starting to wonder if writing smut had finally driven me insane, my roommate, Kathleen, joked, “Are you sure your computer hasn’t been hacked?” She didn’t mean it, but the words hit me like a lightning bolt. My laptop didn’t hold any state secrets, and my bank account barely scraped four figures, but! It did contain hundreds of chapters of my… creative writing. Several of which starred my campus crush, Liam Jensen. If that got out, I’d have to transfer universities. Immediately. I had to catch this criminal. After consulting a computer science prodigy (Kathleen’s boyfriend), I dove headfirst into the world of coding. Finally, on a dark and stormy night, I managed to hack into the perpetrator’s webcam. The room was dim, but I could still make out the familiar wooden frame of a university dorm bed. A thrill shot through me. Gotcha! As long as they were on campus, they couldn’t hide. I stared intently at the screen, searching for more clues. Suddenly, a low, strained gasp came through the speakers. “Oh, baby… mmm…” I froze. As a connoisseur of literature of all kinds, I knew exactly what was happening. Even with my extensive theoretical knowledge, this was… a lot. What kind of person hacks into someone’s computer just to read their fanfiction and… polish the scepter? So creepy. Okay, yes, I wrote the fanfiction. But that’s not the point! The peeping tom was the one with no honor! Although… He did sound kind of hot. My face flushed, my throat went dry, and the sound of my own heartbeat thundered in my ears. The guy on the other end picked up the pace, his moans growing louder, less restrained. I felt a wave of heat wash over me. Finally, with a long, satisfied sigh, he finished. I heard the sound of tissues being pulled from a box and snapped back to attention. A moment later, a strong arm appeared in the frame, followed by a solid shoulder, a sharp collarbone, and a chest so well-defined it looked sculpted… And finally, a handsome face, still flushed from his activities. I forgot how to breathe. I knew that face all too well. Wait. What? Liam Jensen. The god of the computer science department. My crush. The hero of dozens of my stories. So, he was reading stories that were literally about him, and getting off to them? My brain short-circuited. I had no idea what to do. On the other side of the screen, Liam seemed to notice something was wrong. His eyes widened in panic. With a few frantic keystrokes, he seized control of my computer. And just like that, we were face to face in a bizarre, voyeuristic video call. After four or five seconds of stunned silence, Liam slammed his laptop shut. Just before the screen went black, I heard him curse under his breath, “Fuck…” My desktop wallpaper reappeared, but I was still frozen in shock. After a long while, the panic finally set in. Oh my god. Did he read everything? All of it? The really, really descriptive parts? I buried my burning face in my blankets, wishing I could suffocate myself. It was over. What if he told someone? After half an hour of internal screaming, I collapsed onto my bed in defeat. Whatever. If I was going to die of humiliation, at least my last memory would be of Liam Jensen’s chest. It was a fair trade. After that incident, I didn’t write a single word for two weeks. Instead, I started seeing Liam everywhere. The lecture halls, the cafeteria, the campus store, the athletic fields… I developed a new superpower: a sixth sense for his presence. A sudden chill would run down my spine, and I’d be able to spot him in a crowd instantly. I don’t know if he ever saw me, because the second I saw him, I ran. What if he confronted me? What if he called me a pervert? Even though he was one too… When my roommate, Maya, invited me to go watch the basketball game and “check out the talent,” I made an excuse. “Lily, I heard Liam Jensen is playing today. Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Normally, I’d be there in a heartbeat, armed with a mountain of snacks. But now? The awkwardness would be unbearable. “I can’t. The literary society has a lot going on this week.” Maya knew what I was really “busy” with and pouted. My other roommate, Erin, chimed in, “The Lit Society’s event is in a few days. She’s probably swamped.” Maya sighed dramatically. “Alright, well, we’re going. But I’ll be sure to get some high-def pics for your… private collection.” I turned my back to them, mumbling a noncommittal “Mmmhmm.” Private collection. I didn’t dare look at him now. Every time I thought of his name, I pictured him standing over me, pointing an accusatory finger. “You little freak. You look so innocent, but you have such a dirty mind! And you’ve been lusting after my body!” I rushed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to snap out of it. To force myself to calm down, I buried myself in work for the literary society. I was still at my desk when my roommates came back. “It’s such a shame. Liam was wearing a new jersey today, but he only played the first half.” “I know! He looked incredible. Did you see those girls from the dorm next door? Their eyes were practically glued to him!” I stopped what I was doing, my ears perked. A new jersey? What color? He has pale skin, blue would look amazing on him… As I was lost in thought, Maya and the others crowded around my desk. “Lily, you have to see this. He looked so good in his new jersey!” Maya shoved her phone in my face. Holy shit. It was blue. Liam looked as handsome as ever. His fair skin seemed to glow under the stadium lights. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, perfectly defined arms… The blue jersey clung to his chest, outlining every muscle. He had the perfect build—athletic and healthy, without being over-the-top. It was why he’d become my ultimate crush the first time I saw him. As I stared at the photo, the image from that night—Liam, shirtless and flushed—flashed in my mind. My face went red again. My reaction did not go unnoticed. “Ooh, look at Lily blushing!” “You’re definitely going to be dreaming about him tonight!” They started teasing me mercilessly. The reason Erin mentioned my dreams was because, even though I’d never told anyone, my crush on Liam wasn’t a complete secret. One night, Erin had gotten up to use the bathroom and heard me sleep-talking. I’d said his name. They’d all been good about it, never spreading it around, just giving me little nudges whenever he was nearby. I grabbed my laptop, covered my face, and scrambled into my bed. Their teasing only got louder. I felt like my life was a cringe compilation. Ding. A message from Sam, the president of the literary society. Sam: Lily, the freshmen sent over their event proposals. Can you take a look? Me: Sure. Work. Only work could distract me from the all-consuming thought of Liam. I downloaded the file and opened my laptop. Just as I was about to log in to my messaging app, the screen flickered. A new window popped up. The familiar wooden bed, the deep blue sheets… It was Liam’s dorm room. How did his webcam just turn on? I didn’t do anything. Before I could react, Liam walked into the frame. He looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of light blue—and very form-fitting—basketball shorts. A towel was slung over his shoulders, and his short hair was still damp, dripping water droplets that traced paths down his toned chest before disappearing into the dark blue fabric. It was like a scene from a romance novel. My brain instantly overheated. Who could possibly handle this? Liam looked at his screen and our eyes met. I was gaping at him in shock. His expression shifted from surprise to a nervous purse of his lips. A faint blush crept up his cheeks. He clutched the towel to his chest, looking at me shyly. “You… why are you… spying on me again?” Me: ? What did he just say? Spying? Again? You’ve got to be kidding me. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and now I’m being framed? I glanced at my bed curtain. My roommates were still chatting, completely oblivious. “What do you mean, spying on you? I just opened my laptop! You’re the one who hacked me in the first place!” Liam clutched the towel even tighter, his voice a bashful mumble. “I don’t know about that. A nice girl like you shouldn’t be doing things like this.” Excuse me?! This was unbelievable. Before I could respond, he crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that only made his pecs look even more defined. “It’s a good thing I was wearing pants. You might have seen everything.” I almost leaped out of my bed, pointing at the screen, ready to unleash a torrent of rage. Snap! The screen went black. A second later, it was back to my fluffy sheep wallpaper. He just hung up? He didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself! Now I was officially a pervert. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced he did it on purpose. There was no way I was letting this go. What if he told someone about my stories? I had to talk to him. Fueled by indignation, I grabbed my phone and activated my campus network, getting a copy of Liam’s class schedule. The next morning, I was waiting outside his classroom. I’d done a few recon laps while the class was in session and had pinpointed his seat. Liam saw me. He kept glancing over, his cheeks tinted pink. Hmph. Still pretending. The bell rang, and students flooded out of the classroom like a zombie horde. I pressed myself against the wall to avoid being trampled. Liam was still inside, slowly packing his bag. Good. He knows what’s coming. Once the hallway was clear, I marched into the room and stood in front of him. He clutched his laptop to his chest, his face red, and spoke before I could. “You… you followed me here. You know, you can’t force love. I’ll never give in to you.” He looked like a helpless damsel in a cheesy historical drama. I was so angry I snatched the laptop out of his hands. “Stop acting! You were the one who hacked me, and now you’re making me out to be the creep!” Liam’s damsel-in-distress act vanished. He pushed his glasses up his nose and smirked. “Am I wrong? Who writes… stories about other people? And so… detailed, too.” I slapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut up!” “Lots of people write them! It’s not just me! Besides, I never showed them to anyone.” It’s not like my life is a constant thrill ride. A girl needs an outlet… Liam’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Oh? So you like me. You think about me every day. 187 chapters. And you write every week. Do your friends in the literary society know their sweet, innocent vice president has a secret life?” “I…” Before I could argue, other students started trickling back into the classroom. They saw Liam and started whispering. Liam was a campus celebrity. Any girl who got too close to him was immediately put under a microscope. I’d been so angry I hadn’t thought this through. I started to panic. I didn’t want to become the subject of campus gossip. Suddenly, a baseball cap was placed on my head, shielding my face. Liam leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “Come have lunch with me. You wouldn’t want people finding out about your… hobby, would you, Lily?” It clicked. This bastard had planned this. He was trying to provoke me into coming to him. I shot him a death glare and stormed out of the room. Liam was such an ass. I stomped ahead, and he followed two steps behind me, humming happily. I stopped abruptly. His solid chest collided with the back of my head, sending me stumbling forward. If he hadn’t caught my shoulders, I would have face-planted. Once I was steady, I spun around and punched him in the chest. “What’s the point of having those things if you’re just going to run into people with them!” He clutched his chest dramatically. “Hey, it’s not my fault my pecs are well-developed! Besides, you seem to like them. Chapter one, wasn’t it?” He had the most infuriatingly smug grin on his face. I couldn’t believe this guy. Back in the dorm, everyone was always talking about how Liam was so aloof, a true ice prince. I was the one who argued, “Guys like that are always secretly the freakiest.” Turns out, I was right. Liam wasn’t just a freak. He was a smug, calculating ass. Once we were off campus, Liam gently guided me into a small restaurant. He’d read my mind. This was exactly where I wanted to go. They had private booths. If I decided to kill him, there wouldn’t be any witnesses. I walked into our usual booth, satisfied. Liam followed me in and immediately started… taking off his jacket. “What are you doing?!” “It’s hot. Aren’t you hot?” He tossed his jacket onto the sofa and sat across from me. I now saw that he was wearing a gray t-shirt. Gray really… emphasized things. It made the lines of his chest even more perfect. It was hard not to stare. Liam scanned the QR code with his phone, tapped a few times, and then handed it to me. He’d already ordered all my favorite dishes. I gave him a look. Okay, you have good taste. I’ll give you that. My anger subsided a little. I got straight to the point. “So, why did you hack my computer?” He shrugged, looking at me over the rim of his glass. “Why did you write smut about me? Because you like me?” So blunt. He had a death wish. Of course, I wasn’t going to admit it. “It’s because you’re popular. I was writing for your fans.” He just said, “Oh,” and took a sip of his juice, clearly not believing a word. “It’s true! It’s not like I’m the only one…” Liam’s face broke into a radiant smile, his eyes crinkling into little crescent moons. He looked even more handsome. I was mesmerized. Did he have any idea how devastating that smile was? He nodded. “Okay, I believe you. But I haven’t seen anyone else’s work yet.” The word “seen” triggered a memory. The first time I saw him. What he was doing… I took a tiny sip of my juice, trying to hide my embarrassment. Liam noticed my discomfort, and his own face turned a deep shade of red. So when the waiter came in, he found two people, red as tomatoes, staring at their juice glasses and refusing to look at each other. The waiter’s presence broke the tension. We both busied ourselves with arranging the dishes on the table. The flush in my cheeks started to fade. But as the waiter was leaving, he looked back at us and said, with the gravity of a wise old sage, “Kids, I know you’re all adults now, but you can’t be doing… strange things in the restaurant booths.” Liam and I instinctively looked at each other, then immediately looked away, our faces burning again. When you’re embarrassed, you do stupid things. I started rearranging the plates again, even though they were perfectly fine. The spicy chicken in front of me smelled incredible. I decided to focus on that. Liam thoughtfully served me rice, wiped my chopsticks, and poured me a glass of water. He might be an ass, but he was a gentleman. I started to enjoy my meal, and my opinion of Liam softened. The atmosphere in the booth became more relaxed. “You’re not allowed to spy on my computer anymore.” He stopped eating, his eyebrows drooping like a sad puppy who’d been told he couldn’t play. “But I’m the main character. Why can’t I read it?” “Besides, I was your editor. I fixed your typos. Where else are you going to find a reader that dedicated?” “And how do I know you’re not slandering me in there? I have an image to maintain—top student, morally upstanding, physically fit…” I rolled my eyes. He had a point, but still. “No. It’s distracting. It’s hard to… drive the bus when I know you’re watching.” “Drive the bus? Honey, you’re flying a rocket ship.” Me: … He started to whine. “I want to read it! I’ll pay for a subscription. Three hundred a month.” Me: ? “How much?” “Five hundred?” Me: ?? “How much?!” “Eight hundred?” What did he take me for? Did he think I was that cheap? “Deal!” I said. “A thou—” we both said at the same time. I realized what he’d been about to say and instantly regretted it. He smiled and put a piece of chicken in my bowl. “You’re so good at saving me money.” And so, Liam became my sugar daddy. I was to provide three chapters a week. After I finished, I would send them to him for review. I’d started writing to relieve stress. I never thought it would become a source of income. But Liam refused to let me send the files over the internet, claiming it was “not secure.” So we had to meet in person. We started having frequent “business lunches.” My roommates were convinced I was secretly dating someone. Dating? Please. I was making bank. I had to admit, Liam had impeccable taste. Every restaurant he chose was perfect. He was always attentive, pouring my water, passing me napkins, catering to my every need. I was starting to like him a lot. So much so that in my recent chapters, the main characters’ relationship had taken a turn for the tender. They were making love now, not just… you know. That night, I received a “bonus” from my patron. Liam: [Good work deserves a reward.] Liam: [–Transfer $66.66–] Me: [Your humble servant thanks you for your generosity, Your Majesty.] Me: [heart.jpg] I was about to put my phone down and get back to writing when another message came through. Ding. Liam: [kittysass.gif] My nose almost started bleeding. Who taught him how to make GIFs? It was a custom one. Liam, shirtless, with a cute cat filter. He lifted a paw and wiggled it, the little cat ears on his head twitching. The filter made his already fair skin look almost pink. Oh my god. Who showed him how to do this? My brain: [screaming.gif] I was clutching my head, silently shrieking, when I accidentally hit the screen and sent a sticker. Me: [excellent, preparing to lick.jpg] Before I could unsend it, he replied instantly. Liam: … Liam: [kittyblush.gif] Another custom Liam GIF. This one had the blushing cat filter, and the shy expression on his face was surprisingly convincing. Me: … I swear, that’s not what I meant. Me: [Good work deserves a reward.] Me: [–Transfer $99.99–] Me: [you’re the GOAT] The next time we met, I couldn’t even look at him without blushing. He, on the other hand, was acting like nothing happened. He just seemed unusually cheerful and talkative. “Let’s have fish today. There’s a new place that’s really popular. My roommates went and said it was great.” He took my laptop bag from me without asking. The small, light blue backpack looked almost comical on his broad back. I loved fish, so I agreed. And with him carrying my bag, I was happy to let him. The subway was packed. It was Friday, and everyone was heading off campus for the weekend. We were the center of attention the moment we stepped onto the platform. When I saw people taking pictures, I tried to put some distance between us. I shot him a glare. Why do you have to be so handsome? You look like a damn celebrity. He caught my look and shrugged helplessly, then… proceeded to stick to me like a golden retriever. “Why are you so far away? Aren’t we best friends?” I punched him in the chest. “Who’s your best friend? Stop being so conceited!” The train stopped, and even more people pushed their way in. Liam wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into the space in front of him. He took my hand and placed it on his bicep. “The train is crowded. Please hold on tight, little one.” His solid chest was right in front of my face. I kind of… wanted to… A soft chuckle came from above me. The faint scent of gardenias washed over me. “It’s crowded. No licking.” “…” Who said I was going to lick him?! The restaurant was nice. Liam had chosen a table by the window, which I loved. My good mood improved my appetite. He kept serving me food, picking out the fish bones, pouring my water, passing me napkins… The only thing he didn’t do was wipe my mouth for me. I felt like his child. His service was impeccable. As evening fell, we finished our meal and prepared to head back to campus. Liam went to pay the bill. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Lily?” It was my fellow literary society VP, a girl named Zoey. Behind her was our president, Sam, and a few of the younger members. I was already in a good mood from the delicious meal, and seeing my friends made me even happier. I waved enthusiastically. “Sam! Zoey!” “Lily, you’re eating here too?” A few of the freshman girls were with them. They were all sweet, and I enjoyed reading their submissions. I knew they were setting up for the Lit Society’s event tonight. Sam smiled, adjusting his glasses. “You look happy. The fish here must be good.” I nodded enthusiastically. The freshmen girls started giggling. “Ooh, Sam, you know her so well!” “Yeah, you even know her favorite food!” “Are you two… a thing?” They were all talking at once, not giving us a chance to explain. Zoey stepped in. “You guys have been reading too many romance novels. I know what Lily likes to eat, too.” I knew Zoey had a crush on Sam, so it made sense that she’d say that. I quickly added, “Don’t be ridiculous. Sam has a crush on someone else. I’ve seen him looking at her picture.” I really had seen him looking at a girl’s photo once, but he’d hidden it so fast I didn’t get a good look. It was very suspicious. Sam’s cheeks turned pink. It was the first time in the three years I’d known him that I’d ever seen him blush. My gossip-loving heart was thrilled. We were all laughing and chatting when Liam returned. “Lily, are these your friends?” He stood beside me, a little closer than necessary. Sam looked surprised. “You two… came together?” The freshmen girls looked like they were about to scream. “Liam! Lily, are you guys on a date?!” “Are you together?” “You two look so good together!” They were all buzzing with excitement again. Even Zoey, who was usually so calm, looked thrilled. “So this is why you couldn’t come to the setup. You had a date!” “No, no, it’s not like that! We’re just friends!” I protested. The freshmen looked disappointed. Sam, on the other hand, seemed… relieved? It was probably just my imagination. “Well, since we’re all heading back to campus, we should go together…” Sam started to say. “No need,” Liam cut him off. “We’re going somewhere else.” And with that, he took my hand in front of everyone and pulled me away. Even as we walked away, I could hear the freshmen girls squealing behind us. I glanced at Liam. His face was a thundercloud. Yeah… best not to say anything. We walked for a while before he finally let go of my hand. His mood seemed to have improved. Well, improved enough for him to start mocking me in a sing-song voice. “Ooh, Sam, you know her so well…” “He even knows her favorite food…” “And here I thought we were best friends.” “You were practically beaming at that guy. I’ve never seen you smile at me like that.” He looked so pouty, like a big dog who’d just smelled another dog on its owner. I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go, you big baby.” That only made him grumpier. He kept lagging behind, then tripping me and catching me, all while muttering about how Sam was probably a secret villain. Me: … I had no idea Liam was like this. It was another Friday. I had to be at the literary society event, so I sent Liam the latest chapters.

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Coming home from a business trip to find the water shut off was the first sign that something was wrong. After a call to building management, a maintenance guy showed up, but he just stared at me, confused. “The shutoff was announced in the residents’ chat group yesterday,” he said, scratching his head. “You even replied ‘Got it.’ Did you forget?” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. My husband and I had never bothered to join the residents’ chat. Too much hassle. As soon as the maintenance guy left, I got myself added to the group and started scrolling through the chat history. My eyes landed on a user who called herself “Mrs. of 1206,” who had been quite active in the discussions. But I live in 1206. If she was the owner, then who was I? My hand trembled slightly as I called my husband, Julian. He answered without a moment’s hesitation. “She probably just typed it wrong, honey. There are so many buildings in the complex, it’s an easy mistake. I can message her and ask her to fix it if you want.” I forced a smile into my voice. “No, don’t bother. It’s not a big deal.” But the moment I hung up, I switched to a burner account and sent a friend request to the “Mrs. of 1206.” 1 It was only eight in the evening, and she accepted my request almost instantly. “Who is this? Do I know you?” she typed. My fingers flew across the screen. “Hey, I live in the apartment right below you. Is everything okay up there? I’ve been hearing strange noises for a while, sounds like someone might have broken in.” Her reply was swift. “I’ll go check right now.” I put my phone away, keyed in the security code to my own front door, and stepped inside. This apartment was a pied-à-terre, a place we kept near the airport for early flights or late arrivals when the drive back to our main penthouse downtown was too much. Julian was at the penthouse now, which meant this place was empty. It wasn’t long before I heard the sharp click-clack of high heels echoing down the hallway. Peeking through the peephole, I saw a young woman stop in front of my door. With a practiced ease that sent a chill down my spine, she entered the security code and pushed the door open. So, it wasn’t a typo. My worst fears were true. My phone buzzed with another message from her. “You must have heard wrong. The water is out today, so no one’s home. The noise definitely wasn’t coming from our place.” I tapped out a vague reply and then slipped out through the fire escape, circling back to re-enter my apartment through the front door she had left ajar. “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice sharp and cutting through the silence. “What are you doing in my home?” I decided to strike first, catching her completely off guard. Color flooded her face, turning it a blotchy red. Her lips trembled as she stammered, “You—you must be Julian’s wife. I’m Selina. We… we grew up in the same town.” She wrung her hands, avoiding my eyes. “He said this place was usually empty, and he was worried about burglars. Since I work nearby, he just asked me to check in once in a while… you know, tidy up a bit.” A blatant lie. I had a cleaning service that came twice a week like clockwork. This place was immaculate. There was no need for anyone to “tidy up.” But I didn’t call her out on it. Instead, I gave her a placid smile and patted her shoulder gently. “Well, that’s so thoughtful of you. But it’s getting late, and I’m ready to turn in. You should head home.” Selina nodded, practically tripping over herself as she scrambled out the door, fleeing as if she’d just seen a ghost. 2 Once she was gone, I collapsed onto the sofa and pulled up her social media feed. Three posts were pinned to the top. The first was a photo of her delicate wrist, adorned with a heavy, masculine watch. The caption read: “He let me play with it.” I recognized it instantly. It was the watch I had given Julian for our anniversary. I checked the date of the post. It was from the day I’d been organizing our walk-in closet and noticed it was missing. He’d told me he left it at the office. Instead, he’d been using my gift to charm his little plaything. I scrolled down. The second post was geotagged at a resort out of state. The caption: “The hotel walls are so thin. A girl can’t possibly sleep alone here.” The date. It was my birthday. Julian and I had been in the middle of a candlelit dinner when he’d suddenly stood up, telling me he was being sent on an urgent business trip, effective immediately. I’d been upset, asking if it couldn’t wait until morning. He’d frowned, his voice cold. “This is for my job, Eleanor. Don’t be irrational.” The third pinned post was a picture of a bouquet so massive she could disappear behind it, made entirely of crisp hundred-dollar bills. If my math was right, that floral arrangement was made of over fifty thousand dollars in cash. And I knew exactly where that money came from. It had been withdrawn from the supplementary credit card I gave him—a card linked directly to my account. He really spared no expense, did he? A fifty-thousand-dollar cash bouquet for his mistress, while I got a dozen roses from a Groupon deal. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. What a blind fool I’d been to fall for a man like Julian Pierce. And he had the audacity to let his lover stay in a property that was in my name, as if I’d never find out. He had seriously underestimated my intelligence. Without another thought, I called my best friend, Sarah. As one of the city’s top divorce attorneys, she lived for this kind of drama. “That leech Julian dares to cheat on you?” Sarah’s voice was pure venom. “He’s got a death wish.” “Don’t you worry, Eleanor,” she purred. “I’ll help you make sure he walks away with nothing but the clothes on his back.” I smiled. That was exactly what I wanted. I didn’t want a man who was tainted goods. But more than that, I wanted to make him pay. I had barely hung up with Sarah when my phone rang again. It was Julian. “Eleanor, honey, why didn’t you tell me you were back? I would have picked you up from the airport. I heard the water’s out over there, it can’t be comfortable for you to stay the night.” His voice was slick with false concern. “And you met Selina, right? She’s just a sweet kid from back home, her parents know mine. She’s all alone in this big city, so I promised her folks I’d look out for her.” He was trying to get ahead of the story, to smooth over my suspicions. Little did he know, his pathetic secrets were already blown wide open. “Yes, I met her,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Listen, I’m swamped. I have another flight to catch first thing in the morning, so I’ll just crash here for the night. You get some sleep.” As I spoke, the screen of my tablet showed a live feed from the security cameras in our downtown penthouse. Selina certainly had guts. Fresh from being caught by me, she had run straight to our main home to seek comfort from Julian. He sat on the sofa, pulling her into his lap, his fingers twirling a lock of her hair, the very picture of domestic bliss. Over the phone, Julian let out a visible sigh of relief. “Okay then. Rest up, darling. It’s late.” “Next time you come home, just tell me,” he added, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “I’ll drive out to get you, no matter how late it is. Nothing is more important than you.” If I were still the naive wife from yesterday, those words might have touched me. But watching him caress another woman on my tablet, they were nothing but a sick joke. 3 The moment he hung up, Selina planted a kiss on Julian’s cheek. “You scared me to death today, baby! I really thought she’d found us out.” Julian pinched her cheek playfully. “What’s there to be scared of? I’m here. And so what if she finds out? I’ll protect you.” He leaned in closer. “There’s a big auction in a couple of days. I’ll take you, clear your head. You can buy whatever you like.” Selina’s eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you, baby! You’re the best!” I immediately contacted my assistant and had her cancel Julian’s supplementary card. Let’s see how he planned to buy “whatever she liked” when he couldn’t charge a single cent. Sarah was brutally efficient. Before dawn, she sent me a complete timeline of the affair. Julian hadn’t been lying about one thing: Selina was indeed from his hometown. They were practically childhood sweethearts. The affair had started the moment she moved to the city a year ago. He had been spoiling her rotten, lavishing her with the finest clothes, jewelry, and accessories. The transaction history alone was a fifty-page PowerPoint presentation. I did a quick mental calculation; the total value ran into the tens of millions. I recognized many of the items. On our last wedding anniversary, Julian had given me a sapphire necklace, claiming he’d won it at a prestigious auction. It was too gaudy for my taste, so I’d kept it locked away. Now I knew why. The one he gave me was a cheap imitation. The real one was draped around Selina’s neck in half her social media posts. Page after page of his spending scrolled by, and I started to laugh, a hollow, angry sound. The memory of how touched I’d felt receiving those fake gifts now made my stomach churn. And Selina, the proud owner of all this stolen luxury, had built a career online as a “wealth-flexing” influencer. She’d amassed hundreds of thousands of followers by parading my jewelry, my clothes, and my bags. I clicked on her profile. Her latest video was a tour of my penthouse. Not only that, she had the gall to waltz into my walk-in closet, casually picking up my designer dresses. “I have way too many clothes, guys,” she chirped to the camera. “So, I’m going to pick a few lucky followers and send some of these out as gifts!” “Don’t worry,” she cooed, “I’ve never even worn most of these. Some still have the tags on! And for those who don’t win, don’t be sad. I’ll be doing giveaways like this all the time.” Her comments section was flooded with praise. “You’re so beautiful and generous!” someone wrote. Another asked how she could afford such a lavish lifestyle. Selina replied with a sickeningly sweet message: “It’s all my husband’s money. We grew up together, and he always gives me the very best of everything.” Then, she added the kicker: “He’s taking me to a major auction in a couple of days. I’ll do an unboxing video for you guys when I get back!” I switched to another burner account and commented: “Could you live-stream the auction tomorrow? I’m just a poor girl who’s never seen anything like it!” My comment quickly racked up likes, with dozens of her fans echoing the request. Selina’s reply came minutes later: “Okay, babes! Tomorrow, you’ll all get an immersive experience at a high-end auction with me!” Perfect. Julian wanted to use my money to let her buy whatever she wanted. It wouldn’t be right for the actual owner of that money not to be present, would it? 4 On the day of the auction, I arrived early and found an unobtrusive seat in a dimly lit corner. You wouldn’t even know I was there unless you were looking for me. Soon enough, Julian and Selina made their grand entrance, arm in arm. True to her promise, Selina was dressed to the nines for her live audience. She was carrying my Hermès Birkin in crocodile skin, wearing a haute couture gown, and was so laden with jewelry on her neck and wrists she looked less like a socialite and more like a disco ball. As frequent patrons, they were personally escorted by the staff to a private VIP suite overlooking the main floor. The auction began. The first few lots were minor pieces, the warm-up acts. Selina started her live stream, and within minutes, thousands of viewers had joined. I was one of them. To project an image of limitless wealth for her followers, Selina bid on nearly every item that came up. And Julian, blissfully unaware, let her, thinking my credit card was footing the bill. From my corner, I watched it all unfold, not with anger, but with a growing sense of excitement. Finally, the auctioneer’s tone shifted. It was time for the evening’s main event. “And now, for our pièce de résistance,” he announced. “A diamond tiara once owned by French nobility over a century ago. The genius of this piece lies in its versatility. Every component is detachable. It can be worn as a full tiara, a necklace, and the diamond florets can be used as hairpins or brooches…” The central diamond was a stunning ten-carat masterpiece. Under the auction house lights, its fire was so brilliant it threatened to blind the entire room. In the live stream, Selina let out a squeal. “Baby, I want that one! It would be perfect for our wedding photos!” Julian grunted in agreement. I let out a slow breath. This was it. She wanted it. And I was going to make sure she never got it. “We’ll start the bidding at five hundred and fifty thousand dollars…” The auctioneer had barely finished his sentence when paddles shot up across the room. The price quickly climbed to six hundred thirty thousand. I raised my paddle. The price jumped by another twenty thousand. Selina, in her suite, immediately countered. The moment her bid was registered, I raised mine again, adding another twenty thousand. We went back and forth, my relentless bidding clearly unnerving her. The supplementary card I gave Julian was generous, but a sudden charge of this magnitude would be impossible for him to explain away to me. Selina was getting frantic. “Baby, bid higher! Someone’s going to snatch it away!” The chat on her live stream exploded with comments questioning if she could actually afford it. Not wanting to lose face, Julian gritted his teeth and signaled another bid. But it didn’t matter how many times he bid. I matched him, and then I raised him. I would not be outbid. “Who the hell is that?” Selina hissed, her voice audible even from my corner. “Sitting in the general seats… Can she even afford that?” The price hit one million dollars. The small increments were getting tedious. This time, I raised my paddle and signaled an increase of one hundred thousand dollars. “That’s it,” Julian said, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “One point one million could get you a custom-made tiara. We don’t need this antique. One last bid, and if she takes it, let her have it.” “No, baby! I want this one!” It wasn’t her money, so she didn’t care. The thought of losing it made her furious. She tried to raise her paddle again, but Julian grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Sold! To the lady in the corner for one million, one hundred thousand dollars!” The auctioneer’s gavel cracked, sealing my victory. The room erupted in applause. The only sound from the VIP suite was Selina’s enraged shriek. “Who is that hick? How dare she steal my tiara! Can she even pay for it?”

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I’m the beta everyone loves to hate. I posted on the school forum, asking what to do if my fiancé doesn’t like me. The top comment read: “If he doesn’t want you, I do. My family is just as powerful as the Hawthornes.” An idea started to form in my mind. Not long after, my usually calm and composed fiancé got into a physical fight with an omega. “Do you have any idea you’re hitting on my wife?” The omega just laughed. “You call him your wife, but would he even answer to that?” 1 I’m the social pariah of the prestigious Blackwood Academy. It all started with a compatibility report that predicted a near-perfect match between myself and Asher Hawthorne. Because of that report, I was raised as an omega my entire life. But then, when I was eighteen, my family went bankrupt. To make matters worse, I presented as a beta. My stepfather, in a desperate move, sold our house to get me into Asher’s school. Before I left, he told me, his voice grave, “Failing to present as an omega was a disgrace. If you can’t secure a connection with the Hawthorne family now, you know what will happen.” But I was clumsy. I tried everything I could think of to get close to him, and in the process, I only managed to make everyone hate me. Including Asher himself. He was always cold to me. Time and time again, he would ignore me, watching with detached amusement as I made a fool of myself. “Can you stop with the pathetic schemes?” he’d say. “Even if you had presented as an omega, I would never marry someone I don’t love just because of their pheromones.” One day, I went to find him, a homemade lunchbox in hand, and overheard him talking to an omega nearby. “Of course, he’s not my real fiancé,” he said, his tone casual. “He’s like a little stray dog, always following me around. What, are you interested in him or something?” Beyond the disdain in his voice, there was a faint, almost imperceptible hint of a boast. The omega beside him raised an eyebrow, his smile dazzling. “Seriously, Asher? Is that what you really think?” Asher didn’t say anything more, but for someone as reserved as him, silence was a confirmation. I recognized the omega with him. He was the untouchable gem of the academy, widely considered the perfect match for Asher—an S-class omega named Terence Croft. A notification popped up on my phone. It was a voice recording from Terence. His chat icon, pinned at the top of my list, blinked insistently. “Steven, he doesn’t like you.” “You’re so wonderful, and Asher just tramples all over your feelings. You’d be happier if you left him.” I thought for a moment, and the conclusion was obvious: Terence was in love with Asher. He was too nice to say it directly, so he was gently trying to persuade me to back off. It all made sense now. Why he always seemed to appear whenever I was bothering Asher. The resentful looks he always gave me, like a husband whose wife was cheating on him. The time he blocked my view of Asher and smilingly invited me to the library instead. It was all to keep me away from him. And I had actually dared to hope, even for a second, that maybe, just maybe, he liked me a little bit. 2 I have a secret. I’m in love with Terence. I sighed and turned to leave, feeling defeated. But then Terence’s smile widened, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Seeing them together, so perfectly matched, a wave of despair washed over me. I ducked my head, wiping away the tears that had started to fall. I cried for a long time before I remembered Terence’s message. With trembling fingers, I finally managed to reply. “Okay. I will.” “From now on, I won’t bother him anymore.” It was going to be a sleepless night. I couldn’t stop tossing and turning. I opened the forum again, the one titled “When will Steven finally stop chasing Asher Hawthorne?” 【Daily question: Have Asher and Steven broken up yet? Does he even deserve him?】 【Why was Steven crying by himself on the path? Pic attached.】 【Ugh, he’s so annoying, always putting on a show. The guys on the street were staring… he’s probably just trying to hook someone new.】 【Where is this? No reason, just think the scenery looks nice.】 【Wait, he’s crying that hard. Did his fiancé dump him?】 【Could there be such good news? I mean, I’ve never liked Steven anyway.】 The picture attached to the post was of me, earlier that day, crying as I ran back to my dorm. Seeing it just made me cry harder. I couldn’t wipe the tears away fast enough. So I made a new post. “I’m a friend of Steven’s. Why does everyone hate him so much? If it’s because of Asher, he’s not going to chase him anymore.” The replies were a string of question marks at first. Then, as if it suddenly dawned on them, the comments started flooding in. 【LMAO, I’m laughing so hard my abs hurt (and I have an eight-pack).】 【Hey, I’m 6’3″, nine-figure net worth, pure, innocent, and very gullible. My contact info is…】 【My family is just as rich as his. Why not marry me? If he doesn’t like you, he’s blind.】 The last reply wasn’t anonymous. @AsherHawthorne: “? Since when.” 3 I frantically deleted the post. The comments were probably just a new way for them to mess with me. Asher’s words from earlier echoed in my mind, and I felt a wave of despair. No matter what I did, he would always hate me. But if I had a choice, I wouldn’t want to be the gold-digging parasite everyone thought I was. I secretly opened my contacts and blocked Asher. The next day in class, I was a mess. The news of my forum post had already spread, and I could feel people’s eyes on me. When I saw Terence, I awkwardly tried to avoid him. But he caught me when no one was around, pulling me into his private lounge. I was mortified, and I stumbled over my words, trying to distance myself from Asher. “I’m really not going to bother him anymore. I heard what he said. He doesn’t like me at all. You don’t have to worry. I won’t get in the way of you two being together.” Terence smiled gently, but there was a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He stepped closer, pointing to my eyes, which were still swollen from crying. He handed me a tube of ointment. I took it, stunned. His low voice was a murmur in my ear, his breath tickling my skin and making the tips of my ears turn red. I couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not. “I’m glad you’re not sad over him anymore. But I think you’ve misunderstood something.” “I don’t like him. I like you.” 4 The sudden confession felt like a dream. I looked up at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. The deep-seated insecurity I carried made me instinctively take a few steps back. Even if he did like me, omegas were naturally drawn to alphas. And I… I was just a beta, with no scent to offer. My family, my gender… I wasn’t good enough for him. I knew that even if we did manage to be together for a little while, it would never last. He seemed to sense my rejection. He muttered to himself, “So you still care about him more?” I didn’t quite catch what he said. I was about to ask him to repeat it when he spoke again, his voice softer. “I won’t interfere with your choice. It’s okay if you don’t like me back.” “But… can we be friends? Steven.” I nodded slowly. We hadn’t locked the door when we came in, and now Asher’s voice cut through the air. “What are you doing, Steven? Have you forgotten you’re my fiancé?” My heart leaped into my throat. I turned to see Asher standing there, looking down at me. His eyes were fixed on where my hand was still clasped in Terence’s. His expression was dark. He let out a cold, contemptuous snort. “Do you really think you’re some kind of seducer? That you can just wrap anyone around your little finger? You’re such a slut…” I couldn’t believe it. I never imagined the proud, aloof Asher could say something so vile. I shook my head, my voice firm. “Terence and I are not in an improper relationship. And I am not your fiancé. I didn’t present as an omega, so the engagement is void. You told me that yourself the first time we met.” I looked down, remembering our first meeting. He had been frowning, his face unusually grim. He shot a glare at Terence, then held out a hand to me. “Be a good boy and come here. I won’t hold this against you. But if your family loses the Hawthorne investment…” 5 Not only would my family have no chance of recovering, but they would lose the last of their ancestral property. The threat in his voice was unmistakable. But he had no idea what my life was like at home. My mother had been forced to have me, and she died shortly after the arranged marriage. I was abused and ridiculed by everyone in that house. I was secretly hoping the family would fall, so they could no longer control my life. So I lowered my eyes and shrank further behind Terence. Terence felt me trembling with a mixture of pain and rage. He patted my back gently, as if soothing a child, trying to calm me. He then stepped between me and Asher. Even though he was just an omega. “This is my lounge. You’re being a little loud. Don’t you think you should stop forcing him, Asher? Since he doesn’t want to go with you, you should respect his choice.” Asher watched me hide in Terence’s arms, a look of understanding dawning on his face. In his anger, the air filled with the almost frantic scent of red wine—his pheromones. But I was just a plain beta. I couldn’t smell a thing. All I could see was Terence covering his mouth and nose, staggering back as if he was about to be sick. Asher ignored him completely. He looked at me, his voice deliberate and heavy with meaning. “Fine, Steven. You’re so fine. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other. Go get close to whoever you want. Just don’t regret it. I’ll be waiting for you to come crawling back to me.” I knew my family’s finances were completely dependent on him. After today, he would likely cut off all support, and maybe even actively work against them. But he didn’t know that I didn’t care at all. Asher practically slammed the door on his way out. The moment he was gone, Terence slumped against the wall, his head in his hands. His eyes were bloodshot, and an unnatural flush had spread across his face. I suspected Asher’s pheromones were to blame. The raw, burning desire in his eyes was impossible to miss. His voice trembled. “You should go. Don’t worry about me.” He was grinding his back teeth, a clear sign that he was fighting the urge to bite the back of my neck. But this… this was… this was an alpha’s rut. My voice shook as I asked, “Are you… an alpha?” He didn’t hesitate. “Are you scared of me? Scared I’ll break you?”

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An accident left me blind. For five years, my girlfriend, Amelia, never left my side. She would hold my hand, her voice thick with emotion, and swear, “It doesn’t matter if you never see again. I will never marry anyone but you.” For five long years, she was my rock, my eyes, my everything. I truly believed she wanted to spend her life with me. Until we went on vacation, and I “accidentally” fell into the ocean. I woke up in a hospital room, and the first thing I realized was… I could see. The world was a blur of shapes and colors, but it was there. I could see. I was about to call out, to share the miraculous news with her, when I saw them. Amelia and another man, standing on the balcony, locked in a tight embrace. Her smile was radiant, a look of pure bliss I hadn’t seen in years. “Don’t worry,” she cooed. “Even if he didn’t die, it won’t change anything for us. He’s just a blind man. What’s he going to do?” 1 Her words sent a chill down my spine. It didn’t make sense. I thought Amelia loved me. When I lost my sight, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d stayed, cared for me, loved me. Five years of unwavering devotion. What was happening? Before I could process it, I heard their voices again. “He still needs to die,” the man said. “As long as he’s alive, all that money is still his.” That voice… I knew that voice. It was David, the male caregiver Amelia had hired a few months ago. It had to be. I’d felt sorry for her, thinking the burden of caring for me was too much. I was the one who insisted she get some help. I hadn’t just hired help. I had invited a predator into my home. Still reeling from the shock, I heard Amelia’s voice, soft and reassuring. “Don’t you worry, my love. I didn’t expect him to be so lucky. Someone saw him fall in right away.” “Just give it some time. We’ll find another excuse to take him somewhere.” What did that mean? So, falling into the ocean… that was their plan? And they were going to try again? Any lingering hope I’d clung to shattered, leaving me in an arctic wasteland of betrayal. The cold was so profound, it felt like it was freezing me from the inside out. I forced myself to stay calm, to listen. David, soothed by Amelia’s words, seemed to calm down. “Next time,” he said, his voice hard, “we need to be prepared. We have to make sure it’s a clean kill.” Amelia nodded eagerly, melting into his embrace, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “Darling, I have some wonderful news.” “I’m pregnant.” David’s eyes went wide. “What did you just say?” “I said,” she repeated, peppering his face with kisses, “you’re going to be a father!” “Really?” he asked again, his voice filled with disbelief. Amelia nodded, and he let out a whoop of joy, sweeping her up into his arms. “This is amazing! I’m going to be a dad!” His voice grew louder with excitement. Amelia quickly pressed a hand over his mouth. “Shh! Keep it down! The blind man is still lying in there. You’ll wake him up.” “So what?” David scoffed. “The doctor said he wouldn’t be conscious until tomorrow at the earliest.” But Amelia wasn’t convinced. She insisted on checking on me. After a few more stolen kisses, David reluctantly let her go, and they stepped back into the room from the balcony. I scrambled back into the bed, my movements silent thanks to my bare feet. A moment later, they were standing over me. “Leo? Leo?” David said, tapping my cheek. Beneath the blanket, my hand was clenched so tightly around the bedsheet my knuckles were white. It took every ounce of self-control not to leap up and smash their faces in. They both called my name a few more times. Convinced I was still unconscious, they straightened up. This time, they didn’t even bother with subtlety. They wrapped their arms around each other right there, next to my bed. “See? I told you not to worry,” David murmured. “Even if he wakes up, he can’t see anything.” A frown creased his forehead. “We can’t be careless. What if… what if he got his sight back?” I watched them through slightly slitted eyelids, a perfect picture of a loving couple, whispering their secrets over my supposedly insensate body. It all made sense now—why she had been pushing me away for months, always finding an excuse to avoid any intimacy. She was pregnant with another man’s child. The thought that I had been supporting these two vipers, that I had welcomed one of them into my home, made me want to slap myself. But now, I had the advantage. They were out in the open, and I was in the shadows. I would play their game. I would continue to be the helpless blind man. And I would watch them. I would wait. And then, I would make them pay. The lingering effects of the medication soon pulled me into a genuine, deep sleep. When I woke the next morning, the room was empty. “Amelia? Are you there?” I called out. The door swung open, and she rushed in, with David trailing behind her. “Darling! You’re awake! Oh, thank God, you scared me to death!” She collapsed into my arms, her face buried in my chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs. What an actress. It was a damn shame she wasn’t in Hollywood. David shot her an annoyed look, then waved his hand back and forth in front of my face. It was a daily ritual for him, a constant test to see if anything had changed. “It’s okay, don’t cry. I’m fine,” I said, pretending to grope for her, my hand finally finding her face after a few clumsy attempts. The skin under my fingers was completely dry. Her performance was flawless. After a few more minutes of her fake comfort, she told David to help me with a shower. He made a disgusted face and spat silently on the floor before reluctantly leading me to the bathroom. Once inside, he cranked the faucet to its hottest setting, aimed the showerhead at my chest, and turned it on. Scalding water hit my skin. I cried out in pain. He feigned panic. “Oh, sorry, Leo! I didn’t realize!” Amelia heard the commotion and knocked on the door. “What’s going on in there?” “He scalded me!” I called out first. “Where? Let me see! Come out here!” Her voice was thick with a worry that, just yesterday, would have seemed completely genuine. Now, it was just the hollow echo of a lie. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice tight. “We’ll be out in a minute.” I felt David’s grip on my arm tighten. He gave me a quick, rough rinse and practically threw my clothes back on me. The moment I was back on the bed, Amelia was there, lifting my shirt. “Let me see what happened.” She saw the angry red patch on my chest and shot a glare at David. “Does it hurt? It’s all red! David, what is wrong with you?” On the surface, she was scolding him for my sake. In reality, her eyes were locked on his, and she mouthed silently, What happened? He jerked his chin in my direction and then made a “zip it” gesture. It was clear David was still suspicious. Just then, the doctor came in for his rounds. Amelia explained what happened and asked him to take a look. After a brief examination, the doctor confirmed it was just a surface burn and said I was fine to go home. But Amelia wasn’t done. “Doctor, what about his eyes? Is there any change?” The doctor leaned in, shining a light into my eyes. “No, no change. Everything looks the same.” “So… when will he be able to see again?” “That’s impossible to say. But with modern medicine, you never know. I’m sure Mr. Hayes will regain his sight one day.” Thank God. My vision was still blurry enough that the physical signs of recovery weren’t yet visible. Otherwise, the game would have been up right then and there. The doctor’s words seemed to put them at ease. He left, and Amelia went to handle the discharge paperwork while David stayed behind to pack. He watched her walk down the hall, and a look of pure malice crossed his face. He clearly didn’t trust the doctor’s assessment, and his little shower experiment had failed. He wasn’t giving up. My heart pounded as he picked up a fruit knife from the bedside table and started walking towards me, his steps slow and deliberate. On the outside, I was perfectly still. Inside, I was screaming. The tip of the knife came closer, closer, until it was less than an inch from my eye. And then it stopped. Amelia was back. She saw the scene, and her face went rigid. She lunged forward, grabbing David’s wrist. “Are you crazy? Put it down!” she hissed, her eyes wide with panic. Reluctantly, David lowered the knife. “Amelia? Is that you?” I asked, my voice intentionally weak. She took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to sound calm. “Yes, darling, it’s me.” She then launched into a stream of concerned words, fussing over me as she finished packing our things. By the time we got home, it was late afternoon. I was exhausted, and I let David lead me straight to the bedroom. I slept until eight o’clock that night. My stomach was growling, but no one had come to wake me for dinner. I was about to call for Amelia when I heard the sound of laughter coming from the caregiver’s room next door. I slipped out of bed and crept to the door, which was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I saw Amelia propped up against the headboard. David, wearing my pajamas, had his head resting on her stomach. “He just kicked me,” he said, grinning. “You silly goose,” Amelia giggled. “I’m only three months along. You can’t feel anything yet.” Three months. My fists clenched. The timeline clicked into place. They’d been together for a while. I was now one hundred percent certain. I remembered my friends telling me when I first started dating Amelia that she already had a boyfriend. When I asked her about it, she swore they had broken up long ago. I never saw her with anyone else, and after I went blind, her devotion was so complete that I never doubted her. But it was all a lie. Whether David was that old boyfriend or a new one didn’t matter. They were trying to kill me for my money, and for that, there would be no forgiveness. If they wanted to play dirty, then I would show them no mercy. A plan began to form in my mind. I smirked, turned, and went back to the living room. I found a small box of thumbtacks and palmed a few. Then, I returned to their door. They were starting to get more intimate. I cleared my throat loudly. “Amelia? David? Are you in there?” I dragged my foot on the floor, making it sound like I was shuffling blindly, then pushed the door open. They both jumped, startled. David was so shocked he fell off the bed with a muffled thud, scrambling to stay quiet. He frantically motioned for Amelia to go out and deal with me. The pure panic on their faces was a beautiful sight. Amelia slid off the bed and tiptoed to the door. “David? Are you here?” I said, playing the part, waving my hand in the empty air. David finally let out a breath and forced his voice to sound steady. “Leo, yeah, I’m here. I was just taking a nap. What’s up?” As he spoke, I casually dropped the thumbtacks on the floor, just a few feet away from me. “Oh, I was just hungry. I called out a few times, but nobody answered, so I came to find you.” I stood my ground, waiting for him to come to me. Sure enough, he walked right into the trap. The thumbtacks pierced the sole of his foot, and he let out a sharp cry of pain, hopping on one leg. “David, what’s wrong?” I asked, fighting to keep the laughter out of my voice. Amelia came running, having already changed back into her own clothes. “Darling, what’s wrong? Why are you up?” She was talking to me, but her eyes were glued to David. If I hadn’t been standing there, she would have been all over him. I turned my head towards the sound of her voice. “Amelia, where were you?” She hesitated for a second. “I… I just popped out to buy you some new clothes.” A lie so lazy it was insulting. But I let it slide. “David, are you okay?” I asked with fake concern. He had managed to compose himself. “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just twisted my ankle.” “Is it serious? Maybe you should go to the hospital.” They exchanged a look. “Yes, David, you should get it checked out,” Amelia said, her voice laced with worry. “It looks like it’s already swelling.” She looked like she was desperate to tend to his wound herself. David didn’t argue. He limped towards the door, his eyes scanning my face the entire time he passed me. He was still suspicious. After he left, Amelia helped me back to my room. The moment we were inside, she pushed me onto the bed. She stripped off her clothes and leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “Darling, it’s been so long… We have the whole house to ourselves…” She hadn’t let me touch her in months. This sudden display of affection could only mean one thing. David had put her up to this. Another test. I remained perfectly still, then gently pushed her away. “I’m really hungry, Amelia. Could you make me some dumplings?” A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she got up and went to the kitchen. The night passed with a tense, false peace, the quiet before a storm. But this time, the storm was for them. I slept better than I had in years. The next morning, I was woken by a frantic pounding on the front door.

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1 At eighteen, my father’s gambling debts got me sold on a black market in a city of sin. I was bought by a trust-fund brat with a gambling addiction. When his chips ran out, he’d use one of us girls as collateral. But when someone pointed at me, he pulled me back. “Not this one. I’m keeping her.” His greasy hands gripped my chin as he dragged me toward a suite, tearing my dress. Just as I felt hell closing in, a cold voice cut through: “I’ll take her.” The kid turned to argue but froze at the gun against his forehead. “Two choices: leave her and your debt is cleared, or die.” Sweating, he released me and fled like a rat. My savior was Lian Lynn—owner of Elysium Club and the shadow empire behind it, the uncrowned king of this city. For ten years, I became his sharpest blade. By day, he trained me in combat and finance; by night, he was an insatiable presence in my bed, sometimes showing a flicker of tenderness. Until this morning. He watched me as the sun rose, his voice cold: “Next Monday, go to Elysium’s presidential suite. Drug George Williamson. Take care of him.” He continued, “I’m bringing Celeste. Once she sees what George is capable of, she’ll finally agree to our engagement.” My heart plummeted. Lian dressed with slow, deliberate movements, his immaculate suit erasing every trace of the previous night’s madness. It was a barrier, sealing away the fragile warmth we’d shared. He straightened his tie, his voice as cool and cruel as a winter morning. “Celeste can’t stand filth. She has a zero-tolerance policy for anything dirty.” “Only by seeing the man she loves debase himself will she give up on him completely and come back to me.” Celeste Bancroft. The sole heiress to the Bancroft fortune and the woman Lian had worshipped from afar for over a decade. The one he could never have. But Celeste only had eyes for Lian’s mortal enemy, George Williamson. Lian had made George’s life a living hell in the business world because of it. Once, when Celeste found out, she stormed into a Lynn family gala and slapped Lian across the face in front of everyone. He hadn’t gotten angry. He’d simply gone to the casino to drown his sorrows. That was the night he’d stumbled upon me, moments from being assaulted, and played the part of the hero. Over the years, he showered me with gifts. Any new designer dress or piece of jewelry Celeste was seen with, he would buy two—one for her, one for me. At a charity gala last year, some spoiled heir had dared to touch my chin. Lian broke the man’s arm on the spot and had him thrown out. His grandfather, the old patriarch, was furious and invoked the family’s harsh disciplinary code. Lian was whipped until his eyes were rimmed red, but he shielded me with his own body the entire time. “The next person who touches my woman,” he’d growled, “I’ll burn their entire family to the ground.” From that day on, everyone knew. Aria Stellan was the apple of Lian Lynn’s eye. Sometimes, his men would jokingly call me “Ma’am.” He’d hear them but never correct them, offering only a silent, sidelong glance. After a while, even I started to believe the illusion. That maybe I was different to him. That maybe, if things continued this way, one day… But in this single moment, the fantasy shattered. I was nothing more than a tainted tool, used to provoke the woman he truly loved. A sharp, cold pain seized my heart, jolting me back to reality. I took the small packet of powder he offered me, my face a mask of indifference. “Understood.” Lian’s hands paused on his cufflinks. He reached out to touch my hair. “If you really don’t want to do this, I can find someone else…” I subtly shifted away from his touch. “I can do it.” His hand hovered in the air for a moment. He studied my face, then gave a nonchalant nod. He picked up a comb and began to expertly smooth my long hair, his fingers occasionally brushing the nape of my neck with a familiar, electrifying touch. “Remember,” his voice was a low murmur, mingling with the soft rasp of the comb through my hair, “it’s all an act. Don’t let any other man actually take advantage of you.” When he was finished, he turned me by the shoulders to face him, his eyes meeting mine. His tone was like a king bestowing a gift. “When this is done, you can ask for anything you want.” I looked at his handsome face and managed a faint smile. “Alright. Thank you, Mentor.” I had called him Mentor since the day he took me in. After we became intimate, the title had slowly faded from my vocabulary. Saying it now felt like stepping back into a distant past. As I was about to leave, he called my name. “Aria.” I turned. His expression was unreadable. “Are you in love with someone? Is it Jax?” Jax was his most trusted personal aide. My heart sank. He didn’t wait for my answer. “That kid has been stealing glances at you lately. If you feel the same way, just tell me. Your mentor will prepare a generous dowry for you. I won’t let you be wronged.” Ten years of devotion, and this was the chasm that still lay between us. Worlds apart. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked down, forcing a smile. “Okay.” Perhaps it was guilt. The next day, Lian personally fastened a limited-edition diamond necklace, freshly delivered, around my neck. Then, he drove me to the airport to pick up Celeste, who was returning from her trip abroad early. Celeste emerged from the terminal looking utterly distraught and threw herself into Lian’s arms. “George won’t answer my calls! How could he do this to me?” Her eyes swept over me, landing on the necklace. Without a word, she reached out and violently yanked it from my neck. The sharp clasp slashed my skin. A hot sting followed, and beads of blood welled up on the surface. In the past, Lian would have lost his mind if anyone had so much as touched a hair on my head. Now, he merely glanced at my bleeding neck before wrapping an arm around Celeste, pulling her into a protective embrace. His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “You still have me, don’t you?” Celeste shoved him away. “You can’t help me! I want George!” Lian didn’t seem fazed by her rejection. He simply smiled. “Chasing a man requires brains, Celeste. Throwing yourself at him just makes you look cheap.” His gaze shifted to me. “George collects antique watches. Your eye for them is impeccable. Go to my vault, pick out a rare piece, and send it to him in Miss Bancroft’s name.” For the first time, Celeste actually looked at me, her eyes raking over my body with unconcealed scorn. “So this is the little mistress you keep?” She scoffed. “That necklace was released yesterday, and it’s on her neck today. You’re so generous, Lian.” Lian raised an eyebrow. “If you like it, it’s yours.” Celeste’s face twisted in disgust. She threw the necklace to the ground and ground the diamonds under her high heel. “It’s filthy. Who wants something she’s worn?” Lian just ruffled her hair. “She’s not a mistress. She’s just an employee. Someone to handle my dirty work.” He looked back at Celeste. “From now on, if you have any problems, feel free to use her however you see fit.” Hearing this, the very same men who used to call me “Ma’am” with a mix of fear and respect now looked at me with pity, and a flicker of contempt they didn’t bother to hide. I realized then that the illusion of his affection, the pedestal he had put me on, had just been shattered into a million irreparable pieces. … I arrived at George Williamson’s penthouse office with an priceless antique watch in hand. His bodyguards tried to stop me, but I put them on the floor in a matter of seconds. Unlike Lian’s domineering and aggressive aura, George was something else entirely. He looked more like a cool, refined scholar, with eyes that were sharp but serene. There was no trace of the bloodthirsty monster from the rumors. When he saw it was me, his features softened, and a hint of a smile touched his lips. “Well, well. Did Lian send you to cause trouble again, little bird?” I recited my lines mechanically. “Mr. Williamson, Miss Bancroft just returned from her trip…” I placed the gift box on his desk. “This is a token of her affection.” He put down his pen, rose from his chair, and walked to a safe in the corner of the room, retrieving a small velvet box. “Is that a return gift for Miss Bancroft?” I asked, reaching to take it. But instead, he opened it to reveal a string of lustrous, warm pearls. “For you.” He walked over and, without asking, fastened the necklace around my neck. His cool fingertips brushed against the cut on my skin. “There. That should cover it.” I froze for a second. After he returned to his desk, I steadied myself and got to the point. “Mr. Williamson, about the gala at Elysium next Monday… you will be attending, won’t you?” He looked up, his gaze deep and penetrating. “I will.” He paused, then added, “But I’d rather see you.” My heart leaped into my throat. I hastily lowered my head, muttered, “I’ll see myself out,” and fled his office. When I returned to Lian’s office, he stood up the moment I walked in. “What took you so long? He didn’t give you a hard time, did he?” His eyes fell to the pearl necklace around my neck, and his expression instantly turned to ice. “What is that?” I looked down. “Mr. Williamson gave it to me—” Before I could finish, Lian lunged forward and ripped the necklace from my neck. Pearls scattered across the floor, rolling in every direction. The wound on my skin stung anew. “Name his price. I’ll pay him back tenfold!” Lian’s voice was dangerously low. “My people don’t wear gifts from other men.” I stared at him, a profound confusion washing over me. Wasn’t this what he wanted? For me to get close to George, to seduce him? When I got back to the villa, all of my belongings had been removed from my bedroom and piled in a corner of the living room. Lian’s tone was flat. “Celeste is staying for a few days. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea seeing your things, so I had them packed for you.” He handed me a key card. “You can stay in the penthouse suite at the Elysium Hotel. It’s quiet there.” I took the card and silently began stuffing my scattered possessions into a suitcase. He stood behind me, watching for a while, before crouching down and wrapping his arms around me from behind. His warm breath ghosted over my ear, carrying a familiar, suggestive heat. My body went rigid. Without turning, I said softly, “Mentor, Miss Bancroft should be back soon.” He froze. After a long moment, he let me go and stood up. His voice returned to its usual calm, though it was laced with a barely perceptible thread of irritation. “George Williamson is a devious bastard. Remember, it’s just an act. Don’t let him actually touch you.” … The gala on Monday was a glittering affair, the air thick with champagne and whispers. I found George easily. When he saw me, the corner of his mouth curved into a smile that held more genuine warmth than the ones he gave to others. His eyes dropped to my bare neck. “Where’s the necklace?” I looked away. “I forgot to wear it…” He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the still-healing cut on my skin. The touch was cool, and I flinched involuntarily. The moment was perfect. I held out the doctored glass of wine. He took it, his eyes seeming to see right through me. “You really want me to drink this?” A tremor went through me. I suppressed my panic and nodded. He didn’t hesitate again. He tilted his head back and drained the glass. The drug worked fast. His eyes grew hazy, his skin flushed, and his breathing became heavy. He draped an arm around my shoulders, his voice a low rasp. “I’m feeling a little dizzy. Help me upstairs.” I did as I was told, guiding him through the sea of curious, suggestive gazes toward the presidential suite on the top floor. By the time I laid him on the bed, he was losing control, his breath coming in hot pants. I looked at his face, flushed with drug-induced desire, and suddenly felt lost. In that moment of hesitation, his eyes flew open. They were no longer hazy but churning with a terrifying intensity. He yanked me down onto the bed, trapping me in his scorching embrace. In that instant, I saw the ruthless predator the rumors had always described. I struggled instinctively, but he held me fast. “Aria…” His kiss crashed down on me, demanding and possessive, fiercer and more consuming than anything I had ever known with Lian. He felt like he was trying to devour me whole. But strangely, while his grip was iron-strong, his movements held a certain restraint, as if he were terrified of hurting me. This tenderness hidden within the storm of his passion was more unnerving than pure brutality. I thought of Lian’s command. Of Celeste’s disgusted glare. Of the fact that I was nothing more than a disposable tool. So be it. This would be my final payment for the ten years of shelter Lian had given me. After this, we would be even. My body, which had been coiled tight with tension, finally went limp. I closed my eyes, letting myself be swept away, sinking into the unfamiliar tide. Consciousness ebbed and flowed. I don’t know how much time passed before the storm subsided. The man beside me, seemingly still not fully lucid, gently kissed the corner of my eye with a rare, dependent vulnerability. And then— BANG! The suite door was kicked open from the outside.

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My dad always liked my sister better. I was the one who didn’t belong. So I married a man who lived a thousand miles away, and I never looked back. Yesterday, I got the call. He was dead. While cleaning out his belongings, I found his old phone. It only had one app on it: Maps. Not even a single social media icon. My sister walked in, snatched the phone from my hand, her eyes red-rimmed. “Candice, don’t. Just don’t look.” 1. At the funeral, I didn’t shed a single tear. My relatives stood around me, their shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. I just stood there, a complete outsider. My sister, Luna, came over, her eyes swollen and puffy from crying. She reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “Candice, please don’t be like this.” I stared at the black-and-white photo in the center of the hall. The man in the picture was smiling, but I could barely remember his face. “Be like what?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the quiet weeping, silencing the room. A few of my aunts exchanged glances, making tutting sounds. “Some people are just ungrateful.” “Her own father dies and she doesn’t even cry. Her heart must be made of stone.” “I know, right? She was always stubborn, not half as sweet as Luna.” I’d been hearing variations of those lines for over twenty years. I was used to it. My dad’s preference for Luna wasn’t a secret. It was a blatant, unapologetic favoritism. For my tenth birthday, I had my heart set on the most popular doll of the year. Instead, my dad came home with a giant Transformer. It was what Luna had been begging for. He pushed the giant toy into Luna’s arms, ruffling her hair. “Our little Luna is the best girl.” Then, he pulled a crumpled notebook from his pocket and tossed it to me. “You’re a girl. Stop thinking about useless toys and focus on your studies.” The cover of the notebook had a cheesy slogan printed on it: Study Hard and Get Ahead. That night, I tore the notebook to shreds and flushed the pieces down the toilet, one by one. I didn’t cry. I just knew, in that moment, that there was no room for me in this house. 2. After the funeral, it was time to sort through his things. My dad didn’t own much. His room contained a single, beat-up wardrobe. I folded his clothes, one by one, and packed them into cardboard boxes. Luna knelt beside me, silently polishing a picture frame. It was a photo of her and our dad at an amusement park. She was perched on his shoulders, smiling like a sunflower. I searched the entire house. There wasn’t a single photo of just him and me. In the one family portrait we owned, I was standing in the far corner, my expression stiff, looking like I’d been awkwardly photoshopped in. Luna looked up, her voice hoarse. “Candice… Dad left something for you. It’s in his desk.” I pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside was a small metal box, covered in a thin layer of dust. I opened it. It wasn’t filled with anything valuable. It was a stack of certificates. “Student of the Year, Luna.” “First Place, Art Competition, Luna.” “Star Dancer, Luna.” The box was overflowing with proof of my sister’s achievements. At the very bottom, my fingers brushed against a few loose papers. They were mine. My university acceptance letter and a couple of certificates for academic excellence. They were just shoved at the bottom, not even in a plastic sleeve. The corners were frayed. A bitter smile touched my lips. My heart felt like a block of ice. See? Even in his memories, Luna’s accomplishments were more important than mine. Seeing my expression, Luna quickly tried to explain. “No, Candice, that’s not it! Dad… he showed your acceptance letter to all our relatives. He was so, so proud.” “Was he?” I held the letter up to the light. “So proud that he buried it at the bottom of a box, without even bothering to frame it?” 3. Most of the relatives were still lingering. My aunt took Luna’s hand, sighing dramatically. “Oh, Luna, this family will depend on you now. You can’t count on your sister for anything.” “Your father was sick for years, and you were the one here, taking care of him. He didn’t waste his love on you.” My uncle chimed in. “Exactly. Her sister moves across the country, doesn’t visit for years at a time. So cold-hearted.” “The house, the savings… it should all go to you, by right.” They said all of this openly, right in front of me as I stood in the doorway. My father… was sick? I didn’t know. No one had told me. After I moved away, he never once called me. Whenever I called home, my mom would answer, rush through a few pleasantries, and then hang up, saying Dad was busy or had stepped out. So he was sick. They’d hidden it so well. Were they trying to protect me from worrying, or did they just decide the daughter who didn’t matter didn’t need to know? I guessed it was the latter. I let out a cold laugh and walked into the living room. “Are you all done?” The room fell silent. All eyes were on me. I looked at my uncle. “You don’t need to worry about my father’s affairs. And what he did or didn’t leave for me is none of your business.” My uncle’s face turned beet red. “What kind of attitude is that? We’re your elders!” “And being an elder gives you the right to gossip about other people’s private lives?” I stood my ground. “You… you ungrateful child! Your father’s body is barely cold, and you’re already trying to tear this family apart!” Luna rushed over and stood between me and our relatives. “Uncle, Auntie, please stop. My sister… she’s hurting, too.” Her defense felt more like a performance. A way of showing everyone that she was the true master of this house. I pushed her aside. “Whether I’m hurting or not is my business,” I said, my voice sharp and clear. “But you were right about one thing. He loved Luna the most. You certainly can’t count on me.” With that, I turned, walked back to my room, and locked the door. Outside, the relatives’ whispers grew louder, more brazen. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. That man spent his entire life showing me I wasn’t as good as Luna. And even in death, he was still using others to remind me of it. 4. I stayed in the old house to handle the arrangements. Luna tiptoed around me every day, wanting to talk but too afraid to start. She’d bring me food, and I’d eat it in silence. She’d pour me hot water, and I’d take it without a word. We were like two strangers living under the same roof, connected only by the man who was gone. One night, I couldn’t sleep. I walked out of my room and saw Luna sitting on the sofa in the dark living room. The only light was the glow from her phone, illuminating half of her face. She was crying. Silently. I stood there for a moment, about to retreat, when she saw me. “Candice.” She hastily wiped her tears and stood up. “Can’t sleep?” I asked, my tone flat. “No.” She looked down. “Candice, Dad… he really missed you.” That again. I was so tired of hearing it. “Did he? I never got that impression,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Luna flinched. She walked over slowly and held out her phone. “Look at this.” It was a video. The background was familiar—the riverfront park in the city where I lived. The camera was shaky, focused on the back of a young woman flying a kite. Her laughter, bright and clear, carried on the breeze. “What is this?” I asked, confused. “It’s a video one of your old college friends posted. She said she ran into you,” Luna said softly. “I forwarded it to Dad.” Then I heard his voice from the phone’s speaker, heavy with wheezing and a cough he couldn’t suppress. “Cough, cough… My girl… my Candice… she has such a beautiful laugh…” “Just like her mother…” My heart seized in my chest. The video was only fifteen seconds long. But he spoke as if he’d been watching it for a lifetime. “Dad’s phone had almost no memory,” Luna said. “He couldn’t save much, but he saved this one video. He watched it several times a day.” “He said that hearing your laugh made the pain in his body a little easier to bear.” 5. I snatched the phone from her, playing the video over and over. The man’s voice in the video was weak, frail. It was a world away from the booming, powerful voice I remembered—the voice of a man who could yell at me for half an hour without taking a breath. My hands started to shake. “When did he get sick?” “Three years ago. A heart condition. The doctor said it was an old problem, from overworking himself when he was young.” Three years ago. The year I got married. He didn’t come to my wedding. He just had someone deliver a card with a hundred-dollar bill inside. At the time, my husband’s family had mocked me, whispering about how my own father wouldn’t even show up for his daughter’s wedding. I was so angry I threw the money away and swore I would never have anything to do with him again. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice was trembling. “Dad wouldn’t let me.” Luna’s tears started falling again. “He said you lived so far away, you had your own life, and he didn’t want to be a burden.” “He said… he said the person he failed most in his life was you. He was too ashamed to face you, let alone ask you to come back and take care of him.” A burden? Ashamed? The words were so absurd I wanted to laugh. When had he ever felt sorry for me? Was it when he turned my bedroom into Luna’s piano room? Or was it when he gave the only spot at the good high school to Luna and told me I should go to a trade school instead? I stared at her, my eyes burning. “Do you really think saying all this now will make me forgive him? Don’t be so naive, Luna.” “You enjoyed his favoritism for twenty years. Now that he’s dead, you want me to remember his ‘good side’ so you can inherit everything with a clear conscience?” “No! That’s not it, Candice! I didn’t!” Luna was stung by my words, grabbing my arm frantically. “Then tell me why!” I shook her hand off. “Why did he do all of it?” Luna’s lips trembled, but no words came out. She just shook her head, tears streaming down her face. Seeing her like that only made me angrier. It was always like this. Whenever we argued, she used her tears as a weapon, making it seem like she was the one who was deeply wronged. 6. The next day, the lawyer arrived. He was an old friend of my dad’s, a man named Mr. Harris. He saw me and sighed. “Candice. You’re finally back.” I said nothing. My aunt and uncle, having heard the news, had also shown up. They sat on the sofa, looking smug and expectant. Mr. Harris pulled a document from his briefcase. “This is your father’s last will and testament.” Everyone in the room held their breath. My uncle cleared his throat, putting on a show of magnanimity. “My brother had a hard life. Whatever he decided, we’ll respect it. But Luna was always the most devoted daughter. It’s only right that he left a little more for her.” My aunt nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Candice was never around. She didn’t contribute anything.” I watched their performance with cold eyes. Luna sat next to me, wringing her hands, her palms sweating with nerves. Mr. Harris adjusted his glasses and began to read. “The contents of the will are quite straightforward.” “The house under Mr. Davis’s name, as well as all savings in his accounts, are to be left to…”

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Five years after my death, the Port City police finally dug up my bones. Inside my mouth, they found a custom-made microchip and a miniature transmitter. Everyone on the force knew what that meant. It meant that five years ago, I wasn’t the shame of the PCPD, and I certainly wasn’t a traitor. It meant that even while being tortured beyond human endurance, I never stopped trying to transmit intelligence on the drug cartel. My wife became a wreck, my brother swore vengeance on my killer, and the rage from it all landed my mentor in the ICU. But me? Floating as a soul in the air, I could only laugh. The killer? Wasn’t it the man standing right beside my wife? Her childhood friend, Jakie Kinnear? 1 Five years ago, I was silenced by a conspiracy between Jakie and the drug traffickers. He used my ID to hack into the system and leak the entire list of undercover officers, leading to the brutal retaliation and murder of over a hundred of our own. When my wife, Cathy, led the SWAT team to bust down the door, they found him covered in blood, sobbing. He told them I had sold out my colleagues for profit and had even tried to kill him to cover my tracks. He claimed that if backup hadn’t arrived when it did, forcing me to flee, he would have been killed on the spot. The staged crime scene, the internal system logs showing my access credentials, and a massive wire transfer that appeared in my mother’s medical account—it all corroborated the story Jakie spun. My betrayal was a fact. My wife’s love for me curdled into a bottomless hatred. My mentor publicly disowned me. My own brother, who once idolized me, took out a newspaper ad to sever all ties. Abandoned by everyone I loved, I became the ultimate disgrace of the Port City Police Department. Until five years later, when they finally busted a major drug ring. While searching the dog kennel the traffickers used to hide their product, they unearthed the skeletal remains of a man, buried for five years. They unearthed me. They were about to pack up when a K-9 suddenly started barking furiously at an old oak tree in the corner of the yard. I floated in the air, watching the German Shepherd tear at the ground, dirt flying. The officer in charge was my brother, Mark. The last time I saw him, he was just a rookie with a hot head. Now, he was leading his own team. Seeing the dog’s frantic behavior, Mark frowned and raised a hand. “Dig.” Several officers immediately grabbed shovels and surrounded the spot. The first shovelful turned up nothing but dark soil and tangled roots. They dug deeper and deeper, but still, there was nothing. Just as they were about to give up, a shovel struck something hard with a dull thud. “Got something!” They cleared the dirt away, layer by layer. But instead of the drugs they expected, they found a skeleton, curled into a fetal position, with horrifying scraps of tissue still clinging to it. Mark knelt, his brow furrowed so tightly it looked painful. “Get the M.E. and forensics down here,” he ordered, his eyes never leaving the remains. He didn’t recognize me. He couldn’t see that this grotesque collection of bones was the brother he once worshipped. I suppose it made sense. Five years underground is more than enough time for insects and decay to strip away familiar flesh, leaving only this. Mark pulled on a pair of gloves and gently brushed his fingers over the crisscrossing knife marks and canine bite marks etched into the bone. The medical examiner arrived quickly. He knelt and examined the skeleton, his voice calm and clinical. “Time of death is estimated at five to six years ago. Multiple sharp-force injuries and canine bite marks are present. The victim suffered prolonged torture before death.” He pointed to the deep cuts on the larger bones. “The wounds are numerous and widespread, suggesting a retaliatory motive.” “Retaliatory?” a young officer nearby murmured. “Five to six years ago… in a drug lord’s kennel… You don’t think this is connected to that botched operation, do you?” “When the undercover list was leaked, a lot of our guys were targeted. Many of them just disappeared. This could be one of them,” another officer added, before spitting on the ground. “All because of that traitor, Alex Chen. Sold out his own for money, got so many good cops killed. He’s the goddamn shame of the PCPD.” Alex Chen. The shame of the PCPD. Mark’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. “Shut up!” an older officer who had been there five years ago snapped, elbowing the younger cop. He then forced a strained smile. “Mark, the kid’s new, doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Don’t take it to heart.” But Mark just let out a cold, bitter laugh, his eyes sharp. “He’s not wrong. Traitors to the badge deserve to be nailed to a cross.” He stood up, his voice like ice. “And one day, I’ll be the one to drag that bastard Alex Chen back here myself.” I hovered in place, my soul feeling like it was being torn in two. The traitor they were talking about… the one who sold out his friends, his badge, his soul… was me? My thoughts spiraled into chaos. How could this be? I died protecting that evidence. How could I possibly be a traitor? Just then, the M.E. leaned in closer, noticing something odd. “Strange. The jaw is clenched shut. It looks like there’s something in his mouth.” Every head snapped in his direction. The M.E., wearing latex gloves, carefully tried to pry open the mandible. But after five years, the bone was fused tight. “It’s locked too tight. Forcing it here could cause damage,” he said grimly. “We’ll have to take it back to the lab for a full examination to see what’s inside.” I was still drowning in confusion, the weight of the injustice and rage a poison dissolving my very essence. Just as the overwhelming emotions threatened to extinguish me completely, an irresistible force pulled me away. When I came to my senses, I was floating down the brightly lit hallway of the city precinct, trailing helplessly behind a tall, sharp figure. It was my wife, Cathy. She wore a crisp uniform, the insignia on her shoulder indicating she was now a Captain. Five years had stripped away the last traces of her youth, leaving behind a sharper, more defined silhouette. But a permanent weariness clung to her like a shadow, a gloom that sunlight could never seem to pierce. “Captain,” the M.E.’s voice cut through my haze. “We have the preliminary results. TOD is five years. Multiple sharp-force injuries and animal bite marks. We can confidently say it was a torture-murder, retaliatory in nature.” “DNA is still being processed. But if the victim turns out to be one of ours…” The M.E. paused, his voice dropping low. “Then there’s a high probability he was a victim of that failed sting operation five years ago.” Cathy’s hand, hanging by her side, curled into a fist so tight her nails dug into her palm. Her jaw clenched, suppressing a wave of emotion. “Cathy?” A gentle male voice interrupted. Jakie Kinnear, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, walked up and slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. She didn’t flinch or even look at him, as if the touch was a well-worn habit. My heart sank like a stone. Jakie nodded at the M.E., then turned to Cathy, his voice soft. “Don’t overthink it. You’ve been working around the clock to take down this crew. You need to go home and rest.” He paused, his tone becoming more intimate. “Besides, Lily misses you. You can’t leave her with the Captain forever. A girl needs her mother.” After a moment of silence, Cathy finally nodded. Watching her, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. A horrifying suspicion exploded in my mind. My soul followed them back to the home that was once so familiar to me. The door had barely opened when a little girl with pigtails came bouncing towards them, shouting cheerfully, “Daddy! Mommy!” The icy mask on Cathy’s face melted instantly. She swooped down and lifted the girl into her arms, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Was Lily a good girl at school today?” Jakie followed, smiling as he pinched the girl’s cheek. “Good? Her teacher said she was stealing blocks from the other kids again. She’s a little rascal, not a proper young lady at all.” Just then, our old mentor, Captain Chen, emerged from the kitchen carrying a pot of soup. “Perfect timing. Wash up, dinner’s ready.” He wiped his hands and picked up his phone. “I’d better call Mark. That kid’s probably trying to live on instant noodles again.” The call connected. “Get over here and eat!” the Captain barked into the phone. “Alright, alright, I know you. Hold on, I’ll have Jakie bring some over.” Mark’s voice came through the speaker, laced with a smile. “Thanks, Captain! You’re the best! Tell Jakie I said thanks, too!” “You little punk,” the Captain chuckled, hanging up. He turned to Jakie as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Jakie, would you mind running this over to Mark? Once he gets buried in a case file, he forgets to eat.” “Of course,” Jakie said, taking the insulated container. “Happy to.” The exchange was so seamless, so routine, as if it had happened a thousand times before. I floated in the air, numbly watching the perfect picture of domestic harmony below. The man who orchestrated my murder had taken my place, enjoying the affection and the titles that were once mine. And my wife, my brother, my mentor… they had all accepted it. A searing pain ripped through the core of my soul, a pain so intense it felt like my consciousness was being ground to dust. Captain Chen was still talking to Mark on the phone, his voice filled with concern. “Solving cases is important, but your health comes first. You can’t be like Alex…” My name. It fell into the room like a shard of ice, shattering the warmth. All conversation stopped. In the suffocating silence, the little girl blinked her big eyes. “Mommy, who’s Alex? Why did everyone stop talking?” Cathy’s arms tightened around the child, her face draining of all color. Jakie’s smile froze on his lips. Sensing the shift, the girl fell silent. The Captain cleared his throat, a flicker of regret in his eyes. “Look at me, getting old and senile. No reason to bring him up… my fault, my fault.” Mark’s voice, deliberately light, piped in from the phone. “That’s right, Captain! You’re getting old. Eat more, talk less!” Jakie forced a pained smile. “Captain, Mark, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that.” “Before… everything happened, Alex was a good cop. He did a lot of good. It’s natural that it’s hard for everyone to accept. I understand…” Clang! Cathy slammed her spoon back into her bowl. The sharp sound of ceramic hitting ceramic echoed in the silent room. Her face was a dark storm cloud, her voice dripping with undisguised disgust. “Enough! Don’t say that name. It dirties your mouth.” The fragile peace shattered again. A flicker of triumph, almost imperceptible, crossed Jakie’s face, but he continued to play the peacemaker. “Cathy, don’t be like that. The Captain and Mark are here, and besides…” “She’s right!” Mark’s voice cut through the phone, sharp as a razor. “After what he did, I stopped considering him my brother. As far as I’m concerned, Jakie, you’re the only brother I have.” The Captain’s face hardened, his tone unyielding. “To sell out your brothers in arms for money… he is a permanent stain on this department’s history!” “If I had known, I never would have taken him on as my student! I wish I had never met him!” I floated, and I listened. Every word was a white-hot poker, twisting and stabbing at a soul that no longer had flesh. The pain was a thousand times worse than any torture Jakie and the traffickers had inflicted upon my body. My revered mentor, my own flesh and blood, the woman who was my entire world… Their words hurt more than anything. After this united front of condemnation, the suffocating tension finally broke. The air in the room seemed to warm again, filled with the camaraderie of a shared enemy. The Captain went back to lecturing Mark about eating properly. Jakie smiled and got ready to leave with the food. Cathy’s icy expression softened as she picked up her spoon again. Lily, sensing the storm had passed, started humming softly to herself. They sat together under the warm lights, the aroma of food filling the air, a perfect, happy family. And I, Alex Chen, had been erased by the people I loved most. Replaced. Forgotten. Like a ghost who had never existed at all. … I first met Cathy seven years ago. She wasn’t a Captain then, just a fiery young detective working a stolen goods case. I was a cybersecurity specialist, a white-hat hacker on loan to her unit. The case was at a standstill. All conventional methods had failed. In a briefing, I proposed a radical plan: use hacking techniques to trace their online sales network from the inside out. But it required someone to go undercover to an offline meeting point. Everyone thought I was insane. The risks were too high, the chance of success too low. Only Cathy. Her eyes lit up. She stood without hesitation, her voice clear and firm. “I think it’ll work. I’ll go undercover. What do you need me to do?” The fire in her eyes that day burned itself into my heart. The operation was a success, and our relationship blossomed with every case we worked side-by-side. She remembered I only drank sugar-free cola when I was coding, that I needed a cup of extra-strong coffee to function after an all-nighter. Everyone said I was the luckiest man alive to have found a wife so capable and caring. I thought so too. We got married. We were happy. I thought we would walk this path together until we were old and gray. Then Jakie showed up. He was Cathy’s childhood friend, the boy next door. He returned from overseas with a fancy title—Network Security Expert—and was assigned as her partner. At first, for Cathy’s sake, I tried to be friendly. But then, Jakie would call, complaining he was lonely or stressed, and she would drop everything—including the dinner we were in the middle of making—to go drinking with him. Jakie would claim an old injury was acting up, and she would leave me sitting alone in a restaurant full of our relatives to drive him to the hospital. The final straw was our anniversary trip, a vacation we had planned for months. One call from Jakie, a simple, “Cathy, I’m feeling down,” was all it took for her to cancel our flights. As I stood there, abandoned again, I finally realized the painful truth: whenever Jakie was around, I would never be Cathy’s priority. Her warmth, her focus—it was never exclusively mine. The resentment and anger I’d suppressed for so long finally erupted, and we started fighting constantly. Every time, she would look at me with that same exhausted, uncomprehending expression. “Alex, you weren’t always this petty.” “Jakie’s new here, he’s having a hard time adjusting. What’s wrong with me helping him?” “I spend my days chasing leads, my nerves are shot. It’s not like your job, sitting comfortably in front of a computer! I don’t come home to listen to this nonsense!” “If there was something between us, it would have happened long before you! Can’t you just be rational for once and stop imagining things?” Her words were like needles of ice, piercing the softest parts of my heart. Not fatal, but a constant, dull ache. I was so tired. During our last fight, I looked her in the eye and said, for the first time, “Cathy, let’s separate.” I never expected the backlash. Our colleagues said I was being paranoid, stressed out from work. My mentor slammed his fist on the table and called me a fool for throwing away a woman like Cathy. My brother called, confused. “Bro, you’ll never find another woman like her. Stop being stubborn!” Even Cathy grabbed my hand, her eyes red, her voice trembling. “Alex, what do you want from me? Please, don’t say that. Anything but that.” I felt trapped, surrounded by a chorus of pleas and accusations. Just as I was about to suffocate from the isolation, Jakie approached me. He wore a perfect, apologetic smile. He offered to join my ongoing investigation into the dark web drug cartel as a “technical consultant.” He swore to me, his tone almost pleading, “Alex, I know you have the wrong idea about me. After this operation is over, after we help you take this organization down, I’ll request a transfer. I’ll disappear from your lives forever, I promise.” I almost laughed in his face. I had already discovered he was far less competent than his reputation suggested. I turned him down flat. But somehow, he always knew our next move. Every time we were close to a breakthrough, he would conveniently appear, disrupting our progress with some seemingly plausible excuse—an “urgent” piece of intel that turned out to be useless, or a supposed “security breach” that required us to halt operations. The investigation dragged on. The pressure from our superiors mounted. I was backed into a corner. For the sake of finally bringing down that poison-peddling cartel, I gritted my teeth, swallowed my pride, and agreed to let him join the team. I thought I was trading a compromise for the greater good. Instead, I traded it for a one-way ticket to hell.

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The calls had become a maddening ritual, each one ending with the same hollow promise from the studio. After loaning them Sunshine for what was supposed to be a career-making role for Hollywood’s golden boy, Julian Croft, the line had gone cold. Filming had wrapped months ago. The movie was already in theaters. And my dog was still gone. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vance,” the production assistant would chirp, her voice dripping with insincere sympathy. “He’s just not available to be returned yet.” A knot of dread had been tightening in my stomach for weeks, a cold serpent coiling around my heart. But I’d trusted Julian Croft. I had to. His on-screen vulnerability, the raw emotion he could summon in his piercing blue eyes—it felt too real to be faked. So, I pushed the fear down and bought a ticket for opening night, my hands trembling as I found my seat in the dark. The film, titled A Dog Named Sunny, was designed to be an Oscar magnet. It told the story of a man, played by Julian, whose profound loneliness is thawed by the unconditional love of a Golden Retriever. My Sunshine. The first half was a balm to my anxious soul. There he was, my beautiful boy, his coat gleaming like spun gold under the studio lights. He looked healthy, happy, his tail a constant, joyful metronome. In scene after scene, he’d nudge his head into Julian’s hand, lick away his performative tears, and slowly, patiently, draw a smile onto the actor’s famously stoic face. He’s okay, I told myself, a wave of relief washing over me. They took good care of him. Then, the camera cut. Sunshine was sitting patiently at a crosswalk, the picture of a good boy waiting for the light to change. Green. He sprang forward, his tail wagging furiously, a happy gallop carrying him across the street toward a school. He was going to meet his master. The entire audience held its breath, ready for the heartwarming reunion. A semi-truck blared into the frame without warning. The massive grille, a chrome monster, swallowed the screen. For one horrifying, suspended moment, the joyful, golden blur of my dog was eclipsed by its shadow. The squeal of tires was deafening. Sunshine’s small body was thrown into the air, a terrible, graceful arc against the mundane backdrop of the street, before it crashed back to the pavement with a sickening finality. Dark, crimson blood began to seep from his beautiful fur, staining the asphalt. He let out a soft whimper, a sound so full of confusion and pain that it stole the air from my lungs. My mind went completely blank. CGI, I thought, a frantic prayer. It has to be CGI. But it was too real. The way the light faded from his eyes. The way the blood pooled, so dark and thick. I could see the bewilderment in his gentle face, the hurt, the unasked question. His tail, which had never stopped wagging in his entire life, gave one last, weak thump against the ground and then was still. He was gone. Beside me, a young woman whispered to her friend, her voice filled with awe. “Oh my god, Julian’s performance is just… shattering. That look on his face when he sees the dog? He’s winning the Oscar for this. Guaranteed.” “The raw anguish,” her friend agreed. “He’s a genius. I just want to hug him.” No one cried for the dog. They only saw the art in the man’s grief. My blood ran cold. My phone slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering to the sticky floor. To win an award… did Julian Croft kill my dog? For a golden statue? 2 “I want to see Sunshine. Right now. Now.” I stumbled out of the theater, the movie’s cheerful credits music a cruel joke. My hands shook so violently I could barely dial the number for Julian’s agent, a man whose smarmy voice I’d come to despise. A sliver of hope, fragile as glass, remained. It could be a trick of the camera. Hollywood magic. Please, let it be magic. Let my boy be waiting for me, safe and sound. The agent’s voice crackled through the phone, thick with annoyance. “Ms. Vance, I’ve told you repeatedly. The dog is with Mr. Croft, shooting some behind-the-scenes content for the Blu-ray release. We can’t return him yet.” He hadn’t even listened to the terror in my voice. “I just want to see him,” I said, my voice cold and sharp. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?” A derisive snort. “He’s at Julian’s private residence. You can’t just show up.” Seeing my silence as an opening, his tone softened into a patronizing coo. “Look, I can send you a video. He’s doing great. Tearing the place apart, the little monster. Okay, Ms. Vance?” My breath hitched. The lie was so blatant, so careless, it was like a slap in the face. “Sunshine,” I said, my voice trembling, “has never torn anything apart in his life. He’s the gentlest dog I’ve ever known.” Silence on his end. I pressed my advantage, the adrenaline turning my fear into steel. “I don’t want a pre-recorded video. I want a live video call. Now. You can find a blank wall somewhere in the house that doesn’t compromise Mr. Croft’s precious privacy.” I had cut off his every excuse before he could make it. The silence stretched, heavy and damning. “Ms. Vance,” he finally said, his voice dropping the facade and turning to ice, “don’t push your luck.” The line went dead. My heart plummeted into a black, empty space. The sheer arrogance of it—the idea that a video was a gift, a favor, and that asking for proof of life was ‘pushing my luck’—it made me physically sick. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I caught my reflection in a store window. My face was a ghostly white mask. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it. The truck. The blood. My boy. My Sunshine. They would not get away with this. If they refused to communicate, I would find another way. I would make them listen. That night, I went online. Leveraging the buzz from the movie’s premiere, I wrote a post that would rocket to the top of Twitter’s trending topics. 3 #JusticeForSunshine #JulianCroftDogAbuse #LetMeSeeMyDog As an ordinary person going up against a Hollywood machine, my only weapon was public opinion. I laid it all out in a long, detailed thread: the story of the loan, the endless excuses, the refusal to allow a single visit or even a live video call. I asked the questions they refused to answer. Why was I barred from visiting for over a year of filming? Why was a simple video call an impossible request? Why, after the movie was released, did my dog still need to be with the actor for “extra content”? And the final, terrible question: Was the death scene in A Dog Named Sunny an effect, or was it real? My only demand was simple and clear: let me see my dog, either in person or on a live call. If Sunshine was alive and well, I would issue a public apology and pay for any and all damages to the production. The post exploded. The velocity was unnatural; an army of bots and trolls descended almost immediately, their comments dripping with venom. It was clearly a counter-move by Julian’s team, but it was too aggressive. Their heavy-handedness sparked a backlash from genuine users. 【Give me a break. The moment Julian gets Oscar buzz, the haters crawl out of the woodwork.】 【This is ridiculous. Julian Croft rescues strays. He’d never hurt a dog for a movie!】 【Lady, have you heard of CGI? They can create entire worlds from scratch. You think they can’t fake a car accident? You have zero proof, just a conspiracy theory.】 My phone rang, shrill and demanding. It was the agent. “Eliza Vance, do you have any idea what you’ve just done?!” he screamed, his voice raw with fury. I spoke calmly, my voice a stark contrast to his rage. “Get Sunshine back to me, safe and sound. I’ll apologize to the entire world and pay for every penny of your ‘damages’.” He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “You? Pay for our damages? Do you have any idea how much that would be? You couldn’t afford it if you sold your organs.” He took a breath, his tone shifting to one of magnanimous command, as if offering a royal pardon. “Julian is willing to be generous. Delete the posts, admit this was all a misunderstanding, and he won’t press charges.” Press charges? Against me? The audacity was breathtaking. “You seem to have things backward,” I said slowly. “I’m the one making the accusation. The burden of proof is on you to refute it. I’m waiting for your statement to make me look like a fool.” He didn’t know that, in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be proven wrong. I would have gladly accepted global humiliation to have Sunshine back, alive and wagging his tail. The agent’s voice turned into a low snarl. “You’re just some nobody. Who do you think you are, challenging Julian Croft?” he threatened. “Get ready to be sued into oblivion, Eliza.” Thirty minutes after he hung up, Julian Croft’s official studio account released a statement. And a cease and desist letter from his high-powered legal team landed in my inbox. 4 【First, for everyone concerned, here is a brand-new video of Sunny, happy and healthy!】 The statement opened with a video. In it, a golden retriever panted happily, tail wagging, wrestling with a large chew bone. But my blood ran cold. I recognized it. They had sent me this exact video a year ago. This was my proof. 【During production, while set access was restricted to protect creative integrity, we maintained regular contact with Ms. Vance, providing frequent video updates of Sunny’s well-being.】 They attached screenshots of our past conversations, carefully curated to make them look accommodating and me seem needy. Then came the condescending jab: they could afford the best special effects artists in the business. The implication was clear: I was just an ignorant woman who didn’t understand how movies were made. The final blow was the link to the legal notice. They were suing me for defamation. The comments section became a victory party for his fans. 【OWNED! This is what you get for messing with a class act like Julian.】 【Waiting for the apology tour, lady. Better start a GoFundMe for those legal fees.】 【Honestly, Julian’s team has been more than patient. This woman is a professional victim. Probably some psycho fan trying to get his attention.】 I scanned the legal document. Defamation, not libel. It was a subtle but important distinction. They weren’t accusing me of lying, which would require them to prove the truth. They were accusing me of damaging his reputation. Was it a strategic choice to avoid a court battle they knew they couldn’t win? Then, a line at the end of their public statement caught my eye, and my stomach twisted into a knot of confusion and hope. 【We will be arranging a formal reunion for Ms. Vance and Sunny in the coming days. The event will be live-streamed to ensure full transparency.】 My head spun. Was I wrong? Had this all been a terrible, paranoid delusion? They wouldn’t dare promise a live-streamed reunion if they didn’t have the dog. They couldn’t be that stupid. Could they? The tide of public opinion had turned completely against me. My social media was a toxic wasteland of insults and threats. 【LMAO, you tried to cancel Julian and got your ass handed to you. Pathetic.】 【When are you apologizing, you clout-chasing witch? We’re not going anywhere.】 【Hope you saved up enough to pay Julian. Maybe you can start an OnlyFans.】 The sheer volume of hate was suffocating. I pushed back from my laptop and looked around my silent apartment. On the rug lay a half-chewed wooden dowel, Sunshine’s favorite. He would always bring it to me, tail helicoptering, his eyes begging for a game of fetch. His little bed in the corner, with its worn-out fleece blanket, still held the faint, comforting scent of him. A few golden hairs clung to the fabric, the last physical proof that he was ever here. I picked them up, closing my fist around them. If they really returned him to me, I would take it all. The public humiliation, the apology, the crushing debt. I would endure anything. All that mattered was getting him back. 5 The “reunion ceremony” was a full-blown media circus, staged in the atrium of a glittering downtown shopping mall. The space was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with press, fans, and curious onlookers. The online live-stream viewership was already in the millions. 【Can’t wait to see this psycho get what she deserves.】 【Not gonna lie, she’s kind of pretty. Maybe this was all a stunt to get famous.】 【Dude, have some standards.】 Julian Croft himself, no longer hiding behind his agent, approached me. He was perfectly coiffed, his expression a masterclass in concerned sincerity. He leaned in, his voice a low, apologetic murmur for the cameras. “Ms. Vance, Eliza. I am so deeply sorry. Sunny is such a professional, a true artist on four legs. We just wanted to give him the spotlight he deserved with some extra features. I never imagined it would cause you this much distress.” The crowd swooned. 【OMG, he’s such a gentleman! How could anyone accuse him of something so horrible?】 【Apologize! You owe him an apology right now!】 I took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of perfume and flashbulb ozone. “If this is all a misunderstanding,” I said, my voice steady, “then I will apologize to you and your entire crew.” Julian flashed a devastatingly handsome smile, the one that sold millions of tickets. He clapped his hands lightly. On cue, a golden retriever bounded onto the stage, barking joyfully. It ran straight to me, circling my legs, then jumping up to plant its paws on my chest. 【See? It’s her dog! She knows him! I knew Julian would never do something like that.】 【What a colossal waste of everyone’s time. Now she has to eat her words on live television. This is gonna be good.】 I wrapped my arms around the dog, burying my face in its fur, tears of overwhelming relief streaming down my cheeks. And then I froze. Every muscle in my body went rigid. The wave of joy receded as quickly as it had come, replaced by an icy, horrifying certainty. A cold so profound it felt like death itself. This was not my dog.

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The moment the boy tried to poison me with a snack, a cascade of text exploded into my vision, floating in the air like a ghostly live-stream chat. 【Thank God the Male Lead was reborn. Once this cannon fodder side character dies, our darling White Moonlight can finally be adopted by her wealthy parents. She’ll never have to suffer from depression and commit suicide.】 【Poor Asher. In the last timeline, this side character fell for him at first sight and became obsessed. She tried to buy his love, but he never gave her a second glance. Good thing he eventually destroyed her family and got his revenge.】 【Even after being adopted, our White Moonlight had it rough. Her rich parents hated that Asher was an uneducated dropout and tried to break them up. Luckily, Asher was smart enough to arrange a few… accidents. He used the inheritance to start his empire. He’s not a book-smart type, but his potential is limitless.】 I looked from the floating text to the boy’s fake, smiling face, and without a moment’s hesitation, I pressed the emergency button on my watch. 1. A piercing alarm blared through the amusement park. Panic flooded Asher’s face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the ice cream cone in his hand trembled, nearly falling to the ground. I took a few deliberate steps back. In the next second, my bodyguards closed in, forming a tight circle around Asher. “Miss Vivian, is something wrong?” Asher’s face was ashen, but he forced a calm expression. “Ma’am, it’s nothing. I was just selling ice cream.” The text feed in front of my eyes scrolled furiously. 【Smart move by the Male Lead. He knows the Female Lead is deathly allergic to grapes, so he made this ice cream with pure grape juice. Even if he gets caught, there’s no evidence.】 【Why are you worried? Who’s going to suspect a six-year-old? And even if there was proof, he’s a minor. Ever heard of juvenile immunity?】 【Why isn’t this side character following the script? This is so annoying. Wasting page space on her. When do we get to see the Male Lead and Female Lead together?】 【Aren’t there kidnappers known to operate near this park? Someone should just grab her already and get her out of the way.】 My nanny, however, didn’t spare Asher a single glance. She stood by my side, waiting for my command. I scanned the area, my eyes moving past the stream of text, and landed on a nondescript van parked in a shadowed corner. I raised a small hand and pointed. “I heard those people in the van,” I said, my voice a childish lisp. “They told this boy to use the ice cream to make me go with them. But I don’t want to go. If I go with them, I won’t see my mommy and daddy anymore.” The feed instantly erupted with vitriol. 【F***, what is this little bitch trying to pull? The Male Lead never said anything about kidnapping!】 【No wonder the plot kills her off. Lying and scheming at such a young age. She deserves to die.】 Asher immediately put on a wounded expression. “Little sister, how can you say that? Don’t you like this flavor? I can give you a different one.” 【Ahhhh, he’s so handsome, even when he’s pretending. In the last timeline, she fell for him instantly. His looks will probably win her over this time, too.】 I ignored Asher completely and turned to my nanny. Her brow furrowed. She immediately dialed my father’s number. Seeing things were going south, Asher tried to bolt, but one of the bodyguards grabbed him, holding him firmly in place. A few minutes later, a Bentley silently pulled up to the curb. I ran, sniffling, and threw myself into my father’s arms. He picked me up, murmuring words of comfort, as a team of his employees and several police officers exited the cars behind him. They moved with swift, professional efficiency. The kidnappers from the van and Asher were taken into custody together. My father’s team was fast; it didn’t take them long to determine that Asher had no connection to the professional kidnappers. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like an innocent bystander swept up in the mess. Of course, I knew that. But he had still tried to kill me, and I had no intention of letting him go. I tilted my head, feigning confusion. “But… I heard him say he knew I was allergic to grapes. He said he made the ice cream just for me, with grape juice. He was going to take me away when I couldn’t breathe…” My father looked down at me, his voice gentle. “Vivian, are you telling me the truth?” I nodded, my eyes wide. “Yes. Being allergic is scary. It makes it hard to breathe, and everything gets itchy. I don’t want to be itchy.” My father’s face turned to stone. He gave a sharp nod to his head of security. Moments later, the report came back. The entire cooler of ice cream Asher was carrying was made from 100% concentrated grape juice. With the evidence irrefutable, the police took Asher and the kidnappers away. My father took me home. My mother was beside herself with worry and made all my favorite foods to soothe me. That night, she sat by my bed, reading me a story. As I drifted off to sleep, the ghostly text appeared again. 【This little monster is sleeping peacefully while our Male Lead is locked in solitary at the group home.】 【He’ll be fine. He’s the hero, he’ll prove his innocence. But if it wasn’t for this girl, he would have been the one being welcomed by a rich family today.】 【Don’t worry. The plot dictates that if she escapes death once, she won’t escape it a second time. She’s on a deadline. Ooh, look, the Female Lead is sneaking him food. Two little broken souls comforting each other. I ship it.】 【Exactly. The wheel of fortune turns. The Lancaster family’s wealth will belong to the Male Lead eventually. They’ll regret what they did today when he has them begging for mercy.】 I was too tired to care about their fantasies. I rolled over and fell asleep to the soft sound of my mother’s voice. 2. I was woken by the chatter of the feed. I climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. My parents had already left for the group home to finalize the adoption of my father’s old army buddy’s daughter. A few weeks ago, his friend had been targeted in a corporate reprisal. His entire family was killed in an explosion, except for his young daughter, who had been at school. My parents, with my blessing, had decided to take her in. 【Is Vivian dead yet?】 A new wave of identical messages floated past my eyes. Ever since my “close call,” this had become their daily ritual, a morbid check-in on my mortality. I ignored them, finished my breakfast, and put on a pretty dress. I went downstairs to wait by the door for my parents to arrive with my new sister. Before long, I heard a car pull into the driveway. My parents walked in, holding the hand of a small, delicate-looking girl. “Vivian, this is Luna,” my mother said with a warm smile. “Say hello to your new sister.” I opened my mouth to greet her, but the feed exploded. 【There she is! So pretty! She’s going to be a knockout when she grows up. Finally, something nice to look at after staring at that ugly side character.】 【So the Female Lead is the daughter of Vivian’s dad’s army buddy?】 【No, the real daughter is also named Luna. The Male Lead knew the Lancasters were coming today, so he beat up the real Luna and locked her in a closet. To be safe, he even scratched off her distinctive birthmark. The director and the parents don’t know what the real one looks like, so when they came to adopt, our Luna was the only one there.】 【I love it! Our dark, tortured hero, doing anything for his little ray of sunshine. It’s an honor for the other Luna to be a stepping stone for their love story!】 【Honor? She bit him. She deserves the abusive husband she’s fated to marry.】 I slowly retracted the hand I’d extended. “Mom, Dad… she’s not Mr. Henderson’s daughter.” “Darling, what are you talking about?” my mother chided gently, but I could see a flicker of doubt in their eyes as they looked at the girl. Luna’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Is… is Vivian-sister unhappy with me? I can go back to the group home, Uncle and Auntie. I don’t mind if I don’t get enough to eat, or if I get locked in the closet. I don’t want to be a bother.”

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For Valentine’s Day, the company booked out a small private theater. The official story? A reward for us single employees: an all-night slasher movie marathon. As a fan of thrillers and, conveniently, unattached, I signed up immediately. But when the twelve of us settled into our seats, the projector flickered to life with a black-and-white film none of us had ever seen. Onscreen, a man in a top hat and a smiling mask was methodically laying out an array of knives and a chainsaw. “What is this garbage? Who watches this old-timey crap anymore?” someone muttered. Bored, I retreated to the back row, slipped on my noise-canceling headphones, and drifted off to the sound of my own playlist. The next morning, the smell is what dragged me from my sleep—a thick, metallic stench that seemed to coat the inside of my throat. When I finally forced my eyes open, I saw police officers stringing up yellow tape, piecing together the eleven bodies scattered across the scene. A pale-faced theater employee told me, his voice trembling, that they hadn’t played any movie in this theater last night. The man with the smiling mask… He wasn’t on the screen. He was right here, in front of us. 1 I didn’t wake up naturally. I was ripped from my sleep by the smell. It was a foul mix, like rust and the cloying sweetness of an old butcher shop, so thick it felt solid, choking the air from my lungs. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. Clamping a hand over my mouth and nose, I blinked, my vision taking a moment to focus. The theater was dark, save for the ghostly green glow of the emergency exit signs. But it was enough. It was enough to see the hellscape before me. Dark red splashes coated the backs of the seats in front of me. The floor was smeared with dark, sticky trails, already blackening as they dried. Figures in police uniforms moved with quiet precision, carefully assembling the dismembered remains scattered across the aisles and chairs. Black body bags lay open nearby, disturbingly lumpy and misshapen. My stomach seized, and I nearly threw up. I bit down hard, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. A young officer canvassing the area noticed me. In the eerie green light, his face was unnaturally pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and suspicion. He quickly motioned to his partner. Soon, two officers were standing over me. Their expressions were professionally stoic, but I could see the disbelief churning behind their eyes. One of them gestured for me to remove my headphones. “Ma’am, are you alright? Can you speak?” the older officer asked, his voice low, as if afraid of disturbing the dead. I managed a weak nod, my throat as raw as sandpaper. “What’s your name? What company are you with? We were told you were here for a corporate event?” Again, I nodded, forcing out the words. “Lily… Nova Media…” “What happened last night? Do you remember anything?” I nodded, the memory replaying in slow, horrifying motion. “I remember… it was Valentine’s Day. The company arranged this ‘perk’ for us singles. The twelve of us were supposed to have an all-nighter, but the theater started with this weird black-and-white movie…” My voice was a ragged whisper. “It looked really old… vintage. There was a man on screen in a top hat and a smiling mask. He was sharpening knives, getting a saw ready…” The two officers exchanged a loaded glance. The younger one instinctively looked toward the massive, dark screen. The older cop pressed on. “And then?” “And then… I got bored, so I put on my headphones to listen to music… and I must have fallen asleep.” I hugged myself, a deep, penetrating cold seeping into my bones, a chill that had nothing to do with the theater’s air conditioning. Just then, a man in a theater manager’s uniform was escorted over. He stayed at a distance, clearly terrified of getting any closer to the scene. “Officers, we—we checked!” he stammered, his voice shaking. “There was no film scheduled for this theater last night! No playback record in the server! And… and our old film projector has been broken for years. It’s impossible for it to have run!” His words were like daggers of ice piercing my heart. No movie? A broken projector? Then what did I see? The manager’s next words sent me spiraling into an abyss. “And… that man with the smiling mask… we checked our old promotional materials. That was a scrapped mascot from a horror-themed event we ran ten years ago. Nobody’s thought about him in years! How could he possibly be in a movie?!” A wave of goosebumps erupted across my skin. What did he mean, not in a movie? Could it be… Last night, he wasn’t on the screen. He was standing right in front of it, putting on a live performance for all of us. 2 I was taken downtown. The interrogation room at the precinct felt even more suffocating than the theater. The cold, sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs illuminated every corner of the room, and every flicker of expression on my face. The officers questioning me now were from the Homicide Division. One was a middle-aged man, Detective Miller, with eyes as sharp as a hawk’s and an unshakeable calm. Next to him, a young female officer, Davis, took notes. “Ms. Brooks,” Miller began, his voice even but carrying an undeniable weight. “Walk me through what happened last night again. Don’t leave out a single detail, no matter how insignificant you think it is.” I took a deep breath, fighting to control the tremors running through me, and started from the moment we entered the theater, recounting everything up to the bizarre black-and-white film. I described every detail I could remember: the grainy, low-resolution quality of the picture, the lack of a soundtrack—only ambient noise—and the soft shhhk, shhhk of the masked man sharpening his blade. I even remembered how he’d looked up at one point, straight into the camera, his smiling mask seeming to pierce through the screen and stare right into the audience… “You said he looked at the camera?” Miller seized on the detail. I nodded, my throat tight. “Yes… it felt like he was looking right at us…” “When did you fall asleep?” “Maybe twenty minutes after the movie started? I’m not sure…” “And after you fell asleep? You were completely out? You didn’t hear any unusual sounds? Feel any vibrations? Smell anything strange?” I searched my memory. “I think… I think I had a short dream. I heard this heavy, rhythmic thudding? Like something banging against a wall… but I fell back into a deep sleep.” “As for smells… right before I drifted off, I think I smelled something faintly sweet, kind of like almond brittle…” At that, Miller’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. He nodded at Officer Davis. She held up a clear evidence bag containing my noise-canceling headphones. “Ms. Brooks, your headphones are the XN-5 model. They feature active noise cancellation and a 30-hour battery life. We checked—they still have over 60% charge.” Miller’s gaze returned to me. “Our tech department ran a test,” he said slowly. “At that power level, the noise-cancellation is more than capable of blocking out the operational hum of a vintage film projector.” My heart clenched. “However,” he continued, his tone shifting, “it can’t completely block out strong, low-frequency physical vibrations. For instance, a heavy object striking a wall.” I stared at him, confused. What was he saying? That the thudding in my dream was real? His gaze pinned me in place. “According to the preliminary M.E. report, most of the victims suffered multiple blunt-force trauma wounds to the head. The weapon is believed to be a vintage fire axe that was mounted as a decoration in the back of the theater.” He paused. “The old fingerprints on the handle had been wiped clean, but the blade itself showed clear, fresh marks of recent use.” A cold sweat drenched my back. A fire axe? In the back of the theater? That was right near where I was sitting. “As for the almond brittle smell…” Miller leaned forward slightly. “That’s a common scent for a high-concentration inhalant anesthetic mixed with a cyanide derivative.” “It induces rapid unconsciousness and, eventually, asphyxiation.” “Interestingly, we found the remains of a dispersal device inside the air conditioning vent. It could have been triggered by a simple timer. Or… a remote control.” A remote? “Ms. Brooks, besides your phone, did you have any other electronic devices with you last night?” “No… nothing!” I said quickly. “Oh?” Miller slid a crime scene photo across the table. It showed a small, black, matchbox-sized device, like a tiny power bank or Bluetooth receiver. “We found this wedged deep in the cushions of your seat. It’s a modified, high-powered micro-transmitter. One of its frequency channels is a perfect match for the receiver on the dispersal device in the vent.” My mind went completely blank. “That’s not mine! I’ve never seen that before in my life!” “But it was under your seat, Ms. Brooks,” Miller’s voice turned to ice. “And it had only one person’s fingerprints on it. Yours.” 3 Suddenly, the door to the interrogation room opened again. Two more detectives walked in. The one in the lead was younger, maybe in his thirties, tall and imposing with a sharp, steady gaze that radiated authority. I recognized him from local news reports—Detective Chen, head of the Homicide Division, famous for cracking a string of bizarre, high-profile cases. He was followed by a junior officer carrying a file. Chen’s eyes landed on me. Without a word of greeting, he gestured to the officer, who pulled out a tablet and swiped through several photos, pushing it in front of me. They were crime scene photos, enhanced to show details on the floor and chairs. “Ms. Brooks, we found a significant amount of blood and physical evidence at the scene,” Chen began, his voice calm but crushing. “But what’s strange is that nearly all of the directional evidence—the drag marks, the drip patterns, the arterial spray—all of it either originates from, or terminates at, the exact seat where you were found.” The accusation was so monstrous I almost leaped out of my chair. “It wasn’t me!” my voice was a shrill shriek. “It really wasn’t me!” “I don’t know anything! I woke up and saw… I saw that! They were my colleagues! Why would I kill them?!” Chen remained unmoved by my outburst. He simply watched me, his expression unreadable, until my energy was spent and I collapsed back into my chair, gasping for breath. “We’ve reviewed the security footage from the theater’s exterior and lobby,” he said, changing tactics. “It shows the twelve of you entering last night. Between that moment and when the staff found you this morning, no one else entered or exited that theater.” A locked-room massacre. The thought sent a fresh wave of terror through me. “However,” Chen continued, “we did lift a single, clear fingerprint from the interior handle of an emergency exit. It doesn’t belong to you or any of the victims. And from the outside, there were no signs of forced entry.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “That proves it! Someone else was in there! Right? The man in the mask! He must have been hiding inside, or someone let him in!” Chen didn’t answer directly. He just nodded to the junior officer, who laid out several printed documents. “Lily Brooks,” Chen said, his voice devoid of emotion, “we ran a background check. It seems you have a rather… unusual interest in the ‘smiling mask’ motif.” A printout was pushed in front of me. It was a piece of artwork I’d re-posted to my Twitter six months ago: a man in a top hat and a smiling mask. My caption read: “Mysterious and so cool. The perfect aesthetic for a crime.” Below it was a thread of replies, discussions with other users about perfect crimes, locked-room mysteries… The blood rushed to my head. “That—that was just a random post! It doesn’t mean anything!” “Oh?” Chen arched an eyebrow. “And this?” He pushed another document forward. It was a log from an anonymous psychology forum. The department’s tech unit had apparently traced the IP address back to my home network. The post, dated three months ago, was titled: How to stage the perfect mass disappearance? I stared at the paper, a paralyzing cold seeping through me. That wasn’t me. I never wrote anything like that. “I… I don’t know anything about this… I didn’t post that!” My defense sounded pathetic and weak even to my own ears. “But the account was registered with your personal email, which you still use,” Chen stated coolly. “The password, while complex, contains the name of your pet and your birthday. That wouldn’t be too hard for you to remember, would it?” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning, frozen in place. The email was mine. The pet’s name and my birthday were correct. But how was that possible? “Ms. Brooks,” Chen’s gaze became intensely focused, a look that seemed to see right through me. “A locked room. Eleven victims, incapacitated by a chemical agent. A crime scene that perfectly matches your ‘aesthetic’ interests. And a single survivor who conveniently slept through the whole thing after seeing a ‘movie’ that never existed. And now, all the evidence seems to be pointing in one direction…” He paused, each word a hammer blow against my sanity. “So tell me,” his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. “That smiling mask…” “…was it you who was wearing it?”

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