Category: English

I sold my soul for $20,000 a month, and I’d do it again. The job posting was a godsend for a broke graduate like me. But when the signing bonus hit my account, the job posting vanished. The front door was locked from the outside. And my new boss? He’s not human, he lives in the shadows of my room, and he just informed me that the contract is for eternity.

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“My wife, the movie star, got caught by the paparazzi in a hotel room with her high school sweetheart. She called me to fix it. So I put on the same Tom Ford suit to create a diversion, and in the process, I was cornered in an alley by her most extreme fans and beaten to death. When my mother finally found me, I was slick with blood, my heart a dead, silent thing in my chest. She collapsed, sobbing, her knees hitting the grimy pavement as she frantically called my wife, dozens of times, begging for help. All she got in return was a voice crackling with rage. “You couldn’t even handle the paparazzi? You’re pathetic! Why don’t you just go die?” But… I already had. 1. My soul didn’t scatter after I died. It lingered, a ghost tethered to the world of the living. I watched my mom, her body stooped with a fatigue that went bone-deep, handle the arrangements for my funeral. It was well past midnight by the time she was done. She sat slumped in her wheelchair, her fingers tracing the smooth, cold ceramic of my urn. The tears she’d held back finally broke free, a string of pearls snapping, scattering grief across her worn face. “Oh, Ethan, my sweet boy.” “Why did you have to go before me? A mother isn’t supposed to live without her son.” Her voice was a raw, shredded thing. Her eyes were swollen and bruised from crying. There is no pain in this world like a parent burying their child. Seeing the silver in her hair bloom overnight, conquering the last of the black, it broke what was left of my heart. I regretted it all. I knelt beside her, my ghostly form a useless comfort, whispering her name over and over. “Mom.” But I was dead. She couldn’t hear a thing. Tears of regret I could no longer physically shed burned in my soul, dissolving into a faint white mist that vanished as quickly as it formed. I pressed my forehead to the floorboards before her. Mom, I’m so sorry. Your son failed you. “Ethan!” It was as if she felt me, a sudden chill in the room. She started to turn her head, but at that exact moment— BANG! The front door slammed open, kicked in with such force that my mother flinched violently. Framed in the doorway were two unwelcome guests: my wife, Ava Sterling, and her first love, Caleb. Ava’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows were knotted in fury, her voice a low burn of unrestrained anger. “Ethan! I told you to lead the press away, and you couldn’t even manage that! I could’ve hired a trained monkey and gotten better results!” Her eyes scanned the small apartment, finding it empty of me. The frustration morphed into something uglier, more volatile. “Because of your incompetence, Caleb’s face is plastered all over TMZ!” With a guttural scream of rage, she kicked over a box of my belongings—things my mother had painstakingly gathered and organized. Then, she strode toward my mom. “You, old woman! Where is he? Tell him to get his ass out here right now!” I balled my fists, a pointless gesture. There was no strength, no substance, just a cold, impotent rage. “My Ethan…” Mom’s voice was a whisper, her hand caressing my urn as if it were my cheek. She didn’t look up, her whole being seemed to have been hollowed out. “…he’s gone.” She had been crying for a day and a night straight. Her voice was sandpaper, each word a struggle. But when she spoke my name, it was still so gentle. Just like when I was a kid, coming home from school, and she’d be standing on the porch, waving, calling out to me. “Gone?” Caleb blinked, then shot a look at Ava, a small, exasperated smile playing on his lips. “Come on, Ava. Let’s just go. If Ethan doesn’t want to come out and fix this, I’ll handle the PR myself.” Seeing Caleb’s look of magnanimous resignation sent Ava’s fury into overdrive. “No!” Her gaze fell on my mother, cold and sharp. “You listen to me, you old hag,” she snarled. “I don’t care where Ethan is. You get him on the phone and tell him to get back here right now. He is going to get on his knees and apologize to Caleb.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “You clearly failed at raising a decent son, so I’ll teach him a lesson myself.” “Or else, I’ll make sure your whole family pays the price!” That’s enough, Ava! I’d been your workhorse, your secret, your shadow, all to support your career, to make sure you shone on screen. I swallowed the hidden marriage, the constant humiliations. But I’m dead. I just died. How can you come here and threaten my mother? How can you unleash this poison on her? I clenched my fists so hard I thought my spectral form might tear apart, but it did nothing to stop Ava’s tirade. “Well? Speak up! Where is he?” Ava grabbed the front of my mother’s worn blouse, her face a mask of savage rage, her eyes boring into my mom’s. My mother, my strong, unbreakable mother, trembled. Her fingers clutched at the fabric over her heart. But the pain of losing a child had forged a new kind of strength in her. Her gentle eyes hardened, and she stared right back at Ava, each word landing like a stone. “I said… my son is dead.” Ava froze, her face a canvas of shock. For a single, suspended moment, even her breathing stopped. But then Caleb’s smooth voice sliced through the silence, pulling her back. “Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but you can’t just curse your own son to death to avoid taking responsibility.” He shook his head, a performance of profound disappointment. “Ava is Ethan’s wife. Couples fight. For you to get in the middle of it at your age, to stir up trouble… it’s no wonder Ava has had to carry this family on her back.” My teeth ground together at his sanctimonious act. And, like always, Ava bought it completely. Her expression hardened. Her eyes swept over my mother, from her white hair down to the wheels of her chair. A cold dread washed over me. Ava, no! I screamed. She didn’t hear me. She took a step forward and slapped my mother across the face. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent room. Before I could even process it, she drew her leg back and kicked the wheelchair with all her might. “Mom!” I screamed, a silent, agonizing roar, as I watched my mother tumble from the chair, her head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. “Ava! Stop it! She’s not lying! I’m really dead! You killed me!” I roared at her, my voice lost to the space between worlds. This monster couldn’t hear me. “Mom! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” I knelt on the floor, watching the woman who had once seemed so strong, so capable of carrying the world—the woman who had carried me—now lying broken on the floor, so easily toppled. “Ava! What more do you want?” As I tried again and again, in vain, to help my mother up, I saw Ava stalking toward her. Ignoring my desperate, unheard screams, she bent down, wrapped her hands around my mother’s throat, and hauled her up. “AVA!” Blood trickled from the gash on my mother’s forehead, dripping onto Ava’s hands, onto the bulging veins of her knuckles as she squeezed. Her next words were delivered with chilling precision. “Call him. If he’s not here in three minutes…” She slammed my mother back against the floor. Ava’s eyes were blazing. “…I’ll let him see your ashes instead, you old bitch!””

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The takedown went sideways. My dad, Deputy Chief Miller, was taken hostage shielding a civilian. Then the feed went live, broadcast by the scumbag who had a knife to his throat. “You’ve got ten minutes,” the man snarled into the camera. “Let me walk, or he’s dead.” My hands shook as I frantically dialed Cole’s number. He was my father’s protégé, the detective my dad had personally trained. He was also the only person I knew who could get to that warehouse in time. The phone picked up. “Cole,” I choked out, my voice a raw whisper. “The address I just sent you—you have to go. Now! You’re the only one who can save my dad.” He cut me off with a light, condescending laugh. “Phoebe, is this another attempt to get my attention? Does this jealousy thing ever get old?” A cat meowed in the background, followed by a woman’s playful, syrupy voice. “Bro, that’s way too much soap!” “I just talked to your dad yesterday,” Cole said, his voice softening for her, not for me. “He put in his retirement papers. What kind of danger could he possibly be in? Just be good, okay? Don’t make things difficult.” He hung up before I could scream. Thirty seconds left on the kidnapper’s countdown. I called Cole again and again, my desperation clawing at my throat. Each call went straight to voicemail. He’d blocked me. At the same moment, an Instagram story popped up on my feed. It was from Jenna, his “best friend.” [Image: Cole and Jenna, heads close together, laughing as they lather a fluffy white cat in a sink. The lighting is warm, intimate.] Caption: My dad just has to say the word, and my bestie drops everything to come give my baby a bath. The brotherhood is real, people. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a joy I hadn’t seen directed at me in months. He was glowing with a sweetness that felt like a physical blow. On the livestream, the knife dragged across my father’s throat. His eyes, wide with shock, found the camera for a split second before he collapsed. My phone slipped from my numb fingers. My heart, in that precise moment, stopped beating and turned to stone. 1 The department brought my father’s body home. At the funeral, one of his oldest friends, a captain from the narcotics division, pulled me into a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Phoebe. Your father cracked more major cases than anyone in the history of this precinct. He died a hero, saving a civilian. He’s the pride of the department.” He choked up then, his eyes filled with a pity that went beyond grief. I knew what he was thinking. Everyone in the department knew my fiancé had ignored a hostage situation involving his own mentor to stay home with his “best friend.” I stood before the polished headstone, dry-eyed, clutching the detective’s shield my father had been awarded years ago. Its sharp edges dug into my palm, the pain a welcome anchor, a reminder to stay upright. My phone buzzed. A text message. My condolences, Phoebe. I’ve been briefed on what happened. I will make sure you get justice. It was from Captain Evans, my father’s successor and a man I trusted implicitly. I scrolled through my phone. Not a single call, not a single text from Cole. Steeling myself, I dialed his number. I just wanted him to be here. To say one last goodbye to the man who had treated him like a son. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing. My dad had poured everything into Cole, personally mentoring him, fast-tracking his promotion to Detective. He had been a good student. He had been a good fiancé. Until Jenna came back to the States. Then came the missed dates. He wasn’t there for my birthday. He wasn’t there when I had the miscarriage. He wasn’t there when my father was dying. And now, at his funeral, he was still gone. Hours later, after the last of the mourners had left and I was alone in the rain, his text finally came through. Phoebe, you need to be more understanding. Stop with the drama. It’s exhausting. Jenna is my friend. You have no right to be jealous of her. A second text followed. I took a couple days off to go hiking with Jenna, clear her head. The signal is bad up here. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. Those two messages shattered the last, fragile piece of hope I had for him. For us. I tilted my head back, letting the cold rain wash over my face, mixing with the tears I could no longer hold back. The sting was sharp, real. Then, with a decisiveness that felt foreign and terrifying, I blocked Cole’s number, his social media, every possible avenue of contact. Don’t worry, I thought. I’ll never bother you again. Back at the apartment, I locked myself in my room and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. He answered immediately. He didn’t speak, but I could hear the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing. I took a shaky breath. “It’s Phoebe Miller.” His voice was a low baritone, steady and reassuring. “I know. I’m here.” “I want to inherit my father’s badge number,” I said, the words coming out in a rush. “I want to finish what he started. I need you to approve my request to go undercover.” Silence. I could picture Captain Evans on the other end, his brow furrowed with concern. “That crew works for the Kael Syndicate,” he said finally. “Your father, a deputy chief, couldn’t get out alive. I can’t let you walk into that kind of danger. Besides…” “I already passed the internal evaluation,” I cut in, my voice sharp with urgency. “I’m the top candidate for this operation. You know my mother died when I was young; my dad raised me by himself. He’s all I had. I can’t let the men who did this to him walk free. I won’t.” A heavy sigh came through the line. “Does Cole know about this?” “No,” I said, the word like ice. “And he doesn’t need to.” “Alright,” he conceded. “Send me the report. I’ll make the arrangements. The operation begins in two days. That gives you time to get your personal affairs in order.” He paused for a beat. “Come back safe, Phoebe. For your dad. And for… for the people who truly care about you.” “I will.” After hanging up, I started packing. I decided to sell everything I owned, including all the gifts Cole had ever given me. While clearing my desk, I found a framed photo of us. We were at the beach, the sun bright in our eyes. He was hugging me from behind, his chin resting on the top of my head. We looked so happy. The sight of it was nauseating. I pulled the photo from its frame, tore it precisely down the middle, and dropped his smiling face into the trash. Just then, I heard a key in the lock. The front door swung open and Cole walked in, his arm around Jenna. She was practically draped over him, her chest pressed intimately against his bicep. Her eyes immediately landed on the baby grand piano in the corner—my father’s piano. Her face lit up. “Bro, there it is!” she squealed. “I played it last time I was here, remember? The acoustics are amazing, and it looks so good in photos! You promised you’d give it to me. No take-backs!” Cole’s smile faltered when he saw me standing in the middle of the living room. “Phoebe. You’re here. Good,” he said, forcing a casual tone. “Jenna loves this piano. I’m going to have it moved to her place. You haven’t played in years, anyway. It’s just collecting dust.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My father had spent his entire savings on that piano for me. And he was just… giving it away? Without even asking? “What did you just say? That was a gift from my father. It’s mine. Don’t you dare touch it.” Jenna let out a little “oops,” her eyes darting to the trash can. She leaned over, delicately plucked the torn half of the photo between two fingers, and dangled it in front of Cole. “Looks like we really pissed off the dragon lady, bro,” she said with a smirk. “She’s already tearing up pictures of you. We better get this piano out of here before she takes a sledgehammer to it.” Cole’s face darkened. “Phoebe, have you had enough? First, you lie about your dad being in trouble, and now this? How childish can you be?” He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a low, threatening tone. “This piano is leaving today, whether you like it or not. It’s not like you can play it anymore with that useless hand of yours.” The words struck me like a slap. “You forgot how my hand got this way, Cole?” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “I took a knife for you. The tendons were severed. Do you not remember that?” Jenna clicked her tongue, putting on a show of magnanimity. “Come on, Phoebe, that’s not fair. My bro remembers your sacrifice, he appreciates it. But he’s right, you can’t use the piano now. And what’s his is mine. It’s only natural that he’d give it to me. We’ve known each other forever. We don’t keep secrets, or possessions, from each other.” Cole looked at Jenna with sickening fondness. “Exactly. It’s just a piano. My best friend wants it. Can’t you just be generous for once? Instead of tearing up photos and throwing a tantrum?” I laughed, a sharp, broken sound. “My father is dead, Cole!” I screamed. “You think this is a tantrum? He was held hostage by armed criminals, and you were closer than anyone. The entire department knows you were the only one who could have saved him! And what were you doing?” I pointed a shaking finger at Jenna, who was smirking triumphantly. “You were washing her cat!” “He adored you! He was your mentor! Why didn’t you save him? You didn’t even show up for his funeral!” “That’s enough!” Cole roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “Are you still keeping up this act? Constantly talking about your dad being dead, cursing your own father… I never knew you were this twisted.” Jenna’s tone was pure innocence, but her eyes danced with malice. “You’re still holding a grudge over that? All he did was wash my cat. It wasn’t a big deal. We’re best friends, Phoebe. We don’t have all those complicated rules you seem to live by.” She ran a possessive hand over the piano’s glossy lid. “I really do love it, Cole.” He grinned, a flash of the old charm, and gave her a quick, playful slap on the ass. “Of course. We’re ride or die. I’d pull the moon down from the sky for you.” His gaze shifted back to me, his expression turning to ice. “The piano is moving today. And from this moment on, you are not to touch it.” He pulled out his phone and started dialing a moving company, right in front of me. Something inside me snapped. I grabbed the nearest thing—a heavy wooden jewelry box—and hurled it at them. It caught Jenna on the side of the head. Cole exploded. He lunged forward and slapped me, hard, across the face. The force of the blow sent me stumbling back into the piano bench. I put my hand out to catch myself, and a sickening crack echoed from my injured wrist. Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot up my arm. Tears welled in my eyes. For a second, Cole froze, a flicker of shock on his face. He reached out to help me up. I recoiled as if he were toxic. “Don’t touch me,” I spat. “You’re filthy.” He snatched his hand back, his face a mask of fury. “Fine. Have it your way. You care so much about this thing? I’ll have it chopped up for firewood.” Jenna dabbed at a tiny scratch on her forehead, her expression aggrieved but her voice triumphant. “Look, Phoebe, you’ve drawn blood. You can’t just assault me and get away with it. How about this? As compensation, you give me the piano, and I’ll convince my bro not to press charges.” “Get out,” I seethed. “Both of you, get out!” A surge of adrenaline drowned out the pain. I grabbed the piano bench and heaved it toward them. It crashed to the floor with a deafening bang. Jenna shrieked and hid behind Cole. I stood in front of the piano, my eyes blazing. “Anyone who touches this piano,” I snarled, “will have to go through me.” “You’ve lost your damn mind, Phoebe!” Cole was livid. He shoved me aside with brutal force. I crumpled to the floor. He loomed over me, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “Look at you. This pathetic, crazy act. No wonder your own father couldn’t stand you. If he really is dead, you probably drove him to it. You deserve this.” He still had the audacity to mention my father. With every ounce of strength I had, I launched myself up and slapped him across the face. The impact sent a shockwave through my already broken wrist. “Shut up!” I screamed. “You don’t have the right to even say his name!” His head snapped to the side. His eyes were wide with disbelief. Jenna gasped dramatically. “Phoebe, how could you hit him? I would never even dream of hurting a single hair on his head!” Just then, the doorbell rang. The movers had arrived. Cole’s face was tight with suppressed rage. “That’s the one,” he said, pointing at the piano. “Take it.” “No!” The movers hesitated, looking from my desperate face to Cole’s furious one. “Sir, the lady doesn’t seem to agree…” Cole scoffed and pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet. “Triple the rate,” he snapped. “You don’t have to listen to a crazy person.” Jenna chimed in, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Gentlemen, please don’t mind her. She’s my friend’s girlfriend. She’s got… you know…” She tapped her temple with a single finger, a universally understood gesture for she’s not well. “Right,” the lead mover said, casting a pitiful glance my way before nodding to his crew. “Let’s get to work.” “No! You can’t!” I tried to block their path, but Cole grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. His grip was like steel, but his voice was a mockery of gentleness. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Your doctor said this piano is a trigger for you. We’re just moving it for your own good.” They lifted my father’s piano and carried it out the door. I watched it disappear down the hallway until it was gone. Cole released me. His eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. I was numb, hollowed out by despair. I looked at him, my own eyes burning. “Cole,” I whispered, the words tearing from my raw throat. “We’re done.” He didn’t even turn around as he slung his arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Fine with me,” he called back. “Don’t come crying to me when you regret it.”

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1 When Justin’s family went bankrupt, I was the one by his side in a dingy basement apartment, working three jobs a day to pay off his debts. When he rebuilt his empire, he proposed, promising me a real home. Three years into our marriage, I accidentally saw the deed to our house. The owner’s name listed was his first love. He looked at me, his eyes red-rimmed, and choked out, “I owed it to her.” I nodded, then slid a photo across the table—a picture of the mountain of collection notices that had once covered every inch of our tiny desk in that basement. “The house has settled your debt to her. So what about the debt you owe me?” … I gently pushed the property deed across the coffee table toward Justin. The words “Owner: Amanda Remar” burned into my retinas. The color drained from Justin’s face. He instinctively reached to snatch the paper away, but his hand froze mid-air. “Ella, please, let me explain…” His voice was hoarse, his eyes instantly welling up. It was a look I knew all too well. It was the same guilt-ridden, vulnerable expression he always wore when he knew he’d wronged me. I used to be a complete sucker for it. “Fine,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm as I lifted a glass of water to my lips. “I’m listening.” He stared at me, a flicker of panic in his eyes. My composure was clearly not what he’d expected. “Amanda… she’s not doing well,” he began, the words catching in his throat. “Back then, my parents forced us to break up. It sent her into a severe depression. She had to drop out of college… it completely ruined her life.” “So, this house is… it’s compensation. Ella, I owed her this.” I nodded slowly, feigning understanding. “Then what about what you owe me?” Justin stared, dumbfounded, as if he couldn’t comprehend the question. I broke his gaze, pulled out my phone, and found a photo I’d saved for years. It was taken in the cramped, hundred-square-foot basement we used to rent. A worn-out folding table was buried under a mountain of menacing, red-stamped collection notices. In the corner of the frame, you could just make out the side of his face, gaunt and hollowed by despair. “The house has settled your debt to her,” I repeated, my voice flat. “So what about the debt you owe me?” He looked down at the photo, and his body jolted as if struck. The image seemed to drag him back into the suffocating memory of those years we’d spent clinging to each other in shared misery. To pay off the astronomical debt his family had left behind, I’d quit my stable job to juggle three different ones. For three years, I never slept more than four hours a night. I remember one time, I was burning up with a fever. Too broke to see a doctor, I just buried myself under the blankets, trying to sweat it out, and nearly ended up with pneumonia. Justin had held me, sobbing like a child, swearing he would give me a real home, that he would never let me suffer again. And he had kept his promise. He rose from the ashes and became one of the city’s most formidable new tycoons. And he gave me a home. A home with another woman’s name on the deed. “Ella.” Justin looked up, the guilt in his eyes so thick it was practically overflowing. “I know I’ve failed you more than anyone. But Amanda and I are over. You’re the one I love. You’re the only one who will ever be my wife.” “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, okay?” he pleaded, reaching for my hand. “Amanda already lost me; she can’t lose everything else. Just… think of the house as me closing that chapter of my life for good.” I gently pulled my hand away. “Alright. I understand.” Seeing that I wasn’t screaming or throwing things, he visibly relaxed, assuming I’d bought his pathetic explanation. I simply took out my phone and sent a quiet message to my lawyer, telling her to draft the divorce papers as soon as possible. 2 Justin hesitated before speaking again. “Ella, can I ask you for something?” “It’s just… Amanda’s having some trouble with her landlord. She got kicked out of her place and can’t find a new one on such short notice.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Do you think… she could stay with us for a little while? Just until she gets back on her feet.” I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity. Had Justin completely lost his mind? “Do you really think that’s appropriate?” I asked, my voice dripping with ice. “What’s not appropriate about it?” His tone immediately hardened with impatience. “Ella, since when did you become so petty? I told you, she and I are ancient history. You’re the only one I care about.” “She’s a single woman with nowhere to go. What’s wrong with us helping her out?” “Don’t worry,” he added, his voice full of self-righteous conviction. “I would never betray you.” But he already had. He betrayed me the moment he decided to give our home to another woman. “Justin,” I said, enunciating each word with chilling clarity. “What kind of pathetic doormat do you take me for?” “Do you think that just because I went through hell with you, I deserve to be trampled on like this?” He fell silent. After a long moment, he sighed, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Ella, don’t overthink this. I’m just helping a friend. It’s decided. I’m going to go pick her up.” And with that, he walked out. As the front door slammed shut, I closed my eyes, forcing back the stinging tears. He wasn’t worth a single one. Just then, my phone rang. It was Justin’s mother. “Ella, dear. It’s the weekend tomorrow. Why don’t you and Justin come back to the family home for dinner?” Justin’s mother had always been kind to me. I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. “Of course, Mom. We’ll be there.” After hanging up, I stared out the window as the sky bled into a cold, dark gray, a perfect mirror of the ice forming in my heart. The next day, I drove to the family home alone. The sprawling estate had been mortgaged and auctioned off when the family went bankrupt. After Justin made his comeback, he’d tried to buy back the house that held all his childhood memories, but the new owner, a notoriously eccentric retired professor, refused to sell. It was me who had shown up at the professor’s door, time and time again, armed with gifts and endless patience. It took me three months of chipping away at his defenses before he finally agreed to sell it back to us at the original price. When Justin’s mother saw me arrive alone, her brow furrowed. “Where’s Justin? Off chasing some nonsense again?” “He had an emergency meeting at the office. He’ll be here later,” I lied, covering for him out of habit. She took my hand, led me to the sofa, and sighed. “Ella, don’t lie to protect him. I’ve heard about what he’s been up to.” A chill went down my spine. “He’s not mixed up with that Amanda girl again, is he?” Her gaze sharpened. “I warned him. I told him that woman is a conniving, restless soul and that he needed to stay far away from her!” I lowered my head, saying nothing. She patted the back of my hand, her voice softening with sympathy. “You poor girl. You’ve been through too much. Don’t you worry. You are the only daughter-in-law the Peterson family will ever recognize. If he dares to do anything to hurt you, I’ll be the first one to break his legs!” A small warmth spread through my chest, and I managed a weak smile. “It’s okay, Mom.” Just as we were speaking, Justin arrived. The moment he saw me, his face darkened, clearly annoyed that I had arrived before him. “Mom, did you call Ella over to tattle on me again?” he snapped, his words laced with venom. His mother, furious, grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at him. “You ungrateful brat, what did you just say? Do you think Ella is that kind of person? If she had breathed a single bad word about you to me, I wouldn’t have let you set foot in this house today!” “Then what’s this about?” Justin grumbled, loosening his tie impatiently. “If she didn’t say anything, how would you know about Amanda?” “You think I needed her to tell me?” his mother scoffed. “You made the woman your personal assistant and paraded her around the office. You might as well have taken out a billboard announcing your affair. Did you think I was blind?” A bitter smile touched my lips. 3 Shortly after he’d stormed out of our house that day, he had, without an ounce of shame, moved Amanda in. Then, he’d given her a position at his company, right by his side. His excuse, delivered with false sincerity, was, “Amanda’s new to the corporate world. It’ll be faster if I’m there to guide her.” Justin’s face flushed, a mixture of green and white. He took a deep breath, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth the fight, and changed the subject. “Amanda is outside. I had her come drop off an urgent file.” Before either of us could react, he turned and opened the front door. Amanda trailed in behind him, dressed in a pristine white dress, the picture of delicate innocence. When she saw Justin’s mother, she flinched like a startled deer and instinctively hid behind him. Justin immediately shielded her. “She’s just here to drop off a file, Mom. Stop looking at her like you want to eat her alive. You’re scaring her.” I stared at him like he was a complete moron. Amanda, for her part, whispered in a voice barely audible, “Mr. Peterson, this is a family dinner. It’s… it’s not right for me to be here. I should probably go.” Her feet, however, remained rooted to the spot. “You must be tired after rushing over. Stay and have dinner with us,” Justin insisted, pulling her into the empty seat beside him. The seat that had been meant for me. The atmosphere at the dinner table plunged into an icy silence. Justin’s mother watched Amanda’s frail, damsel-in-distress act with a smirk of pure disdain. “Miss Remar,” she said, setting down her chopsticks, her voice cutting through the tension. “We’re all women here. You can drop the act.” “The calculations running behind those pretty eyes of yours are as clear as day to me.” Amanda’s face went sheet-white, tears instantly welling. “Mrs. Peterson, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You don’t?” Justin’s mother let out a dry laugh. “I remember the first time Justin brought you home from college. The moment you walked through that door, your eyes practically devoured the decor. The second you heard the scale of our family business, the greed and ambition were practically written on your face.” Amanda trembled, biting her lip as if trying to hold back a torrent of emotion. That was all it took for Justin. He slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet. “That’s enough!” He glared at his mother, his face contorted with rage. “It’s been years, and you’re still like this! You don’t care about what’s best for me; you just want to control my life!” “You forced us to break up, and it drove Amanda into a crippling depression! Don’t you feel an ounce of guilt? She’s finally getting her life back, and you feel the need to attack her with your vicious words?” “I control you?” His mother was shaking with anger. “If I wanted to control you, I would have never let Ella suffer with you when you lost everything! You ungrateful child, have you forgotten who was there to pull you out of hell?” “I haven’t forgotten!” Justin roared, his eyes bloodshot. “I’ll spend my life repaying my debt to Ella! But that has nothing to do with me making things right with Amanda!” With that, he grabbed the still-trembling Amanda by the arm and stormed toward the door. “Where are you going?” his mother yelled after him. “I can’t stand being in this house another second!” He dragged Amanda out with him, disappearing into the night. He never once looked back at me. It never even crossed his mind to take me with him. “Ella, let him go. Just let the bastard go,” his mother said, her chest heaving with rage. She took my hand. “You’re staying here tonight. I’ll keep you company.” I shook my head and stood up. “Mom, I should go back.” This was between Justin and me. I couldn’t let her burn the bridge with her only son because of me. In the driveway, Justin’s car was still there. He was leaning against the driver’s side door, impatiently scrolling through his phone. He was waiting for me. So, he did remember he’d left me behind. I walked slowly toward him. The streetlights stretched my shadow long and thin across the pavement, making me look desolate and utterly alone. Justin heard my footsteps and looked up. The impatience on his face intensified when he saw it was me. “What took you so long? Let’s go,” he snapped, getting into the driver’s seat. I walked to the passenger side, but before I could open the door, I heard a pained whimper from the back seat. 4 “Justin… I don’t feel so good… I can’t… breathe…” Justin’s expression changed instantly. He twisted around to check on her. “Amanda, what’s wrong?” “I… I think… I’m having an allergic reaction… to peanuts…” she gasped, her voice ragged with pain. Justin’s head whipped back toward me, his eyes blazing with accusation. “Ella! You knew Amanda was allergic to peanuts! Why didn’t you tell the kitchen staff?” His question stunned me into silence. When had I ever known Amanda was allergic to peanuts? Why on earth would I, a guest myself, be responsible for instructing my mother-in-law’s cook about another guest’s dietary needs? Besides, dinner was already on the table when we arrived. “I didn’t know she had a peanut allergy,” I replied coldly. “You didn’t know?” Justin’s voice shot up an octave. “You did this on purpose! You just can’t stand her, can you?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “So? What are you going to do about it? Are you saying I’m responsible for her allergy attack?” “We’ll let it go this time!” Justin bit out through clenched teeth. “But she’s going to be living with us from now on, so you’d better pay more attention when you’re cooking! I don’t want this happening again!” He expected me to be her personal chef now? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How shameless could this man possibly be? Before I could respond, Amanda let out another agonized groan from the back seat. That sound shattered what little reason Justin had left. “That’s it, we’re going to the hospital!” He started the car, then turned to me, his voice frantic. “Get out!” I stood frozen, staring at him. “You want me to walk home?” We were in a wealthy suburban enclave, miles from the city center. Public transport was nonexistent, and catching a cab at this hour would be impossible. Justin slammed his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. “The hospital is in the opposite direction from our house! I don’t have time to drop you off, Amanda is in a real emergency! Figure it out yourself. It’ll be an inconvenience, I know!” With that, he floored the accelerator, leaving me standing alone in a cloud of acrid exhaust. I stood on the deserted road as a biting night wind swept over me, chilling me to the bone. He’d said it so casually. An inconvenience. Yes. My entire life for the past few years had been one giant inconvenience. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for his personal driver. “Mark, could you please come pick me up from the family estate?” Ten minutes later, Mark’s car pulled up. He looked surprised to see me alone. “Mrs. Peterson, where’s the boss? I thought you two were having dinner here tonight.” I got in the car, my voice flat. “He had an urgent matter at the office and had to leave early.” Yes, I thought with a cold, internal laugh, an urgent matter involving his little mistress. Not long after I got home, my phone buzzed with a notification. I opened it, and my pupils contracted. It was a photo. Justin was asleep on a hotel bed, shirtless. His tanned skin was covered in the tell-tale red marks of passion, sprawling from his neck down to his chest. Beneath the photo was a taunting message: “Ella, Justin’s not coming home tonight. He said he can only truly relax when he’s with me.” So, the “allergic reaction” and the trip to the hospital were just a cover for them to get a hotel room. Justin. You are truly something else. Expressionless, I screenshotted the photo and the message and sent the entire package to my lawyer. Then, I forwarded it to Justin with a single line of text: [Guess the house wasn’t enough. You had to throw yourself into the deal, too?]. He must have broken the sound barrier getting home. When he burst through the door, his face was a mask of panic and guilt. “Ella, listen to me, it’s not what you think. Amanda and I…” “Shut up,” I cut him off coldly. I had no interest in hearing his pathetic, recycled excuses. He tried to take my hand. “Come on, don’t be like this. It was nothing.” I wrenched my hand away in disgust and stormed into the study, returning with a thick stack of old papers. The debt collection notices. “Justin, look at these!” I pointed at the stack, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. “Do you remember? When your family went bankrupt, I was the one who moved into that sunless basement with you, the one who survived on a single meal a day right alongside you!” “To pay back those millions in debt, I sold every piece of jewelry I owned! I worked in an office during the day and waited tables at night! When you passed out drunk on the street, who carried you home? When your old ‘friends’ humiliated you, who stood in front of you and fought for your dignity? Where was Amanda then?!” By the end, I was screaming through my tears, and I hurled the stack of bills right at his face. “So what are you going to do to repay this debt?!”

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“The day the Blackwoods came, I discovered my husband of six years was actually the lost heir to a New York dynasty—an amnesiac prince. Upon reclaiming his throne, his first act was discarding me. Damian Blackwood stood on his marble steps, icy gaze dismissing me. His “”amnesia”” had returned, erasing all memory of me. Now engaged to Seraphina Winter—his social equal—he declared me a nobody. His mother, Eleanor, threw a $10M check at my feet, demanding I vanish. In my past life, I’d been a fool, clinging to hope he’d remember me—and our son. But I was just an obstacle. He locked me in an asylum, where Bruno, my own child, betrayed me. Reborn, I took the check. “”I’ll leave in three days,”” I told Eleanor. “”Just book my flight.”” This time, I’d live for myself. 1 At my words, Eleanor’s lip curled in disgust. “You clung to him for a month after his memory lapsed. I almost thought you genuinely cared for him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Turns out it was all just an act. A grimy little gold-digger, through and through.” Everyone who knew us knew I loved Damian to the point of self-destruction. Even after he’d forgotten me, I’d stayed, clinging to the hope of a future. But in my last life, I learned the truth just before I died. Both times Damian lost his memory, it was a lie. The first time, he used me to survive. The second, he used it to discard me so he could be with his childhood sweetheart, Seraphina. When I became an inconvenience, he had me committed and killed. I offered no explanation. I just looked his mother in the eye. “”I’ll be gone in three days. There’s no need to tell Damian.”” He had once told me I was a stain on his life. A stain that should be erased without a sound. Eleanor snorted, warning me to vanish on schedule. With the deal struck, I went to my room and opened my laptop, pulling up the application portal for UCL in London. I’d been accepted years ago but had to drop out. After finding Damian, I’d moved back to my small town and opened a diner to support him, our son, and our life together. He was the “amnesiac,” so the entire burden—financial and emotional—fell on my shoulders. I worked twenty-hour days, a ghost in my own life. When we were brought to the Blackwood mansion, he’d recoiled from the faint smell of cooking oil that clung to my clothes. He had thirty air purifiers installed. “”You small-town girls,”” he’d sneered in front of his family, “”even the air around you is dirty.”” He forbade me from eating at the same table, banishing me to the kitchen like a servant. This time, I would never again sacrifice my life for anyone. 2 I’d just booked my flight to London when Damian came home. He stumbled in, reeking of whiskey from some high-society gala. When I didn’t immediately rush to his side with a glass of water and a worried expression, his face darkened with anger. “”Rachel! Where the hell are you? Are you just going to let me stand here?”” It was the tone one used with a maid. He wasn’t alone. Draped on his arm was Seraphina Winter. Trailing behind them, clutching her hand, was our son, Bruno. I was supposed to have been his date tonight. In my last life, I had confronted him, my eyes red from crying. He’d just laughed, a cold, cruel sound. “”Rachel, look at you,”” he’d said. “”Everyone else brings a partner. You expect me to bring the help? Don’t embarrass me. You are the mother of my child, nothing more. Know your place.”” So this time, I ignored them, closing my laptop to head back to my room. But Damian’s eyes caught the screen full of English text. He stepped in front of me, a flicker of something—hesitation? confusion?—in his eyes. “”What are you looking at? You think a country bumpkin like you can actually read that?”” I didn’t have the energy to engage with his taunts. I tried to sidestep him. But Seraphina blocked my path, her smile as sweet as poison. “”Oh, Rachel, darling. I had to fend off so many people for Damian tonight. My head is just spinning. I’m dying for a slice of mango mille-feuille. Would you be a dear and make one for me?”” In my last life, when Damian had me chained to a bed in that hospital, Seraphina came to “”visit.”” She’d ground the heel of her stiletto into the back of my hand, twisting it until the skin broke and bled. She’d watched me scream, helpless and bound, and then she’d taken a scalpel and carved the word ‘TRASH’ into my arm, her laughter echoing in the sterile room. When Damian found the wound later, he’d merely commented that her taste was impeccable. A perfect description, he’d said. Now, my eyes fixed on the ring on her finger—a perfect match to Damian’s. A piece of my heart, a shard I didn’t even know was left, shattered. “”I’m allergic to mangoes,”” I said, my voice flat. “”Order it yourself.”” Damian’s patience snapped. “”Don’t be difficult, Rachel!”” He grabbed my arm, his grip like steel, and shoved me. I stumbled backward, my head cracking against the edge of a console table. Pain exploded behind my eyes. “”Seraphina asked you to do something, so you do it! She is the future Mrs. Blackwood! Have you forgotten you’re living on our charity? You should be grateful we even let a parasite like you stay here as a maid!”” My head swam, but the ache in my heart was sharper. Back in our small town, for my birthday one year, he’d bought me a mango cake, forgetting my allergy. I’d broken out in hives, my throat closing up. He had carried me in his arms, running for two hours to the nearest clinic, his face a mask of terror. Afterward, he’d sworn he would never let another mango near me. If he did, he’d joked, he should be punished by never being allowed to marry me. He was faking his amnesia now, but his vow had come true in the cruelest way. The music had stopped, and our story was over. His heart was full of Seraphina, and the six years of love we’d shared had evaporated into nothing. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my calf. I looked down. It was Bruno. He was holding a fork, jabbing it into my leg, over and over. “”You’re a bad woman! You bullied my new mommy!”” Beads of blood welled up, tracing red lines down my skin. Seeing my blood only seemed to excite him, and he dug the fork in deeper. “”I’m punishing you, you bad, bad woman!”” Seraphina let out a delighted little laugh, praising Bruno for being her “”brave, loyal little knight.”” Damian watched, a faint, cruel smile playing on his lips as he observed my pain. I had always held onto a fragile, desperate love for my son. Now, as he twisted that fork, that last piece of my heart disintegrated. This was the child I had brought into the world in a tiny clinic, without an epidural, after nine hours of agonizing labor. The same child who, in another life, would kill me because he was ashamed of my origins. Now, he was hurting me for a woman who was practically a stranger. When they had finally vented their frustrations, the three of them went into the master bedroom together. A happy family. I was left alone in the vast, cold living room, an outsider. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I limped to the bathroom, cleaned and bandaged my leg, and began to pack. There wasn’t much to take. Just some clothes. That was the sum of my six years with Damian Blackwood. 3 Two days before my flight, I went to the bank to exchange currency for my new life in London. As I stepped out, a person in a fluffy mascot costume—a promotion for the mall—blocked my way. The oversized head came off, revealing a familiar, friendly face. “”Rachel? It’s Mark! From back home. I haven’t seen you in forever! When are you coming back for a visit?”” I was an orphan. Damian and Bruno had been the only family I’d ever known. I’d given up everything for them, and it had all been a terrible mistake. Mark’s simple, honest concern was almost too much to bear. I forced a smile. “”I’m not going back, Mark.”” He grinned. “”I always thought I had a shot with you, you know. Then you found that Damian guy six years ago. But hey, it all worked out. You married into a good family. I’m happy for you. Come on, let me buy you lunch.”” He made a hundred bucks a day wearing that stupid costume, but he insisted on taking me to a restaurant where a single meal cost five hundred. He said we didn’t know when we’d see each other again. I couldn’t refuse his kindness. The restaurant was next to the most luxurious bridal salon in New York. Damian had once promised me a fairy-tale wedding, a dress made just for me. It was another promise that had dissolved into thin air. I glanced through the window and froze. There they were. Damian and Seraphina, trying on wedding attire. And Bruno was with them, beaming. Damian saw me at the same moment. His face contorted with rage. He stormed out of the shop and, without a word, punched Mark squarely in the jaw. He spun on me, his voice dripping with venom. “”Rachel, are you that desperate? Scrabbling around in the gutter for trash like this? Then again,”” he sneered, “”I guess a poor girl from the sticks can only attract a loser like him.”” “”Damian, are you insane?!”” I scrambled to help Mark up, putting myself between them. Mark looked utterly bewildered, unable to comprehend that this was the same man who had once loved me so fiercely. A raw, burning anger rose in my throat. I stared at Damian and Seraphina, a perfect couple in their wedding finery. “”And what are you two doing?”” I spat. “”Playing house? Getting married? Should I send a wedding gift?”” He looked stunned for a second, shocked that I’d dared to talk back. Then his expression hardened into self-righteous fury. “”This is your fault! You’re an embarrassment! Bruno wanted to see his mother looking beautiful and elegant for once. Seraphina was just doing this for him, to make him happy! Don’t you dare project your own filthy, cheating mind onto everyone else!”” Bruno, clutching Seraphina’s pristine white dress, nodded eagerly. “”You’re ugly! You’re not my mom! I want Seraphina to be my mom! Why don’t you just get out of our lives?!”” Seraphina smirked, a look of pure triumph on her face. “”Rachel, darling, a woman has to accept when she’s past her prime. You really should consider some work. It does wonders.”” My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms so hard I should have felt pain, but I felt nothing but a cold, spreading numbness. “”Damian,”” I said, my voice dangerously low. “”Who the hell do you think you are? You’re the father of my son. That’s it. You have no right to control my life. You three can play your sick little family game all you want. Just keep it out of my sight.”” I turned to Seraphina. “”And you. If you enjoy picking up my leftovers, be my guest.”” With that, I helped Mark to his feet and walked away, not looking back. Behind me, I could hear Damian’s furious shouts and Seraphina’s fake, soothing reassurances fading into the city noise. “”Rachel,”” Mark murmured, “”don’t listen to them. You’re the best person I know.”” Back in our small town, everyone thought so. Even as an orphan, I’d had countless people trying to set me up. But with Damian, I was less than nothing. An object of disgust. Not anymore. I would never give him the power to hurt me again. 4 After taking Mark to an urgent care clinic, I went home. To my surprise, Damian was sitting on the sofa, waiting for me. He was holding a wedding dress. When he saw me, the hard lines of his face softened. He stood and held the dress out to me. “”I was out of line today,”” he said, his voice gentle. “”I’m sorry. I picked this out for you. We can take a family portrait with Bruno. We’ll hang it right there.”” He pointed to the main wall in the living room, a grand gesture, as if he truly saw me as the future lady of this house. But I recognized the dress instantly. It was the one Seraphina had been wearing earlier. The one she’d rejected. He was giving me her cast-offs. In his mind, that’s all I was worth. A small-town girl who could be placated with secondhand goods. I didn’t call him out. “”When?”” I asked, feigning interest as I ran my fingers over the lace. He thought I was pleased. “”Tomorrow.”” The day before my flight. I smiled faintly and nodded. A final memory with the two people I was about to excise from my life forever. After this, we would be strangers. 5 The photo shoot was a rare moment of peace. Even Bruno, who usually looked at me with open contempt, seemed different. As I emerged from makeup, he grunted, “”You don’t look as pretty as a princess like Seraphina, but… you look okay, I guess.”” Damian nudged him gently and pulled him into his arms for a photo with me. In my last life, a crumb of affection like that would have made me giddy for days. Now, I felt nothing. A complete, placid emptiness. Once I’d made the decision to cut them out of my heart, they lost the power to affect me. The photographer positioned us, his finger hovering over the shutter button. Suddenly, Damian’s phone shrieked. It was the special ringtone he’d set for Seraphina. “”Stop!”” he barked at the photographer, snatching the phone up. A frantic, female voice burst from the speaker. “”Damian, help me! There are these guys… they’re harassing me! There are three of them, I’m so scared… please, you have to come!”” The color drained from Damian’s face. “”Seraphina, don’t be afraid! I’m on my way!”” Without a word of explanation to me, he bolted from the studio. Bruno, recognizing her voice, started yelling, “”I have to go protect my new mommy!”” And just like that, father and son were gone. The photographer looked at me, his expression a mixture of pity and embarrassment. “”Miss… Reed? Should we… wait for them to come back?”” The fragile bubble of happiness from moments before burst, leaving only the bitter taste of ashes in my mouth. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. I returned the secondhand wedding dress. It wasn’t my style anyway. The supporting characters had left the stage. It was time for the star to have her moment. I chose a sleek, powerful pantsuit, the kind a CEO might wear, and asked the photographer for a set of professional headshots. A new portrait for a new life. Later that evening, my phone buzzed. It was a social media notification. Seraphina had posted a picture. There was Bruno, curled up in her arms, looking up at her and saying “”Mommy,”” his face alight with adoration. And there, standing beside them, his arm protectively around her, was Damian. The “”harassment at the bar”” had been a game of Truth or Dare. Seraphina had drawn a dare: call the most important person on your contact list and have them “”rescue”” you. And Damian had dropped everything and run to her side. It was fitting. It was the last day I would ever be a part of his world. 6 Damian came home late, the scent of Seraphina’s perfume clinging to his clothes. Bruno was already asleep on the sofa. He saw me and his tone was uncharacteristically soft. “”Seraphina ran into a little trouble at the bar. I had to go sort it out. It was nothing.”” I nodded, pretending to believe him. His lies were clumsy, but then, I wasn’t worth the effort of a good one. “”Go give Bruno a bath,”” he said, his tone casual, entitled. “”He’s exhausted.”” I walked silently to the sofa and gently lifted our son into my arms. I started to unbutton his shirt, but his eyes fluttered open. Seeing my face, he scowled and shoved my hands away. “”Get away from me! I want Seraphina!”” I froze. Before I could react, he kicked out, his heel connecting squarely with my bandaged leg, right on top of the fork wounds from the other day. A bolt of agony shot up my leg, and my knees buckled. “”Get off me! You’re disgusting!”” he shrieked, his voice filled with a venom that was terrifying in a child so young. The commotion brought Damian over. “”Bruno,”” he said, his voice holding a mild, unconvincing note of reprimand. “”That’s no way to talk to your mother.”” “”She’s not my mother!”” Bruno screamed, his face red and tear-streaked. “”Seraphina is my mother!”” I stumbled back, cradling my throbbing leg. Damian walked right past me, not even a glance in my direction, as if I were a piece of furniture. He sighed with theatrical weariness, then pulled out his phone and facetimed Seraphina. It was a familiar, practiced motion. Even his “”frustration”” with his son felt like a performance for my benefit. “”Seraphina, Bruno’s missing you. Can you talk to him for a minute?”” His voice was impossibly tender, the voice a man uses for the woman he truly loves. Her smiling face appeared on the screen. “”Bruno, sweetie, what’s wrong? Do you miss me?”” Bruno scrambled to the phone, his face a mask of misery, as if my touch had been a violation. “”Seraphina, I miss you! I won a prize at school today and I’m saving it for you! When are you coming over?”” “”I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay, sweetie?”” she cooed. “”You be a good boy.”” He nodded vigorously, a bright smile finally breaking through his tears. And me? I got cold silence, or scorn, or violence. The last flicker of warmth in my heart guttered and died. I turned, walked into my room, and shut the door, blocking out the sound of their happy chatter. I took out my phone and double-checked the details for my flight, the car service, the flat waiting for me in London. Everything was arranged. Later that night, in bed, Damian pulled me into his arms, his hold surprisingly tight, almost desperate. “”Bruno’s just a kid,”” he murmured into my hair. “”He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Don’t be mad.”” I lay rigid in his embrace, the feeling of his skin against mine making my own crawl. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. Listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I silently counted down the hours. Tomorrow. Tomorrow it would all be over. ” ”

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1 My nephew was diagnosed with leukemia, and my daughter was the only one in the family who could save him. To save the only male heir, the only one to carry on their precious family name, my in-laws forced my frail daughter to donate her bone marrow. In the end, my brother-in-law’s son lived. My daughter died on the operating table. Lost in a haze of grief, I clutched her cold, lifeless body and threw myself from the 18th floor. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Three days before my nephew’s diagnosis was even known. … In my first life, when my nephew, Ted, was diagnosed with leukemia, my daughter, Amy, was the only match. But Amy had been sickly since birth. The doctors explicitly advised against the donation. To protect the family’s “golden boy,” they all insisted. They drugged me, knocked me unconscious, and dragged my little girl to the operating room. When I came to, the whole family was celebrating. Ted’s transplant was a success. And my Amy… my Amy was lying in the room next door, her small body still and cold. My father- and mother-in-law looked at me with faces full of false sympathy. “Don’t blame us, Lily,” my mother-in-law had said, her voice cloying. “If it had been Amy with leukemia, we would have made Ted donate for her, of course.” “She just wasn’t strong enough to survive,” my father-in-law added with a sigh. “It was her fate. She was just unlucky.” I was drowning in a sea of rage and despair, screaming for justice for my daughter. But they all pointed their fingers at me, calling me hysterical, irrational. Even my husband, Mark, stood by silently, his face a mask of indifference. Utterly broken, I carried Amy’s body to the highest floor and leaped. I never expected to open my eyes again. But here I am, three days before it all began. “Mommy? Why are you crying?” A small voice pulled me back to reality. “Was it because I kicked off the blankets last night? Are you mad at me?” I turned, my vision blurred with tears. My daughter, Amy, fresh from her nap, was looking up at me with wide, worried eyes. She was only seven, but her gaze held a wisdom that broke my heart. A fresh wave of grief and love washed over me. I pulled her into a fierce embrace, burying my face in her soft hair. This time, Mommy won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear it. I packed a bag, and the first thing I did was drive Amy to my mother’s house. Later that afternoon, when I knew Mark would be off work, I called him. “Mark,” I began, my voice thick with feigned anguish. “I took Amy for a check-up today… The doctor said… he said she has leukemia.” I let a sob escape my lips. Last time, you all said you’d make Ted donate if Amy were the sick one, didn’t you? Let’s see how you react to the news now. After hanging up, I drove home alone. When I walked in, my in-laws were fawning over Ted, the picture of domestic bliss. My arrival shattered the cozy atmosphere. The smiles vanished from their faces, replaced by annoyance. Before I could even step fully inside, my mother-in-law rushed forward. “Mark already told us about Amy,” she said, her tone sharp and devoid of any sympathy. “We heard that even if you treat this disease, she’ll be on medication for life. So, we’ve discussed it, and we’ve decided… it’s better not to treat it.” “Besides,” my father-in-law chimed in, not even looking at me, “you know our financial situation. We just enrolled Ted in that expensive advanced STEM camp. There’s simply no extra money for Amy’s medical bills.” “If you insist on treating her,” my mother-in-law finished, “you’ll have to get the money from your own family.” One by one, they all nodded in agreement, sighing about Amy’s terrible luck, her unfortunate fate. 2 Their callousness didn’t surprise me. I kept up my act, my voice trembling with a desperate plea. “Mom, Dad… my family will cover the costs. But the doctor said she needs a bone marrow transplant. The success rate is highest with a close relative. I came back to ask if Ted… if he could just get tested to see if he’s a match.” The air in the living room went still. “Are you trying to ruin your nephew?” my father-in-law slammed his hand on the table, his voice a low growl. “Ted is our precious grandson! I will not allow anyone or anything to harm him!” “That’s right!” my mother-in-law shrieked, as if I’d suggested feeding her grandson to snakes. She threw a dish on the floor, where it shattered. “Ted is your nephew! How can you be so heartless?” The hypocrisy was so thick I could taste it. When their grandson gets sick, they’re willing to sacrifice their granddaughter. But when their granddaughter is the one dying, they won’t even spare a dime. I let my shoulders slump in pretend defeat. “But Mom, Dad… Amy is your granddaughter too. Can you really just stand by and watch her die?” Seeing my agitation, Mark pulled me aside. “They’re right, Lily,” he whispered, refusing to meet my eyes. “It’s not our fault she’s sick. If… if she doesn’t make it, we can always have another kid. Maybe a boy next time.” Even though I thought I was prepared for anything, hearing those words from her own father felt like a physical blow. “Fine,” I said, my voice flat and cold. “I understand.” “You won’t save her. So I will.” I turned and walked out, leaving them all standing there in stunned silence. What they didn’t know was that my phone had been in my pocket the entire time, its microphone recording every last, venomous word. The next morning, I was woken by a flood of notifications on my phone. My father-in-law had pinned a message in every single family group chat. 【Effective immediately, Lily and Amy are no longer part of this family. Their lives, and their deaths, have nothing to do with us. This notice is final.】 Every group had 99+ new messages. I opened one and saw the conversation. He’d written: 【Amy has leukemia. It’s bad enough she’s going to die, but now her mother is trying to guilt-trip her cousin into donating his bone marrow.】 Immediately, a few relatives jumped in to my defense. 【Donating marrow isn’t that big a deal, is it? You can’t just let Amy die.】 【I don’t think Lily is trying to guilt-trip anyone. She’s just a mother trying to save her child.】 【Poor Amy. To get such a terrible disease at her age… what awful luck.】 Seeing the conversation shift toward sympathy for Amy, my father-in-law quickly typed again. 【I’m just warning everyone. Donating marrow is risky. It can permanently damage your health.】 He followed up with: 【If she comes asking any of you for a donation, it’s on you. We have nothing to do with it.】 The relatives who had just been expressing their sympathy went silent. No one wanted that kind of risk falling on their own family. I looked at the chat log and smiled. It was like they were handing me the ammunition themselves. I was just wondering how to expose their ugliness to the world, and here they were, doing the work for me. I typed a quick reply into the group. 【But Amy is part of this family, isn’t she? Dad, Mom… I can understand if you don’t want to help, but why are you stopping others from helping? It’s like you want her to die.】 A moment later, my sister-in-law, Ted’s mother, replied. 【It’s human nature to avoid risk. Everyone has their own family and career to think about. An injury could be a disaster for a household.】 3 【If it were my Ted who had leukemia, I would rather give up on treatment than burden the rest of the family.】 【True family doesn’t burden each other.】 The chat was flooded with praise for her, calling her noble and selfless. I had to laugh at her grandstanding. I wondered if she’d feel so selfless tomorrow, when she received her own son’s diagnosis. Ignoring the barrage of insults that followed, I closed the app and saved the entire chat history. Back in the Harrisons’ living room, my father-in-law decided that simply kicking me out wasn’t enough. “Mark, you should divorce her,” he said, his face grim. “A disease like that is a money pit. We can’t let one girl drag the entire family down into poverty.” My mother-in-law quickly agreed. “A divorce would be for the best. All these years, and she couldn’t even give you a son. Just one sickly, worthless girl who’s now dying of a terminal illness.” “You’ll be dragged down if you stay with a woman like that!” she insisted. “Once you’re free, Mom will find you a much better wife!” Mark just nodded. “You’re right. We can’t let one girl ruin our whole family. We have to get a divorce.” A moment later, my phone buzzed with a text from him. 【If you insist on trying to save Amy, then we’re done. Let’s get a divorce. Meet me at the courthouse tomorrow at 10 a.m. I’ll give up my parental rights. From now on, Amy is your problem, not mine.】 A wave of relief washed over me. I hadn’t expected them to move so quickly. “Amy, my love,” I whispered to the empty room. “No one can ever hurt you again.” I calmed my racing heart and replied with a single word. 【Okay.】 The next day, at ten in the morning, I was standing in front of the courthouse. The entire Harrison clan was already there, waiting. They stood in a tight, defensive cluster, as if they were afraid I’d change my mind and cling to them. My father-in-law shoved a divorce agreement into my hands. “Don’t think we’re being cruel,” he said, his face a mask of solemn duty. “No one in their right mind would choose to save her. It’s leukemia. If you won’t give up, then you can’t be part of this family.” His righteous act was so absurd I almost laughed out loud. Always so fake. But it didn’t matter anymore. The terms of the agreement were harsh. Not only was Mark giving up all custody of Amy, but they were also demanding she be stripped of the Harrison name. They wanted us cut off, erased from their lives, forever. As I read, Mark leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. “If you give up on Amy now, if you promise to give us a son, I’m willing to give you one last chance to change your mind.” I resisted the urge to slap him again. Without a moment’s hesitation, I uncapped the pen and signed my name. A few minutes later, Mark and I walked out of the courthouse with our divorce certificate. The Harrisons huddled together, their faces beaming with relief, celebrating as if they’d just won the lottery. “We’re finally free of that jinx!” “Yes! And that sickly Amy is gone, too. I was afraid to even let Ted get near her. What if he caught it?” “A sick kid, and a girl at that. What was the point of treating her anyway?” They were all breathing a collective sigh of relief, savoring their freedom. But in the next second, a text message alert chimed on my former in-laws’ phones. I knew what it was. Ted’s diagnosis had arrived.

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I am the only daughter of the Blanchett family, raised since birth to be its heir. If the students of Northwood Academy are the elite of society, then I am the apex of that pyramid. Before the school started admitting scholarship students, there was a delicate balance. No discrimination, no mockery—just pure, unadulterated ambition in everyone’s eyes. Until the first scholarship girl arrived. And just like that, I knew the plot had begun to turn. You see, I was reborn into this world. In the original story, my character was the villainess. The heroine was the new scholarship student, a resilient little flower who endured a year of torment from the villainess’s friends without ever breaking. The funny thing is, the villainess never directly participated. Yet the heroine blamed her for everything, convinced that without the villainess’s tacit approval, no one would have dared to touch her. Later, the villainess’s parents died in a car crash. Spurred on by the heroine’s “encouragement,” the villainess’s brother schemed to usurp the family inheritance. Her supposed friends, moved by the heroine’s “unbreakable spirit,” all turned against her. Ultimately, the villainess was cast out by her family and died a miserable death on the streets. 1 It was the kind of cliché, tropey story that was so full of melodrama it made you sick. And if you ask me, the original villainess was far too kind. I strode into the classroom, arms crossed. The air was buzzing with chatter about the new scholarship student. I kicked a desk, hard, and the noise died instantly. If we’re talking about being a villain, I’m a hell of a lot better at it than she ever was. I scanned the room, my irritation simmering, and dropped into my seat. I never liked school to begin with. I’d finally graduated, only to die on my way to work when a rogue plastic bag flew into my face, blinding me just long enough to get into a fatal car accident. Then I was reborn, only to end up as a villainess in a cheap novel. The one silver lining was that fate had finally answered my prayers: this time, I was rich. So, as a sort of repayment, I would protect everything the original villainess had lost. I would save her parents from that car crash. With that thought, I let out a heavy sigh. The boy behind me tapped my shoulder. “Aria, the new girl is coming soon. Should we give her a proper Northwood welcome?” I was already in a foul mood. The thought of someone stirring up trouble for me, for no reason, made me whip my head around to glare at Mason. He and the original Aria were childhood friends. In the story, he was the first to betray her. A dog that can’t be tamed. The most disgusting kind. The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. “If you mess with her, you can get the hell out of Northwood.” The classroom was silent. Everyone heard me. Mason stared for a second, then gave a helpless shrug. “Whoa, what’s with you, princess? I was just asking. Didn’t want you to be unhappy.” I twisted the cap off a bottle of water on my desk and poured it over his head. “Keep your bright ideas to yourself. Don’t pin them on me.” Mason shot to his feet, roaring, “Aria! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you insane?” I crossed my legs, my eyes raking over him. “Do you have the right to yell at me? Are we that close?” I wasn’t the original Aria, that bleeding-heart who would help her friends unconditionally. In my eyes, they were worse than dogs. For years, the Thorne family had been mired in internal conflict. Though Mason and I grew up together, I never once lifted a finger to help him. Compared to his two older brothers, Mason was painfully incompetent and on the verge of being disowned. About a year ago, it must have dawned on him that if I put in a good word, the position of head of the Thorne family would be his. But why should I help him? Still, I did need a dog. I could string Mason along with a few scraps, and he’d do anything for me. But now, the heroine was here. It was time to defuse this ticking time bomb before it blew up in my face. 2 I stood up and grabbed him by the collar. “Who the hell do you think you are, screaming at me? From now on, stay out of my sight. You’re an eyesore.” Mason’s face froze, then he quickly stammered, “Aria, I was just joking.” I stared at him, my voice flat. “I wasn’t. Get lost.” Stanley, sitting nearby, had been enjoying the show. Realizing I was serious, he tugged at my arm. “Princess, come on. Mason didn’t mean it.” I smirked and slapped him across the face with my left hand. “Then you can get lost with him.” Stanley touched his cheek in disbelief. “You hit me?” I met his gaze, and my right hand followed, striking his other cheek. “And? What are you going to do about it?” Seeing him just stand there like a statue, clutching his face, I rolled my eyes and walked out of the classroom. “When I get back, I don’t want to see either of you.” Did Stanley really think he was any better than Mason? They were both pathetic. One took everything Aria gave him, then led the charge to isolate her. The other had a lifelong crush on her, but let the heroine’s whispers turn him against her, even handing her over to a pervert. If it weren’t for Stanley, the original Aria might not have died on the streets. If I wasn’t worried about derailing the plot too soon, I would have dealt with them long ago. The fresh air improved my mood considerably. Before I could even make it down the stairs, a girl’s voice called out from behind me. “Excuse me, could you tell me where Class A is?” I turned to face her. One look was all it took. This was the heroine, Stella Chad. Stella clenched her fists, a smile plastered on her face as she asked again. “Hi, I’m a new transfer student, so I’m a little lost. Your pin says Class A. Could you show me the way?” I couldn’t be bothered. I looked away. A frown creased Stella’s brow, and her eyes flashed with anger. “Hey! Did you hear me? We’re both students here. You can’t just bully me because I’m new, can you? Getting into this school means I’m on the same level as you. Can’t you help with something so simple?” I had to laugh. “If you’re blind, go see a doctor. You just threw a massive accusation at me without a second thought. What, are you right just because you’re poor?” Stella’s eyes widened in fury. She stormed over and grabbed my uniform. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with being poor? I got into Northwood on my own merit. How dare you, who rely on your parents for everything, say that to me?” 3 I glanced down at her hand, my voice dripping with disdain. “I was just going to tell you to get lost. But now, I’m not letting you go.” I looked at her still-dry hair, grabbed a handful, and yanked. Stella screamed, trying to break free. I let go, then immediately kicked her to the ground. The commotion brought everyone from the classroom rushing out. Stella was on her knees, looking pathetic, but her mouth was as sharp as ever. “Don’t think you’re so great just because you have money! Without your parents, you’re nothing! I earned my place here with my grades! I’m going to the principal! You just wait!” Mason, despite the humiliation I’d just put him through, had benefited greatly from being my dog this past year. Hearing someone talk to me like that, he kicked Stella, sending her sprawling. Her head hit the wall, and blood started to trickle down. Stanley, seeing this, quickly stepped in to stop Mason from doing anything further. I didn’t even bother giving them a second glance. I went straight to the headmaster’s office. “Old man! Move Mason Thorne and Stanley Armitage to Class D.” Headmaster Phillips sighed, looking weary. “My dear girl, what did they do to upset you this time?” I collapsed onto the sofa and picked at my nails. “They’re disgusting to look at.” I was always polite with Headmaster Phillips. First, he was my father’s good friend. Second, he always indulged me. He’d never refused any of my requests. He nodded, indicating he understood. Satisfied, I grabbed a bottle of water, took a sip, and put it back. “Aria, the common folk have a right to climb the ladder too, don’t you think?” I looked at him, my expression unreadable. Was this old fool trying to lecture me? I smiled and pulled out my phone to make the choice for him. “Stella Chad is Northwood’s first scholarship student, and she will be its last. Old man, you know I’m already giving you face by not doing more.” Headmaster Phillips eyed me, then quietly opened a drawer by his leg. I rolled my eyes and walked out. Hearing the sound of him using his personal oxygen tank, I scoffed. Climb the ladder? With what? Grades? Thinking of Stella, I leaned against the wall, my gaze turning cold. After a moment, I went back in and grabbed the half-finished bottle of water. “Aria, dear, remember to close the door on your way out.” I chuckled. I didn’t listen. Close the door for him? Who did he think he was? Water bottle in hand, I sauntered to the nurse’s office. Stella was lying on a cot. When she saw me, her eyes burned with hatred. “What are you doing here? If it’s to apologize, don’t bother. I don’t accept!” 4 Seeing the look in her eyes, I couldn’t help but laugh. The school nurse, sitting beside her, trembled and scooted his chair away. Stella seemed to realize I wasn’t there to apologize, and her expression hardened with anger. “Hey! Do you really think you’re all that? Let me tell you, I’m injured. You’re going to have to pay for my medical bills and for emotional distress. If you don’t, I’ll sue you!” Before I could even speak, the nurse couldn’t take the pressure anymore. He scurried over to me and whispered, “Miss Blanchett, I have a few small things to attend to, could I possibly…” I nodded. He fled without a backward glance. As the door clicked shut, I twisted the cap off the bottle and poured the remaining water over Stella’s head. “I don’t think I’m all that. I am.” Stella shrieked, trying to fight back, but even uninjured she was no match for me, let alone now. I slapped her hard across the face. “Stella Chad, you’ve made an enemy of me at Northwood. You’re in for a world of pain. But I’ll give you one chance. Kneel, apologize, and get the hell out of this school.” Stella’s face was a mask of disbelief. She glared at me, her teeth gritted. “You think I’ll surrender? I’m telling you, it’s impossible! Go ahead, kill me if you have the guts! You think you’re an empress? The students at Northwood are all from noble families. They’ve had a proper upbringing. They won’t just stand by and watch you bully me!” All things considered, I genuinely believed Stella had a future in comedy. How else could she make me want to laugh every time she opened her mouth? A proper upbringing? Did she mean being taught how to backstab your siblings to come out on top? I clicked my tongue. I didn’t slap her again. Instead, I patted her cheek lightly. “Stella, my dear, I truly look forward to our next meeting. I hope you’ll have a noble knight by your side to protect you then. Promise me, okay?” I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. If someone was actually willing to stand up to me for Stella, I would have to admire their courage. An egg trying to smash a rock. The thought was exhilarating. School was already a bore. If someone was going to offer up their face for me to slap, I certainly wouldn’t refuse. 5 Stella’s hands were trembling with rage. “Do you dare tell me your name? I will not let you get away with this!” I covered my mouth, feigning fear. “Really? You promise you won’t let me go? My name is Aria Blanchett. I hope you’ll remember it. Maybe get it tattooed.” Stella spat at me in disgust. “You pretentious bitch! Without your parents, you wouldn’t even be able to get into Northwood! I got in with my own two hands, with my grades! When we graduate, I will grind you into the dirt!” My eyes darkened. Disgusted, I took off my soiled jacket and threw it on the floor. “Fine. I’ll be waiting.” Seeing her disdainful expression, I looked away and left. Boring. It was always the same line. Her own two hands? Her grades? Let’s see how those “grades” of hers hold up at Northwood. At Northwood, exams determined class rankings. Students in lower-ranked classes fought tooth and nail to get into Class A. The only reason Stella was placed in Class A right away was because it was the only class with an empty seat. And as luck would have it, the placement exams were tomorrow. Her precious grades wouldn’t mean a thing here. The next day, I arrived at the classroom just as the bell rang. The teacher, seeing me take my seat, began to hand out the exam papers. Mason and Stanley were gone. I twirled my pen, my gaze falling on Stella. “Good luck, everyone. I hope to see you all in Class A again.” Stella was fired up. The moment she got the paper, she started poring over it. I rested my chin on my hand and watched her for a while. She chewed on her pen, then on her nails. I raised an eyebrow and glanced at my own blank paper. With two seconds left on the clock, I finally wrote my name on the sheet. Stella had been watching me throughout the exam, so she knew I hadn’t written a single word. She shot to her feet, pointing at me righteously. “Teacher, Aria Blanchett didn’t write anything! Isn’t that a form of deliberate provocation? Even if her family is rich, she should still have a proper attitude towards school exams! I demand that you punish her severely.” The entire class turned to look at her. Stella lifted her chin. “Being rich doesn’t give you the right to disrespect school rules! She’s a terrible example for other students. The school should issue a strict reprimand to curb this kind of behavior!” She expected her righteous speech to be met with approval. Instead, she was met with laughter. “Who let this charity case in?” “Is she declaring war on Miss Blanchett? Does she even have the right?” “Everyone knows the rules at Northwood. Aria Blanchett is the rules.”

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I am Adrian Sterling’s most treasured little snake. As I was lounging contentedly on his chiseled abs, a series of pop-up comments suddenly materialized before my eyes: 【The main couple is finally going to meet! Go, brooding Adrian, love her fiercely!】 【Here it is, here it is! The heroine gets scared by the hero’s snake, and it’s love at first sight for him. He plays it cool and drops that classic line: ‘Is that all it takes to scare you?’】 【But it’s a shame about the little princess snake. In the end, to win back the heroine, the hero sends her to the fighting pits, where she gets eaten by the second male lead’s snake.】 This snake: ?! I looked up and saw the two of them staring at each other, just as the comments described. And so, this snake decided to run away from home. 1 No sooner had the text faded than the handbag in Sophia’s hands clattered to the floor. Her face was a mask of terror. Adrian scooped me off his stomach and placed me into my cold, sterile terrarium. He tossed in a baby mouse for good measure. Tying the belt of his silk robe, he drawled, “Is that all it takes to scare you?” “Your job is to raise the mice and feed the snake according to her requirements. If you can’t handle that, you can leave.” Sophia’s eyes reddened, a picture of pitiable beauty. “No, Mr. Sterling, I can do it. I can.” I’m scared! I can’t handle it! I’m just a lazy, spoiled little snake who does nothing but cause trouble. For dinner, I only eat live, mini-mice. For snacks, I only eat the tiny worms from inside fresh fruit. I’m the kind of useless snake whose only real skill is coiling prettily around Adrian’s wrist. Sending me to a fighting pit is no different from sending me to my death. Didn’t he hire Sophia because I was being too picky with my food, and he was too busy to raise the mice himself? Why did he have to go and hire the Grim Reaper for me? Suddenly, the baby mouse didn’t look so appetizing anymore. “Fine,” Adrian said. “The specific feeding instructions are in the snake house. Just follow them. But every six days, you must bring me a live, five-gram baby mouse. It must be every six days, five grams, and alive. I feed her this one myself.” He pointed at me. “Yes, Mr. Sterling,” Sophia replied. And just like that, he agreed. I panicked, darting back and forth inside the glass box. Adrian glanced down and noticed I wasn’t eating. His voice softened with affection. “What’s wrong, not eating again, hm? Should I switch to the peach worms for you?” He reached in, his fingers stroking my scales. The thought that this same hand would one day send me to my doom filled me with rage. I struck, sinking my fangs into the back of his hand. Adrian just laughed. “What’s this? Trying to eat me now, are you? You ungrateful little thing, my dear Lyra.” He’s the one who’s ungrateful, ditching me for a pretty face! 2 Adrian still doted on me. For the entire week, aside from delivering my mice, Sophia barely crossed paths with him. I was starting to doubt the truth of the pop-up comments. But then, they hit me with a bombshell: 【It’s happening! The drama starts today. The hero is meeting the second male lead and runs into the heroine, who’s working part-time at a bar. The love triangle begins!】 What? How many jobs does this Sophia have? Before I could even process my complaint, Adrian had grabbed his car keys and was heading for the door. I thrashed around in my heated terrarium, desperate. He was just about to leave when he turned back. “Lyra, what’s wrong with you?” I slithered back and forth, flicking my tongue out frantically. “You want to go out with me?” He shook his head. “No, it’s too crowded, too dangerous for you.” I was not happy. I coiled into a dark, dramatic spiral. Adrian sighed. “You usually won’t even see strangers. Why are you so desperate to go out today? Don’t blame me if you get scared.” But he couldn’t resist my pleading. He opened the terrarium. Overjoyed, I wound myself around his wrist and gave him a little lick with my tongue. Adrian pouted. “This happy just to go out? You’re even willing to lick me now.” … The bar was packed. I shrank back, a little scared. Adrian chuckled. “Scaredy-snake. And you were the one who insisted on coming.” He dared to laugh at me! Indignant, I let out a few hisses and bit the back of his hand again. Adrian poked my head gently. “You little princess. The moment you’re unhappy, you bite me. Who else in the world would dare treat me like this, hm?” I didn’t care. I turned my head away haughtily. 3 “Adrian, is your hand okay?” John asked him. He’d met Adrian through the snake fighting circuit. He was supposed to be something of a friend, but now, he was probably my potential rival’s owner. He had brought a massive python with him. I got even more scared and hid myself inside Adrian’s collar. “It’s fine. Just a love bite from my little princess,” Adrian said, frowning at John. “Cover that thing up. You’re scaring her.” John draped a cloth over the python’s cage. “What made you bring your precious treasure out today?” “The treasure wanted to go out. What could I do?” John stared at me for a long moment. “She really is beautiful. No wonder you treasure her so much. How about we make her the stake for our next bet?” Adrian cursed at him. “Get lost.” Just as he said that, the comments appeared again: 【Here comes the classic scene! The heroine gets scared by the snake and drops the tray of drinks. The hero asks her bluntly, ‘Why are you working so many jobs?’】 【Then the second male lead feels sorry for the heroine and plays the hero, paying for the drinks for her.】 【And thus, the love triangle is complete.】 I turned my head towards the door. Sure enough, there was Sophia, holding a tray of drinks. The moment our eyes met, the glasses crashed to the floor. Oh no. It seemed the pop-up comments were real after all. My world went black, and I went limp. My whole body hung limply from Adrian’s wrist. He panicked, cupping me in his hands. “Lyra, what’s wrong? Lyra!” Without even glancing at the door, he snapped, “What is the meaning of this? If you can’t even carry a tray of drinks, what are you doing working here?” Sophia stood at the entrance to the private room, looking pitiful, tears welling in her eyes. No, I couldn’t let them interact. Thinking fast, I slithered over to John, trying to draw Adrian’s attention. 4 It worked. Adrian’s gaze was glued to me. I ducked into John’s jacket, poking my head out to hiss at Adrian twice. “This little one is quite lively,” John laughed. Adrian’s brow furrowed into a deep knot, his voice tinged with hurt. “Lyra, have you no conscience? Where do you think you’re going?” “Don’t call her Lyra Sterling anymore. Call her Lyra Stone,” John teased, scratching under my chin. I played along, rubbing my head against his palm. No one was paying any attention to Sophia at the door. I did it! Just kidding. Adrian, green with jealousy, snatched me back. “You little thing. So heartless.” After he said that, he still looked towards the doorway and delivered the line from the pop-up comments: “Why are you working so many jobs? If this affects your work at my snake house, you’re fired.” Sophia looked like she was about to cry. “It won’t, Mr. Sterling. I promise it won’t affect my work.” Seeing this, John immediately stepped in to mediate. “Hey, it’s no big deal. You can go. I’ll cover the cost of the drinks.” After Sophia left, he said cheekily, “Adrian, why don’t you hire me to take care of your snakes? I’m an expert. I guarantee I’ll keep little Lyra looking beautiful.” Adrian shot back, “Get as far away from me as possible.” It seemed there was no changing this plot at all! 5 So I decided to run away. That night, to keep Adrian from putting me back in my terrarium, I was incredibly clingy. Every time he put me down, I would crawl right back onto his hand, my tail wagging nonstop. He was completely exasperated. “Lyra, why are you so clingy today? I usually have to beg you to come out for a little while.” Helpless, Adrian took me to bed with him. He looked at me seriously. “You have to be good, you hear me? The terrarium is safer.” I flicked my tongue out, trying to look cute. That did it. Adrian was completely defeated. “Alright, alright, I get it. But if you feel uncomfortable, you have to wake me up, understand?” Adrian fell asleep quickly. By the moonlight, I began to survey the bedroom. The doors and windows were shut tight, very secure. The only possible escape route was the crack under the door. Goodbye, Adrian. You were really good to me, but I have to save my own skin first. I took one last look at him, then started slithering towards the door. I was halfway out when the door suddenly swung open. A firm grip seized the back of my neck, and I was lifted into the air. Adrian and I were face to face, his eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t understand. “I knew something was off with you being so clingy today. Turns out you were planning to run away, you little liar. I take you out just once, and now you can’t get enough of the outside world?” I flicked my tongue out guiltily. Adrian was unmoved. “Acting cute won’t work. Since you won’t listen, your punishment is to sleep back in the terrarium.” 6 Damn it. I had lost my snake-rights to free movement. Unless Adrian was watching me, I was to be locked in the terrarium. I protested by lying on my back, belly up, and not moving an inch. Adrian was busy cutting open peaches for me nearby. “Don’t be difficult. This is your punishment for being naughty, you understand?” Peach worms were hard to find. He had already gone through a whole pile of peaches without finding a single one. This was, in fact, because I was on a hunger strike. He felt so bad that he was trying to tempt me with my favorite treat. “There, now be good and eat.” He tossed a fresh little worm into my terrarium and went back to his task. My mouth watered. But a snake must have dignity. Adrian chuckled. “Alright, my little princess, I’m begging you. Please eat.” On the surface, I remained stoic, but inside, I was just putting on a show. He brought his hand close to me. “Here, you can bite me as an apology. I’m sorry, Lyra. I shouldn’t have kept you locked up.” That was a sincere enough gesture. I gave his hand a gentle nip and then began to feast happily. Full and satisfied, I stretched out on my back. I was feeling a little protein-drunk (not really). I was enjoying Adrian’s gentle pets when the doorbell suddenly rang. It was John, saying he had a new snake to show him. Adrian tucked me into his pocket and led John into the snake house. Sophia was there too, and the pop-up comments flared to life: 【The second male lead is definitely here for the heroine, right? He’s going to ask her to come work at his snake house soon.】 【That means the snake fight isn’t far off. Poor Lyra. Actually, if the hero gets the heroine, it wouldn’t be so bad if the second male lead got the snake.】 I thought that was an excellent idea. If I became John’s snake, surely I couldn’t be eaten by his other snake. So, I quietly wriggled out from the edge of his pocket and, with a swoosh, launched myself into John’s arms. John jumped, then laughed. “Lyra?” Adrian’s face instantly darkened. He reached out to grab me back. I deftly dodged his hand, wrapped myself around John’s wrist, and nuzzled my head into his chest, acting as affectionate as possible. Adrian’s hand froze in mid-air, his eyes looking like they wanted to devour me. “Lyra. Come back.” John gave an awkward smile. “Come on, little princess, go back to him.” I just coiled around John tighter. “Put her back in the terrarium,” Adrian commanded, his voice tight. “Alright.” John carefully began to pry me off, ignoring my writhing. He still dropped me back into the terrarium. I was furious. I slapped my tail against the glass over and over. Adrian’s voice was stern. “Lyra, what exactly are you trying to do?” He was raising his voice at me! I hissed at him, whipping my tail even harder against the glass. “You want to go with him that badly, is that it?” Adrian spoke each word slowly and deliberately. “I’ll open the terrarium. If you still choose him, I’ll let you go.”

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1 Every fight triggers my boyfriend’s social media countdown—a relic of our dumb “three-day silence equals breakup” rule. For ten years, he’s weaponized it. When he skipped our 67th courthouse wedding date to help his “just-divorced” childhood friend—then posted their marriage certificate—I finally snapped. I liked the post and wished them well. His rage exploded: “Mandy accidentally clicked ‘share’! Must you be so petty? She’s fragile right now!” “It’s just paperwork. I’ll marry you when she’s stable. Apologize now.” This time, I hung up. The countdown began again. But no desperate texts. No begging outside his door. Just my resignation submitted. Done. After I hung up on a dozen of his follow-up calls, he finally sent a text, his patience worn thin: “Merrin, you’ve got some nerve. Hanging up on me? You think you’re in the right here?” “You have five minutes to post an apology, or we’re through.” Ten years together, and I’d heard threats like this a hundred times. Every single time, I was the one to cave, to plead for forgiveness. This was the first time I’d ever just hung up. When I didn’t respond, Steve started the countdown on his social media feed. He knew how much I loved him, and he used it. Every fight, he’d start the clock, piling on the pressure. For ten years, that stupid rule was his leash, and I was always the one to come crawling back just before time ran out. But now, I’m tired. I’m so tired of being played. Not long after Steve’s post, Mandy, the childhood friend, posted one of her own, tagging me specifically. “Just a little joke with Steve that I accidentally made public. I didn’t realize Merrin would get so upset. I guess I shouldn’t even talk to her anymore, I’m so afraid of setting her off.” Steve, who rarely even looks at his feed, was the first to like it. “It’s someone’s own issue, Mandy, don’t blame yourself. And why should you hide it? If you want to post something, post it.” “Someone,” of course, meant me. Our mutual friends, whose businesses relied on Steve’s law firm, quickly followed suit. “Merrin is so petty. Don’t let someone like her get you down, Mandy.” “No wonder Steve won’t marry her. I wouldn’t marry a woman that insecure either.” I let out a bitter laugh. He would bend over backwards to defend Mandy, terrified of her feeling even a sliver of discomfort. But me, his girlfriend of ten years? I was always met with cold indifference. Mandy could sneeze, and he would ditch our appointment at the courthouse. I’d complain, and he’d get angrier than I was, accusing me of being controlling and petty. But now that I’d finally let go and congratulated them, he was back to his threats and countdowns, demanding I apologize. It was never about right or wrong. The scales of his affection had tipped long ago. “Ma’am, the man whose ID you provided is already married. Would you like to change the applicant?” The clerk looked at me with pity. I took the ID back and smiled. “That’s something to consider.” The young couple behind me cheered as I stepped out of line. It was Valentine’s Day, and appointments at the clerk’s office were a hot commodity. I had waited for hours just to get this spot. But now, looking at the registration form in my hand, I ripped it to shreds without a second thought and tossed it in the trash. I had filled out that form 67 times. I had given him 67 chances. Every time, I would show up early, full of hope, watching the happy couples while I waited for him to arrive. And every time, just before our appointment, he would call with an excuse. The firm was busy. A client was in crisis. “Merrin, these are people’s lives on the line,” he would say, his voice dripping with self-importance. “You want me to abandon them for a piece of paper? How can you be so selfish?” He never knew that after he ditched me for Mandy, she would send me texts, gloating. “Steve’s cooking is amazing. I bet you’ve never had it, have you?” “I walked a little too far today, and Steve was so worried he bought me a luxury car. You’re still using a bike share, right?” And now, he’d even gotten a marriage license with her. It was time for our story to end. 2 The moment I stepped out of the municipal building, I got a notification. My resignation request had been rejected. HR told me Steve hadn’t been in the office for days and couldn’t approve it. They gave me an address and told me to find him myself. Gritting my teeth, I went. The address was a pool hall. Mandy had posted that she wanted to learn to play pool, and Steve, the workaholic, had apparently skipped work for days to teach her. When I found him, he was leaning over Mandy, guiding her shot, their bodies pressed close. The moment she saw me, a contemptuous smirk played on her lips. A few of his office sycophants saw me and swarmed over. “Well, well, look who’s here for Mr. Big Shot.” “Told you. The three-day countdown wouldn’t even last one. She came crawling back.” “Our boss really has her whipped. One word and she’s on her knees.” “Alright, alright, pay up. A bet’s a bet.” I frowned. I’d heard their taunts a million times before, but it never stung like it did now. “I’m not here to make up.” My words sent them into a fit of laughter. “Don’t pretend, Merrin. Everyone knows you’re Steve’s number one groupie. You wouldn’t leave if he set you on fire.” I ignored them and slapped my resignation papers on the table. “Steve, sign it.” He was about to look at the papers when Mandy whined, “Steve, honey, how do I make this shot?” He immediately dropped the papers, pulled his personal seal out of Mandy’s pocket, and tossed it to me. “Sign it yourself. And don’t bother me while I’m teaching Mandy to play.” Steve was obsessed with his privacy. He never let me near his safe. He’d shield his phone like it held state secrets when he typed in a password. And his personal seal? He never let it out of his sight. But now, he had just given it to Mandy. He was so wrapped up in their “date” that he couldn’t even be bothered with official company documents. I clutched the stamped resignation letter, my heart feeling like a cavern with the wind howling through it. I turned to leave, but Steve called out to me. “Mandy’s busy for the next few days. Can you handle her caseload?” He tossed a thick stack of case files at me, each one with nothing but a title. I’d lost count of how many times he’d asked me to do Mandy’s work. Every time, she would take the credit. But if I made a single mistake under the crushing workload, the blame was all mine. Sometimes I’d refuse, but then he’d accuse me of not caring about him or the firm, of letting him down. He’d say if I didn’t do it, he’d have to do it himself. And I, worried about him overworking himself, would always give in. All my sacrifices just earned me his contempt and the right to be ordered around. But I was an ex-employee now. The firm’s problems weren’t mine anymore. “No, I already qui—” My words were cut off by Mandy’s pathetic whimper. “Steve, it’s okay if Merrin doesn’t want to. I can do it myself.” “You just got divorced,” Steve cooed, full of sympathy. “You’re in no state to work. Go have fun. Don’t worry about it.” He turned back to me, his tone glacial. “You know, you’ve already upset Mandy enough with that stunt on your feed. I’m giving you a chance to make it up to her, and you’re refusing? If you keep this up, in three days, you could be on your knees begging, and I still wouldn’t take you back.” I laughed bitterly. When my mother died unexpectedly, I had collapsed from grief multiple times. All Steve had said was, “Pull yourself together and get to work on time. The firm needs you.” But Mandy, who had been divorced for two years, could still use “not feeling up to it” as an excuse to skip work. “Fine by me. I don’t care.” I turned to leave. Steve’s face was a mask of shock. The colleagues were stunned too. “Is she really leaving?” Mandy just chuckled. “Oh, Merrin, if you don’t want to do the work, just say so. No need to play hard to get.” At her words, Steve’s brow smoothed, his confidence returning. His tone softened. “Alright, Merrin, I know I’ve been neglecting you. Be a good girl and finish Mandy’s work, and in three days, we’ll go get our license, okay?” Another empty promise. But this time, I had no appetite for it. I didn’t answer. I just walked away. The colleagues started their snide remarks again. “Look at her, pretending to be tough. Just wait. By tomorrow, she’ll be back, begging for forgiveness.” A wicked thought crossed my mind. I wanted to see them lose. I smirked and looked back at them. “Fine. Then you just wait and see.” 3 Once my resignation was finalized, I went straight to my best friend’s company. In the legal world, clients follow the lawyer, not the firm. My friend was so thrilled to have a top-tier lawyer like me join her team that she practically bowed at my feet. She offered me ten times my previous salary and a villa. I finally moved out of my shabby little apartment. Many of my old clients had been shocked to learn that a “gold-medal lawyer” lived in such a rundown place. I’d always just brushed it off, saying I wasn’t materialistic. The truth was, I’d willingly taken a junior-level salary for years to help Steve’s firm grow. At first, he was grateful. Then, he started to take it for granted. When the heat broke in my apartment one winter, and I asked for money to replace it, he called me extravagant, accused me of being a gold-digger. But for Mandy? He’d buy her a mansion without a second thought. Even Mandy’s dog had a heated doghouse. On the day I moved, I ran into Steve and Mandy. His parents were with them. The four of them were having a happy family dinner at a high-end restaurant. I froze. I remembered the first time I went to Steve’s house. I came bearing gifts, but his parents served me a table full of leftovers. When I awkwardly suggested we all go out to eat, they accused me of being a leech, a spendthrift living off their son. In the end, I cooked for the whole family. After I’d prepared a feast, Steve’s mother slammed her chopsticks down and declared my food too salty. “Only peasants who do manual labor eat like this,” she sneered. “Just what I’d expect from someone with your background.” The gifts I brought them ended up with the building’s cleaning staff. The contrast made me feel like a clown. Steve’s parents were eagerly piling food onto Mandy’s plate. “Mandy and our Steve are just perfect for each other,” his mother gushed. “If only you hadn’t been tricked by that other man, you two would have been together years ago. I think the time is right. You should be together.” His father chimed in, “Yes! Mandy landed several big clients for Steve as soon as she joined the firm. Her future is limitless. Not like that useless Merrin, who can only cook and clean.” Hearing this, I trembled with rage. I was the one who landed those clients. Steve just credited them to Mandy. The money I earned practically supported the entire firm, but Steve never once praised me. Instead, he constantly belittled me, saying I only got cases because of the platform his firm provided. Now, listening to his parents’ slander, he didn’t even try to correct them. He just sighed. “Well, we’ve been together for so long. It’s comfortable.” My heart plummeted. All these years, to him, I was just… comfortable. His mother was not satisfied. “Steve, I’m telling you, that Merrin girl is bad luck. Just look at how her parents died so young. Marrying her will bring you nothing but trouble.” Steve didn’t respond, but I was already in tears. My parents had died giving blood to save his. After a car accident, Steve’s parents were in critical condition. My parents, who had a matching blood type, donated without a second thought. But it wasn’t enough. Steve was a mess. My parents, knowing how much I loved him, secretly donated more blood than their bodies could handle. Steve’s parents were saved. Mine were gone. At first, his family felt guilty. They promised to compensate me, to take care of me. But the compensation never came. Instead, I became the “bad luck” they talked about. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned to leave.

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On the day of my birthday gala, the pink Rolls-Royce my father gave me was smashed into a twisted wreck by my stepsister. When the paramedics arrived, my stepsister, Sylvia, was clinging to life, her voice a desperate whisper. “Claire… I’ll never dance again, I promise! Please… don’t crush my legs…” In that single moment, I became public enemy number one. My stepmother fell to her knees, begging me to spare them. My father, his face a mask of pure disappointment, disowned me on the spot. And my fiancé, Carlisle, didn’t just call off our engagement—he dragged me into his car, shattered my ankle with a golf club, and personally delivered me to the police station. “You monster,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Why don’t you just die!” The police arrested me for aggravated assault. Five years in prison. I was beaten more times than I could count, until there wasn’t a single inch of my skin left unmarred. They even forcibly removed one of my kidneys. Just as they’d wished, I was finally dying. And only then did they regret it. They came to me, weeping. “Claire, we’re so sorry. Whatever you want, we’ll give it to you. Anything.” 1 Five years. Nearly two thousand days and nights. I stood outside the prison gates, wearing the same sweater I had on the day I was incarcerated. It hung on me like a burlap sack, a hollow shroud over a body that was nothing but sharp bones and a tapestry of scars. The world outside felt vast and terrifying, and I was frozen, unsure of where to even take my first step. Before I could process my freedom, a dark car screeched to a halt beside me. Hands grabbed me, a cloth bag was thrown over my head, and I was shoved inside. The car sped off, eventually delivering me to an exclusive, dimly-lit lounge. The bag was ripped from my head, the sudden light stinging my eyes. Before I could get my bearings, a slick voice cut through the haze. “Well, look who’s awake.” I looked up. CRACK. A man’s hand connected with my cheek. The pain was a searing flame, but it was nothing compared to the cold, predatory gaze I felt boring into me from a shadowy corner of the room. The man who’d slapped me grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Tsk, tsk. Dressed so heavily in the middle of summer?” He leaned in, his breath foul. “Ugh, you’re hideous. Where did they even find you?” He then spat on my face. “Disgusting.” With a final shove, he sent me sprawling to the floor. I swallowed the pain, scrambled to my knees, and hid my face in the high collar of my sweater. My voice came out as a raw, panicked rasp. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. It was my fault.” I thought if I begged, if I groveled, they would let me go. “Miss Evans,” a voice, cold as a tombstone, echoed from the dark corner. “I must say, five years have certainly changed you. The notoriously arrogant Claire Evans has learned to kneel.” The entire room fell silent, all eyes turning to watch the unfolding drama. My body trembled uncontrollably. I tried to shrink further into my collar, to disappear. The figure in the corner rose and walked toward me, his expensive leather shoes clicking softly on the marble floor. He stopped a single foot away, and the very air around him seemed to drop ten degrees, a chilling frost that threatened to suffocate me. I forced myself to look up, my gaze meeting his. It was Carlisle. His eyes, once warm, were now pits of black ice, filled with nothing but disgust and a deep, simmering hatred. “Long time no see, Miss Evans,” he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You’ve… changed.” The formal address sent a shiver down my spine, draining the blood from my face. Suddenly, his hand shot out, his fingers clamping around my jaw. I flinched, my eyes wide with terror, but it was too late. I was trapped in his unyielding gaze. “Tsk. This face of yours… it’s truly repulsive,” he sneered, his grip tightening, his thumb digging cruelly into my cheek. “But you deserve it. You’re a viper, Claire. To do that to your own sister… After what you did to Sylvia, a ruined face is the least you deserve.” A murderous glint flashed in his eyes, and for a moment, I thought he would crush my jawbone. I didn’t hurt Sylvia. I didn’t do it. The words burned in my throat, but I choked them back. I had screamed them a thousand times five years ago. No one believed me then. No one would believe me now. “Cough…” Carlisle stared at me, his expression cold and unforgiving. Then, he abruptly released me, letting me collapse onto the floor like a discarded doll. 2 Carlisle pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and meticulously wiped the fingers that had touched my skin. He tossed the soiled cloth onto my body with contempt. “She’s all yours,” he announced to the room with a light, dismissive laugh. “Have fun.” And with that, he turned and walked out of the suite without a backward glance. In the dim, amber light, hands grabbed me again, dragging me toward a large, circular sofa where several men were lounging, each with one or two women draped over them. “Lift your head,” one of them commanded. I remained still, my face hidden. A hand tangled in my hair and yanked my head back, forcing my face into the light. It was a gaunt, sallow mask, crisscrossed with scars. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” the man barked. “Whoa! She’s terrifying! So damn ugly,” another man exclaimed. “Who’d want to touch that? Seriously, what was Carlisle thinking? You wouldn’t even pick this up off the street.” My shoulders shook, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Please, sir, just let me go,” I pleaded. “I’m filthy. You don’t want to dirty your hands on me.” “At least she knows her place,” a portly man with a greasy face chimed in. He squinted at me. “You’re Claire Evans, aren’t you?” The room went quiet for a beat, then erupted in whispers. “Claire Evans… the one who went to prison.” “That’s her? The spoiled heiress of Ashton City?” “Damn, time is a cruel mistress. Look what it’s done to you, Miss Evans.” “Mr. Wallace, how can you even tell it’s her when she looks like… that?” So, the portly man was Mr. Wallace. “The way Carlisle treated her, but still called her ‘Miss Evans’… it has to be her,” Wallace said, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He rose slowly and walked toward me. He reached out as if to pat my head, and I instinctively recoiled. His other hand shot out, grabbing my hair and forcing me to look at him. “Well, Miss Evans,” he purred. “This just got a lot more interesting.” He gestured to a full bottle of whiskey on the table. “Here. Drink this whole bottle, and maybe… just maybe, I’ll let you walk out of here.” I stared at the bottle. I couldn’t. The empty space where my left kidney used to be screamed a silent warning. If I drank that, I would die right here. If I refused… maybe I’d have a chance to live. “No, please, I can’t,” I begged, dropping to the floor and bowing my head frantically. “Mr. Wallace, I’m begging you, please let me go. I can’t drink it, please, I’m begging you…” “Alright, alright, we won’t drink,” he said with a sickening smile. “If you won’t drink, we’ll just have to find another way to have some fun.” He waved a dismissive hand at the others. Understanding the signal, they quickly and quietly filed out of the room. Soon, it was just me and Mr. Wallace. He began to laugh, a low, guttural sound, as he stripped off his jacket and tie. His eyes, alight with a feverish glow, fixed on me as he advanced. My blood ran cold. I scrambled backward, using the arm of the sofa to pull myself to my feet. “Stay away from me!” “Oh, I love it when you struggle, Miss Evans,” he sneered. “Come on, show me some of that fire you had when you turned me down all those years ago.” In a panic, I grabbed anything I could reach—glasses, ashtrays, coasters—and hurled them at him. But it was useless against a healthy man. In three long strides, he was on me, pinning my arms. I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into his fleshy, oily hand. He roared in pain and flung me away. My body slammed against the cold marble floor. Before I could even try to get up, he was on top of me, his weight crushing me, his hands tearing at my clothes. I went feral, scratching, clawing, biting, fighting with the last vestiges of my strength. Enraged by my resistance, he grabbed a nearby wine bottle and brought it down hard on my head. The world exploded in a flash of light, then spun into a nauseating vortex. I went limp, feeling my life slipping away. But I can’t die, a voice screamed in my mind. Not until I’ve cleared my name. I can’t die! Just as my eyes were about to close for good, the suite door burst open. A blinding light flooded the room, and a silhouette rushed in, sending my attacker flying with a single, brutal kick. 3 I woke up in a sterile white hospital room. Sylvia was beside my bed, sitting in a wheelchair. Carlisle stood protectively behind her. Noticing I was awake, Sylvia leaned forward, her face a perfect portrait of concern. “Claire, you’re finally awake! How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” If I hadn’t lived through the hell she’d created, I might have actually believed her performance. “I heard you were released and I rushed to find you,” she continued, her voice soft with fake sympathy. “I can’t believe they took you to a place like that… to hurt you.” “Claire… why aren’t you saying anything?” I just stared at her, my gaze unwavering. “Sylvia,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I gave you everything you ever wanted. I treated you like a real sister. Why did you frame me?” “Claire, what are you talking about?” she said, feigning shock. “It’s all in the past. It’s okay, sister. I’ve already forgiven you.” I wasn’t asking for forgiveness. I was demanding an answer. “Why,” I repeated, my voice rising with an anger I couldn’t contain, “did you frame me?” Sylvia flinched as if I’d struck her, and tears immediately welled in her eyes. “Claire, I can forgive you for the harm you caused me, but why can’t you just let it go? Why do you have to keep insisting on this?” Carlisle immediately stepped forward, shielding her. “Claire, that’s enough! Don’t push your luck. Sylvia is willing to forgive and forget, and you’re still trying to force her to admit to something she didn’t do?” He glared at me. “The evidence spoke for itself. Did five years in prison teach you nothing?” Sylvia tugged on his sleeve. “Carlisle, please, just stop. It’s okay. I… I just want to be alone for a while. Let’s go.” … That evening, Sylvia returned, alone. She wheeled herself to my door, glanced down the hallway, and then quietly closed the door behind her. In her lap was a container of food. “Sister,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I brought you some sushi from your favorite place. Won’t you have some?” I said nothing, just watched her, my eyes burning holes into her. She met my gaze, a slow, malicious smile spreading across her face. “No? Not even a bite?” She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Tsk. Fine. Yes. I did it on purpose. I framed you.”

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