Category: English

1 After failing to win over my first three targets, I made a final, desperate play: I got engaged to the paralyzed heiress of the Beaumont family. I spent every last point I had with the System to grant her the ability to walk again. The very first thing she did with her newfound strength was to publicly annul our engagement and throw a spectacular wedding at sea for a man named Adrian Thorne. From the deck of a nearby boat, I watched as all four of my targets gazed at Adrian, their faces soft with a tenderness they had never once shown me. A sudden, overwhelming wave of homesickness washed over me. I wanted to go home. So I turned my back on it all and threw myself into the ocean. But as my body hit the cold water, four figures dove in after me, their expressions twisted in masks of terror and regret. … On the lavish yacht, Seraphina Beaumont, radiant in her wedding gown, was sharing a blissful kiss with Adrian. As the guests cheered, the System’s mechanical voice echoed in my mind. 【Host has failed the mission. You will be terminated in fifteen days.】 A bitter smile touched my lips. I had been reborn into this body, transmigrated from my own world with a single purpose. The System had given me four targets. If I could get just one of them to a 100% affection score, my original body, riddled with a terminal illness, would be cured. For years, I had debased myself, humbled myself, and catered to their every whim. But every single time, just as I was about to reach that final threshold, Adrian Thorne would appear, and my progress would be wiped clean, my affection scores reset to zero. And now, my very last target was marrying him. With that thought, I walked to the edge of the deck and let myself fall into the deep, dark water. The ocean embraced me, a cold, silent shroud. I spread my arms, surrendering to the crushing weight, letting my body sink toward the abyss. But then, an arm hooked around my chest, dragging me back toward the suffocating light. Fresh air flooded my lungs, and before I could even register what was happening, a vicious slap sent my head snapping to the side. “You chose Adrian’s wedding to pull a stunt like this? You just had to ruin it for all of us, didn’t you?” I wiped a trickle of blood from my lip and looked up into the disgusted eyes of the woman who held me. The pain in my heart was a familiar, throbbing ache. My sister, Clarissa Rhodes. My first target in this world. After our parents died, we had only each other. When the car crashed, I hadn’t hesitated to shield her with my own body, taking the brunt of the impact. It left me with ruptured organs and a long stay in the ICU. She had wept over my hospital bed, promising that no matter what, she would always protect me. We were, she’d said, the only family we had left. But the day I was discharged, she brought Adrian home, announcing he was our new “little brother.” She moved him into my room and did nothing when he tortured my dog of eight years to death. Every argument between Adrian and me, she took his side, calling me petty and cruel for not being more welcoming. The ninety-seven points of affection I had painstakingly earned over eight years were erased by Adrian in less than a week. From that day on, her affection for me plummeted, and she eventually stopped acknowledging me as her brother at all. Seeing me sitting there, dazed and silent, Clarissa fished a bottle of heart medication from her purse and threw it at my chest. “Are you going to fake another heart attack? Take your pills and get the hell out of my sight!” I didn’t have a heart condition. The chest pains were a punishment from the System. In the past, she’d always carried these pills out of fear for my life. Now, her gesture held no warmth. I picked up the bottle, twisted off the cap, and poured a handful of the small white pills into my mouth. Clarissa’s eyes widened in shock. “Ethan, are you insane?!” she shrieked, slapping the pills from my hand. The bitter tablets scattered across the deck. She gripped my wrist, her hand trembling. I wasn’t insane. I just wanted to go home. I wanted one last chance to say goodbye to my real sister. I remained silent. Clarissa shot me a venomous glare. As a crowd of wedding guests began to gather, she impatiently ordered her bodyguards to drag me off the boat. Just as I set foot back on the main yacht’s deck, I heard the click of high heels behind me. A sweet, melodic voice followed. “Ethan, what are you doing here?” A soft gasp. “Oh my god, you’re soaked!” I turned to see Seraphina Beaumont, the woman who was almost my wife. A sliver of warmth pierced through the icy despair in my chest. So, she did still care, didn’t she? 2 As I opened my mouth to speak, her hand flew out and struck me across the face, the force of it sending me stumbling. “Did you really think I’d give you a second look just because you pull a stunt like this? Don’t make me laugh!” she sneered. “You’ve disrupted my wedding, and I promise you, you will pay for it.” Before I could react, she grabbed me by the throat, her grip like iron, and forced the upper half of my body over the railing, dangling me above the churning waves. The world began to blur as the air was crushed from my lungs, but I didn’t struggle. Maybe it’s better this way, I thought. To just die. I closed my eyes, ready to accept the end. But my passivity seemed to unnerve her. She yanked me back onto the deck, her eyes wide with a strange mix of shock and fury. “Why aren’t you fighting back? Why aren’t you saying anything? Do you actually want to die?!” Would she believe me if I tried to explain? I had tried so many times before, but she’d always dismissed my words as pathetic excuses, pushing her further and further into Adrian’s arms. A cold, hollow laugh escaped my lips. “I’ve already lost everything. Death doesn’t seem so bad.” Seraphina’s face went pale. She seized the front of my shirt, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Your life is mine to take! You don’t have my permission to die!” When we were first engaged, her family had despised me, doing everything in their power to break us apart. To defy them, she had endured her family’s brutal ‘discipline’ time and time again, beaten black and blue but never yielding. When I found out, I went to the Beaumont estate and took the punishments in her stead. As I lay bleeding and broken, she had held me, making me promise that I would never, ever die without her permission. I looked up at her, about to speak, when a small, delicate girl pushed her way through the crowd. Lily. My second target. My best friend in this world. She didn’t say a word. She just ground her heel into my cheek and threw a stack of photographs at my chest. “Since you had the nerve to ruin Adrian’s day, I have no reason to spare your dignity, Ethan!” The photos scattered around me. Me, tied up and beaten like a dog. Me, forced down and ridden like an animal. Me, stripped naked with the word ‘TRASH’ carved into my skin. Lily had taken every single one. She had an artist’s eye, carefully framing each shot to capture the humiliation on my face in perfect, sharp detail. She did it all because I had exposed Adrian for cheating in a photography competition, shaming him in front of everyone. As the crowd gasped and jeered, Lily raised her camera and snapped a picture of me, kneeling and broken on the deck. In the corner of the camera, a small, elegant engraving glinted in the light. Lily & Ethan It was a gift from me. Her mother had died when she was young, and her father was a monster who brought home a string of cruel women. They took pleasure in tormenting her. We became friends by chance, and one night, I fought off one of her father’s lecherous friends to protect her. The beating I took left me temporarily blind. To comfort her, I gave her the camera and asked her to capture all the beauty in the world that I could no longer see. My vision returned, but her passion for photography remained. Until, one day, her camera started filling with pictures of Adrian. “Get on your knees and apologize to Adrian right now,” she said, her voice like ice. “Or I will post every single one of these online and see how you ever show your face in public again.” When I didn’t move, her voice dropped even lower. She grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to my feet, but my body was too weak. I crumpled, my knees hitting the hard deck with a sickening crack. Seraphina frowned, taking a step forward to help me, but Lily blocked her path. “Don’t be fooled by his pathetic act, Miss Beaumont. I trusted him once, and because of me, Adrian can never take another photograph.” She glared down at me. “Ethan, you were so desperate to beat Adrian in that competition that you not only hired thugs to assault him and take those disgusting photos, but you also framed him for cheating. If I hadn’t gotten there in time, Adrian would have killed himself!” Hearing this, Seraphina’s expression hardened into pure loathing. “Get out of here,” she hissed. “If you disrupt this wedding any further, I will personally ensure that everything Adrian suffered happens to you, ten times over. I’ll make you—” I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I scrambled to my feet and ran, not toward the exit, but straight for the busy road just beyond the pier. A massive truck was thundering toward me. I closed my eyes, ready for the impact. But just before the end, a body slammed into mine, shoving me out of the way. 3 Seraphina dragged herself toward me, her leg bleeding and bent at an unnatural angle, and seized my collar. “Who are you trying to impress with this death wish, Ethan? Do you think this makes me feel sorry for you?!” At the same time, the System’s voice chimed in. 【Host, detecting a rise in Seraphina Beaumont’s affection score. Do you wish to resume the mission?】 I stared at her in shock. She was already on her phone, telling her assistant to cancel the rest of the wedding ceremony. She felt my gaze and looked up, her expression unreadable. I calmly looked away. “No.” All I want now is to go home. A driver took me back to my small apartment. It was only then that I noticed the scrapes and bruises covering my body, caked with a mixture of grime and dried blood. I found a first-aid kit and was about to clean the wounds when the door was kicked open. Lily stormed in, her face contorted with rage, and kicked me squarely in the stomach. “Where did you take Adrian? If anything happens to him, I’ll make you wish you were never born!” Seraphina and Clarissa followed her in, their expressions just as menacing. “So that’s what this was all about,” Clarissa sneered. “All those pathetic suicide attempts were just a distraction to cover your tracks. I’m telling you, Ethan, if Adrian is harmed in any way, I will kill you myself.” I had no idea where he was. But their words sparked a dark, desperate thought. If they cared about him that much… maybe his disappearance would finally push them over the edge. Maybe they would finally kill me. Seeing my silence, a flicker of pure hatred crossed Seraphina’s face. “It seems you won’t talk unless we give you a reason to.” She grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first-aid kit and poured it directly onto my open wounds. The sharp, searing pain made my body seize. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. But they weren’t finished. Bodyguards pinned my arms and legs to the floor. Lily returned with a pair of fire tongs, glowing red-hot from the stove, while Seraphina continued to douse my cuts with alcohol. I was terrified. I wanted to die, but not like this, not tortured to death! I thrashed wildly, but a heavy blow to the back of my head silenced my struggles. Blood streamed down my face, and the strength drained from my limbs. I could barely whisper. “Just… kill me…” My defiance only seemed to fuel Seraphina’s rage. She grabbed a fruit knife from the kitchen counter and knelt over me. The tip of the blade, gleaming with cold light, hovered less than an inch from my left eye. “Do you really think this will make us feel pity? I’ll ask you one last time. Where is Adrian?!” My face was ashen, but I forced my lips into a triumphant, mocking smile. “Adrian? Oh, I killed him,” I rasped. “I threw his body into the sea for the sharks!” I looked at each of them, my voice rising with a delirious, final burst of energy. “You all loved him so much, didn’t you? You all wanted to marry him! Too bad that will never happen now.” “So go on! Kill me! Avenge your precious Adrian!” Seraphina’s eyes blazed. With a guttural scream of pure fury, she plunged the knife deep into my chest. My body went limp. As the world faded to black, a cheerful, familiar voice drifted in from the courtyard. “Hey, what’s everyone doing here? I brought snacks! Ah! Why is there so much blood?”

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The financial aid application from a girl in my major was flagged. An error. I tried adding her on Instagram to give her a heads-up on how to fix it. I sent a request. And then, a little while later, sent it again. Both times, the request was denied. The second time, it came with a note attached to her now-private profile: My boyfriend doesn’t like me adding random guys. My roommate, Mason, was the one who told me to check the department’s GroupMe. That’s where I saw she was tearing me to shreds. “I mean, I rejected him twice already. You’d think he’d get the hint. How desperate can you be?” “Another one of those guys who thinks he’s God’s gift. Seriously, does the toad really think he has a shot with the princess?” I had to laugh. Me, the sole heir to a multi-billion-dollar corporation, a toad? 1 Mason shoved his phone in my face, and I scrolled through the chat log that was exploding in our department’s GroupMe. The one leading the charge was a girl named Scarlett Rhodes. Our major’s undisputed queen bee. Her profile picture was a professionally edited selfie. Perfect makeup, a gaze that managed to be both alluring and dismissive. I frowned but didn’t say anything, just handed the phone back to Mason. “Whatever. Let her talk.” I’m the student liaison for my department, which basically means I’m the TA for the freshman seminar and a glorified assistant to our academic advisor. Collecting and organizing student paperwork is part of the job. Scarlett was applying for the Polaris Foundation Scholarship, one of the most generous—and scrutinized—grants at our university. It’s backed by a massive private foundation, and the entire process is firewalled from the school. The university just collects the initial applications. When I was sorting the files, Scarlett’s application immediately stood out. In the box for annual family income, she’d added an extra zero. $300,000. The eligibility cutoff for the scholarship was a family income under $80,000. The foundation’s automated system would see that number and instantly kick her application out in the first round. Technically, it wasn’t my problem. My job was just to collect and submit. But then I read her personal statement. A father with a chronic illness, a mother working odd jobs to make ends meet. Every sentence painted a picture of struggle. I felt for her. It seemed like she could really use the break. I just wanted to give her a heads-up. Tagging her in the main GroupMe was the easiest way, but it would have been humiliating for her, putting her financial situation on blast for everyone to see. After a moment of hesitation, I chose the more considerate, albeit more difficult, route: a private message on Instagram. I thought it was a simple act of kindness. Turns out, no good deed goes unpunished. And now I was “the toad.” A few of her cronies were already chiming in on the chat. “Don’t let it get to you, Scarlett. Some people just don’t know their place.” “For real. He sees a pretty girl and thinks he can just slide into her DMs. Like, look in a mirror, dude.” “Toad trying to get with a princess. Pathetic!” Then, a user with the handle “Scarlett’s Knight,” whose profile pic was him leaning against a sports car, jumped in. “Who’s the clown harassing my girl? Give me a name. I’ll make sure he doesn’t walk straight on campus again.” That would be her boyfriend, Blake, a trust-fund kid with too much time on his hands. Scarlett replied instantly: “Oh, Blake, don’t be so aggressive! He’s just some guy in our classes. Probably just… gets a little carried away, you know.” That ellipsis she used was a work of art. It screamed delusional obsession without her having to type a single word. A fresh wave of laughing-face emojis flooded the chat. Mason was fuming. “Leo, this girl is unbelievable. You were trying to help her.” “You should just call her out right here, right now. Expose her.” I shook my head, handing his phone back. “It’s not worth it. You can’t reason with people like that.” My silence in the chat was apparently taken as an admission of guilt. Scarlett posted one more message. “Awww, he’s not even saying anything now. Guess the truth hurts. lol.” I locked my phone screen. Out of sight, out of mind. It was just an application form. If she didn’t care enough to get it right, why should I? It was her future. Her loss. 2 The next day, the vibe on campus was different. I could feel it. As I walked down the hall, a group of students who had been laughing together suddenly went silent when they saw me. Their eyes were filled with a uniform, undisguised contempt. When I entered the lecture hall, it felt like every head in the room turned in my direction. Scarlett was holding court in the center of the room, surrounded by a few of her friends. She was wearing a delicate white dress, her long hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. She looked ethereal. She saw me, and the smile on her face faltered for a second. It was quickly replaced by a look of disgust, mixed with a hint of smug satisfaction. The girls around her immediately started whispering, pointing at me. “That’s him?” “He looks so normal. I thought he’d be creepier.” “Scarlett, has he bothered you again?” Scarlett lifted her chin, her voice just loud enough for half the room to hear. “What more can he do? After everyone called him out in the GroupMe yesterday, he’s basically a social pariah now.” A ripple of laughter went through her circle. I ignored them, my face a mask of indifference, and walked to an empty seat in the back row. I took out my textbook. For the rest of the morning, I could feel their eyes on me. Little pinpricks of judgment that made it impossible to concentrate. At lunch, I had just gotten my food and sat down at a table in the corner of the dining hall. A moment later, Scarlett and Blake appeared, their trays clattering as they sat down directly across from me. Blake had bleached-blond hair, an earring, and was draped in designer streetwear. He was trying very hard to look intimidating. “Well, well, if it isn’t the toad himself—” Scarlett cut him off with a sharp nudge. She then leaned against his shoulder, adopting a wounded, fragile expression. “Blake, can we eat somewhere else? Just looking at him makes me lose my appetite.” Blake’s face immediately softened into a look of concern. “Of course, baby. Don’t get upset. He’s not worth it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box, flicking it open in front of me. Inside was a glittering necklace. I recognized the Swarovski swan logo. “Ta-da! Look what I got for you. Had a friend pick it up in New York yesterday. It’s the latest design.” Scarlett gasped, covering her mouth. “Wow, it’s beautiful! Blake, you’re the best.” The display drew the attention of students at the surrounding tables. Blake shot me a triumphant glare, his eyes brimming with smug provocation. It was a look that screamed: See this, you loser? What could you possibly offer her compared to me? I kept my head down, silently pushing the tasteless Salisbury steak around my plate. I could tell the necklace was a knockoff from ten feet away. The clasp on a genuine Swarovski piece would never be that crude. 3 I had the afternoon off, but a call from my academic advisor, Mr. Davies, summoned me to his office. Mr. Davies was in his forties, with thick black-rimmed glasses and a perpetually serious expression. When I walked in, I saw Scarlett was already there. She was sitting across from him, her eyes red-rimmed as if she’d been subjected to some great injustice. The moment she saw me, she physically recoiled, her eyes widening in feigned terror. She was a hell of an actress. Mr. Davies cleared his throat loudly, adjusting his glasses. “Leo, you’re here. Have a seat.” I pulled a chair out and sat. “Mr. Davies, you wanted to see me?” His eyes lingered on my face for a few seconds, laced with disapproval. “Leo, you’re a good student. You work hard, you’re diligent in your duties. The faculty sees that.” His tone shifted. “However, you need to be mindful of how you interact with your peers. You must maintain an appropriate distance.” He paused for emphasis. “Especially with female students.” A knot formed in my stomach. “Sir, I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” On cue, Scarlett’s sniffling grew louder. “Mr. Davies, it’s my fault… my family’s situation… I didn’t want any of this. I just wanted to lessen their burden a little. I never thought applying for a scholarship would lead to… this kind of trouble.” She let out a sob, then casually added, “My boyfriend was so angry when he found out. His father knows some people on the Polaris Foundation’s board, and he said he’s going to make sure they hear about this…” Mr. Davies’s expression changed instantly. His gaze on her became noticeably more sympathetic, almost fawning. He quickly reassured her. “Scarlett, this is not your fault. Rest assured, the university will handle this matter seriously.” He turned back to me, his tone hardening. “Leo. You sent an Instagram request to Ms. Rhodes. After she declined it, why did you send it again?” “This young woman has made it clear that she has a boyfriend and is not interested in your advances.” “Do you understand that your behavior has caused Ms. Rhodes significant distress?” I tried to explain. “Sir, I was only trying to contact her because of her scholarship application—” “Enough!” Mr. Davies cut me off, his patience gone. “If there was an issue with her application, you could have addressed it publicly in the GroupMe, or you could have come to me. Why did you insist on contacting her privately?” “It’s hard not to question your motives in this situation!” I stared at his self-righteous face, the words of my defense catching in my throat. “Sir, if that’s what you’ve chosen to believe, then I have nothing more to say.” “Is that your attitude?” He slammed his hand on the desk. “Leo, I am warning you. Cease this inappropriate behavior immediately. Stay away from Ms. Rhodes!” “If this happens again, I won’t hesitate to write you up for disciplinary action!” Scarlett stood off to the side, a smug, triumphant look on her face. I stood up, not giving either of them another glance, and walked out of the office. The door clicked shut behind me, silencing Scarlett’s fake sobs. I stood in the empty hallway, staring out the window at the bleak, overcast sky. It felt like a block of cement had settled in my chest, heavy and suffocating. 4 In the days that followed, I became a ghost in my own department. No one spoke to me. If they saw me coming, they would physically alter their path to avoid me. There were always whispers, always poorly concealed smirks and laughs at my expense. “The obsessive stalker.” “He should take a look in the mirror.” “I heard Mr. Davies chewed him out. Serves him right.” Scarlett, meanwhile, was relentless. Almost every day, she’d post something passive-aggressive on her Instagram story or in the GroupMe. “Spotted someone lurking in the corner of the library again today. Can’t seem to shake him.” Attached was a blurry photo of my profile. “Ugh, it feels like I’m being swarmed by a fly. Buzz, buzz, buzz.” Mason wanted to fight her in the chat, but I held him back. It was pointless. Anything I said now would just be seen as a defensive lie. I poured all my energy into my studies and a research project I was helping one of my professors with. The library and the lab became my only sanctuaries, the only places I could find a moment’s peace. The final submission deadline for the Polaris Scholarship arrived. Ten minutes before the cutoff, I dropped off the stack of alphabetized applications at the university’s financial aid office. Scarlett’s form was in there, right between Richards and Scott. The glaring error was still there. She hadn’t changed it. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she didn’t think it was important. Or maybe, she never even bothered to double-check her own work. As I handed the stack of files to the administrator, I hesitated for a fraction of a second. In the end, I said nothing. You think you’re so untouchable? Fine. Pay the price for your own arrogance and stupidity. A week later, the list of first-round qualifiers was posted online. Scarlett’s name was not on it. Just as I expected. That afternoon, I was walking back from the library when I saw Scarlett and Blake arguing by the campus lake. “I thought you said your dad knew people on the board! What the hell happened?” Scarlett’s voice was shrill. “How am I supposed to know! Maybe they’re just stricter this year,” Blake shot back, clearly annoyed. “You can’t even handle one little thing for me! What good are you?” “Are you seriously trying to blame me, Scarlett? Your application was rejected because you filled it out wrong. Who’s fault is that?” “What are you talking about? What did I do wrong?” “The rejection email from the system was crystal clear: ‘Error in reporting annual family income’! You made a rookie mistake, and now you have the nerve to blame me?” Scarlett froze. I could see the moment the memory hit her. The color drained from her face. Her head snapped around, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on me, standing a hundred feet away. The look she gave me was pure venom. It was the look of someone who wanted to tear me apart with her bare hands. 5 Our final project for a core class was a group assignment. The teams were assigned randomly by the course software. I stared at the list on my screen, a dull throb starting in my temples. Leo Vance. Scarlett Rhodes. Blake Miller. Plus two of Scarlett’s closest friends. The five of us. One group. You have got to be kidding me. Mason leaned over to look at my screen and let out a string of curses. “Oh, you’re screwed. That’s the group from hell. Dude, you have to go to the professor and get switched out.” I shook my head. Switch? How? What’s my reason? That Scarlett and I are cosmically incompatible? It would just make me look guilty. Sure enough, not long after the list was posted, a new group chat popped up on my phone. Scarlett was the first to type. “Just so we’re all clear, nobody is slacking off. If you drag down our group’s grade, you’ll have to answer to me.” She didn’t use my name, but everyone knew who she was talking to. Blake immediately chimed in: “Yeah, don’t think you can ride our coattails just because you got lucky with the grouping.” The other two girls added their own cheerleading comments. I didn’t say a word. Our first group meeting was at an off-campus coffee shop. I arrived on time. The other four were already there. As soon as I sat down, Scarlett pushed a stack of books and articles across the table toward me. “We’ve decided on the topic and outline. We’re doing ‘The Construction and Propagation of a City’s Image in the New Media Environment.’” “These are the reference materials. You’re in charge of consolidating them and writing the first draft. I want it by next Wednesday.” Her tone was so matter-of-fact, as if she were my boss giving me an assignment. “I’m writing the whole first draft?” I asked. “Well, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “We’re handling the research, the final PowerPoint design, and the in-class presentation. The work is perfectly divided.” Blake was leaning back in his chair, leg bouncing. “Consider yourself lucky you get to do some work for Scarlett’s grade.” I looked at the four of them. Scarlett and Blake were sipping their lattes. The other two girls were scrolling through their phones. The so-called “reference materials” on the table were just a few textbooks from the library. The spines hadn’t even been cracked. “Fine.” I gathered the books and stood up. “I’ll be in touch.” With that, I turned and walked out. Behind me, I heard Blake’s derisive snort. “What a poser. In the end, he still does what he’s told.” 6 For the next week, the library became my home. I dug through academic journals, compiled data, and analyzed case studies. To add more substance to the report, I even asked my professor to connect me with a former student of his who now worked in the city’s communications department. He sent me some internal reports that weren’t publicly available. On Tuesday night, I sent the 15,000-word first draft to the group chat. The chat remained silent. About half an hour later, Scarlett finally replied. “Got it.” No thank you. No feedback. It was as if I had just completed a simple, expected task. The next evening, I was in the lab helping my professor crunch some numbers when Scarlett called. Her tone was hostile from the start. “Leo, what is this garbage you sent? It’s a complete mess.” I frowned. “What’s wrong with it?” “What’s wrong with it? Everything! The logic is weak, the examples are boring, and the conclusion is flat! Do you even know how to write a research paper?” I fought to keep my voice even. “Then what changes do you suggest?” “How should I know? That’s your job! Look, I don’t care what you do, but I need a revised, better version by tomorrow morning. If our grade suffers because of you, I swear you’ll regret it.” She hung up before I could say another word. I listened to the dial tone, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. A week of my life, poured into that paper, and she dismissed it as worthless. She couldn’t even provide a single specific point of criticism. This was purely about making my life difficult. I went back to my dorm, opened my laptop, and stared at the document. I wasn’t changing a single word. Instead, I renamed the file “Final Draft.” Then, I created a new document. I systematically went through my original work, deleting all the core data analysis, the most compelling case studies, and every piece of information I’d gotten from the internal city reports. What was left was a hollow shell—vague theories and outdated examples you could find on the first page of a Google search. I reformatted this gutted version, and also named it “Final Draft.” Then, I logged into the university’s course portal. I uploaded the original, 15,000-word, comprehensive report as an individual submission under my name only. Only after I had done that did I send the gutted “Final Draft” to our group chat. I tagged everyone. “Report has been revised according to Scarlett’s feedback. Please review.” 7 The submission deadline for the project was Friday at noon. Friday morning, our first class was with the professor for that course. Professor Albright was in her fifties, a brilliant academic with a reputation for being incredibly strict. She had zero tolerance for academic dishonesty or students who didn’t pull their weight in group projects. Just before class started, Scarlett and her friends walked in, dressed to the nines. When she saw me, Scarlett shot me a haughty look and walked right past my desk as if I were invisible. I noticed she was carrying a new Louis Vuitton bag. Looks like Blake was trying to buy his way back into her good graces. I wondered what grade of fake that one was. Professor Albright entered the classroom and set down her notes. “Good morning. I assume everyone has submitted their final reports?” Her gaze swept across the room. “I was looking through the submissions this morning. Most groups submitted on time. However, there is one group I’d like to discuss in class.” The room went dead silent. Professor Albright adjusted her glasses, her eyes finding our row. “The group that worked on ‘The Construction and Propagation of a City’s Image in the New Media Environment.’ Scarlett Rhodes, Blake Miller, Leo Vance…” She read all five of our names. Scarlett’s posture immediately straightened. A smug smile spread across her face. She clearly thought the professor was about to praise our work. Professor Albright’s eyes finally landed on me. “Leo, I also received an individual submission from you on the same topic.” “And I must say, your individual report is comprehensive, well-researched, with novel case studies. Its quality is worlds above the report submitted by your group.” She paused, her voice turning icy. “Now, would someone like to explain to me what, exactly, is going on here?” “Is this a case of a breakdown in teamwork, or is it a case of… someone attempting to take credit for another person’s labor?”

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My father-in-law was dragged for a mile by a drunk driver on his way home from his late-night walk. By the time I got the call, he was already in the morgue, his face unrecognizable. After the police showed me the surveillance footage, I was shaking with a rage so pure it felt like ice in my veins. I swore I would get justice for him. The next day, my husband, Ethan, asked me to meet him at a bistro. He slid a folder across the polished table, the sound sharp in the quiet restaurant. “Ava, what’s done is done. Your father is gone, but Nikki is only twenty-one. She has her whole life ahead of her. You can’t be so vicious as to demand she sacrifice her future for a dead man.” He tapped the folder. “Sign the settlement agreement. Fifty thousand dollars. It’s a fair compensation for your father. We drop the case, and this all goes away.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low threat. “Or I’ll make sure you don’t see a single cent.” I didn’t sign. And Ethan, true to his word, made sure I didn’t get a penny. But he never could have imagined that he would be the one kneeling on the courthouse steps, bashing his head against the concrete until it bled, begging for the case to be reopened. 1. “What… what did you just say?” “Fifty thousand? To settle?” I stared at Ethan, the words failing to connect in my brain. The man lying in the morgue right now was his father. His. Ethan had a rough childhood. His mother, unable to handle the poverty, had left when he was just a baby. It was his dad, Bob, who raised him, working two jobs, never complaining, never remarrying because he didn’t want his son to ever feel second best. “What? Is it not enough?” he asked, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. I opened my mouth, my voice trembling. “This isn’t about the money, Ethan.” I took a breath, trying to soften the blow I thought he was too grief-stricken to process. “The person… the man who died… it was our dad.” I’d braced myself for his breakdown, chosen my words with surgical care. Instead, he glanced at his watch, a frustrated frown creasing his brow. “I know. You don’t have to keep repeating it.” He waved a dismissive hand. “So if it’s not about the money, just sign the damn thing. Don’t waste my time, I have a meeting.” Numbly, I opened the folder. My eyes scanned the legalese, my mind a fog, until a single sentence snapped everything into sharp, horrifying focus. It described my father-in-law bending down to tie his shoe as a deliberate act of “staging an accident for insurance fraud.” It claimed that because of his attempted scam, the driver, a Miss Nicole Sanders, who was feeling unwell at the time, was understandably distracted and failed to notice the “minor impact.” It was a complete and utter fabrication. A desecration. My fingers tightened on the thin sheet of paper. “Did you watch the surveillance video at the police station?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. He sighed, took a loud sip of his iced tea, and leaned back in his chair. When he spoke, his voice was a notch too loud. “Watch what? You want me to watch your father trying to scam some poor girl? For Christ’s sake, Ava, he’s a grown man trying to shake down a college kid. Aren’t you embarrassed? Because I am.” “He wasn’t scamming anyone!” “Ethan, he raised you for thirty years. You know him better than anyone. Don’t insult his memory with this… this garbage.” Heads began to turn in our direction. I pushed the folder back toward him. The terror and grief that had been strangling me for twenty-four hours were slowly being replaced by a cold, sharp clarity, an awareness that was chillingly sober. “What ‘raised me’? That was your father, Ava. Are you losing your mind?” I thought I had been perfectly clear, but it was like he was speaking a different language. He glared at me, his patience worn thin. Then, as if remembering something, his expression softened, shifting into a mask of strained compassion. “Look, Ava,” he said, his voice now gentle, patronizing. “I know you’re upset about your father’s passing. It’s a shock. That’s understandable.” “But think about it logically. The man was old. He wasn’t contributing anything to the family anymore. If we’re being honest, he was a financial burden on you. On us.” He shrugged. “If he were alive, do you think he could ever earn another fifty thousand dollars? Or even five? We have to be realistic, honey. If you really think fifty is too low, then name your price.” In that instant, something inside me clicked. A terrible, sickening understanding. I lifted my head, and the smile I gave him was brittle. “So when someone gets old, when they stop earning money, they become a burden? Their life can be slandered, bought off for fifty thousand dollars…?” I held his gaze. “Is that what you think of your own father, too, Ethan?” “Shut up.” He snapped. Like a firecracker, he was on his feet, grabbing his glass of iced tea and throwing the contents in my face. Cold liquid and ice cubes dripped down my chin onto my blouse. “Ava, why do you have to be so goddamn difficult?” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you, and you sit here and attack my dad? What kind of daughter-in-law are you?” “So you’re not signing it? Fine. I’m telling you right now, you take this to court, you won’t get a dime.” He snatched the settlement agreement off the table and stormed out of the restaurant. My eyes followed him, watched his rigid back as he pushed through the glass doors and disappeared onto the street. The answer was so obvious now. And so pathetic. My parents didn’t have jobs. That’s true. They had worked for the city for over twenty years before a round of budget cuts forced them into early retirement. But between their pensions and their savings, they were more than comfortable. I’d begged them to travel, to enjoy themselves. They refused. Instead, they lived modestly, saving every extra dollar to help us. To help our family. Ethan didn’t have a mother. So for years, my parents were the ones who watched our son, Leo. They were the ones who picked him up from school, who stayed with him when he was sick so we wouldn’t have to miss work. When Ethan wanted to start his own law firm, it was my parents who sold their large family home, downsized to a small condo, and gave him the money to make his dream a reality. He remembered none of it. And in his mind, my father’s life wasn’t even worth fifty thousand dollars. After twelve years of marriage, I saw it with perfect clarity for the first time. Ethan didn’t love me. Because when you love someone, you love the people who are a part of them. And when you resent someone… that resentment bleeds over, too. When I walked out of the bistro, Ethan’s sleek black BMW was still parked at the curb. A young woman in a bright red dress sat in the passenger seat, pouting playfully as he leaned over to carefully apply her lipstick. He finished, and she rewarded him with a laugh and a long, slow kiss. I stood there, watching them through the windshield. As Ethan pulled back, he saw me. The smile vanished from his face, but there was no guilt in his eyes. Only cold annoyance. The girl’s curious gaze followed his, landing on me. Ethan immediately started the engine and peeled away from the curb. It had rained that morning, and a dirty puddle had collected by the steps. The tires hit it at speed, sending a wave of greasy brown water splashing all over my legs and shoes. I walked home in a daze. When I opened the door, my son, Leo, ran toward me, his arms outstretched for a hug. He stopped short. “Mommy, what happened? Did you fall down?” A fist squeezed my heart. I knelt and pulled his small, warm body into my arms, burying my face in his hair. My mom heard his question and hurried out from the living room. She came back from the bathroom a moment later with a damp washcloth. “Weren’t you having lunch with Ethan? How did you get so filthy?” My throat was thick with unshed tears, but I forced a smile for her. “I just tripped on the way home. It’s nothing.” After I’d cleaned myself up, she pulled me aside, her voice low. “So, about your father… what is Ethan planning to do?” Remembering Ethan’s parting words, the answer felt like swallowing glass. “He… he said we should take it to court.” “Good,” my mother said, nodding firmly. “That’s the right thing to do. Your father deserves justice.” She reached into her pocket and pressed a check into my hand. “This is some money your dad and I have saved up. This process will be expensive. Take it. If you need more, you tell us.” “Mom, I…” “I’m heading home now,” she said, cutting me off gently. “Your father’s waiting for me to make him dinner.” She patted my hand and walked out the door, the soft click of the lock echoing in the sudden silence. The check in my hand felt like a burning coal, searing every nerve. I wanted a divorce. But I couldn’t tell her that. I couldn’t tell my parents that all their years of love and sacrifice meant absolutely nothing to the man they had treated like a son. And that the person he considered worthless… included me. That night, Ethan didn’t come home. I didn’t sleep in our bed. I curled up next to my son in his small twin bed, holding him tight, and stared into the darkness until dawn. The sky was just beginning to lighten when I got up to make breakfast. Just as I was putting out the plates, the front door opened. It was Ethan. He scanned the apartment, and seeing that Leo wasn’t around, he sat down at the kitchen table. He tapped his fingers on the wood. “We need to talk.” My gaze caught on a smudge of bright red lipstick just inside his collar. I sat down opposite him without a word. He cleared his throat, a faint flush on his cheeks, and pulled two folders from his briefcase, pushing them toward me. One was a divorce agreement. The other was yesterday’s settlement. “You saw us yesterday, so there’s no point in hiding it anymore,” he began, all business. “Her name is Nikki. We’ve been seeing each other for a while.” He took a breath. “I wasn’t planning on a divorce, Ava. But she’s pregnant. And the doctor said… with her condition… she can’t terminate the pregnancy.” Nikki? Nicole Sanders? My hand, reaching for the divorce papers, froze. I stared at him. I had just heard that name at the police station two days ago. The lipstick. The red dress. The fifty thousand dollars. The lies about the accident. It all crashed together in my mind with a sickening, surreal force. Was it possible? Had Ethan gotten his father’s killer pregnant? Seeing my silence, Ethan’s tone softened, becoming almost pleading. “Ava, she’s just twenty-two. For the sake of the sixteen years we had together, please, can you just let this go? Let her go?” “If you sign the settlement, I’ll give you the house, the cars, everything. I’ll add another fifty thousand to the compensation. One hundred thousand. Please.” It was almost funny. In sixteen years together, it was the first time he had ever spoken to me with such humility. And he was doing it for the woman who killed his own father. I picked up the divorce papers and flipped through them to the last page. I held out my hand. A wave of relief washed over his face. He thought I’d agreed. He scrambled in his briefcase for a pen and placed it in my palm. I signed my name, then pushed both folders back to him. “The divorce, I agree to. As for the settlement… I don’t have the right to sign that.” I was speaking the simple truth. But to Ethan, it sounded like a deliberate provocation. His face darkened. He slumped back in his chair, his chest heaving. He couldn’t hold it in. He grabbed the pen and threw it at me. “Ava, I was trying to be nice about this because of our history, but don’t think for a second that I’m begging you,” he snarled. “He was your father. If you don’t have the right, who does?” “When it comes down to it, you just won’t let Nikki go. You’re vicious. Your whole family is vicious.” “What did you say?” I clenched my fists, a hot rage finally boiling over. He could say whatever he wanted about me, but how dare he insult my family, again and again? He slammed his hands on the table and stood up, leaning over me. “I said your whole family is vicious, and your father deserved to get hit by a car!” Crack. The sound of my hand hitting his face echoed in the kitchen. I had used every ounce of my strength. His head snapped to the side. He was stunned for a second, then his eyes narrowed with fury. He lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of my hair. “You bitch. I gave you a chance.” He raised his other hand to strike me. “Daddy, don’t hit Mommy!” Leo stood in the doorway of his room, his little feet bare on the cold floor, his eyes wide with fear. Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air. He looked at our son, then back at me, his jaw tight. With a final, guttural curse, he shoved me away. I stumbled backward and fell to the floor. “You’re going to regret this, Ava.” The front door slammed shut, shaking the walls. I pulled Leo into my arms, holding him tight, my body trembling. I bit down on my lip to stop its quivering and whispered to the empty room. No, Ethan. You’re the one who’s going to regret this. The video of Ethan’s father’s accident went viral. His aunt Carol showed up at my door, her phone in her hand, her body shaking with rage. “Those monsters! My brother died in such a horrible way, and they’re smearing his name like this? Are they even human?” I poured her a glass of water and took the phone. The video trending online was heavily edited. It wasn’t the clear, raw footage I’d seen at the station. This version was grainy, the angle cleverly manipulated to hide the fact that he was tying his shoe. They had slowed down the footage, adding captions that framed his movements as the “preparations of a seasoned insurance scammer.” If I hadn’t seen the real video, I might have believed it myself. No wonder the comment section was a cesspool of vitriol. It’s not that old people turn bad; it’s that bad people grow old. You can tell he’s a pro. Look at that technique. Trying to score one last payday for his kids before he kicks the bucket. What a great dad. He got what he deserved. I should have been heartbroken. But knowing that Ethan was likely behind all of this, all because he thought the dead man was my father, I felt a strange, cold detachment. Aunt Carol slapped her thigh, her voice rising. “Ava, call Ethan right now! Tell him to send a cease and desist, to sue these soulless pigs!” I didn’t tell her that the soulless pig she was referring to was very likely her own beloved nephew. Before I could put my phone down, it rang. It was the police department. “Mrs. Miller? I’m calling to follow up. Have you and your husband decided whether to press charges in your father-in-law’s case? You mentioned you needed to discuss it with him.” I was about to tell the officer to contact Ethan directly when his aunt snatched the phone. “Charges? Of course we’re pressing charges! You go arrest her right now!” she yelled into the receiver. “What is this world coming to? She kills a man and then gets to slander him online? Unbelievable!” “Ma’am, may I ask who is speaking?” the officer asked, taken aback. “I’m the victim’s sister! His flesh and blood! And what I say goes for my nephew, too!” After she hung up, Carol grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the door. “Come on. We’re going to Ethan’s office.” When we arrived at the firm, Ethan’s assistant saw me and rushed forward, her expression panicked. “Mrs. Miller, he’s in a meeting…” Carol shoved her aside without breaking stride. “Get out of the way. Do you have any idea who I am? I’m his aunt, and this is his wife. Are you trying to get fired?” Before the poor woman could respond, Carol threw open the door to Ethan’s office. Ethan was in his large leather executive chair. And perched on his lap, straddling him, was the girl, Nikki, feeding him a cookie from her mouth to his. Carol froze for a single second, then a warrior’s cry escaped her lips. She lunged, grabbing Nikki by the arm and yanking her off Ethan’s lap. “You shameless homewrecker! Seducing a married man!” “Ah! Ethan! Ethan, help me!” the girl shrieked, scrambling away as Carol raised her hand to slap her. Before the blow could land, Ethan caught his aunt’s wrist. “You dare stop me?” Carol sputtered, incredulous. “Do you have any idea what’s going on right now? At a time like this, you’re in here messing around with this… this trash?” Ethan shot a venomous glare in my direction, clearly believing I had orchestrated this entire scene. “Carol, this is my personal life,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t you think you’re overstepping?” “What did you say?” His aunt stood frozen, unable to believe the words coming from the nephew she had always adored. “Fine. Fine! My mistake. I shouldn’t have bothered to care.” She turned on her heel and stormed out. I started to follow her, but Ethan’s voice stopped me. “Ava. If it weren’t a conflict of interest for me to represent you in court, I would personally take Nikki’s case and I would destroy you.” I paused, a cold curiosity taking hold. “I have to ask, Ethan. Why are you treating me like the enemy in all this?” He tilted his head, leaning forward so I could see the faint red mark still on his cheek from my slap. “This? I will never forget this.” I nodded slowly. There was nothing left to say. With the intense media scrutiny, the case was fast-tracked. Less than two weeks later, we were in court. I didn’t hire a lawyer. I sat alone at the plaintiff’s table. Ethan sat in the gallery, catching my eye and giving me a smug, triumphant smirk. As friends and relatives filed in, one of them asked him, “Ethan, why is your wife up there? Shouldn’t that be you?” He waved it off with the air of someone explaining a complex matter to a simpleton. “One of my firm’s lawyers is representing the defendant. You can’t have two lawyers from the same firm on opposite sides of a case. It’s a conflict of interest.” The relative stared at him, confused. “You… you had one of your own employees defend the person who killed your dad? Are you insane?” Ethan didn’t even bother to look at him. “So what? As lawyers, our duty is to justice. Even if it’s family, if they’ve done something wrong, they have to face the consequences.” Such noble words. I allowed myself a small, cold smile from across the courtroom. I wondered if he would still feel that way in about five minutes. The judge’s gavel struck the bench, the sound echoing through the silent room. The clerk began to read the case details aloud. “The court is now in session for the case regarding the vehicular incident on August 29th on Sunnyside Avenue. The deceased, Robert Miller…”

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This year marked my fifth anniversary with Poppy. One evening, while using her laptop in the study, I stumbled upon a document titled “Proposal_Plan.docx.” I opened it. The title inside read in bold letters: “May 20th Proposal Plan.” I froze for a second. Poppy had always turned down my own proposals. Was it because she wanted to be the one to ask? In that instant, a wave of sweetness and anticipation washed over me. On May 20th, I kept checking my phone, my heart pounding with excitement for Poppy’s message. But it was a colleague’s shriek that shattered my fantasy. “Poppy is proposing in the garden! The company garden!” I didn’t wait to hear more. I just ran. When I finally reached the garden, breathless and dizzy, the scene before me stopped my heart. Poppy was on one knee, holding a ring, looking up with adoration at another man. My fists clenched at my sides, but I didn’t rush forward. I didn’t demand an explanation. After a moment of deafening silence, I slowly pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I sent a text to my father. “Dad, about that marriage arrangement you mentioned… I’m in.” 1 My father called the second he got my message. He let out a long sigh, then chuckled. “Finally! I’ve been trying to talk you into this for ages, son. I was starting to lose hope.” His voice was warm with relief. “You’re my only son, Bob. Of course, I want you to marry a woman from a family of equal standing. I don’t care who you date, but marriage… marriage is a serious matter. It’s a family decision.” “I know, Dad,” I managed to say. My gaze drifted back to the couple in the garden, now locked in a kiss. A single, hot tear traced a path down my cheek. The people around them were cheering, the air thick with joy and celebration. It felt like I was standing under my own private storm cloud. “What’s all that noise?” my father asked. “When are you free? We need to arrange a dinner with the Sterling family.” “This Saturday,” I said, my voice flat. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket. Perhaps the intensity of my stare finally broke through her bliss, because Poppy turned her head and her eyes met mine. Shock flickered across her face. She hadn’t expected to see me here, to see me witness this. She quickly looked away, leading the man back to a seat at a decorated table. The garden, the enormous cake, the champagne, the crowd of friends… Five years. We had been together for five years, and she had never once formally introduced me to her friends. Yet here they all were, every single one of the close girlfriends from her graduation photo, witnessing her happiness. One of them stood, raising a glass. “I knew it! I always said you two were meant for each other. I’ve been waiting years to toast at your wedding!” Poppy had kept our relationship a secret. Even her best friends didn’t know I existed. But this man… they all knew him. The sun was shining, but a bitter chill seeped into my bones. Wiping my tears, I turned and walked away from the garden, away from the place that had just broken my heart. I thought I was the star of her proposal plan. Turns out I was just an audience member. No, not even that. I returned to our apartment, feeling hollowed out. A courier was standing by the door, waiting. He saw me and walked over. “Mr. Vance?” I nodded. He handed me a bouquet of flowers. “Man, your girlfriend is really something,” he said with a grin. “First time I’ve ever had an order for a woman sending flowers to her guy on a special day.” I forced a weak smile, took the flowers, and unlocked the door. Tucked into the bouquet was a small card. It read: Happy Anniversary, my love. With a sneer, I ripped the card to shreds and threw it in the trash. So, she remembered I was her boyfriend. Then why in the hell did she propose to someone else today? I collapsed onto the sofa, burying my face in the six-foot-long teddy bear she had given me for my birthday. The scented candle on the coffee table was her favorite. This apartment, which we had designed and decorated together, was filled with three years of our shared memories. And just now, I had watched her betray every single one of them. I lay there for a long time, drifting on the edge of sleep, until the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted me awake. 2 Poppy walked in, looking tired. She was holding a collectible figurine. After slipping on her slippers, she came straight to me. She held out the box. “Bob, look. I got you that limited edition figure you wanted.” I took it from her. She seemed to think this was enough, that I had already forgiven her, and sat down beside me. “What were you doing at the garden today?” she asked. I didn’t answer, just turned the box over in my hands. She took my left hand and placed it on her thigh. “His name is Brian. He was my neighbor growing up. We were childhood friends.” “A few days ago, he was diagnosed with leukemia. He doesn’t have much time left. His one last wish… was to marry me.” “I wanted to make that wish come true for him. That’s why I proposed, with our friends there to see it. Can’t you understand how difficult this is for me?” I just stared at her, saying nothing. She squeezed my hand. “I’ve already set a date. The engagement party is on the fifteenth of next month.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. What a coincidence. That was the same day I was getting engaged. I pulled my hand back and gave a quiet, “Mm.” Poppy used to say I had a possessive streak, that I’d get angry if she ignored me. I’d worked hard to change, to control my emotions. She seemed stunned that I wasn’t screaming, wasn’t throwing things. “I’m just here to pack a few things. I’ll be moving in with Brian tomorrow morning,” she continued. “You’ll be here by yourself for a while. He needs me to take care of him. I’m sorry you have to be the one to make the sacrifice.” I kept my expression neutral, my eyes fixed on the figurine in my lap. Seeing my silence, Poppy seemed to take it as acceptance. She leaned in, her lips aiming for mine. I stood up abruptly, a smooth, deliberate motion that made her kiss hit empty air. I noticed then that her lips were slightly swollen, and there were faint hickeys on her neck. A scent clung to her, the smell of another man’s intimacy. It made my stomach turn. My coldness finally seemed to register. A flash of anger crossed her face. Forgetting all about packing, she spun around, changed her shoes, and stormed out of the apartment. I tossed the figurine aside, walked into the bedroom, and pulled out a suitcase. Anything Poppy had ever given me, I left behind. This home, built with my heart, I was leaving it all behind. The next morning, the first thing I did at the office was print out my resignation letter. Poppy and I had gone to the same university. After graduation, she’d started here. I’d turned down my father’s offer to join the family business just so I could be with her, starting from the bottom together. As our friends started getting married and having kids, I’d hinted to Poppy that I wanted the same. But she always said it was too soon, that she needed to establish her career first. I didn’t want to pressure her, so I told my parents to give us more time. Now, she was a general manager. Her career was stable. When I found that proposal plan on her computer, I thought we were finally going to be a real family. It was all just a delusion. 3 My colleague Ben, in the next cubicle, leaned over the partition. “Bob, what are you doing? The director is promoting you to project manager next month. Why would you quit now?” “I’m getting engaged soon,” I said with a smile. “Might be moving to a new city.” Another colleague passing by overheard and stopped. “Wow, congrats, man! That’s great news!” He paused. “Speaking of which, I heard from the director’s assistant that Poppy is getting engaged too!” He pulled out his phone and opened up his social media feed. “Look, man. She and her fiancé make a perfect couple. I heard they grew up together. He was her first love.” My smile froze. The post was from last night. I’d checked my feed; there was nothing new from her. She’d hidden the post from me. I opened our chat history. I hadn’t noticed when it happened, but most of our recent conversations had been about work. Suddenly, Ben flinched and ducked back into his cubicle. I looked up. Poppy was walking into the office, with Brian trailing right behind her. He looked perfectly healthy, moving with a light step that didn’t suggest a man with only months to live. Poppy clapped her hands for attention. “Everyone, can I have a moment? This is Brian, our new project manager. Please make him feel welcome. I expect you all to cooperate with him moving forward.” Ben’s face went pale, his eyes darting between me and Brian. One by one, my colleagues went up to shake Brian’s hand and introduce themselves. I remained at my desk, the resignation letter still in my hand. Poppy’s gaze fell on me, her expression hardening. “Everyone has greeted the new manager. Why are you just standing there? Come and say hello.” Brian walked over with a smile, extending his hand. “Looking forward to working with you. Hope you’ll cut me some slack while I’m learning the ropes.” I put down my letter and reached out to shake his hand. But Poppy grabbed Brian’s arm, pulling him away. “You don’t need to waste your time on employees who don’t know their place. Let me give you a tour of the office.” My hand was left hanging in the air. Ben came over and gently pulled me back into my chair. “Bob,” he whispered, “that new manager… he’s Poppy’s fiancé. The diamond on his finger? I heard she bought it for him in Paris. Everyone in this office knows how capable you are. How could she just give your promotion to him?” I just shrugged with a hollow smile. It didn’t matter. I was already leaving. If anything, Brian’s appointment just made my decision to walk away from Poppy even easier. I took a deep breath, collected myself, and walked towards Poppy’s office with my resignation and a stack of project files. The door was ajar. I knocked lightly. “Come in,” she said, her voice cold, not even bothering to look up. I walked in and placed the files on her desk. 4 Poppy began flipping through the documents, her brow furrowed, her expression growing darker with every page. Finally, she looked up at me, a mocking sneer on her face. “And here I thought you’d finally learned to control that temper of yours. It didn’t even take a full day for the real you to come out.” “Are you trying to threaten me with your resignation?” she scoffed, then snatched the papers and hurled them at my face. I ducked, the pages fluttering to the floor around me. I knelt and began to pick them up. Leaning back in her chair, Poppy continued her tirade. “Brian has the same degree as I do. I believe he is more than qualified to be project manager. Are you throwing a tantrum because you think he stole your promotion?” I calmly stacked the papers and placed them neatly back on her desk. My face was a mask of indifference. “You’re right,” I said, my voice even. “Brian studied the same thing as you. You know his capabilities. But what about me? What were all the years I spent working beside you?” She gave me a contemptuous glance. “Do you really need me to tell you what your capabilities are? From now on, you’ll be Brian’s assistant. You can learn a thing or two from him about how to do your job properly.” A bitter, weary laugh escaped my lips. “You really think the world revolves around you, don’t you? I’m not throwing a tantrum. I am quitting. And for the record, I think I’m more capable than he is. I don’t need to learn anything from him.” She slammed her hands on the desk and shot to her feet. “Fine! You’ve grown a backbone, have you? We’ll see where you end up after you walk out that door.” The look in her eyes was that of a stranger. I had never seen this side of her. My hands clenched into fists. I turned and walked out of her office. For five years, my entire world had revolved around Poppy. And now, she had not only pushed me away, but she also wanted me to play second fiddle to her new fiancé. Now that I saw her for who she truly was, I wasn’t stupid enough to waste another second of my life on her. Back at my desk, I began packing my personal belongings. My eyes fell on a glass jar filled with paper stars that Poppy had folded for me. With a heavy sigh, I placed it in the box with everything else. Box in hand, I was about to leave for good when Brian rushed into the office, his face a mask of panic. “Excuse me, everyone, could you please stop what you’re doing?” he announced. “My Rolex is missing. I’m going to need everyone to cooperate with a search.” A murmur went through the office. “I saw his watch this morning. I looked it up online—it’s worth a fortune.” “How does something just disappear off your wrist?” “Someone must have taken it when he wasn’t looking.” Poppy stood by Brian’s side as she called security. They started searching everyone, one by one. When they got to me, I put my box down to let them look. Poppy’s eyes locked on the jar of stars. She hesitated for a moment, then tipped the entire box over, sending its contents crashing onto the floor. The jar shattered. The colorful stars scattered across the tiles around my desk. With the sound of shattering glass, something between us broke for good. A security guard knelt, sifting through my things. Poppy nudged my belongings around with the toe of her shoe. Suddenly, Brian grabbed her arm and pointed at the floor. “Poppy, look! Isn’t that my watch?”

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I am the top engineer at the National Oceanic Institute. The only person on Earth with a successful deep-sea rescue at ten thousand meters to my name. So when my brother’s submarine went down, trapping him at the bottom of the ocean, I hung up his distress call. Then I calmly walked into a police station and confessed to leaking state secrets. Minutes later, my father’s furious call came through. “Your brother’s life is on the line, and you’ve vanished! Where the hell are you?” “I’m ordering you to the incident site to lead the rescue, now! If you don’t, you won’t see a single cent of the Grant family fortune!” I pulled a coarse blanket over myself and spoke into the phone. “I’m busy. Don’t interrupt my nap.” 1 I was sound asleep when Captain Miller of the Rescue Center shook me awake. “Dr. Grant! We have an emergency!” “It’s your brother, Ethan. His submersible, the Challenger, has gone dark at 10,900 meters in the Mariana Trench!” “An unidentified underwater tremor… all communications are down. The chances of survival are… slim.” I blinked my eyes open, my gaze settling on him. “So?” I asked, my voice flat. Miller stared, clearly thrown by my lack of reaction. “We need you!” he pressed. “You’re the only person in the world with a successful rescue at this depth. You’re their only hope!” I simply lay back down, turned over, and prepared to go back to sleep. “Sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help.” “What?” “I said, I can’t help,” I repeated, my tone as calm as if the men trapped at the bottom of the sea were my mortal enemies. “Adrian, are you insane? Your brother is down there! Along with twenty researchers! Their oxygen will last seventy-two hours, max!” “My wife, Dr. Evelyn Reed,” I interrupted him, “was the Mission Commander on my last rescue. In terms of experience, she’s more qualified than I am. You should be talking to her.” Miller grabbed my shoulders and hauled me upright, his voice a furious roar. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course we tried to contact Commander Reed! She’s not even in the country!” A small, cold smile touched my lips. “I know.” With that, I pulled the blanket over my head, shutting him out. He stomped his foot in frustration and stormed out of the detention cell, muttering curses under his breath. Finally, silence. A few minutes later, a specific ringtone cut through the quiet. It was my father, Robert Grant. I answered. “Adrian! Why are you refusing the rescue? Your brother is down there!” His voice was a barrage of accusations, thick with suppressed rage. “Dad, I already told them. Get Evelyn. She’s the expert.” “I can’t reach her! Her satellite phone is off!” Robert’s voice was frayed with desperation. I chuckled softly. “Oh, that’s to be expected.” “Because right now,” I said, my voice light, “she’s on board the Challenger.” On the other end of the line, Robert’s breathing hitched. It was followed by a thunderous explosion of fury. “What damn nonsense are you spouting? I personally arranged for Evelyn to join Project Borealis at the North Pole! She’s not due back for another month! How could she possibly be on the Challenger?” “Is that so?” I feigned surprise. “Then I must have misremembered.” “You—” I hung up before he could finish. The phone immediately rang again. This time, it was my stepmother, Linda Quinn. Her voice was a fragile, broken thing, choked with sobs. “Adrian… I’m begging you… please, save your brother…” I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, listening to her performance. “Besides,” she continued, her voice gaining a sharp, manipulative edge, “more than half of the twenty researchers on that sub are your own students! Are you just going to sit back and watch them die at the bottom of the ocean?” “Can you live with that?” 2 I smiled. Of course I could. An hour later, my father and stepmother arrived at the detention center. I watched them through the cold iron bars, my gaze fixed on the television mounted on the wall, which was broadcasting live coverage of the Challenger emergency rescue mission. The news anchor was somberly reading the names of the missing crew, painting them as national heroes making the ultimate sacrifice. The atmosphere was perfectly crafted. I raised my cuffed hands and gave them a helpless shrug. “As you can see, I’m in a bit of a jam myself.” “I’ve been detained on suspicion of leaking the Challenger’s core technical secrets.” In the span of a few seconds, Linda’s expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and then to pure, venomous hatred. Her perfectly maintained face twisted in fury. “It was you!” she shrieked. “Adrian! You did this on purpose!” “You’re jealous of your brother! Jealous that he was named the chief designer of the Challenger at such a young age!” “If you can’t have it, you destroy it! You have a black, evil heart!” Every accusation she hurled was a perfect echo of the press releases from my past life. It seemed they had this script prepared long ago. My father, Robert, was far more composed. He was frantic, but he still wore the mask of the dignified Director. He stared at me, his eyes burning. “What is going on?” “Not sure,” I said, leaning lazily against the wall. “The disciplinary committee burst into my workshop late last night. Said they had an anonymous tip that I sold the Challenger’s structural blueprints and sonar codes to a foreign agency.” Robert’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. He knew it was a frame-up. Half of the submersible’s core technology came from my own research. I would never betray my life’s work. “Damn it!” he growled, pulling out his phone. “I’ll make some calls. I’ll pull every string I have. I’ll have you bailed out before the end of the day!” “Don’t waste your breath,” I said flatly. “What do you mean?” “Until the official investigation is concluded, leaving this cell would be an admission of guilt.” I looked at him, my gaze calm and sharp. “Dad, you and I both know that if this charge sticks, my life is over.” Robert froze. He understood perfectly. I asked him a simple question. “Dad, if today, only one of us—Ethan or me—could live…” “Who would you choose?” His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just then, his phone rang. He snatched it up like a lifeline. It was the Arctic Research Center. “Director Grant, we’ve just made contact with Commander Evelyn Reed!” Robert’s eyes lit up. “Thank God! What did she say? Does she have a plan?” “Commander Reed has suspended her mission at the North Pole. She’s using a backup channel to attempt a remote connection with the Challenger’s operating system! But…” “But what?” “But the sub’s physical port is locked down. The remote signal can’t get full access! Someone has to pilot a rescue craft to the site and perform a physical interface to reboot the system!” “And the only person who can perform that interface is Dr. Adrian Grant!” 3 The call was on speakerphone. Every word echoed clearly in the small room. Robert hung up, his eyes red-rimmed as he stared at me. “Adrian, did you hear that?” he said, his voice raw. “This isn’t just about saving your brother anymore. It’s about executing Evelyn’s rescue plan! This is an order!” I let out a lazy yawn and ignored him completely. Just then, a commotion erupted outside the detention center. The parents of the missing students, having somehow gotten wind of my location, had arrived. The moment they saw me, they fell to their knees in unison. “Dr. Grant! We’re begging you! Please, save our children!” “Please, Dr. Grant, he’s our only son! He can’t die!” A chorus of sobs and pleas filled the air. I looked down at them, my expression as cold and hard as ice. “What do their lives have to do with me?” My words sliced through the crying, silencing it instantly. They stared at me in disbelief, as if I were a monster. One of the fathers scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his phone. He pulled up a screenshot of a bank transfer and held it up to the bars. “What do you mean, it has nothing to do with you? This is the record of the ‘research fund’ my son paid you!” “He said you required every student to deposit fifty thousand dollars into this account every month, or you wouldn’t let them work on your project, wouldn’t let them graduate!” “Our children’s futures are in your hands! How can you just let them die?” Others followed suit, holding up their phones. The screen after screen of transfer records were like hammers, pounding away at my name. “Yes! We paid too!” “We all paid! For two whole years!” Robert saw the records and began to tremble with rage. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You… you disgraceful son!” “Not only are you heartless, but you’re also a common criminal, extorting your own students! You have shamed the Grant family name!” He roared with righteous fury, as if he truly believed I had committed these sins. But we both knew the truth. The owner of that bank account wasn’t me. It was his precious, favored son, Ethan. No matter how much they begged, cursed, or even threatened to harm themselves, I remained unmoved, a silent spectator to the unfolding farce. Time was running out. The golden window for the Challenger rescue was closing fast. Online, the public opinion had turned into a firestorm. #LeadEngineerAdrianGrantRefusesRescue #AdrianGrantDetainedForLeakingSecrets #AdrianGrantExtortsStudents The hashtags trended, searing and ugly. In a matter of hours, my name became synonymous with greed, cruelty, and corruption. Then, a faint, static-laced voice crackled through the live rescue broadcast. It was Ethan. “Adrian… brother… can you hear me…” His voice was weak, filled with a primal fear of death and a desperate will to live. “Brother… I believe in you… I know you can save me…” “You’ve always been the brother I looked up to… you wouldn’t abandon me… would you?” 4 His heartfelt, brotherly last words, broadcast live to the world, were a masterstroke. Millions of viewers were instantly moved to tears. 【My God! What a tragedy! His brother is waiting for him, and he’s just sitting in a cell!】 【Adrian Grant isn’t human! He’s an animal! That’s your brother!】 【I’m sick. How did someone like him become a lead engineer? This needs a full investigation!】 【Go save them! There’s no time left!】 The tsunami of outrage and condemnation washed over me. My stepmother, Linda, seized the moment perfectly. She dropped to her knees again, not before me this time, but before the cameras of the news crews that had gathered outside. Her sobs were gut-wrenching. “I’m begging you… Adrian… if you just go and save Ethan…” “I… I’ll have him sign over all his inheritance rights to you! We won’t take a thing!” As she spoke, she actually pulled a pre-prepared “Renunciation of Inheritance” document from her purse. Ethan’s signature was already on it. All she needed was my consent. It was a brilliant performance. She was the great, self-sacrificing mother, willing to give up everything for her son. I looked at her and smiled. As everyone stared in stunned silence, I spoke two simple words. “Alright.”

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I was eating fries from a late-night food truck when I ran into him—a trust-fund kid I knew in school. His eyes widened. “Thea? Damn, you really hold a grudge. Took you long enough to come back to Chris.” Chris—my first love, the son of my mother’s employers. We were supposed to study abroad together. But at our graduation party, someone drugged him. I rushed to help, but in his haze, he suddenly became lucid and threw me, half-dressed, out of the room. He called me a desperate social climber. Overnight, I became a “gold digger.” The malice suffocated me, so I left with my mom for two years. Now, he pulled out his phone. “Chris has been looking for you like a madman. Just apologize—couples fight and make up.” I laughed, resting a hand on my pregnant belly. “My baby’s due in three months. What’s there to ‘make up’ for?” 1 This guy—let’s call him Carter—had been Chris’s best friend since they were in diapers. He’d had a front-row seat to my entire history with Chris, from our shy beginnings to the fiery end. He fumbled with his phone, hastily ending the call. For a long moment, he just stared at my stomach, his voice a lost whisper when he finally spoke. “Oh, shit. It’s over. It’s really, truly over. You… you got pregnant by someone else?” I’d snuck out tonight for a craving, not a reunion. I had no intention of strolling down memory lane with him, so I turned to leave. But he rushed to block my path, his face a mask of undisguised panic. “Thea, listen to me! Chris is even richer now than he was when you two broke up!” he said, his voice urgent. “He’s Northwood’s most eligible bachelor, for Christ’s sake. He even said that if you came back, he’d marry you. No prenup, nothing.” His passionate pitch began to falter as he took in my complete lack of expression. Still, he pressed on, a last, desperate attempt. “Look… what if you just… get rid of the baby? I’ll pretend I never saw you tonight. We can fix this.” My gaze turned to ice. “You and Chris both need therapy,” I said, my voice dripping with scorn. “Why don’t you go get some instead of spewing your toxic bullshit all over the street?” His face flushed a deep, blotchy red, and he pointed a trembling finger at me, sputtering, unable to form a single word. I was already a good distance away when I heard him shout at my back. “Thea, who the hell are you pretending to be? Weren’t you the one who was desperate to climb into his bed in the first place?” Climbing into his bed. That label had been stuck to me since the day Chris and I started dating. It made sense, in their world. He was the heir to a city-wide fortune, and my mother was just a live-in housekeeper in his family’s mansion. The rich boy and the housekeeper’s daughter. It was a story that just didn’t add up. But Chris’s love had been loud, passionate, and undeniable. So, they whispered that I must have used some dirty tricks, that I’d seduced him, this poor, naive boy, into falling for the help’s daughter. Back then, I was young and proud. My pride was my world. All I knew was that I loved Chris, and he loved me. So, I clenched my jaw and vowed to prove them all wrong. I would work my ass off until everyone agreed that Thea, just Thea, was worthy of Chris Johnston. I refused the supplementary credit card he offered me. I never used his connections to pad my own resume. From eighteen to twenty-two, our relationship, the one nobody believed in, lasted four whole years. I thought we would have so many more. Until our graduation year. A daughter of a close family friend of the Johnstons came to stay with them for the summer. Her name was Vivian. Vivian was a true heiress, born and bred in a world of privilege. She played the harp, was a champion equestrian, and could breakdance. She was radiant and dazzling—everything I was and everything I wasn’t. People started dropping hints, sometimes casually, sometimes with pointed intent, about an old, unofficial arrangement between the Johnston and Croft families. A childhood betrothal. Vivian’s summer in Northwood, they implied, was really about sealing the deal. My anxiety gnawed at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to find Chris at the stables. Every Saturday afternoon, he’d ride to clear his head. But for the first time, when I got there, he wasn’t riding. He was leaning against the fence, a relaxed, easy smile on his face as he watched the center of the ring. His eyes were shining. I followed his gaze. There was Vivian, dressed in impeccable riding gear, confidently commanding her horse, a riding crop held loosely in her hand. I watched her for a moment, mesmerized, then turned back to Chris. He hadn’t noticed me. His entire world was focused on the girl in the ring. My simmering unease boiled over into full-blown panic. I finally managed to call his name. He started, then a wide grin broke across his face as he grabbed my hand, excitedly telling me how incredible Vivian’s riding skills were. Finally, he asked, “Thea, you want to give it a try?” My face burned with shame. I bit my lip and mumbled that I didn’t know how to ride. In that instant, the look of disappointment in his eyes felt like a death sentence. 2 That day, I went home and cried, and we had a huge fight. Chris was completely baffled, but he did his best to explain. He didn’t like Vivian that way, he insisted. The whole “childhood betrothal” thing was just a joke their parents had made once when they were drunk. No one took it seriously. His explanation should have been enough. But somehow, the knot of anxiety in my throat didn’t loosen. It only tightened. I wanted to tell him to spend less time with her. I wanted to beg him, Just wait for me. I’ll be amazing one day, too. I’ll be someone you can be proud of. But those secret, girlish pleas were lodged in my throat, too humiliating to speak aloud. To say any of it would be to admit my own inferiority. So, I grew quiet instead. Chris didn’t notice. He and Vivian had too many shared interests to explore. But his mother did. Mrs. Johnston noticed. She summoned me to the sunroom, her grace and elegance making it feel like a casual chat. “Do you know why I never tried to stop Chris from dating you, dear?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk. I said nothing. “Because I knew it would never last. He’s a boy who needs to get things out of his system. Once he’s had his fun, the obsession fades.” She smiled faintly. “See? Look how well he and Vivian are getting along now.” I stood there, feeling as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped down my back, making me shiver. “Chris told me he doesn’t like her.” Mrs. Johnston let out a soft, silent laugh and adjusted the cashmere shawl around her shoulders. “Oh, you sweet, silly girl. If you step aside gracefully, you’ll give him an easy way out.” “And if I don’t?” “Thea,” she said, her tone shifting from condescending to cold. “This is a notification, not a negotiation.” Mrs. Johnston was a woman of her word. A week later, she fired my mother. My mom came to our small apartment in tears, her hands trembling as she signed, her chest heaving with silent sobs. “They said I was stealing. They kept my last month’s pay.” I fought back my own tears and apologized over and over, promising her I would find a way to get her money back. But when I went to find Chris, he was in the middle of a video game with Vivian. He spared me a fleeting glance before tossing his controller aside, his tone inexplicably sharp. “Thea, why did you start dating me in the first place?” I froze, then a cold dread washed over me. “Did your mother say something to you?” I asked, my voice rising. “Chris, don’t listen to her, she’s—” “Thea,” he cut me off, his voice laced with irritation. “Don’t talk about my mother like that.” I stood there, stunned into silence, staring at the anger on his face. He was looking at me like I was a stranger, and the coldness in his eyes made me tremble. After what felt like an eternity, he turned his back on me, waving a dismissive hand. “Just go home for now.” I stood outside the door, watching as he sat back down, picked up his controller, and said something that made Vivian laugh so hard she leaned against his shoulder. For the first time, I felt a horrifying certainty that everything Mrs. Johnston had said might be true. A few days later, two things arrived at once: my mother’s missing wages and my acceptance letter for a study abroad program. Seeing the joy on my mother’s face as she held the check, and the official email on my phone, I wavered. After a long hesitation, I sent Chris a text. I thanked him for the money and told him my acceptance had come through. Studying abroad together had always been our plan. He replied instantly with an address and two short words: “Come here.” Chris was out with his friends, a boisterous crew of Northwood’s richest sons who excelled at one thing: giving people a hard time. The moment I pushed the door open, the one closest to me, Carter, raised his glass. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!” he drawled. “Congratulations on your acceptance to Penn, your highness! Don’t forget about us little people when you make it big!” I’d faced scenes like this more times than I could count since I’d started dating Chris. So, I ignored him and walked straight to Chris, who was sitting with his head bowed. Before I could even sit down, Carter spoke again, a smirk in his voice. “You know, Thea, you’re a classic example of marrying up. Let’s be real, without Chris, someone from your background would never even dream of studying abroad.” The words had barely left his mouth before Chris launched himself across the table and punched Carter square in the face. “What the hell did you just say?” In the end, they were both sent to the hospital. On the way there, Chris wiped a smear of blood from his lip, his head still down. “Did you get the money?” he asked. I was dabbing at the blood on his knuckles and nodded. He snatched his hand back, letting out a sharp, bitter laugh. Then he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him, his eyes boring into mine. He spoke each word with chilling precision. “Thea, if I had no money, would you still want to be with me?” A wave of exhaustion and despair washed over me. But I swallowed the lump in my throat and met his gaze, my voice earnest. “Chris, believe it or not, I have always loved you for you.” Years ago, my mother, who is deaf-mute, had been cheated out of her wages and thrown out of a domestic agency because they saw her as a liability. It was Chris, just a boy passing by, who had given me his number and told me to have my mom call his family, that they were looking for a housekeeper. The image of that boy’s bright, open smile still visited me in my dreams. He was the first splash of color in my otherwise gray life. How could I not love him? But I knew, in that moment, that Chris no longer believed me. He was looking at me with suspicion. It was the look of a superior judging a subordinate, someone trying to curry favor. 3 I began to seriously consider ending things with Chris. But I couldn’t let myself think about it for too long. The second I did, my heart would clench with a pain so sharp it took my breath away. So, I shamefully played the coward. Until the night of our graduation gala. I was in a storage room, grabbing more chairs, when I saw Chris stumbling down the hotel corridor. His body suddenly went slack, and he was about to collapse. My heart lurched. Without a second thought, I rushed forward and caught him. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he was muttering, “So hot, so hot…” He looked flushed and dazed, and I just assumed he was drunk. I struggled to support his dead weight, managing to get him into a nearby lounge to rest. It wasn’t until he pushed me down onto the bed, his weight pinning me, that I realized something was terribly wrong. I tried to fight him off, to wriggle free. But a part of me, a weak and desperate part, wondered if this was fate, making the choice for me. Then Chris made his own choice. He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at me. “Thea…?” My hand trembled as I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck. But in the next second, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me onto the floor. He clutched his head, his eyes clearing as he looked at me, crumpled on the carpet. “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what you’re doing? You drugged me!” I stared up at him, my hand instinctively flying to my chest. “Drugged you?” I whispered in disbelief. “No, I just saw you… you looked like you were about to pass out, so I…” My words died in my throat. The look on his face—pure, unadulterated scorn—silenced me. “Right,” he sneered. “Keep spinning your little stories, Thea. When did you become like this?” Tears welled in my eyes, but I held them back, making one last, desperate attempt to defend myself. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. You can check the security cameras.” His only response was silence and that cold, mocking expression. The silence froze my heart solid. I wiped my eyes and, with a trembling voice, finally said the words that had been haunting me for weeks. “Chris, let’s break up.” The silent, brooding Chris suddenly let out a cold laugh. He hauled me to my feet. “Wow, Thea. You’re good. Playing hard to get now, are we?” His voice was laced with venom. “Is money really that important to you?” “Fine!” Before I could react, he was dragging me toward the door. He yanked it open and shoved me, hard, into the hallway. I stumbled and fell. The students milling about in the corridor froze, staring. A second later, the silence was broken by a chorus of wolf-whistles. Shaking with humiliation, I curled into a ball on the floor, desperately trying to pull the remnants of my dress over my chest. Someone in the crowd even took out their phone and started recording. My teeth chattered as I pleaded with the man standing over me. “Chris, please, don’t do this. Please, just give me a jacket. Anything.” He scoffed, his voice like ice. “Give you a jacket? Thea, did you think about covering up when you were plotting to drug me and climb into my bed?” His voice rose, echoing down the hall. “Isn’t this just the price people like you have to pay to get ahead?” A wave of shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd. Someone called me a gold-digging whore. Someone else said I got what I deserved. In that moment, I was nailed to a cross of public shame. After that night, I became infamous in our small circle in Northwood. My reputation as a gold digger was sealed. Anyone and everyone felt they had the right to look at me with disgust, their eyes lingering on my body with predatory intent. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I cut off all contact with everyone I had ever known, and one night, under the cover of darkness, I moved my mother out of the city. Seven years ago, when I fled Northwood in disgrace, I never thought I would return. For a long time, just the thought of the city was enough to make me curl up in a ball and tremble through the night. But now, seeing an old face, remembering those events that felt like they happened in another lifetime… the calm in my heart told me that time really is the best healer. And the Thea I am today is not the girl I was back then. So I spun around, walked right back to Carter, and slapped him across the face. Hard. “Go to hell.” His eyes bugged out. “Thea, you’ve grown some balls, haven’t you?” he snarled. “You want me to call Chris over here to deal with you?” I laughed. “It’s been years, and you people are still exactly the same.” Still so arrogant. He must have mistaken my laugh for fear. He pointed a finger at my stomach. “Good, you know you should be sorry. Now hurry up and take care of that… thing.” “Chris has been hung up on you for years. You’re one step away from climbing the social ladder. Isn’t that the lifelong goal for people like you?” Climbing the social ladder? The last time I tried that, Chris Johnston kicked me off, sending me from a “good girl” to a notorious tramp. A bitter smile touched my lips. “And what makes you so sure my husband isn’t a better man than Chris?” He looked at me, his expression shifting from anger to suspicion. He scanned me from head to toe. “Impossible. No respectable family would ever let the housekeeper’s daughter marry in.” He paused, then a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. “Oh, I get it. You married some bastard, didn’t you? An illegitimate son?” I just scoffed, too tired to argue. As I walked away, he yelled after me, “Thea, don’t you dare regret this!” I don’t know about me having regrets, but I was pretty sure he would. He told Chris I was back in Northwood. I found out when I was in a baby boutique, happily browsing through rows of tiny clothes. The sales associate next to me tapped my shoulder. “Is that the baby’s father?” she whispered, nodding toward the entrance. “He’s been standing there watching you for a while.” My heart skipped a beat. I turned, a smile already forming on my lips, but it froze solid on my face.

Working the early shift today. While waiting for passengers to board, I was scrolling through my phone and came across a post: [Question: 8 months pregnant, but the baby most likely has health issues. How can I maximize my profit from this situation?] I frowned. If the baby isn’t healthy, don’t have it. Maximizing profit? Is this person insane? But the top comment, with dozens of likes, was even more chilling: [Buy a plane ticket. Take labor-inducing drugs right before you board. Make sure you go into labor on the plane.] [Flight attendants aren’t doctors. Just blame the baby’s condition on whoever helps you.] [Kick up a fuss, get public opinion on your side, and you’ll get a huge payout. If you’re lucky, you could even use the media attention and your disabled child to become an internet celebrity!] What the hell? Do our lives as flight attendants not matter? Just as I was about to report the post, a message came through on our crew group chat: “Attention crew: a passenger on this flight is 6 months pregnant. Please take note.” 1 I’d just replied “Roger that” when the chief purser announced that boarding was beginning. I quickly put my phone away and composed myself. Soon, a pregnant woman, holding the small of her back, walked towards me. Her information had been in the group chat. The disturbing post was still echoing in my mind, but professional habit took over, and I greeted her with a warm smile. “Hello, you must be Ms. Miller, correct? Your seat is right here. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call us.” After getting her settled, I breathed a sigh of relief. She seemed pleasant enough, and her belly wasn’t that big. I silently chided myself for reading such dark things online. Pregnant passengers were common, and all I needed to do was follow standard procedure. The other passengers began to board in a steady stream. Just as the cabin was nearly full, Ms. Miller suddenly reached out and stopped me. “Excuse me, this seat is a little too small. Can you do something about it?” I paused for a second. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miller, but today’s flight is fully booked. There are no extra seats available.” “And you’re in the first row of economy, which is the most spacious seating in this section.” Ms. Miller nodded. “Oh, so it’s the most spacious in economy.” “Yes, ma’am. Our ground staff specifically arranged this seat for you.” After my polite reply, I prepared to continue with pre-flight checks. But Ms. Miller grabbed my sleeve again. “Then why couldn’t you put me in business class? Isn’t that more spacious?” My stomach dropped. Was she looking for trouble? I kept the smile plastered on my face. “Ms. Miller, business class is a separate ticket purchase. And as I mentioned, today’s flight is completely full, so there are no empty seats in business class either.” She finally nodded again. “Oh, so no empty seats at all.” “That’s right, ma’am.” Just as I finished speaking, a passenger called for assistance, so I turned and headed towards the back of the cabin. This time, she didn’t try to stop me. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. A passenger who could communicate was a good passenger. But just as all the passengers were seated and we were starting to check the overhead bins, I was cornered at the lavatory door. Ms. Miller’s gentle expression was gone, replaced by a furious glare. “You lied!” I was taken aback. “Ms. Miller, is there something you need?” “I just went and looked. Business class isn’t full at all! Why won’t you let me sit there?” I instinctively glanced towards business class, my mind racing as I mentally tallied the passengers. “Ms. Miller, there is a mother in business class who purchased two seats. Her baby is only four months old, so she’s holding him. The empty seat you see belongs to the baby.” My explanation did nothing to pacify her. She just snorted. “Why does her baby get to sit in business class? I have a baby in my belly, too! Why won’t you move me? Her one baby is taking up a whole seat, and I’m two people! Why can’t we have a seat?” 2 I patiently explained, “Because she purchased business class tickets. The right to use that seat for this flight belongs to her and her son.” “So, she paid for it. I paid for my ticket too, so why can’t I?” “I’m sorry, Ms. Miller, but the price for economy and business class is different.” “I paid my money! I want to sit in business class!” I forced the smile to stay on my face. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but to sit in business class, you would need to pay the fare difference of three hundred dollars.” As soon as I said that, she spun around and stormed off. I sighed internally. Finally, she was gone. I hoped that would be the end of it. But of course, my fears were realized. I had just finished checking one section of overhead bins when I heard a baby wailing from business class. A passenger holding an infant rushed out. “What is wrong with you people? How can you just give away a seat that I paid for?!” “I paid for it first! She says she paid the difference, so she gets to sit there? How can you sell the same seat twice? Are you that desperate for money?” Her outburst drew the attention of the surrounding passengers. Whispers rippled through the cabin. “Seriously? They sold the same seat twice?” “It’s probably the baby’s seat. They figured the infant wasn’t using it, so they could sell it again.” “That’s just awful!” I frowned. Remembering Ms. Miller’s behavior, a sense of dread washed over me. I rushed towards business class. Sure enough, Ms. Miller was already settled in the business class seat. She had even changed into a pair of slippers. Seeing the angry faces of the other business class passengers, I immediately approached her. “Ms. Miller, I’ve already explained to you, this seat belongs to the little boy next to you. We don’t have any available seats in business class.” “I have a little one in my belly, too,” she retorted. “I’ll be gracious and let her little one share the seat with mine.” “Besides, you just said I could pay the difference.” I was stunned. “Ms. Miller, I said you could pay the difference to upgrade, but I also explained that today’s flight is full, so there are no seats available in business class to upgrade to.” “Furthermore, we cannot process upgrades once the cabin is fully boarded.” Ms. Miller simply ignored me, muttering, “I see an empty seat right here. I’m already being very generous by letting that baby sit with me. Don’t push your luck!” Her complete reversal of the situation left me speechless. How did she manage to reply to every sentence without actually addressing anything I said? Did the pregnancy hormones go to her brain? Just as I was about to call for a security officer, Ms. Miller suddenly clutched her stomach. 3 I froze, my eyes instinctively darting to her belly. The post I had read this morning flooded my mind. A sense of alarm shot through me. “Ms. Miller, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” Without a word, she shot up from her seat and bolted towards the lavatory. I immediately followed, my heart pounding as I stood outside the door. “Ma’am, are you feeling alright? If you’re not well, we haven’t taken off yet. We can call for the ground medical team.” I strained my ears, trying to hear what was happening inside. I could faintly make out the sound of a suppressed moan. The words from this morning’s post screamed in my head. It can’t be. She’s only six months pregnant, right? I can’t be this unlucky. As I was debating what to do, the lavatory door swung open. Ms. Miller’s face appeared before me. Startled by the sudden movement, I froze for a second before asking, “Should I call the ground medical team for you? We haven’t closed the cabin door yet, we can still get you emergency assistance.” But Ms. Miller’s face was a mask of fury. “Emergency assistance? Are you sick? Are you trying to jinx my baby? It was just morning sickness! What’s all the fuss about?” “But…” “But nothing! I’m tired. Get me a blanket. I need to rest.” “Of course, ma’am.” Watching her walk back to her seat in the first row of economy, a deep sense of unease washed over me. One minute she was demanding a business class seat, and the next, everything was fine? People don’t change that quickly. But her belly… it really didn’t look that big. Not like someone who was over eight months pregnant. Maybe I was just overthinking things. Just as I was grabbing a blanket to take to her, a colleague next to me let out a soft gasp. I instinctively turned to look. She rushed out of the lavatory, her face pale. “Blood! Why is there blood in the lavatory?” My blood ran cold. I ran inside. Sure enough, there was a ring of blood on the floor next to the toilet. My mind raced, replaying who had used the lavatory recently. Three men and Vivian Miller. That ruled out a period. Could it be… As I cleaned the floor, I pulled out my phone and opened the post from this morning. As soon as I saw it, my face fell. The post had been updated. [What do I do? The plane hasn’t even taken off yet, and I don’t think I can hold it in anymore! I’m already bleeding a little!] [If I go into labor now, won’t the flight attendants just call a doctor? Then they’ll find out what’s wrong with my baby!] A new comment had appeared right below it: [Has the cabin door closed yet? If it has, you’re fine. It takes them time to reopen it, so a doctor won’t be able to get on board in time!] [I suggest you wait until the door is closed, then start pushing. The plane will still be on the ground. That way, by the time the flight attendant delivers the baby, the paramedics will have arrived, and you’ll get immediate medical care.] [You get to pass the blame and get medical help! It’s a win-win!] With every sentence I read, my expression grew darker. The comment had been posted just three minutes ago. Was this really just a coincidence? Just then, I spotted a folded piece of paper in the corner. I picked it up instinctively. When I unfolded it and saw what it was, my mind went blank. 4 It was a prenatal check-up report, but the date was from two months ago. It looked like it had been left in a pocket and gone through the wash, so the ink was faded and blurry. But I could clearly make out the name: Vivian Miller. Two months ago, she was 24 weeks pregnant. That meant she was now over 32 weeks pregnant. It matched. It matched the post. So now I could be certain: Vivian Miller had lied about how far along she was. Domestic airlines don’t have strict restrictions on pregnant passengers, so her lying about her due date was highly suspicious. Eight months. A baby with health problems. Stomach pain. Bleeding… The keywords swirled in my head. I took a deep breath to calm myself and typed a reply to the post on my phone: [As a mother, aren’t you heartbroken that your child isn’t healthy? How can you be thinking about profiting from your child’s suffering?] [And the flight attendants are trying to help you, yet you want to harm them? That’s repaying kindness with evil!] After sending the comment, I heard the announcement to prepare for cabin door closure in my earpiece. Damn it, I thought, and sprinted towards the door. If the door closed, it would be just like the post said. Reopening it would take time, and we would be forced to deliver the baby ourselves. I reached the cabin door just as my colleague was securing the safety latch. I grabbed her arm. “Wait! Just a little longer!” She looked at me, confused. “Wait for what? It’s time!” Although I was almost certain Vivian Miller was the one who wrote the post, a small part of me held onto a sliver of hope. What if it wasn’t her? As I was trying to stall for time, my phone buzzed. The post had been updated again: [Of course you can say that, you’re not in my shoes! I don’t even know who the father of this baby is! Are you going to raise it for me?!] [I was originally planning on selling it. I even had a buyer lined up. Then the check-up revealed the problems. What rotten luck! I had to return the deposit!] [This baby owes me that money!] [And I can’t stand flight attendants anyway. They act so high and mighty, but they’re just glorified waitresses. What makes them any different from the rest of us working-class stiffs?] [Isn’t there a popular saying online? ‘I am myself first, and then a mother.’ Since this baby isn’t going to live, it might as well become fertilizer for my life!] A surge of raw fury erupted within me. Not everyone deserves to be a mother. Now I was sure. This person was Vivian Miller. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Then I contacted the captain directly. “We have a passenger going into labor. Please contact the control tower immediately!” My colleagues all stared at me, bewildered. “The only pregnant passenger we have is six months along. How could she be going into labor?” I was about to pull out the crumpled prenatal report from my pocket when a panicked voice came through my earpiece. “The head! The baby’s head is coming out!”

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After I was reunited with my birth family, my “sister,” the girl who had taken my place, tearfully offered me her fiancé. “Lily,” she said, her voice a model of selfless understanding, “James is yours. I’ll step aside.” The moment she cried, the whole family turned on me with aching hearts and pointed fingers. I understood then. This family responded to weakness, not strength. So I dropped to my knees with a thud, my sobs louder and more desperate than hers. “Aurora, how can you step aside? If you do, James will blame me, Mom and Dad will blame me, and my brother will blame me! What’s the point of me even being alive?” I wailed, grabbing a fruit knife from the nearby table. “If you don’t agree to stay with him, I’ll die right here!” The entire family froze, their faces a mask of shock. Aurora, the fake heiress, was stunned speechless. A joke. When it came to crying, I was the undisputed queen. 1. In my first week back at the Sterling mansion, I felt like an alien who had crash-landed in someone else’s world. And Aurora Sterling, the girl who had lived my life for eighteen years, was the princess of that world. One day, a team of workers arrived, carrying ladders and cans of paint. They were going to repaint the entire villa in Aurora’s favorite shade: a soft, buttery cream. My room, originally a tasteful off-white, was on their list. I stopped the workers, my voice soft. “Could you please not paint my room?” Aurora drifted over at the sound of my voice, linking arms with our mother, her eyes already welling up. “Lily, don’t you like it? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t being thoughtful. I just thought you’d like a warm color, too.” Our mother’s brow furrowed as she looked at me. “Lily, Aurora meant well. Why are you being so ungrateful?” Our father put down his newspaper. “It’s just a bit of paint. It’s best if the whole house has a uniform style.” I looked at their entitled faces and understood. In this house, my opinion didn’t matter. Only Aurora’s tears did. Fine. My own eyes reddened, and my voice, thick with unshed tears, was even more wounded than Aurora’s. “Dad, Mom, I’m not ungrateful.” “I just heard… I heard that this was the nursery you prepared for me when I was a baby. This color… this was the color you chose for me with your own hands all those years ago.” I lifted my head, my eyes shimmering with tears I stubbornly refused to let fall. “I wanted to keep it… as if… as if I was never lost at all.” “I wanted to feel, just for a moment, what it would have been like if I had grown up with you.” My voice began to tremble, finally breaking into a choked sob. “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. I shouldn’t have asked. Go ahead and paint it. Just… pretend I never came back.” The living room fell into a dead silence. The blame on my parents’ faces morphed into shock, then into a tidal wave of guilt. My mother pushed Aurora away and rushed to hug me. “My sweet girl, don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s Mommy’s fault. We’re so sorry.” My father roared at the workers, “Who told you to touch the young miss’s room? Nobody touches it! Get your things and get out!” My brother, Julian, who had just come downstairs, saw the scene and hurried to my side, awkwardly patting my back. “Lily, don’t cry. No one will dare touch your room.” Aurora stood frozen, her gentle expression stiffening on her face. She probably never imagined I would take her little trick and amplify it tenfold. She opened her mouth to speak, but I started crying harder. “Sister, please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to make Mom and Dad angry, I just… I just can’t control myself.” With that one sentence, I preemptively blocked any accusation she could possibly make. If she said another word, she would be the one bullying the “victim”—the fragile, sensitive, long-lost daughter. The color drained from Aurora’s face, leaving it a sickly, mottled white. It was a beautiful sight. 2. After that day, no one mentioned painting the walls again. My room became the sole exception in this buttercream castle. Aurora lay low for a few days, but she was soon back to her old tricks. On her birthday, Julian gifted her a screaming-red Porsche, the keys nestled in a velvet box. Aurora shrieked with delight, hugging Julian’s arm and jumping for joy. “Thank you, brother! I love you so much!” The whole family watched her with beaming smiles. The atmosphere was warm and harmonious. I stood in the corner, an outsider. Julian’s gaze flickered over to me, a hint of discomfort in his eyes. He pulled another, smaller box from his pocket and handed it to me. “Lily, this is for you.” I opened it. It was a bracelet, clearly expensive, but compared to a Porsche, it was a pittance. A handout for a beggar. Aurora glanced at it, her words dripping with false generosity. “Wow, brother, you’re playing favorites. Lily’s gift is so beautiful too.” But the smug satisfaction in her eyes was unmistakable. I stared at the bracelet and didn’t take it. A tear escaped, then another. Not a loud sob, but a silent, steady stream. The laughter in the room died. All eyes were on me. I choked back a sob, my voice as light as a feather. “Brother, thank you. But… I can’t accept this.” Julian was stunned. “Why not?” I lifted my tear-filled eyes, my gaze a carefully crafted mix of inferiority, envy, and desolate sadness. “A girl like me, who grew up in the dirt… how could I ever be worthy of something so precious?” “My sister is a star in the sky. She deserves the best of everything. The sports car, the designer labels… it should all be hers.” “And me?” I let out a self-deprecating laugh, the tears flowing faster. “I’m just happy to have enough to eat and not cause you any trouble. I appreciate the thought, brother, but I’m truly not worthy of this gift.” I turned, covering my mouth to stifle my cries, and ran upstairs. My retreating figure was the loneliest, most tragic sight imaginable. Behind me, I heard Julian’s panicked voice. “Lily! That’s not it! Let me explain!” And my parents’ furious scolding. “Julian! What were you thinking? How could you treat them so differently?” Aurora’s hand, still holding the car keys, was frozen in mid-air. The smile on her face was uglier than a grimace. That night, Julian knocked on my door. His eyes were red, filled with guilt. “Lily, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” I sat by the window, hugging my knees, my eyes swollen like walnuts, and said nothing. He pushed a black card toward me. “There’s three million on this. It’s from me, to make it up to you. You can buy any car you want. Something even better than your sister’s.” I didn’t look at the card. I just stared out the window. “Brother, I don’t want things. I just… I just feel that in your hearts, I’ll never be as important as she is.” “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I accept it. After all, she was the one who was with you for eighteen years.” Julian looked like his heart was about to break. “No! You’re my real sister! From now on, I’ll give you the best of everything!” He practically forced the card into my hand before fleeing my room. I looked at the card, wiping away the last of my crocodile tears. You want to play games with me? Aurora, darling, you’re an amateur. 3. The family’s fiancé was named James Nordling. He was the heir to the Nordling Corporation and was originally engaged to Aurora. After I was found, the engagement became… awkward. More than once, Aurora performed her “kindness and generosity” for my parents. “Dad, Mom, the engagement was with the Sterling family. Now that my sister is back, she should be the one to inherit it. I’m willing to step aside and wish James and my sister all the best.” Every time she said it, my parents’ hearts ached for her, and they would look at me as if I were a thief. The first time James came over for dinner, the atmosphere was thick with tension. He sat across from me, his gaze polite but distant. He spent most of his time talking to Aurora. They talked about mutual friends, high-society parties, and topics I couldn’t even begin to understand. I just ate my food quietly, a ghost at the table. During the meal, Aurora put some food on my plate, her gesture as intimate as if we were real sisters. “Lily, eat more. You’re too thin.” Then, her hand “slipped.” A piece of greasy braised pork fell directly onto my faded, worn-out t-shirt. A large grease stain bloomed across the fabric. “Oh!” she gasped, her face a mask of apology. “I’m so sorry, Lily, I didn’t do it on purpose! Your clothes…” All eyes focused on the stain on my chest. The t-shirt was one I’d brought from the countryside, a ten-dollar bargain bin find. In a room full of couture and luxury brands, it was already out of place. Now, it was a joke. If I got angry, I’d be making a scene. If I swallowed it, I’d be admitting I was inferior. I looked at the stain. I didn’t get angry. Instead, I smiled. A smile that was sadder than tears. Then I looked up, my eyes swimming with moisture I refused to let fall. “It’s okay, sister,” I said, my voice hoarse. “It’s just an old shirt. If it’s dirty, I’ll just throw it away.” “It’s the only kind of clothes I have, anyway. Not like you, sister. You wear designer brands I can’t even recognize.” “I’m the one embarrassing this family. I shouldn’t have worn something like this to the dinner table.” I put down my chopsticks, stood up, and bowed deeply to everyone. “I’m sorry, Dad, Mom, Mr. Nordling. Please excuse me.” I turned and walked away, my back ramrod straight. Every step I took felt like it was landing on their hearts. I could feel James’s gaze shift from Aurora to me for the first time, a look of curiosity and pity in his eyes. Behind me, I heard my mother’s suppressed fury. “Aurora Sterling! Look what you’ve done!” Aurora was speechless. “Mom, I really didn’t mean to…” “Enough! I think you did it on purpose!” A carefully planned family dinner, ruined by a single, unshed tear. That night, I received a text from James. [Are you free tomorrow? I’ll take you to buy some clothes.] I looked at the message and smiled. The fish was on the hook. 4. I didn’t turn James down. The next day, I showed up at the designated mall, wearing the same grease-stained t-shirt. When James saw me, his handsome brows knitted together. “Why are you still wearing this?” I looked down. “This… this is the only decent shirt I have to wear out.” His expression grew even more complicated. He said nothing, simply took my wrist and pulled me into the most exclusive luxury boutique in the mall. The sales assistants’ eyes were full of contempt when they saw my outfit. But after they saw James’s black card, their faces instantly lit up with the warmest smiles. James pointed to a rack of the latest dresses. “Anything that suits her, wrap it up.” Then he looked at me, his voice softening slightly. “Go try them on.” I acted like a startled rabbit, waving my hands frantically. “No, no, it’s too expensive, I can’t accept.” “It’s not for you,” he said flatly. “It’s for the Sterling family’s reputation. When you go out in cheap clothes, you embarrass all of us.” The words were harsh, but I knew it was his clumsy way of being kind. I was “forced” to change into a white dress. The girl in the mirror was slender, pale, with a timid look in her eyes—a complete stranger to my usual self. When I walked out, James’s gaze faltered for a moment. He quickly recovered, handing his card to the assistant. “Wrap them all up.” When we left the store, he was carrying more than a dozen bags. I trailed behind him, head down. “Mr. Nordling, thank you. But I still can’t…” “Call me James,” he interrupted. I paused. He stopped and turned to look at me, his eyes deep. “Lily Sterling, you don’t have to live so cautiously. You are the rightful heiress of the Sterling family.” In the sunlight, his features were sharp, his eyes holding an emotion I couldn’t decipher. I sneered internally, but my words were soft. “But in their hearts, my sister is the real one. I’m just an outsider.” The tears started to well up again. “I don’t want to take anything that belongs to my sister,” I looked him in the eye. “Including you.” “E-James,” I stammered, “you and my sister look so good together. I wish you both the best.” “And I wish… that I can get used to being alone soon.” With that, I grabbed the shopping bags and ran, leaving James standing alone, his brow furrowed and his face dark. He started avoiding Aurora. When she called him, he was always in a meeting or on a business trip. When she went to his office, his secretary would say he wasn’t there. Aurora was going mad. She came to confront me. “Lily Sterling, what did you say to James?” I looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. A mist began to form. “Sister, what are you talking about? Why would I say anything to Mr. Nordling?” “I only told him that I wish you both the best and that he should treat you well.” “Sister, don’t you believe me?” I clutched my chest, my face a mask of hurt. “How could you think of me like that? Am I really the kind of person who would ruin your relationship?” “I…” Aurora was speechless. I pressed my advantage, my tears flowing freely. “I know, it’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have come back, I shouldn’t have appeared in your lives! I’ll leave now, I’ll leave the Sterling family and never bother you again!” I made a show of rushing for the door. My parents, who were just coming downstairs, saw the scene and were horrified. “Aurora! What are you doing to your sister again!” my father roared. “Your sister is fragile, and you’re still provoking her! What are your intentions!” my mother added. Aurora stood there, trembling, watching me cower in our mother’s arms. Her eyes were filled with venom. She knew she had lost again. Utterly and completely.

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I was the hero’s first love, the one who died too young. Fifteen years after my death, a system resurrected me and told me to save the boy on the rooftop. “He is your flesh and blood. If you don’t help him, he’ll have nothing left.” But I’ve always been spoiled and hot-tempered. I’m the one who gets waited on, not the other way around. So I strode over in my heels, grabbed him by the collar, and snapped, “Stop with the theatrics. You’re just as pathetic as your father.” “Speaking of him, where is he? Doesn’t he know I’m back? Why isn’t he here to pick me up?”

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In my freshman year, the most respected woman in the city’s high society suddenly offered to sponsor me. Just as I was about to reach for her delicate, fair hand, a series of comments popped up in my vision, like a live social media feed. [This pathetic side character thinks he’s found his savior, but the female lead is just pissed at her nephew and decided to sponsor a male student to spite him. He’s handsome and an orphan, so he’s the perfect pawn.] [He’s going to be kicked out soon anyway. The male lead’s older brother is already on his way to a pet store to buy their aunt her favorite kind of cat to cheer her up!] [A big reason the female lead likes the male lead is because of his cat-like features. Who would’ve thought that under that calm, self-possessed exterior, she’s a total cat fanatic!] … “If you’re willing, sign the contract.” The woman’s cool, detached voice pulled me back from the scrolling comments. I looked down at the contract, at the three hundred thousand dollars per year she was offering. I fought to suppress the cat ears that were threatening to pop out from my hair in my excitement. My eyes shining, I nodded eagerly. “Yes! I’m willing!” 1 My ears were misbehaving, twitching just beneath my scalp, desperate to spring free. It was an itchy, annoying sensation, but I forced myself to hold still. I couldn’t scare off this kind woman who was willing to help me. Once I had them under control, I quickly picked up the pen and signed my name. “Is there anything else I need to do?” The comments had mentioned that Ms. Sterling was only sponsoring me to make her nephew jealous. What was my role in all this? Her expression was cold and distant. Her gaze swept disdainfully over the peeling, green-tinged walls of my tiny apartment and the faded t-shirt I was wearing. Finally, her eyes, cool and emotionless, landed on my thin face. “First, get a new set of clothes. Tomorrow, you’ll move into the Sterling villa.” I nodded obediently and followed her assistant out to go shopping, planning to study the comments and learn how to be a proper “villainous side character.” But they all said I was just a disposable pawn in the main couple’s drama. They said I’d be dropped before I even set foot in the Sterling house, as soon as the main couple made up. But if she withdrew her sponsorship… I’d go hungry. I wouldn’t even be able to afford dried fish. To protect this hard-won opportunity, I gathered my courage, ditched the assistant, and yanked open the door of the departing Porsche, sliding into the back seat just before it pulled away. I met the cold, hard eyes of Elizabeth Sterling, framed by her gold-rimmed glasses. I nervously twisted the hem of my shirt. “I heard there’s going to be a thunderstorm tonight,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I… I’m really scared of thunder. Auntie, can I… can I go home with you tonight?” 2 The comments exploded. [Holy crap! This isn’t a side character, he’s a full-on green tea bitch! That soft voice, trying to seduce the female lead while the male lead is away! Calling her ‘auntie’—just die already!] [There’s no way the female lead is falling for such a cheap trick. She only has eyes for her precious nephew! Her dad and the male lead’s dad were sworn brothers; they’re not even related by blood. They’re totally going to get married!] [Don’t forget, she also has a soft spot for cats, haha. She’s the ultimate cat person.] Because my transformation wasn’t complete, my eyes were still a cat-like amber-flecked black. Right now, widened with fear, the corners of my eyes were tinged red. Elizabeth looked down at me, her expression unreadable, but I saw her unconsciously rub the hand where I was clutching her sleeve. “What did you just call me?” Her voice was cool, but with a barely perceptible rasp. Remembering what the comments said about her loving cats, I summoned my courage, about to repeat myself. Her gaze hardened, and she yanked her arm away. The force was so strong I stumbled backward, barely managing to catch the half-closed car door to keep from cracking my head on the pavement. Elizabeth was already back to her usual indifferent self. Her eyes were fixed on a point in the distance, over my shoulder. Standing there was a boy, bundled up in an expensive raincoat. He was staring at me, his eyes red-rimmed, clutching a white cat to his chest as if he’d been deeply wronged. When he saw Elizabeth looking at him, his eyes welled up with tears. He abruptly threw the cat to the ground and ran off. Without a moment’s hesitation, Elizabeth slammed the car door shut. “Follow him,” she ordered the driver. 3 I was left choking on a cloud of exhaust fumes. I stood up, my back aching from the fall, feeling a pang of frustration. Dejected, I walked over and picked up the abandoned cat. Two of its four legs were broken. No wonder it hadn’t run, even after being so frightened. Its mouth was bleeding a little, too. But without the sponsorship, I had no money to get it treated. I hugged the cat tighter, a sour feeling rising in my chest. I carried it back to my leaky, dilapidated shack. I crushed my last small bag of dried fish, mixed it with water, and fed it to the white cat, one mouthful at a time. I didn’t dare sleep all night, my eyes wide as I watched over the barely breathing animal. As I rubbed my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a tall, cool figure standing in the moonlight. She had changed into a black blouse, which made her look even more refined and aloof. Her eyes were slightly narrowed as she leaned against the wall, watching me. I had no idea how long she’d been there. A clap of thunder roared. I quickly scooped up the cat and ran over to her. “Aun… Auntie.” Elizabeth frowned. “Aren’t you afraid of thunder? Why didn’t you go to the Sterling house?” My heart leaped. “You’re still willing to sponsor me?” Her gaze fell to the cat I was clutching protectively. In the moonlight, her sharp features softened slightly. “The contract is signed. I can’t go back on my word.” [The male lead ran back to his own house and refuses to see the female lead. She got mad and went to find the side character again.] [LOL, the side character actually thinks she cares about him. So gross.] [Even though she won’t say it, the whole point of sponsoring him was to make the male lead jealous. This idiot is too dumb to realize it. The second he’s not useful anymore, she’ll toss him aside again.] I held the cat and followed Elizabeth, ignoring the mocking comments. I didn’t care what they said. As long as I had food in my stomach, could go to school, and could get the cat treated, I was more than satisfied. 4 Once I understood what the comments meant—that Elizabeth was using me to make Liam jealous—I started doing a lot of “bad” things to prove my usefulness, all while the comments cursed me out. I would proactively serve her food at dinner, give her a head massage before bed… I even made a point of getting into the car she sent to pick Liam up from school. Liam refused to sit in the front passenger seat, so I shamelessly took it myself. That made him so angry he refused to go home, threatening to go stay with his childhood friend instead. The atmosphere in the car was tense. I looked at Elizabeth, my eyes shining. “Snowball is almost better. Do you want to come with me to see him?” Snowball was the name I’d given the white cat. Because Liam was slightly allergic to cat fur, he had been staying at the vet clinic. The light in the car was dim. Elizabeth had one hand on the steering wheel, her eyes no longer on the back seat in the rearview mirror. She looked at me, her eyes narrowed, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Alright.” Liam, who had one foot out of the Porsche, froze. He sat back down and huffed, his voice tight with anger. “No! It’s your birthday today, Aunt Liz! You promised you’d spend it with me! How can you go with this… this lowlife!” He leaned over from the back seat, wrapping his arms around Elizabeth’s in a possessive hug. Elizabeth’s indifferent gaze flickered to me. I obediently got out of the car, letting the wind from the passing luxury vehicle whip at my clothes. But Elizabeth had forgotten one thing: it was the staff’s day off. The villa gates were locked. I couldn’t get in. So I curled up outside, staring blankly with my cat-like eyes. The late autumn night wind was bone-chillingly cold. Still, it was much better than the days when I had nothing to eat and no warm clothes to wear. 5 After that day, Liam and Elizabeth’s relationship improved significantly. Elizabeth’s attitude towards me also changed, from cold and stern to something gentler. She would ask about my day, and bring me nice gifts when she came back from business trips. If Liam got a custom-tailored suit, I would get a tie. If Liam got a huge bouquet of roses, I would get a single tulip. She even started having the nanny pack an extra lunch for me when she sent food for Liam. Realizing my sponsorship was safe for now, I finally started to relax and focus more on my studies. After all, just as the comments said… I would be abandoned by her eventually. It was better to learn as much as I could before that happened. Once Snowball had fully recovered, Liam brought him home. Despite his mild allergy, he would put on his airtight raincoat to play with the cat. Maybe it’s true that pets are more attached to the person who buys them. One day, while I was doing my homework, Snowball, seemingly at Liam’s silent command, leaped at me and raked his claws down my arm. Blood instantly welled up from the deep scratches. Elizabeth came home at that exact moment and saw what had happened. She frowned. Liam immediately ran to her, his eyes red. “Aunt Liz,” he cried, hugging her tight waist, “they say cats are the most spiritual animals. This lowlife has been taking care of Snowball for so long, and Snowball still scratched him. It must be because he’s bad luck! Kick him out, please?” This was the first time Liam had acted so clingy since his tantrum. Elizabeth buried her face in his neck, her expression softening. She then glanced coolly at me. I stood in the middle of the living room, clutching my bleeding arm, at a complete loss. My eyes stung, and tears welled up. Before she could say anything, I lowered my head and obediently started packing my things. The moment I stepped out of the villa, a notification sound dinged on my phone. I lit up the screen. It was a message from Elizabeth, her profile picture a stark black square. “199 Laurel Canyon Drive. Go there for now.” “…I’ll come see you when I have time.” [The female lead just thinks the side character is useful, so she’s keeping him around. The next time the male lead throws a fit, she can just bring him back.] [Is there going to be another misunderstanding between the main couple?] [No way. Liam’s older sister is coming back from abroad soon. She adores her little brother, so she’ll definitely help him get rid of the side character.] [Hahaha, the sister loves cats too. She used to have a black cat. I guess no cat lover can resist a sweet, cat-like boy like the male lead!] … Watching the comments fly by, I pursed my lips and hailed a cab to the address Elizabeth had given me. One of the clauses in the contract stated that I must “strictly follow the sponsor’s instructions.” Elizabeth could withdraw her investment in me at any time, but I couldn’t break the contract. If I gave her a reason, I wouldn’t be able to afford the penalty. 6 I never expected that the scratch from Snowball would trigger my heat cycle. And I certainly never expected Elizabeth to show up tonight. Now, here I was, standing at the door with fluffy black cat ears and a matching tail drooping behind me, clutching a pillow, my eyes red and wide. I stared at Elizabeth, frozen. My ears twitched uncontrollably. “Aun… Auntie,” I stammered. The ears and tail wouldn’t retract. I quickly scampered upstairs and hid under the covers, forgetting to lock the door behind me. The door creaked open. The bed dipped slightly. A faint scent of gardenias filled the room. I huddled under the blanket, feeling a pair of intense, predatory eyes on me. Finally, on the verge of suffocating, I poked my head out, my eyes swimming with tears. Elizabeth was tall. Sitting on the edge of the bed, all I could see was her immaculate blouse and the small white first-aid kit she had placed beside her. My ears twitched. Before I could react, a hand reached out and pulled me from my cocoon. I struggled frantically. My secret was out! Oh no, the authorities are going to take me away! “Meow, meow, meow!” In my panic, all I could manage were cat sounds. I clapped a hand over my mouth and looked up, cautiously gauging her reaction. The room was dark. Her features were shadowed, her eyes cast low. Her gaze swept over my fluffy ears, her expression still unreadable. But the hand on my waist was gentle, stroking me softly. When she spoke, her voice was raspy. “What are you hiding from? Don’t be afraid. I won’t tell anyone.” “Come out. Let me treat your arm.” I obediently emerged from the covers. I watched as she opened the first-aid kit and used a cotton swab to disinfect the scratches. Because I hadn’t cleaned them right away, the wound had scabbed over. It stung when she touched it, but I clenched my teeth and didn’t make a sound. In the heavy silence, she spoke again, her voice soft. “Liam has been spoiled by his sister and me. I’ve already punished him for what happened today. Don’t be too upset.” “And I’ll make him change the way he addresses you.” [LOL, her idea of ‘punishing’ the male lead was taking away his phone and making him go to bed early. You’re just too in love, girl.] [What’s wrong with calling him a lowlife? That’s what he is. A gold-digger who pretends to be a cat to seduce her, even meowing. What a green tea bitch.] [True love is true love. Even if the male lead does nothing, she’ll still love him and never change. This side character is wasting his efforts.] I read the comments and silently breathed a sigh of relief. They all thought my ears and tail were fake. So, Elizabeth probably thought so too. She must! Reassured, I relaxed and smiled at her, my cat-like eyes crinkling. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.” After all, it wasn’t the first time Liam had called me a lowlife. If you’re being sponsored, you have to give something in return. A few insults were better than an empty stomach. Elizabeth’s movements stilled. “Mm,” she said softly. For some reason, I felt a chill emanate from her. She seemed to have reverted to her old, unapproachable self. 7 I asked Elizabeth to call the school and get me an excused absence. With my ears and tail out, I couldn’t exactly go to class. These past few days, she came to see me almost every day, saying she was worried about my wound getting infected. But cat-folk heal fast; the scratches had already faded to a faint scar. Sometimes, she would even stay the night. I’d wake up to find the side of my bed indented, as if someone had been sitting there, watching me for a long time. On the last day of my heat cycle, I finally worked up the courage. My ears flattened against my head, I walked into her study. Under her dark, intense gaze, I took a few more steps forward. “Um, do you… do you want to touch them? My ears, I mean. They’re about to go away…” Before I could finish, my drooping tail was swiftly snipped from behind with a pair of scissors.

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