Category: English

The fifth year I was the underworld kingpin’s secret lover, he lost everything and decided to eat a bullet. My immediate, gut reaction was to run. I was halfway through packing a bug-out bag when a line of text materialized in my vision, hovering like a translucent banner ad. 【Don’t worry, the male lead doesn’t die. He’ll make a comeback in six months, crush all his enemies, and the female lead is the little angel who redeems him.】 【As for the side piece who runs away? She dies. Horribly.】 In a heartbeat, I switched allegiances. Dropping the bag, I flew to the rooftop and threw myself at his legs, wrapping my arms around them and bursting into manufactured tears. “Cole, don’t! That ridiculous diamond you gave me? The one the size of a robin’s egg? I haven’t even had a chance to wear it yet.” The moment the words left my mouth, the comment feed exploded. 【Wow. She might as well pull the trigger for him.】 1 When Cole turned to look at me, his eyes were wide with shock. “Why are you still here?” I clutched the cuff of his pants, giving it a playful, desperate shake. “You promised you’d protect me for life. You wouldn’t let me leave when bullets were flying, so you can’t go back on your word now, can you?” The comment stream was still scrolling frantically across my vision, a semi-opaque curtain over the world. 【No wonder he’s so ruthless with her later. She deserves it.】 【He’s literally on a rooftop about to kill himself, and she’s still treating him like her personal ATM.】 【He’s only got one bullet left for himself. This is brutal.】 【Well, if the side piece wasn’t selfish and vapid, how would the main female character’s kindness shine through?】 【Just wait. He’ll pull the trigger, the gun will misfire, a passerby will take him to the hospital, and the female lead will show up with all her resources to save the day. Can’t wait for her entrance!】 My mouth twitched as I read the comments, but my arms only tightened around Cole’s waist. He used to be the kind of man who commanded respect and fear in every corner of the city, the kind of man whose word was law. I could still feel the hard ridge of the scar on his abdomen where he’d taken a bullet for me years ago, but now he was so thin I could feel the sharp edges of his hip bones. He stared out at the river of headlights flowing on the streets below, his forehead pressed against the cold steel of the gun. His voice was hollow. “I’m a ghost, Annie. The guns are gone, my network is dismantled, and I’m drowning in debt. I can’t protect you anymore.” He nodded toward the apartment. “There’s a card in the nightstand. It’s the last of my cash, five hundred thousand. The pin is your birthday. Take it and go.” I couldn’t see his expression, but it was the first time I’d ever heard that voice—a voice that had orchestrated a hundred high-stakes deals—sound so broken. Even at his absolute lowest, his first thought was creating an escape route for me. I tugged on his shirt, my tone suddenly shifting, becoming serious and unyielding. “No. If it comes to it… I’ll protect you.” At that, Cole’s head snapped around. His dark eyes were a vortex of complex emotions: surprise, disbelief, and a flicker of something deeper, a hidden panic. Before he could speak, I quickly added, “Today is our fifth anniversary. I got you a present!” The wind whipped harder across the rooftop, making his thin dress shirt snap and billow. Beneath the flimsy fabric, I could see the faint outline of bruises that hadn’t yet healed on his back, stretched over the solid muscle beneath… He stared at me for a long moment before his voice, now raspy, finally came out. “You got me a present?” In five years, Cole had given me a handgun encrusted with diamonds, a one-of-a-kind emerald necklace worth millions, and even a vintage muscle car I’d mentioned offhandedly, which he’d had sourced from a private auction overnight. But he had never received a single real gift from me. Back in the apartment, Cole stared blankly at the “gift” I presented. I held up a slinky, black slip dress from La Perla, pressing it against his broad chest and studying the fit with a critical eye. “Hmm, I think it’s a little small,” I said, my expression a perfect mask of sincerity. Then, with a sigh of feigned frustration, “And they have a strict no-return policy. What a shame. I guess I’ll have to wear it.” A dry, choked laugh escaped his lips. It was the first time he’d almost smiled all night. He turned and, without a word, started walking back toward the rooftop. He was gone around the stairwell corner before I could even react. I stomped my foot in frustration. “Cole! You petty bastard!” His deep voice echoed back from the hallway. “Forgot my phone out there. I’m just grabbing it.” That night, the black slip dress I’d “accidentally” bought in the wrong size ended up on me after all. It had also added another two thousand dollars to the mountain of debt now attached to his name. He never said a word of blame. He just quietly folded it and placed it in the closet. After his fall, the word went out from his enemies: no legitimate company was to hire him. To cover rent and our expenses, he started fighting in an underground fight club they called “The Cage.” But no matter how late he got home, or how battered he was, he always came back and cooked for me. A protein, a starch, a vegetable. Different every day. Curled up on the sofa of our cramped studio apartment, I watched him walk through the door. His hands were wrapped in bloody gauze, and a fresh cut split the skin over his left eyebrow, beading with blood. The first thing he did was tie on an apron and start methodically chopping vegetables in the kitchenette. Who would believe that just a few weeks ago, this was “King Cole,” the man who could crush a rival’s wrist with one hand and made every syndicate boss in the state nervous? The entire apartment was barely two hundred square feet. His old gun safe was bigger than this. I sat on the sofa, eating the slices of mango he’d prepared for me earlier, and discreetly pulled out my phone. The screen displayed my own bank balance: eight million dollars. All “pocket money” from Cole over the years. Under the bed, in a shoebox, was the emerald bracelet and the limited-edition watch he’d given me. Any one of those items could cover the rent on this place for a decade. A pang of guilt hit me, and I glanced over at him. He’d taken his shirt off at some point. All he was wearing was a cheap, pink floral apron tied over his bare torso as he cleaned. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a sheen of sweat highlighting the hard lines of his muscles. He looked like some kind of dangerous, domestic demon. My heart gave a stupid little lurch, and I kicked my foot out, stubbing my toe hard on the coffee table. I cried out in pain. Cole was there in a second, kneeling in front of me, his large hands carefully cradling my foot. “You don’t have to go through this with me,” he said, his eyes downcast, his voice muffled. “Take the money I told you about. Find somewhere safe, start over. Don’t let my mess drag you down.” I pouted, letting my lower lip tremble. “I haven’t complained that you can’t even afford to buy bullets anymore, and now you’re trying to kick me out?” His mouth opened, likely to explain that wasn’t what he meant, but I cut him off. “I get it! You’re mad that I use too much hot sauce on my food every night. It’s too expensive, isn’t it?” I leaned in, my voice rising with indignation. “What did you say when you saved me from those kidnappers down in Mexico?” I poked his chest. “You said you’d protect me for life. And now you want to dump me for some girl who can help you fight your battles, is that it? You’re a liar, Cole!” He looked completely out of his depth. He reached out and covered my mouth with his hand. The palm was warm and smelled of antiseptic. His Adam’s apple bobbed. It took him a long moment to form the words. “I just don’t want you to suffer because of me,” he finally rasped. “This apartment leaks when it rains, and you wake up cold. The strawberries I bought yesterday were on sale, and you took one bite and didn’t touch the rest. I can’t even buy you that perfume you like anymore.” He finally met my eyes, his own filled with a deep, aching pain. “Annie, you deserve a hundred times better than this.” Logically, when an underworld kingpin falls, the woman he’s been keeping is supposed to grab the cash and vanish. But after five years together, how could I actually leave him? He might have been a monster to the rest of the world, but he never let even the shadow of danger touch me. No matter how busy he was, he always remembered I hated onions. Even when his rivals cornered us at our front door, his first move was always to push me behind him and murmur, “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” I grabbed the collar of his apron, yanked him down onto the sofa with me, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, right next to the cut. Beneath the sting of the antiseptic, I could taste the familiar, cool scent that was uniquely him. “You promised me a lifetime of protection,” I whispered against his skin. “Not a day less, not an hour, not a minute. You’re stuck with me, Cole.” The comment feed flickered back to life. 【HOLY SHIT! Did she just pin him to the couch? This is the guy who used to be a crime lord!】 【OMG! His ears are turning red! He’s blushing? Where’s the ruthless bastard who broke a guy’s legs?】 【Don’t ship it! Don’t ship it! The female lead is about to make her entrance! The next plot point is him getting humiliated at the fight club, and she swoops in with her connections to save him. That’s the one true pairing!】 【The side piece is just cannon fodder. The plot is going to write her out sooner or later. If you ship this now, you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak.】 I ignored them. My hands slid from his apron to tangle in his hair, and I deepened the kiss. Cole’s eyes fluttered shut, and the blush that started at his ears spread down his neck. As I pulled back for a breath, he seized the opportunity, pushing me away gently. He scrambled to his feet, his voice stumbling over the words. “I—I have to… the rice will burn. I have to cook.” Watching him practically flee into the kitchen, I couldn’t help but smile. So, even the most feared man in the city had a shy side. The comment feed went wild again. 【Ahhhh he’s so adorkable! Who can resist that contrast!】 【I’m a terrible person, I’m starting to think the side piece and the male lead are kind of cute together…】 【Hey now, let’s not let our morals get swayed by a pretty face (and abs)!】 【Don’t do it, girl. She’s destined to be killed off by the plot. You’re just drinking poison thinking it’s wine.】 I had started noticing these strange floating lines of text a long time ago. At first, I dismissed them as visual floaters, stress-induced hallucinations. But then, the things they predicted started coming true, one after another. I had no choice but to accept it. From their chatter, I learned that my world was a novel. And I was the disposable side character. My purpose was to serve as a catalyst in the main characters’ love story. Early on, I was the selfish foil to the heroine’s selfless virtue. Later, I was meant to be a cheap obstacle to thicken their romantic plot. After I understood, I tried to fight it, to change the script. But most of the time, I felt like a mindless NPC, my actions controlled by an invisible hand. Like the day Cole decided to end his life. The “plot” had taken over, and my only impulse was to pack my bags and run. He was already raising the gun. But at the last second, a comment appeared, jolting me back to myself. Seeing the feed mention the exact timing of the heroine’s appearance, a new plan began to form in my mind… In the following days, Cole continued to fight, coming home bruised but always with enough money for rent and food. I lay on the couch, happily eating a cupcake he’d just brought home for me. Then, a new comment appeared: 【Tonight’s the night. The villain is going to show up at the underground casino. The casino is owned by the female lead’s family, and she happens to be there tonight. She’ll save him, and it’s love at first sight.】 【My girl is finally making her entrance! I’m so excited to see the sparks fly!】 【Here comes the female lead. Time for Annie, the side piece, to make her exit.】 【I suddenly feel a little bad for her. The first thing he does with his winnings is buy her a cupcake. She probably thinks he’s madly in love with her, not realizing personal feelings get erased by the power of the plot.】 So, the day had come. After Cole left, I picked out my heaviest, stud-covered clutch. Inside, I tucked a bottle of military-grade pepper spray he’d given me years ago. I found the entrance to the underground casino easily enough. As I approached the door, I could already hear the sounds of jeering laughter and angry shouts from within. I pushed my way through the crowd and saw him immediately. Cole, surrounded in the center of the fighting pit. His shirt was torn, revealing a patchwork of old and new bruises on his shoulder. Standing opposite him was Griffin, his foot planted arrogantly on Cole’s discarded boxing glove. Griffin was the “villain” the comments were talking about. He and Cole had a history, and now that Cole was down on his luck, Griffin was here to twist the knife. “Well, well, Cole,” Griffin sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “You used to be such a big shot. Backed me into a corner so tight I almost threw myself off a bridge. Look at you now. Getting your face beat in for rent money?” He kicked the glove away. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you fifty grand. You get on your knees and let me beat on you for half an hour. After that, I’ll consider telling the house to pay you what you’re owed.” The crowd hooted with laughter. One of Griffin’s lackeys, a guy named Leo, sidled up to him and raised his voice. “Hey, Griff, you hear? Even in this state, his little girlfriend is still sticking around!” Another crony chimed in. “Yeah, can you believe it? Used to be dripping in diamonds, now she’s eating instant noodles with him. Girl must be brain-damaged!” Seeing Cole remain silent, Leo stepped closer, his face a mask of provocation. “How about this, Cole? You get on your knees and bow to Griffin three times. Then you call over your little piece of ass to have a few drinks with us. We’ll let you walk out of here. Deal?” Cole’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. He swung at Leo, but he’d taken a beating the night before, and his movements were a fraction too slow. Leo’s men grabbed him, forcing him to the ground. Griffin strode forward and landed a vicious kick to Cole’s stomach. “You think you’re still King Cole? You can’t even protect your own woman now!” Cole gritted his teeth, a vein throbbing in his temple, but he still forced the words out. “Whatever you want, you do it to me. Don’t touch her.” The comments were on fire. 【What a scumbag! Using a woman to threaten someone!】 【This is it! He has to be thoroughly humiliated so that when the female lead saves him, he’ll fall for her instantly. She’ll become his guiding light.】 【Poor male lead. Why do they always have to torture the guy before giving him a crumb of happiness? Can’t people just fall in love normally?】 【Right?】 【That’s just how these stories work. Without the drama, what’s the point?】 The comment feed was arguing with itself. I let out a small breath of relief. If there was dissent, it meant there was a chance for change. Just as they were forcing Cole to his knees, and just before the destined heroine, Clara, could step out of the shadows and deliver her grand rescue, I tightened my grip on my purse and charged forward. The stud-covered clutch connected with the back of Leo’s head with a sickening thwack. “Try touching him,” I snarled. I stepped in front of Cole, hefted the clutch again, and swung it squarely into Griffin’s shoulder. “Kneel for your daddy, maybe,” I spat. “Griffin, when you used to see Cole, you barely had the nerve to breathe in his direction. Don’t get fucking cocky now that you’re playing king of the ashes.” Griffin winced in pain and lunged for me, but Cole surged up from the ground and shoved him back. He moved to stand in front of me, the cold fury in his eyes a terrifying echo of the man he used to be. The man who ruled this city. “Don’t. Touch. Her.” Leo, stunned for a second, broke into a cold laugh. “Cole, you can’t even save yourself. What makes you think you can save her?” I wasn’t worried. Leo and his goons didn’t have the plot armor of a main character; they couldn’t do anything to me. And as for the main characters, they weren’t allowed to break the law. Griffin couldn’t touch me either. I glanced down at the dent my clutch had made on his thick skull and then at the new scuff mark on my bag. A wave of regret washed over me. I should have put a brick in it. Leo was still rubbing his head, pointing a finger at me. “You bitch, you hit me—” Cole didn’t hesitate. He put his foot right in Leo’s chest. But there were too many of them. If a real fight broke out, Cole would lose. Badly. As I was trying to figure out a way out of this, the sound of a powerful engine and a sharp screech of tires cut through the noise. A black Maybach had pulled right up to the entrance. The tinted window lowered just an inch, revealing half a man’s face, wreathed in the smoke of an expensive cigarette. The man had a high brow bone and sharp lines etched at the corners of his eyes. He tapped a finger against the window frame, his gaze landing on me with a look I couldn’t quite decipher. Griffin’s furious eyes happened to catch sight of the car. He froze. A moment later, he was striding purposefully toward the Maybach. The comment feed went into a frenzy. 【He’s here, he’s here! That man is finally here!】 【The heir to the country’s biggest corporate empire! He’s so hot!】 【The big shot from NYC came all the way here to personally deliver an investment to Griffin. Griffin’s about to hit the big time! This is why he’s acting so arrogant.】 【Is it just me, or has the NYC big shot been staring at our little drama queen?】 【Yeah, that’s weird. Don’t tell me she’s his runaway heiress or something?】 My head slowly turned, and my eyes met the man’s dark, intense gaze. Oh, crap. It was Marcus. My heart hammered against my ribs. I grabbed Cole’s hand and started pulling him away. “Let’s go.”

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The day he cut off my father’s hand was my birthday. Sebastian Croft did it right in front of me. When my father’s men retaliated, taking his leg, Sebastian just looked up, his smile stained crimson in the moonlight. “Kill me,” he dared them, his voice a rasp. “Because if you leave me breathing, the next time he lays a hand on her, I’ll take his other goddamn leg myself. Try me.” From that day on, my stepfather never touched me again. Sebastian said gardenias shouldn’t be stained with blood. He took the knife from my hand and, with one clean stroke, severed my father’s illegitimate sons from their inheritance. Everyone says Sebastian Croft is drenched in blood. But he never let a single drop touch his wife. Only I knew the truth. Only I had seen the thousand-plus pages of his private journals, where one name was written over and over, an obsessive prayer. The name of a woman as pure and flawless as a gardenia. The day I threw my wedding ring at his feet, he looked as if he’d been woken from a long dream. He lit the journals on fire, his laughter laced with a sorrow so deep it was terrifying. “Don’t worry,” he said, the pages curling into black ash. “She and I… that ship sailed a long time ago.” I slid the divorce papers across the table. “It can sail back.” He laughed and tore them to shreds. “For you and me, Audrina? It’s one bed for life, one coffin for eternity.” 1 The divorce papers burned, too. So that was it. For me and Sebastian Croft, it was one bed for life, one coffin for eternity. Even in death, our caskets would be pried open just enough to face each other, the first and last thing we’d ever see. The only thing we’d ever see. It was the vow we’d made at our wedding. He walked away, grinding the ashes of my petition under his heel without a backward glance. The next time I saw him was on the evening news. It was a night dark as ink, pouring rain, and against the gloom, a girl on a flight of steps was the only spot of white in the entire world. White dress, pale skin. A natural blush dusting the corners of her eyes. The moment the camera flash went off, Sebastian yanked her into his arms, pulling her under the umbrella so forcefully that only his own jawline was visible. That, and the girl’s bare legs as he swept her up onto his hip. He never allowed his face to be photographed by the press. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them get a picture of his girl. Because he knew I’d be looking. Even from that fleeting glimpse, I got the screenshot. I sent it to my people. But there was nothing. Not a single face in any global database matched the girl. The best they could find was a potential student ID photo from an Ivy League university, but her face was obscured by a thick black redaction bar. Sebastian was protecting her. When I went back to find a replay of the news segment, it was gone. Scrubbed from the internet. All I had left was that one screenshot. The image of a girl with fear shimmering in her eyes, staring at the camera like a fawn caught in headlights as she burrowed into Sebastian’s chest. The veins on the back of Sebastian’s hand were bulging. I’d only ever seen him hold a woman that tightly twice. The first time was after our rivals murdered my mother and my uncles, dumping their bodies in the river. I was the one who dragged them out, one by one, from the bloody water. As the sun set, turning the sky to gore, the boy standing on the bank had held me just like that. He’d pressed his body against mine again and again, trying to warm my frozen limbs, his tears streaming as he begged me not to close my eyes. The second time was now, in front of a camera, terrified that the girl in his arms would be exposed. That she would fall into my hands. When he finally came home, I slid the photo across the marble tabletop. It stopped right in front of him. I sat opposite, staring out the window, and blew a slow, deliberate ring of smoke. “It’s never going to happen between her and me,” he said, his voice flat. He palmed the photograph, hiding it from view. I asked only one question. “The journal. A thousand pages. Who was she, and when?” “You don’t want to know.” His tone was devoid of any emotion. Moonlight spilled across the marble, but it couldn’t illuminate the expressions on our faces. The only sounds were the soft rustle of new divorce papers being pushed toward him, followed by the sharp, metallic click of a round being chambered. I lit another cigarette, the brief flare of the lighter catching my face. “Sign it.” A gust of wind billowed the curtains, scattering the papers. In the next instant, he was on me, his hand tearing at the silk of my dress. The fabric ripped away, revealing the gleam of moonlight on my polished steel prosthesis. “Audrina.” He plucked the cigarette from my lips. The silver of our two artificial limbs reflected the same cold light. “There is no one else on this earth,” he murmured, his voice low and intense, “who is a better match for you and me.” Sebastian didn’t sign the papers. For the next week, there wasn’t a single new lead on the girl. Only a name, gleaned from the charred remnants of his journal. Stella. But the girl herself couldn’t wait. She showed up at my door. Same white dress, same pale skin as the photograph. But this time, the natural blush at her eyes was overshadowed by the angry red love bites scattered across her neck and chest. “I’m pregnant,” she announced, her delicate hand resting on a barely-there swell. “It’s his.” My pen stopped moving across the financial report. She sat down in the visitor’s chair opposite my desk as if she owned the place. “You’ve probably seen the news. And you must know my name was in his journals long before he ever met you. He loves me, not you. If you can’t accept that, I’ll just have my private medical team move in here. With me being pregnant, who do you think Sebastian will kick out, Audrina? You, or me?” The heavy chair hit the floor with a muffled thud. The only sounds that followed were the girl’s gasp and the sharp, clean crack of my palm against her cheek. “You hit me!” Her eyes, already pink-tinged, went crimson with shock and disbelief. I smiled. Sebastian had kept her so well protected. This fall, this slap… it was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to her. “No wonder you had the guts to show up here alone,” I said, advancing on her. She scrambled backward on the floor, terror finally dawning in her eyes. “No… stay away!” Her whimper struck a nerve. I loomed over her, watching the tears well up, and suddenly, the overwhelming sense of familiarity I’d felt since she walked in clicked into place. She was me. She was the eighteen-year-old me, the girl in the blood-soaked white dress, stumbling to the ground, begging them to stay away on the day my family was slaughtered. “Ah!” I grabbed a fistful of her hair, and her scream was a perfect echo of my own from all those years ago. The motion pulled her head back, exposing the delicate skin of her neck. And the butterfly-shaped birthmark, clear as day. Sebastian… he’d found another me.

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Ten years. Ten years of living in a different city—a different world—from my husband, and we still couldn’t have the one thing we wanted most: a child. To finally make my husband’s long-held dream of being a father come true, I did the unthinkable. At the absolute peak of my career, I quit. I walked away from it all to come home, to him. But the moment I pushed open the door to our house, a seven-year-old boy, a miniature version of my husband, came laughing and barreling out into the hall. My heart stopped. I grabbed the arm of the cleaning lady who was passing by, my voice tight. “Excuse me, is this the Walker residence? Eric Walker’s house?” “It is,” she said, her eyes flicking to the gifts in my hands. “I hear his wife bought him the house. Everyone on the block knows it.” She smiled warmly. “Are you here for the party? They’re celebrating some good news.” 1. My eyes drifted past her to the backyard, where I saw a woman with a swollen, pregnant belly. The little boy who looked so much like Eric ran laughing toward her. In a flash, Eric’s face tightened with alarm and he lunged forward. Just as the boy was about to collide with the woman, Eric threw out his arms, catching his reckless son. “Leo, you’re about to be a big brother, and you’re still acting like this? What if you’d hurt your mom and the baby?” The boy made a face, grinning. “But I want a little sister.” Eric ruffled his son’s hair, the affection in his eyes so thick it practically spilled over. Eric’s parents hurried over, gently scolding the boy. “You can’t be so rough from now on, sweetie. You could have caused a terrible accident.” I stood frozen, watching this perfect picture of a happy family, and the cold truth finally dawned on me. They all knew. They all knew about this little family, and I was the only one left in the dark. But… every time I came home, he was always so passionate, as if we were newlyweds. He’d hold me until dawn, whispering how much he’d missed me. Because of that, even after eight years without a child, I never questioned us. I never once doubted his love. Before I boarded my flight, I’d texted him that I had a surprise. He’d replied, “Can’t wait.” That was only a few hours ago. How could everything have changed so completely? My gaze found Eric. His eyes scanned my face for a long moment before landing on the gift box still clutched in my hand. His voice was a raw, barely audible rasp. “What are you doing back?” He saw me staring at the pregnant woman beside him and quickly dropped the hand that had been resting on her waist. Suddenly, all the small, ignored details from our eight-year marriage exploded in my mind. The way he’d always cut our video calls short, blaming a bad connection. The gifts I’d sent home, always returned with the excuse that “the storage closets are full.” The way he’d shot down my idea to take a vacation last month, insisting that “work is just too crazy right now.” “A surprise,” I said, my lips pulling into a grim parody of a smile. My throat felt like sandpaper. “Weren’t you the one who said you couldn’t wait?” The woman took half a step forward, subtly positioning herself in front of him. “Excuse me, do we know each other?” I ignored her, my eyes glued to Eric’s face. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Eric snapped out of his trance, forcing a brittle smile. “This is Claire,” he said. “The mother of my children.” He then gestured toward me, and for a split second, he hesitated. I didn’t give him the chance to lie. I held out my hand. “I’m Mia. Eric’s wife.” Claire didn’t move. My hand hung there, stiff and awkward in the cold air between us. The color drained from Eric’s face. He tugged at Claire’s sleeve. “Mom, Dad, why don’t you take Leo inside?” Claire gave me a long, meaningful look as Eric’s parents quickly ushered the boy away, their coaxing voices fading into the house. Once they were gone, Eric’s entire demeanor shifted. His eyes reddened, and his face crumpled with a look of profound betrayal. “Why would you just show up like this? Are you checking up on me?” I held myself together, my voice miraculously steady. “I quit my job.” Eric’s head snapped up. “What?” I knew exactly what that “what” meant. My salary, earned from years of grinding away overseas, was more than enough to support his entire family in luxury. My quitting meant that lavish lifestyle was over. It meant the gravy train had come to a screeching halt. I had given up years of progress, my entire network, to come back and start from scratch. For years, he’d grown accustomed to a life of ease funded by my hard work. Now, facing a sudden fall from that paradise, he couldn’t handle it. “You always said I didn’t spend enough time with you,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “So I quit. I gave up everything over there because I thought we could finally start our life together, for real.” “I wanted to tell you the good news in person, so I came straight from the airport with your gifts.” It was as if he was only just now noticing the pile of shopping bags at my feet. I had rushed here, not even stopping for a sip of water, and my clothes were damp with sweat. He beckoned to a housekeeper I didn’t recognize, a flicker of guilt in his voice. “Could you help take these gifts inside? And show… show this lady to a guest room.” He turned back to me, avoiding my eyes. “I’m taking Claire for a check-up. Just tell the housekeeper what you want for dinner.” And with that, he guided Claire out the door, as if this whole catastrophic reveal had never happened. As if he owed me, his actual wife, no explanation at all. I watched them go, a lump forming in my throat. This was my house. He was my husband. Those were my in-laws. But here I was, being sent to a guest room. An intruder in my own home. I couldn’t help but wonder… if our baby had survived all those years ago, would our family have been this happy, this whole? 2. Getting married to Eric had been a dream. Everything was so easy, so perfect. From meeting his parents to the engagement party, they had always looked at me with such genuine approval, telling everyone how lucky their son was to have found such a hardworking, dedicated woman. I still remember my first time at their house. Eric’s father, after three glasses of whiskey, had clapped me on the shoulder and boomed, “Mia, you marrying our Eric means you’re our daughter now. We’ll treat you like our own.” Back then, Eric was always by my side, his eyes filled with a nervous energy as he’d try to block me from drinking too much, secretly squeezing my hand under the table and mouthing, “Take it easy.” He told me he loved quiet, peaceful places, so I took all my savings and bought this sprawling house, a place worth millions. Eric was ecstatic. He insisted on decorating it exactly how I liked. I didn’t really care about the details, so I let him have free rein. But he involved me in everything. He ran around tirelessly, picking out deep blue curtains because he knew it was my favorite color, insisting on a durable gray couch, and even choosing the wedding photo for the main wall—the one where he said I had the goofiest, most beautiful smile. “This is our home now,” he’d said, his fingers tracing the edge of the picture frame, his eyes shining. “Once you’re settled in your job overseas, I’ll come join you.” But when I finally secured a permanent contract with the company, he changed his tune. “My parents are getting older, Mia. If I leave, there’ll be no one to look after them,” he’d said over a crackling phone line. “Besides, I just got promoted to department head. It’s a terrible time to quit. Just wait a little longer. I’ll come over as soon as I finish this big project.” And I believed him. I used to think that distance was no match for love, that as long as our hearts were connected, we could overcome anything. I threw myself into my work, sending him the majority of my paycheck so he could buy supplements for his parents and nice clothes for himself. Every time he received the money, he’d laugh and say, “It’s more than enough,” but then a package would arrive at my apartment with cured sausages from our hometown. “Don’t you dare neglect yourself out there,” the note would read. Thinking back on it now, maybe he wasn’t the one who made them. Just like his “bad connection” during our video calls was probably just an excuse to hide the sound of a crying baby. And the gifts I sent, returned because the “storage closets are full,” weren’t full at all—he just didn’t want another woman’s belongings in his house. Even every rushed “I miss you” might not have been born from longing, but from a desperate need to cover something up. I stood in the living room of my own house, staring at the large family portrait hanging on the wall. Eric was leaning against Claire, and their son, Leo, sat between them. All three were smiling, their happiness a blinding glare. The frame holding the picture was the birthday gift I had sent him last year. He’d told me it was “too expensive, too precious to use.” It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to use it. He just didn’t want a gift from me hanging in their home. Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Eric’s mother came down carrying a platter of fruit, her smile strained. “Mia, dear, have some fruit. It’s all your old favorites.” I didn’t move. I looked her straight in the eye. “Leo… is he Eric’s son?” I wasn’t blind. I knew the answer. But a weak, cowardly part of me still wanted to believe that all those beautiful memories weren’t just a carefully constructed lie, a performance put on by his entire family just for me. Her hand trembled, and a grape rolled off the plate, tumbling onto the floor. She scrambled to pick it up, her voice muffled. “The children… they’re both very well-behaved…” I closed my eyes. “He’s seven.” The pain was like a fist squeezing my heart. “That means he was born the year after I went abroad.” She froze, her head snapping up. The panic in her eyes was impossible to hide. “Mia, let me explain…” “Explain what?” I laughed, a tight, strangled sound. “Explain how your entire family lied to me for eight years while I worked myself to the bone, sending my money back like an idiot to support another woman’s husband and child? Or explain who he was thinking of every time I came home and he held me, telling me he loved me?” Eric’s father emerged from his study and pulled his wife behind him, his face stern. “Mia, it’s too late for all that now. Eric can’t live like this anymore. You two… you should just get a divorce.” “A divorce?” I repeated the word, a bitter taste in my mouth. I suddenly remembered my wedding day, eight years ago, when this same man had stood before me, smiling, and said, “You take good care of my boy.” How could a heart change so much in just eight years? “Claire was Eric’s high school sweetheart,” his father said with a sigh, his tone laced with a bizarre sort of sympathy. “After you went abroad, Eric was all alone, and he went through a lot. Claire was the one who was there for him. They… they couldn’t help it.” Couldn’t help it? And what about me? All my struggles abroad, all the sleepless nights, all the days and years I spent counting down until I could come home—what was all that for? I snatched a fruit knife from the table, not to hurt anyone, but just to have something solid to grip. The cold steel bit into my palm, but it did nothing to quell the fire raging inside me. Just then, the sound of a car engine cut through the silence from the garden. Eric and Claire were back. 3. They walked into the living room, and Claire’s face went white when she saw the knife in my hand. “Mia, what are you doing?” Eric immediately stepped in front of her, his brow furrowed. “Let’s just talk, okay? Don’t scare Claire.” “Scare her?” I looked at her swollen belly, and the whole scene felt like a twisted, surreal nightmare. “Don’t you think I’m the one who should be scared?” I turned my glare back to him. “Eric, tell me, in all these eight years, was there ever a single second you felt even a shred of guilt?” He bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry…” “And that’s it? ‘Sorry’ makes it all go away?” I slammed the knife down on the coffee table. The sharp clang echoed in the tense silence. “I quit my job, threw away my future, and came back to build a home with you, only to find out you’ve been playing house with someone else for eight years! What did you take me for, Eric?” Leo came running down the stairs, saw the knife, and burst into tears, throwing himself into Eric’s arms and crying for his mom. Eric hugged the boy, his back to me, his shoulders shaking as he gently patted his son’s back. Claire walked over and slid a document in front of me. “There’s a saying, Mia. The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel. This is a divorce agreement. Let’s just end this gracefully.” I didn’t even glance at the papers. My eyes were fixed on Eric’s back. He never turned around. So those nights that felt like a second honeymoon were just an act. That “can’t wait” text was probably meant for Claire, sent to me by mistake. I was a clown, performing in his twisted play for eight years, only realizing I’d been written out of the script when I finally pushed open the door myself. The gift box I’d been holding had fallen to the floor at some point. The necklace inside had spilled out, its diamonds catching the light with a cold, indifferent sparkle. I had gone to three different jewelers to find it, a piece that was supposed to bring good luck. I heard the sound of paper being ripped, followed by what sounded like a slap. Then came Eric’s broken, desperate cry. “Who said anything about a divorce? Since when do you get to make decisions in this house?!” He screamed my name, his voice thick with tears. I felt dazed, turning and walking toward the door, leaving the wreckage behind me. Some debts can’t be settled with a simple “I’m sorry.” And some homes, once shattered, can never be put back together. 4. I went to my mom’s house. I’d been away for so long that my rare visits home were mostly spent with Eric. My parents, always so understanding, would tell me, “You have so little time. Of course you should be with your husband.” Looking at the gray that now peppered their hair, I was struck by the sudden, painful realization that I had been a terrible daughter. I had poured all my money, my love, and my energy into Eric and my career, rarely sparing a thought for them. I tried to pull myself together, to act like nothing was wrong. But my mom saw through it instantly. “Did you and Eric have a fight? You haven’t been home in so long, honey. Why would you argue now?” she murmured, her brow furrowed with worry. “Men have their pride. Don’t be too hard on him. It hasn’t been easy for him either, waiting all these years.” My dad came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Alright, let her be. The girl just got home. Let’s have a nice meal, get some rest. Whatever it is, it can wait.” He looked at me, his eyes soft. “She’s tired and hungry. Don’t pester her.” Their gentle words were the final straw. The dam inside me broke. As I served myself rice, tears began to fall, one after another, splashing onto the table. Dinner was silent after that. Neither of them asked another question. They just kept quietly placing more food on my plate. That night, lying in my old bed, I could hear them talking through the thin walls of the old house. “Go buy her favorite snacks tomorrow,” my dad said. “Good food and a full stomach can solve half of life’s problems.” “I’ll talk to Eric,” my mom replied. “Married couples fight. It’s never as serious as it seems. They’ll make up.” I curled up under the covers, a fresh wave of tears soaking my pillow. If Eric had just told me he didn’t love me anymore, I would have let go. I wasn’t the type to cling. But he hadn’t. He and his entire family had conspired to build a separate life in the house I paid for, right under my nose. I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me until the early hours of the morning. I was jolted awake by the sound of cheerful laughter from the living room. It sounded like… Eric. Dazed, I scrambled out of bed and threw open my door. And there he was. Eric, sitting on my parents’ couch with Claire and their son. How dare he? How dare he bring his mistress and his illegitimate child into my parents’ home? My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breathe. Before I could say a word, Eric spoke, his voice breezy and casual. “You’re awake! We were just saying, with Claire due any day now, maybe we should work on giving you two a playmate. It would be nice for them to be in-laws, right? We all know each other so well.” He even had the audacity to wink at me. My mouth opened, but no words came out. What could I say? Could I call him a liar in front of my parents? Tell them that Leo wasn’t just Claire’s son, but my husband’s too? Tell them that my perfect husband had cheated on me the year after we were married? How could I possibly… I had to admit, Eric knew me perfectly. He had me completely trapped. I looked around the room. Everyone was smiling, laughing, a perfect portrait of familial bliss. Everyone except me. I was an outsider, separated from their happiness by an invisible wall. Claire smiled sweetly at my parents. “Mia has always been so busy with her career, flying everywhere. I already told Eric, when Mia has her own baby, I’ll be there to help take care of everything. You two won’t have to worry about a thing.” She looked at me, her eyes glinting with a hidden, mocking light, and I suddenly felt exhausted. If the rest of my life was going to be this charade, then I wanted out. Now. I took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t think we’ll be in-laws, seeing as the two children are—” Before I could finish, Eric shot up from the couch and grabbed my arm. “Mia, didn’t you say you were taking Claire to her appointment? We’re going to be late. Mom, Dad, we’ll be back soon. You guys chat.”

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In the third year of the Scorch, the ozone layer had vanished, forcing all of humanity into the subterranean Citadel. As a primary investor in the Citadel, my husband and I lived on the privileged Level Two. Then one day, he brought a girl back from the Warrens of Level Three, a fragile thing wasting away from sickness. “Rory,” he said, his voice urgent as he rushed past me, the girl cradled in his arms. “Life on Level Three is brutal. Anya is sick. I couldn’t just leave her to die.” I watched him go, my gaze dropping to the polished floor. “You haven’t forgotten the population caps, have you?” I reminded him quietly. “Level Two has strict limits. One resident per registered slot.” He didn’t even spare me a glance, his tone dripping with self-righteousness. “I know. That’s why you’ll have to take Anya’s place in the Warrens for a while. Just until she’s better. Then I’ll bring you back.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I stood frozen, rooted to the spot. Once he had disappeared into the guest room, I stepped out onto our private balcony, my hand trembling as I dialed the secure line to Level One. “I’ve made my decision,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “I want to join the Apocalypse Recovery Project.” … 1 The voice on the other end was electric with excitement. “Aurora, that’s fantastic news! Level One needs talent like yours!” The Citadel was a three-tiered world. Level One was the top-secret heart of the Citadel, home to our best scientists and engineers, the core of our entire civilization, completely sealed off from the rest. Level Two was the residential zone for the Citadel’s founders and benefactors. And Level Three, over the years, had degenerated into the Warrens—the Citadel’s dark, lawless underbelly. I had just hung up when Lucas emerged from the room. He rubbed his temples, a weary look on his face. “Anya’s very ill. She needs medical supplies, urgently.” “So what are you going to do?” I asked without turning, terrified that if I faced him, the tears would finally fall. Lucas’s voice was low, determined. “Cure her, of course. Whatever it takes. I’ve already called for a doctor.” Three years into the Scorch, medical resources were more precious than gold. Each family was allotted only one doctor’s visit per year. A month ago, when my own fever had spiked to 104 degrees, leaving me dizzy and seeing black spots, I’d gritted my teeth and endured it, unwilling to use our one chance. But now, for a girl he just met, Lucas was squandering it without a second thought. He was completely oblivious to the storm raging inside me. “Rory,” he said, his tone still maddeningly calm, “I’ve arranged for a transport. They’ll be here in three days to take you to the Warrens to assume Anya’s residency slot.” I squeezed my eyes shut. When I turned to face him, my fingertips darted to the corner of my eye, swiping away a single, traitorous tear. “Lucas, did you even think about me in all of this?” His response was just as cold. “Rory, you know I can’t stand by and watch someone suffer. It’s not who I am.” A bitter, humorless smile twisted my lips. There were thousands of people suffering. Why was it always her? He must have seen the look on my face, because he pressed on. “I was passing through Level Three the other day, and I saw her. She was like an angel, Rory, singing for the children in the Warrens. How could I let a light like that be extinguished?” I took a step back, the trembling in my voice impossible to hide now. “So you sacrifice me instead? You trade me away to the Warrens?” Level Three wasn’t just poor; it was a chaotic hellscape teeming with the desperate and the violent. There was no guarantee I would even survive down there. Lucas’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t be so dramatic, Aurora. It’s not a sacrifice. It’s a temporary arrangement.” Just then, a knock echoed at the door. The doctor. Lucas hurried to let him in, leaving me standing there, forgotten once again. I leaned against the sofa for support, my body suddenly weak. Through the crack in the bedroom door, I could see the girl on the bed, her lips pale, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. A sudden, hacking cough erupted from the room. Lucas practically dragged the doctor inside, his focus entirely on her. There was no wind in the Citadel, but a bone-deep chill had settled over me. It was late, long past midnight, when the doctor finally left. Lucas, in a brief moment of acknowledging my existence, found time to deliver his final command. “You see how sick she is. She needs absolute quiet to recover. In three days, you have to go. If you’re still here when the Level Two Wardens do their next population check, we’ll all be in trouble.” I lifted my exhausted eyes to meet his, a bitter taste filling my mouth. At that exact moment, my phone buzzed with a new message. [Ms. Shepherd, a liaison will arrive in three days to escort you to Level One. Welcome to the project.] 2 I silently blanked the screen and forced a brittle smile. “Fine. I’ll leave.” Where I was going, however, was no longer his decision to make. He let out a sigh of relief and leaned in to place a quick, dry peck on my forehead. “I knew you’d understand, Rory. Don’t worry, I’ll have you back before you know it.” I subtly wiped the spot his lips had touched. That night, Lucas stayed by Anya’s bedside, a devoted sentinel. I sat on the living room sofa, sleep evading me as memories, sharp as broken glass, tormented me through the long, quiet hours. Lucas had been a scholarship student my father sponsored. He was so brilliant that my father paid for him to study abroad with me in California. Back then, he was the boy who would cross half of Los Angeles just to buy me a specific piece of cake, the boy who would wait outside my dorm every night with a warm container of food because he knew I hated the campus cafeteria. Now, Lucas couldn’t bear the thought of a “pure, white jasmine flower” like Anya being crushed in the wasteland. But he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten the promise he made seven years ago, at my father’s deathbed. He had sworn to protect me, to ensure that the Shepherd family’s rose would never wither. The Scorch hadn’t come yet. His vows were meant to last an eternity. Now, those same vows had grown thorns, each one piercing my heart. How could someone who was once so good turn so rotten, so suddenly? I couldn’t understand it. But I understood one thing with chilling clarity: whatever path lay ahead, I would be walking it alone. The next morning, Lucas was in the kitchen at dawn, a rare sight. He was simmering a nutrient-rich broth for Anya. I ignored him completely, walking into my study and pulling out my suitcase. The small noises must have woken Anya. After a night of medical care, she was conscious. Her eyes met mine. And then, she went berserk. She scrambled off the bed and threw herself at my feet, banging her head on the floor like a terrified, cornered animal. “Please, don’t hit me! I-I’ll be good, I swear! I’m very quiet, please don’t hit me!” I stared at her, stunned. A frantic rush of footsteps sounded behind me. “Rory! What are you doing to her?!” Lucas stormed into the room, scooping the trembling girl into his arms. His eyes, fixed on me, were bloodshot with fury. He had never lost his composure like this. Not even three years ago, when the Scorch began and our own child was lost in the chaos of the evacuation. He had remained a pillar of stoic grief. But now, for a girl he barely knew, he was turning on me. Anya clung to him, tears streaming down her face. “Please… please don’t send me back to the Warrens… I can sing for you…” Lucas held her tighter, his voice a low, gentle murmur. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. Lucas is here.” Then he turned his head, his words for me laced with steel. “She was horribly abused on Level Three, Rory. Don’t you dare try to intimidate her!” I let out a long, slow breath, a wave of profound exhaustion washing over me. “I used to think you were blind, Lucas. Now I see I was the one who couldn’t see.” Blind enough to waste my entire youth on a man like him. For a moment, he looked stunned, a flicker of some unreadable emotion in his eyes. I didn’t wait for him to process it. I turned and walked away. It turns out, when you’re hurt enough, you don’t even have the energy left to fight. Back in my study, I opened an old silver locket. Inside was a photo of the three of us: him, me, and our daughter. The sight of our brilliant, long-lost smiles stung my eyes. The day of the great migration into the Citadel, our daughter had slipped, falling into a fissure that split the earth. There was nothing left to bury. I had cried until my throat was raw and my tears ran dry, and only then did Lucas finally show up. The memory sent a fresh wave of sharp, familiar pain through my chest. Just then, the door creaked open. It was Lucas. He saw me caressing the locket, his expression complicated. “It was an accident, Rory. If our daughter were still here, she wouldn’t want you to be so sad.” He held out a bowl of the broth. “Here, eat something. Your stomach is always giving you trouble.” I snapped the locket shut, a self-mocking smile on my face. “Don’t bring me Anya’s leftovers.” Seeing his peace offering rejected, Lucas’s patience snapped. He slammed the bowl down on my desk. “For God’s sake, Rory, I’m just asking you to stay in the Warrens for a few months! Are you going to hold this grudge forever? Anya is a delicate girl, and she survived down there for three years. Why can’t you?” I slowly raised my heavy eyelids. “Then why don’t you go?” He blinked, not comprehending at first. When my words registered, his face flushed with anger. “I’m the head of this household! If I leave, what kind of a home would this be?” He leaned in, his voice a low threat. “Let me remind you, Rory. If you dare make things difficult for that poor girl, don’t expect me to ever come get you.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I walked to my bookshelf and let out a cold, hollow laugh. Three years in the apocalypse, and he still didn’t get it. Lucas, have you forgotten? Without me, you wouldn’t even have the right to breathe the recycled air of Level Two. 3 Before the Scorch, I was a lead researcher at Caltech. A rising star. For Lucas, I gave up a guaranteed spot on Level One, choosing instead to bring him with me to the relative comfort of Level Two. Not only had my family’s money funded a significant portion of the Citadel’s construction, but without my credentials, he wouldn’t have even qualified for a slot in the Warrens. Of course, in this new world, talent was the most valuable currency of all. On my second-to-last night, I was organizing my research files deep into the night when a sound pulled me from my work. A soft, rhythmic creaking from the bedroom, followed by her breathless sighs and his low murmurs. The sounds of intimacy, a sound I hadn’t shared with him in years. My fingers trembled. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I walked out of the study. The sounds grew clearer, painting a vivid, sickening picture in my mind. Then, I heard Lucas’s voice, thick and husky. “Anya… give me a child…” My hand froze on the doorknob. After our daughter died, the Citadel Directorate had granted us a special procreation permit to help repopulate. But what had Lucas said back then? He’d said our daughter was his only child, that he would never have another. So, it wasn’t that he didn’t want another child. It was that he wanted to give that chance—my chance to be a mother again—to Anya. The realization hit me, and all the remaining warmth in my heart turned to ash. I walked back to the study like a zombie, the last vestiges of my love for him finally, irrevocably gone. At dawn, Anya came to my study, her face a mask of doe-eyed apology. “Rory… I hope we didn’t disturb you last night?” “Get out,” I said, my voice flat and cold. Her eyes instantly welled with tears. “I-I didn’t mean to be so loud… I could sing for you, to make up for it? My specialty is—” I didn’t want to hear another word. I stood up and physically pushed her toward the door. As we struggled, a small, laminated photo slipped from her pocket and fluttered to the floor. I picked it up. It was a signed promotional photo. I vaguely recognized her now; before the Scorch, Anya had been a minor pop star. She smiled, a picture of innocence. “Do you want me to sign something for you, too? Lucas used to love coming to my shows!” A frown creased my brow. I flipped the photo over. On the back was a candid snapshot of Anya and Lucas, laughing together. And at the bottom, a date was neatly inscribed: March 21, 2060.

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My father brought his illegitimate daughter home today. CRACK! The sharp, clean sound of a slap echoed through the opulent living room. I watched with cold eyes as the girl I’d just struck crumpled to the floor. She collapsed bonelessly against my brother, her eyes welling with tears. “Leo… your sister… she’s hurting me…” Heh. Such a convincing performance. As my brother, Leo, grabbed her slender arm, cutting off any chance of escape, our eyes met. In that fleeting glance, we shared a silent, cold understanding. I slowly crouched down, my fingers tracing the outline of her deceptively fragile face. I enunciated each word with chilling clarity. “An illegitimate daughter with no shame, daring to pull the innocent victim act in front of me, Scarlett Vance?” “Who gave you the nerve?” 1 My father, a man who might as well have been dead for all the attention he paid my brother and me, called out of the blue. His voice, slick with a false warmth, announced he was back from a “business trip” and had a “big gift” for us. Leo and I were in the dining room. At his words, we both put down our forks in unison. Our eyes met across the table, reflecting the same deep, biting mockery. A gift? From him? From a man who treated his own children with icy indifference, who hadn’t fulfilled a single fatherly duty in his life? We wanted nothing to do with his “gifts.” Sure enough, when he pushed open the front door, the true nature of his “gift” was revealed. Standing behind him was a slender girl with a pitifully innocent face that bore a faint, three-tenths resemblance to my own. A cold sneer instantly formed on my lips. The love child he’d kept hidden for eighteen years? What a “gift” indeed. My father, the current patriarch of the Vance family, seemed oblivious to the glacial expressions on our faces. He frowned at my look of utter contempt and spoke in a tone dripping with condescension, as if bestowing a great charity upon us. “Your sister has suffered for eighteen years without a name or a home. It’s time she was welcomed back into the family.” His gaze shifted to me, his voice now a command. “Scarlett, from now on, you will get along with your sister.” Sister? I stared at the girl. Her eyes, her features… they were a haunting echo of the woman who was indirectly responsible for my mother’s death. My fists clenched at my sides, hidden from view. A soft cough from Leo pulled me back from the brink of overwhelming hatred. I turned, catching the signal in his eyes. It’s time. In the next second, a calculated rage surged through me. Without a second thought, I lunged forward and delivered a resounding slap across the girl’s face. My years of karate training made the blow both vicious and precise. The so-called sister was sent sprawling to the floor in a pathetic heap. I loomed over her, the sneer on my lips twisting into something cruel. “The spawn of some cheap homewrecker, and you expect me to look after you? Not having my leftovers thrown in your face is the only charity you’ll get from me.” “You think your filthy blood makes you my equal? Keep dreaming, you gutter trash!” Humiliated, the girl cradled her face and began to sob on the cold marble floor, playing the part of the ultimate victim. Before the rage on my father’s face could erupt, my brother, Leo, beat him to it. He shoved me hard, sending me tumbling to the ground, and then slapped me in return. He roared at me, each word laced with profound disappointment. “Scarlett! How dare you talk back to Father! You disrespectful brat!” I landed on the plush carpet, looking up with a face full of defiance, staring daggers at my brother. My father, however, was thoroughly pleased by Leo’s “righteous” display. He clapped him approvingly on the shoulder before turning back to me, his expression now a mask of frost. “To compensate your sister, I’ve already transferred all the shares your mother left you to Aurora.” “We’ll consider this matter closed,” he warned. “But if you ever dare to bully Aurora again, don’t blame me for forgetting you’re my daughter!” With that, he stormed out without a backward glance. Aurora scrambled to her feet, clutching her swelling cheek. Before scurrying after him, she shot me a look so venomous it could kill. The moment they were gone, Leo’s expression changed completely. He reached down to help me up. “Get off,” I snapped, batting his hand away and getting to my feet on my own. He paid my anger no mind, anxiously checking me over. “Did I push you too hard? Are you hurt?” he whispered. I brushed off my wrinkled clothes, my tone light. “I’m fine. The carpet’s thick enough. No harm done.” I glanced towards the door, adding with a smirk, “Unlike Aurora. She landed right on the marble. I bet her tailbone is cracked.” Leo couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. The afternoon sun streamed in as the maid brought our tea. Leo sipped his coffee, his eyes flicking to the second floor where Aurora was now fawning over our father. A look of undisguised contempt crossed his handsome face. “Just a mistress’s daughter. A born sycophant who only knows how to cling to men. And she thinks she’s worthy of Mother’s shares?” I curled my lip, speaking in a voice only we could hear. “Brother, the show is just beginning. You need to learn patience.” “After all,” I added, “getting her to spit it all back out, with interest, is going to require a major effort from you.” We looked at each other and smiled. In the quiet before the storm, this moment of peace felt surprisingly precious. 2 My brother Leo and I are allies forged in hatred. Our mother came from one of the most prestigious old-money families in the city, the sole heiress to her father’s fortune. But she had terrible judgment, falling for my father, a penniless social climber with nothing to his name. My father built his empire on the back of my mother’s family, only to cheat on her without a second thought while she was on her deathbed, driving my grandfather to an early grave from pure rage. He even had the gall to steal the inheritance our mother left for us, all to please his mistress. Thankfully, the mistress didn’t live long, dying early and leaving behind only that wretched creature, Aurora. Our original plan was to wait until Leo had complete control of the Vance Corporation, then cast both of them—our father and Aurora—into the pits of hell. But we never expected our father to be so impatient. Before the shares could even warm Aurora’s hands, he eagerly paraded her through the front doors of our home. Fine. The plan may have been forced ahead of schedule, but Leo and I were determined to take back everything that was rightfully ours. Not a single piece would be left behind. Of course, this required a little bit of strategy. Aurora was laughably naive. She must have truly believed she was some heaven-sent protagonist, that everyone should revolve around her and treat her with unconditional kindness. So when Leo showered her with “affection,” she didn’t suspect a thing. Instead, she soaked it all up, reveling in the attention. Over the years, as the Vance business grew, my father became lost in the vanity of his success, his grip on the company loosening. Now, Leo had already taken over most of the operations. In the eyes of the city’s elite, he was the de facto heir. In the past, I was the one who accompanied Leo to all social functions. Aurora would watch me leave in my couture gowns and dazzling jewelry, her eyes overflowing with an envy she couldn’t hide. So, she started whining to Leo, crying and begging for a chance to see the world of the rich and famous. I threw a massive tantrum over it, which only strengthened Aurora’s resolve to replace me. In the end, our father stepped in, scolding me for being “immature” and “not knowing how to yield to my sister.” He ordered the maids to pack up all my finery—gowns, jewelry, everything—and give it to Aurora. In that moment, Aurora looked like a victorious rooster, proudly clinging to my brother’s arm, her face a mask of undisguised triumph. I watched them leave with a look of pity, silently lighting a candle for my poor brother in my mind. He was in for a rough night. Aurora grew up on the streets. You could dress her in royal robes, but she’d never look like a princess. She might have a face similar to mine, but she could never replicate the high-society grace that had been ingrained in me since birth. Her posture, her table manners, even the most basic ballroom dancing—she was clueless about it all. On what grounds did she dare to compete with me? Sure enough, two hours later, I received a text from my best friend, Gwyneth. Gwyneth: Scarlett, did your brother get kicked in the head by a donkey? Why would he bring that illegitimate girl out in public to embarrass himself? Gwyneth: She’s a disaster! She just stomped on my foot while dancing. My new Louboutins! Aaaah! I looked at the screen and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I could just picture Aurora, clumsy and flustered, making a fool of herself at the gala. It wasn’t until eleven o’clock that night that Leo returned, an exhausted-looking Aurora in tow. The moment she walked in, she glared at me with eyes red and swollen from crying. I just shrugged innocently, not bothering to engage. Leo patted my shoulder, not even trying to hide the schadenfreude dancing in his eyes. That night, the private group chat for the city’s trust-fund kids exploded. Everyone knew I didn’t get along with my “sister,” so they didn’t hold back in their mockery of her. I scrolled through the chat history, everything proceeding exactly as I’d planned. From the moment Aurora entered, her performance of incompetence began. She tried to strike up conversations, feigning familiarity. While most people maintained a polite facade, they’d quickly make an excuse and flee after a few sentences. I chuckled to myself. Honestly, what did you expect? You’re an illegitimate child who can’t be shown in public. Did you really think the snobbish heirs and heiresses would welcome you with open arms? Later, during the dancing portion of the evening, Leo was pulled away by some business partners to discuss a project, leaving Aurora stranded on the dance floor. It was a public execution. Completely inept at dancing, she managed to step on the feet of every single man who asked her for a turn. During a partner exchange, she even stomped on my best friend, Gwyneth. Gwyneth was famously sharp-tongued. She didn’t miss a beat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Some people should learn not to force their way into circles where they don’t belong. Is it fun making a complete clown of yourself?” That one sentence was enough to make Aurora’s eyes well up with tears on the spot. The funniest part? When Leo returned, she didn’t dare say a word of complaint, terrified that he would think she’d performed poorly and she’d never get another chance at such a “privilege.” The city’s high society is a small world. A new laughingstock was a rare treat. After they’d had their fill of mockery, the bored young elites started digging into her background. Overnight, Aurora’s entire family tree, down to her great-great-grandparents, was practically unearthed for all to see. 3 The next morning, Aurora was up bright and early, seated at the dining table with a face of delicate makeup, looking every bit the lady of the house. I came downstairs just in time to see Leo, a “doting” expression on his face, peel an orange for her. Aurora accepted it with a shy blush and popped a segment into her mouth. The next second, her face contorted as she fought to control her expression against the overwhelming sourness. I desperately stifled my laughter until Leo turned away, and then I couldn’t hold back the gleeful smirk. After breakfast, the driver was waiting to take Aurora and me to the same elite private school. My father, in his effort to “compensate” her, had transferred her there. He’d told her to study hard, then immediately left for his own pleasures at a private club. Inside the car, the partition slowly rose, shielding us from the driver’s view. Aurora instantly dropped her fragile act, her eyes full of provocation. “Sister, I went to the gala yesterday, and all the young masters and ladies of the great families loved me. So many people came to talk to me.” She lifted her chin smugly. “And so many handsome, distinguished men asked me to dance. I bet that’s a level of treatment even you don’t get, sister.” I couldn’t be bothered to even look at her. I rolled my eyes at the ceiling of the car and pulled out today’s French newspaper. My mother had studied design in France when she was young, and her greatest wish was for me to learn the language. I’d kept up the habit for years, for her. Seeing my indifference, Aurora, not to be outdone, also picked up a newspaper. Though she couldn’t understand a single word, she pretended to read it with great focus. I scoffed. Wasting my breath to mock her wasn’t worth the effort. When we got to the classroom, I had just settled into my seat when Aurora began her deeply flawed self-introduction at the front of the class. When she finished, the teacher started looking for a seat for her. A quick scan of the room revealed only one empty spot. Next to my fiancé, Terrence Hawthorne. The teacher was clearly aware of our relationship and hesitated, even considering bringing in a new desk. After all, on one side was the fiancé of the legitimate Vance heiress, and on the other, the newly acknowledged illegitimate daughter. The situation was awkward, to say the least. However, upon learning Terrence’s identity, Aurora’s eyes lit up, and she volunteered eagerly. “Teacher, I’ll just sit with this student!” The teacher shot me a troubled look. Seeing that I had no reaction, seemingly unconcerned, she could only nod helplessly. The other students watched Aurora’s desperate attempt to latch onto him, their eyes filled with undisguised disgust. As for me, I calmly took out my notebook and began reviewing my notes, letting her buzz around Terrence like an annoying fly, pestering him with questions. Terrence was naturally aloof, but today, surprisingly, he showed Aurora an immense amount of patience. In just one morning, her form of address for him had already evolved from “this student” to an intimate “Brother Terrence.” My best friend Gwyneth was practically dying of anxiety watching this, but I remained unhurried, as if I weren’t the one being publicly cuckolded. I played the part of the “spineless turtle” for a full two weeks. It wasn’t until a group project in economics class that Aurora once again snatched my usual spot, brazenly demanding to be in a group with Terrence. This time, I had reached my limit. I stood up with a cold smile, grabbed Aurora’s ponytail, and, under the watchful, anticipating gazes of the entire class, dragged her into the girls’ restroom. My “loyal friends” were quick on the uptake, standing up to block a few boys who looked like they might interfere. I specifically chose the filthiest, uncleaned stall and ruthlessly threw her inside. “Aaaah!” Aurora let out a piercing scream. “Scarlett Vance, you bitch! You just wait, I’m going to get Terrence over here right now!” I sneered and delivered two crisp slaps to her face. “‘Brother Terrence’?” I repeated slowly. “How intimate. What, are you already so eager to follow in your trashy mother’s footsteps and become a mistress? Is this a family talent?” Aurora, furious, tried to fight back, but I kicked her back into the stall. Her brand-new school uniform was instantly soaked in filthy water. “Don’t bother screaming. Your precious Terrence isn’t here. Today, let me be the one to teach you the rules of high society!” Beside me, Gwyneth wrinkled her nose in disgust and picked up a half-full trash can from the corner, about to dump it on Aurora’s head— “Stop!” A sharp command came from the doorway. Terrence Hawthorne, impeccably dressed in a suit and tie with his student council president badge pinned to his chest, had “finally” arrived, his face a mask of righteousness. Seeing her savior, Aurora’s crying intensified, becoming a picture of pitiable beauty. Terrence helped her up with a pained expression, then glared at me with eyes full of utter disappointment. “Scarlett, I never thought you could be so jealous! I was only being kind to Aurora because she’s suffered so much in the past, and you torment her at every turn!” “You’ve disappointed me so much!” He paused, delivering the final blow. “If there’s a next time, I think I’d rather marry Aurora than a venomous woman like you!” With that, he carefully supported the “injured” Aurora and left. Before they disappeared, Aurora didn’t forget to look back and shoot me a triumphant, victorious glare. I, of course, gave her exactly what she wanted: a performance of jealousy, resentment, and bitter hatred. Only when their figures had completely vanished did Gwyneth and I let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. Gwyneth stretched dramatically and sidled up to me with a grin. “That kick was epic. Aurora is covered in so much grime.” She added, gloating, “Terrence was standing so close to her. That expensive suit of his is probably ruined too, right?” The image made me grimace in disgust. “Next time I hit her, we need to find a cleaner spot. That was truly revolting.” For that economics project, Aurora ultimately got her wish and was paired with Terrence. The result? The professor mercilessly gave her the lowest possible grade. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Terrence had done the entire report by himself; Aurora was just a name on the paper. The blonde, blue-eyed economics professor frowned at Terrence on the stage and asked in fluent French, “Terrence, you and Scarlett have always worked so well together. Why the change? Your new partner, forgive my bluntness, is terrible. She can’t keep up with your thought process at all.” Aurora, not understanding a word of French, could only stand beside Terrence like a pretty, clueless doll. But the wealthy students in the audience understood perfectly. They erupted in undisguised laughter, all turning to look at me in the back row. I remained expressionless, as if I weren’t the center of their discussion. Terrence, at a loss for words, could only lower his gaze and apologize in French. “Professor, I am very sorry. I messed up this project.” The teacher glanced at the pitiful-looking Aurora, sighed in resignation, and waved them off the stage. Gwyneth, sitting in the front row, personally witnessed the teacher mark a bright red “D-” next to Aurora’s name. As she graded, the teacher muttered in English, “I don’t get kids these days. Trading a genius teammate for a useless but pretty vase.” Gwyneth was shaking with silent laughter in her seat. And Aurora, at that very moment, was tearfully apologizing to Terrence, who just gently stroked her hair and comforted her in a soft voice. What a moving performance of deep, unwavering devotion.

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After my wife—who loved me more than life itself—was murdered, her body dismembered, our playful family dog had a sudden, bizarre change of heart. When I’d come home, he would grab my slippers and arrange them neatly by the door. When I’d sleep, he would gently pull the blanket over me with his teeth. When I’d watch TV, he would use his paws to pat my back, as if giving me a massage. These were all the little things my wife used to love doing. When my family noticed his strange new habits, they wept with joy. But I quietly called the butcher shop down the street. “I have a dog I need to get rid of. He’s yours for free. Just send someone over to take care of him.” 1 My wife, Evelyn, was what everyone would call a perfect spouse. In twenty years of marriage, she never once argued with me. No matter how late I came home, she’d be there, waiting under a single lamp with a hot meal on the table. When I was diagnosed with kidney failure, she donated one of her kidneys to me without a moment’s hesitation. Worried I’d feel guilty, she hid it from me for three whole years, a secret I only discovered during a routine check-up. She was the best person to me in the entire world. And this woman, who had given me everything, was murdered on my birthday. She was attacked on her way home, her body dismembered. Even in death, her severed right hand was still clenched tightly around the birthday present she had bought for me. Everyone knew how good she was. Her horrific death became the talk of the town. But the crime scene was a blind spot, with no cameras and no forensic evidence left behind. And Evelyn didn’t have a single enemy in the world. The killer was never found. While my mother-in-law, my son, and my brother-in-law spent their days weeping, mourning Evelyn’s tragic fate, our seven-year-old dog, Buddy, seemed to have a sudden awakening. He had always been a mischievous, hyperactive dog, but he became inexplicably gentle and obedient. He would have my slippers waiting by the door when I got home. He would tiptoe over and cover me with a blanket when I fell asleep on the couch. He would use his paws to gently massage my back when my old injury flared up. My family was overjoyed by Buddy’s transformation. They said he’d become enlightened, that he was taking care of me in Evelyn’s place. That’s when I quietly dialed the number for the butcher. “Are you still taking dogs at your shop?” I asked. “I have one here. He’s yours for free. Just send someone over to take care of him.” 2 I gave the man on the phone my exact address. Hearing this, my son, Alex, who was sitting on the sofa, snatched the phone from my hand. “Dad, what are you doing?” he cried, his voice frantic. “Buddy’s been so good! How could you do this to him?” My brother-in-law, Kyle, stared at me, bewildered. “Yeah, Mark, even if you don’t want him anymore, you could give him to a shelter. Why a butcher shop? Are you just going to let someone… eat him?” My mother-in-law rushed out of the kitchen. “Mark, did my daughter’s death break you? Are you not in your right mind? You and Evelyn always treated Buddy like your own child. Now that he’s acting so much like her, why on earth would you send him to his death?” I glanced at Buddy and said flatly, “Seven years was long enough.” The men from the shop were fast. When they arrived with a catch pole and a burlap sack, Alex panicked. “Dad, I’m begging you, please don’t send Buddy away!” he pleaded, tears streaming down his face. I looked at him, my voice cold and firm. “This dog cannot stay.” I turned to the men. “Take him.” As they moved toward the dog, Alex, his grandmother, and his uncle all jumped in front of Buddy to block them. Seeing this, I barked, my voice a weapon. “I SAID THE DOG CAN’T STAY, DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?” The shout stunned them into silence. They had never seen me like this before—so cold, so severe. Even Buddy just stared at me, his eyes glistening with what looked like tears. While my family was still in shock, I personally grabbed Buddy and shoved him into the burlap sack. He didn’t struggle or resist at all. After the men had taken him away, Kyle confronted me, his face a mask of grief. “Mark, no matter what, that was your dog! Yours and my sister’s, for seven years! How could you be so heartless?” My mother-in-law, her voice trembling with a mix of sorrow and concern, added, “Mark, even if looking at Buddy reminds you too much of Evelyn, even if you’re trying to escape the pain, you didn’t have to do that! What has gotten into you?” Alex stared at me for a long time, his own eyes welling up. “Dad, you must have felt it. Buddy was becoming more and more like Mom. Having him here, taking care of you in her place… you should have been happy. Why did you have to kill him?” Looking at their confused, heartbroken faces, I said only one thing. “Tomorrow, you’ll understand everything.” 3 The next day was Alex’s Ivy League acceptance party. All our relatives, friends, and neighbors were there, their conversations filled with a bittersweet nostalgia. “Evelyn planned this whole party for Alex a month ago. It’s a tragedy she couldn’t be here to see it.” “That’s right. Every dish, every banner… she designed it all herself.” “No wonder the family couldn’t bring themselves to cancel it, even with the pain of remembering her everywhere they look.” “Evelyn and Mark worked so hard for this. Their only dream was to see Alex get into a good university. I’m sure her spirit is here today, watching over him with pride.” The party was a grand affair, but because of what had happened with Evelyn and the dog, Alex, his grandmother, and Kyle were all wearing long faces, in no mood to celebrate. When I finally arrived, Alex, who had been listless all afternoon, rushed over to me. “Dad, just tell me. Why did you send Buddy to the butcher?” he demanded, his face gaunt, dark circles under his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept. “Does it have something to do with Mom?” I nodded. “Yes.” Hearing this, my mother-in-law’s expression soured with confusion. “What does sending the dog away have to do with my daughter?” Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Wait… do you know something about Evelyn’s death?” At this, Kyle grabbed my arm, his voice urgent. “Mark, my sister died so horribly, and the police have no leads. If you know something, you have to tell us!” It wasn’t just them. The other guests started to crowd around, their faces a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. And then, with all eyes on me, I calmly took out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello,” I said, my voice steady. “I’d like to turn myself in.” “I murdered my wife, Evelyn Miller.” 4 I hung up. The room fell into a dead silence. Everyone stared at me, their eyes wide with disbelief. A moment later, my mother-in-law’s lips began to tremble. “What… how is that possible?” she stammered. “Mark, you’re joking, right? This is some kind of sick joke?” Her face was ashen, her voice shaking as if she’d been dealt a physical blow. “Do I look like I’m joking?” I asked, my tone dead serious. My solemn expression was her answer. She staggered backward, nearly collapsing. Kyle caught her, his own voice choked with disbelief. “No. I don’t believe it. Mark, my sister was so good to you. You had no reason to kill her!” I didn’t explain. Instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out a blood-stained knife. “This is the murder weapon.” The room erupted. The people crowded around me gasped and scrambled backward, their faces pale with terror. Only Alex remained frozen, staring at me as if seeing a complete stranger. SLAP! My mother-in-law slapped me across the face, her voice a raw scream. “You monster! You animal! No wonder you had to get rid of the dog! You couldn’t stand the guilt, couldn’t face what you’d done!” Tears streamed down her face. “My daughter was thinking about your birthday present right up until the moment she died! In all these years, she never did a single thing to wrong you! Why would you kill her? Why would you make her die in such a horrible way?!” Kyle gripped my shoulders, his voice ragged with pain. “Do you have any idea what she went through? The day she donated her kidney, she bit her lip until it bled, but she still forced herself to get up and take care of you, just so you wouldn’t worry or suspect anything! She was a woman who could barely take care of herself, but for you, she learned to cook, she learned massage! She was terrified of pain, but she bore you a child, gave you a piece of her own body, and for twenty years, she made sure you never had to lift a finger at home!” “My sister gave you everything! Why did you kill her?!” Their cries moved the guests, who began to hurl insults at me. One of them even started a live stream, narrating my crimes to the world. “Breaking news, people! You remember that brutal dismemberment case that shocked the city? You’re not going to believe this, but the killer was her own husband! This woman was famous for how much she loved him! She married him without asking for a dowry, even used her life savings to help him start his business! He had a sensitive stomach, so she cooked him special meals every single day! She took care of everything so he never had to worry! And this is how he repays her? By murdering her and cutting her into pieces! He even sent the dog they raised together to a butcher! It’s probably already been served on someone’s plate!” The crowd was furious, their words a torrent of rage. The live stream viewership exploded. The comments were a wall of hate, all directed at me. I stood there like a lamb to the slaughter, condemned by a thousand voices. Soon, the police arrived. They secured the evidence and snapped handcuffs on my wrists. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of murder. You’re coming with us.” Just as they were about to lead me away, Alex suddenly ran forward, blocking their path. “Dad!” he cried out, his voice desperate. “You and Mom were always so in love. If she even had a headache, you’d be so worried you couldn’t eat or sleep. I don’t believe you killed her! You chose my acceptance party to confess like this… are you being threatened? Is there something you’re not telling us?” He stared at me, his eyes filled with a painful, stubborn hope, terrified that I was being framed. I looked back at him, my face a blank mask. “There’s no secret. No one threatened me.” “I killed your mother.” The light in my son’s eyes died. “I hate you! I don’t have a father!” He turned, ran to the open window beside him, and threw himself out. THUD. The sickening sound from the ground below turned every face in the room white with horror. And for the first time, tears streamed from my own eyes. Finally. It was almost over.

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Vivian Sterling didn’t like me, her fiancé from out of town. To make me call off the engagement, she found a scholarship student at our school to impersonate her. “One’s new money, the other’s too poor to eat. A perfect match.” “I bet the new-money kid won’t last three days. He’ll definitely cancel the engagement.” The scholarship student was beautiful in a cold, fragile way, quiet and reserved. I fell for it completely. I thought the Sterling family had really gone bankrupt, that she couldn’t even afford a proper meal. My dad’s words echoed in my ears: “Son, bankrupt is bankrupt. We don’t look down on people for being poor. We’ve got the money to support her.” So, when she was hungry, I gave her food. When she worked part-time, I acted as her bodyguard. When her mom was hospitalized, I paid the bills… I took good care of my destitute fiancée. Until the day a beautiful girl snatched the breakfast I had carefully prepared. I was about to lose my temper when she looked at me, a defiant glint in her eyes. “Leo Nash, look closely. I’m your fiancée—” 1 My dad told me I had a fiancée in the city. To let me decide whether I wanted to go through with it, and to make sure I got into a good college, he transferred me in my junior year—right into Vivian Sterling’s class. I heard the Sterling family was the wealthiest in Crestwood, with deep roots. My dad even had me bring a bunch of expensive gifts. But when I got off the train, no one from the Sterling family was there to meet me. I was a little annoyed at first, but when I got to school and saw a thin girl in a faded t-shirt who I thought was Vivian, my anger vanished. A classmate I met on the way had kindly shown me the way after looking at the photo I was holding. “Junior class, room 3? You’re looking for Vivian Sterling? Oh, I know her. I’ll take you.” She was the one who pointed her out to me. I followed her finger and saw a girl sitting by the window, her back straight, looking delicate and clean. The afternoon sun, filtered through the leaves outside, cast a gentle light on her profile. A breeze rustled a few strands of her hair, revealing a smooth forehead and a strong browline. I looked down at the photo, then back at her. The classmate’s sympathetic voice rang in my ears. “You didn’t know? The Sterling family went bankrupt two years ago. Now Vivian has to rely on school aid and work part-time after school. Sometimes she’s so broke she can’t even afford to eat.” Our families hadn’t been in close contact, and it wasn’t like the Sterlings would broadcast their bankruptcy to my small town. I let out a small gasp and nodded, promising her I wouldn’t spread it around. “This is our new transfer student, Leo Nash. Everyone, please welcome him,” the teacher announced, pointing to an empty seat in the back. “You can sit there for now.” I looked up. It was right next to “Vivian.” From the moment I entered the classroom to when the teacher assigned my seat, she never looked up. She was completely focused on what she was writing. I had to walk behind her to get to my seat. As I passed, my backpack snagged on something. I gave a slight tug, and an old enamel mug fell out of her desk. It clattered on the floor, and the half-eaten piece of a hard, dry bun inside tumbled out, collecting a layer of dust. I saw her shoulders flinch almost imperceptibly. Her grip on her pen tightened, but she didn’t turn around. I heard a few muffled snickers from nearby and saw a couple of girls whispering behind her back, their eyes full of disdain. So, things were really this bad for her. The vibrant, high-spirited girl in the old photos was now so poor she couldn’t afford a real meal. I bit my lip, sat down, and apologized in a low voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” She still didn’t look at me, just silently took the mug I’d picked up and put it back in her desk. “I’m Leo Nash. Do you remember me?” I tilted my head, leaning closer to get a better look at her. We had met once, when she was six. I’ve always had a thing for pretty faces, just like my mom, and little Vivian had been exquisite. I hadn’t wanted to let her go. Of course, that was before I introduced her to the chickens and one of them pecked her on the butt. She hadn’t spoken to me since. Thankfully, she’d grown up just as beautiful. My sudden movement startled her. She leaned back slightly, her eyes cast down as she looked at me. Her eyes were stunning, like gleaming black gems. Her long, dark lashes curtained her cool gaze, making her seem a little less distant. But after the initial surprise, she still didn’t speak. I scratched my head. “I’m your fiancé, remember?” She was taking a sip of water and choked, coughing quietly. I quickly patted her back. When she recovered, she looked at me with a strange expression, a faint blush on her pale cheeks. Maybe she didn’t remember. Or maybe bankruptcy had changed her. Either way, I got the message. We could just start over as friends. I smiled and held out my hand. “Well, we’re desk-mates now. I’m Leo Nash. It’s nice to meet you. By the way, can I ask you for a favor?” I expected her to ignore me again, but this time she spoke, her voice still icy. “I don’t have time.” 2 Meanwhile, the classmate who had so kindly guided me had ducked into a stairwell, where a group of similarly well-dressed teens were waiting. Becca bounced on her heels, addressing the beautiful girl at the center of the group. “Vivian, it’s done! That new kid is totally clueless.” “He believed every word I said. I pointed out Iris Thorne and told him the Sterlings went bankrupt and you couldn’t even afford to eat. His jaw practically hit the floor.” “He even saw Iris’s pathetic little bun. I mean, who would want to marry into that kind of charity case?” “I give him three days, tops. He’ll be begging his dad to call off the engagement.” Vivian Sterling looked impatient, but she still confirmed, “Are you sure it’ll only take three days? He really bought it?” “I saw the photo he has. It’s just a side profile of you. It looks close enough to Iris. No one would question it.” “I also told him that after the bankruptcy, you changed your name to avoid debt collectors. He definitely believes it. If he ever runs into you, just say you have the same name. That way he can’t latch onto you.” Vivian stuck her hands in her pockets, her beautiful features relaxing slightly. “Some new-money hick from the sticks. Who even does arranged marriages anymore?” “Exactly! The Sterlings are an established family. If there’s an engagement, it should be with someone from an equally prominent family, like your sister and the heir to the Jenson Corporation. Why are you stuck with some country bumpkin?” “I know, right? My mom has been throwing a fit about this for days, even went on a hunger strike to try and get my dad to cancel it.” “But my dad listens to whatever my grandfather says, and the old man is all about honor and loyalty. He’s determined to fulfill some promise he made to an old war buddy.” “By the way, I think your fiancé is actually…” Vivian shot her a cold look, and Becca quickly corrected herself. “That country kid is pretty hot. I snapped a picture. Wanna see? Maybe he’s your type after all.” Vivian scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You know my standards. You really think I’d be interested in someone from the middle of nowhere?” Becca scratched her head, muttering, “He’s really cute, though. Way better looking than that pretty-boy captain of the football team you used to date.” 3 I knew nothing about any of this. At that moment, my world revolved around Iris. Yes, she had told me her name was Iris Thorne. The other students called her that, too. The Sterling family must have changed her name to hide from their debts. I spent the whole day trying to talk to her. She barely responded, sometimes pretending she hadn’t heard me at all. But I’m a chatterbox, a trait I inherited from my dad, who can talk to a cow for an entire day. Plus, I’m naturally outgoing, so I can carry a one-sided conversation with ease. “Hey, do you know any good places to eat in Crestwood? It’s my first day, I don’t know anything.” “Do you live on campus or commute?” “Huh, this is different from what I learned back in my old school.” “Where’s the water fountain? I’m so thirsty.” Finally, unable to take it anymore, she whispered, “Pay attention in class.” After a pause, she added, “The water fountain is outside room 4. You can go after class.” When the bell rang, I’d already forgotten about the water. I rushed to call my dad and told him about the Sterling family’s bankruptcy. He was shocked. “What? How did that happen? Well, son, it is what it is. We can’t judge people for being poor. These are the times that show a person’s true character. If you really like the girl, we’ll just support her.” I nodded. It wasn’t exactly that I liked her. It was just that Iris was in such a pitiful situation. I didn’t have much of anything, except money. And money was what she needed most right now. Our family’s wealth was new. My dad got rich the year I was born, starting in real estate and then getting into tech. We were definitely what people online called “new money,” especially compared to a multi-generational family like the Sterlings. But being new money had its perks. My dad handed me credit cards without blinking. I could have bought the entire lounge where Iris worked part-time, but I didn’t. It took me a few days of pestering her to find out where she worked. At night, Iris was different. She was dressed more casually, her hair slightly tousled. I had followed her secretly, so when she saw me, her brow furrowed deeply. “Who let you come to a place like this?” She pulled me into the stairwell. “Why are you here?” She was much more talkative now. I pulled a sandwich out of my backpack and stuffed it into her hand. Iris froze, her hand hovering in mid-air. “Eat it,” I urged. “I just bought too many, and the owner said they’d expire by tomorrow. I can’t finish them all, and it’s a waste of food. You’d be doing me a favor.” I had done my research. Iris worked at least three jobs every day after school. First, handing out flyers, then running a food cart, and finally, working at this lounge. She never ate the food from her own cart, even though a single serving was only a few dollars. She’d either eat the bun she brought from home or wait for leftover snacks from the lounge customers. Over the past few days, I had gotten to know my classmates. Many of them warned me to stay away from Iris. They said she was weird, always gloomy, never talking to anyone. They told me she had a mother with kidney failure and a disabled younger sister. Strange. Was Vivian Sterling’s mother that sick? I didn’t dare ask Iris, afraid of hurting her feelings. “Why?” Iris clutched the sandwich, her eyes cast down. I waved my hand dismissively, my eyes wide. “Why not? You’re my desk-mate. And you helped me with that math problem today.” I nodded firmly. “That’s right! My dad said he’d break my legs if I don’t get into a good college. Iris, this is a bribe. This sandwich isn’t free. You have to help me with my homework again tomorrow.” I had caught a glimpse of her test scores earlier. The girl got a near-perfect score in advanced calculus. She bit her lip. “Aren’t you… disgusted by me?” My eyes widened. “Why would I be?” I leaned in and sniffed around her dramatically. “Don’t you know how clean your mom washes your clothes? I sit next to you all day, and the wind always brings this nice, clean soap scent over to me. Look at my clothes…” I held up my own dirty sleeve. “I’m way dirtier than you. Are you disgusted by me?” In the dim light of the stairwell, Iris looked up at me. Her eyes were as bright as stars. She clutched the sandwich and shook her head. I lifted my chin proudly. “That’s more like it. I’m your fi—” I caught myself just in time. 4 Iris got off work ten minutes early to walk me home, stuffing a notebook full of her study notes into my backpack. My dad had bought me a house in the Clearwater Estates villa district before I even arrived. Since my mom passed away, he’s been overprotective. He had even planned to take a leave of absence from work to come with me, but I managed to talk him out of it. Instead, he hired a housekeeper to look after me. As we neared the entrance to the villas, I quickly changed direction, leading Iris down a different street with more modest houses. Her family had lost everything; seeing a neighborhood full of mansions would only make her feel worse. “This is my place!” I pointed randomly at a house. “You should get home, too.” Iris looked up at the house, then reached out and patted my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, desk-mate.” If any of our classmates had been there, they would have been shocked. The quiet, lifeless Iris suddenly seemed animated, as if a spark of hope had been lit within her for the tomorrows that were usually so bleak. After she left, I ran back to my actual house. I was sprinting around a corner when I almost collided with someone. Quick reflexes saved us; a hand shot out and steadied me. I looked up into a stunningly beautiful face. I frowned in confusion. She looked familiar… a lot like Iris. But why was she just staring at me? I waved a hand in front of her face. “Hey, I’m fine. You can let go now.” She blinked, then quickly dropped her hand. “Sorry.” I shrugged it off and started to walk away. “Are you also from Crestwood High…?” she called out from behind me. But at that exact moment, my puppy came bounding out to greet me. Forgetting everything else, I ran to him, scooping him up in my arms. Vivian Sterling stood frozen, watching the boy and his dog disappear around the corner. By the time she snapped out of it and tried to follow, they were long gone. She opened her group chat. “Does anyone at our school know a really tall, handsome guy with big, round eyes and a small mole on his nose?” Someone replied: “Ooh, where’d you meet a new hottie? Love at first sight?” “No way, Vivian’s standards are sky-high. She wouldn’t even look at the football captain. It can’t be love at first sight.” Vivian propped her legs up on the coffee table, staring at the words “love at first sight” for a long time. “Cut the crap. Have you seen him or not?” “Well, I’ve seen guys with moles, guys with big eyes, and tall guys. But that specific combination? Nope.” “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll be on patrol for you tomorrow. If he goes to Crestwood High, he can’t hide.” Vivian replied lazily, “Get it done, and there’s a big reward in it for you.” Vivian Sterling had it all: family money and stunning looks. She had a natural confidence that came with knowing she could have anyone she wanted. 5 After class the next day, Iris bent down and took the broom from my hand. “You can just sit.” The setting sun painted the classroom windows a warm honey color. Iris expertly swept the floor, her hands familiar with the worn wooden handle. “Do you do this often?” I asked, sitting on her desk and swinging my legs. She hummed in agreement. “People pay me to do their cleaning duty. Ten bucks a session.” She glanced at me nervously. “I didn’t mean—” I jumped off the desk, grabbed the mop, and said indignantly, “That’s a rip-off! Ten bucks to clean this huge classroom? They’re worse than my dad!” The cicadas outside suddenly seemed very loud. Iris looked down at the floor, and for the first time, the tedious chore didn’t seem so bad. When we were done, Iris prepared to head to her food cart. She turned to me. “I wrote down the solutions for today’s problems on the back of your notes. You can review them tonight. If you still don’t understand something, I’ll explain it to you tomorrow.” I wasn’t paying attention to that. “Can I come with you to your food cart?” Iris hesitated. “Most students use this time to study. It’s easy to fall behind otherwise.” In the end, she didn’t agree. She seemed genuinely afraid my dad would break my legs. When I found her cart on my own, she was hunched over the grill, wearing an apron, stir-frying noodles for a customer. She saw me, and her spatula paused for a fraction of a second. “What are you doing here?” “A friend of yours?” a gentle voice asked from the side. “Are you Iris’s classmate?” I turned and saw her mother. She was thin, likely from her illness, but you could still see the beautiful bone structure of her face. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Iris’s desk-mate,” I said with a smile. She looked pleased, the pale strands of her hair glowing in the warm yellow light. “Young man, would you like some noodles? My Iris… she doesn’t usually have friends over. Let me make you some, on the house.” Iris gently pushed her back down and glanced at me. “You sit. I’ll do it.” I grinned at her, my eyes urging her on: Hurry up, I’m starving! Without a word, Iris turned and started pulling ingredients from a cooler. Two fresh eggs sizzled in the hot oil, followed by a generous scoop of shredded pork, sliced sausage, shrimp, and a secret meat sauce. The aroma was incredible. Finally, she tossed in fresh greens, bean sprouts, and a bundle of noodles, stir-frying everything over a high flame. She plated a heaping portion that looked as good as it smelled. I glanced at the menu and saw she’d made me the deluxe version, the most expensive item. She set the bowl in front of me and watched nervously as I picked up my chopsticks. “Try it.” I took a huge bite and immediately gave her a thumbs-up. Her cooking was amazing. A moment later, I was clutching the empty bowl, my eyes red. “Iris, why do your noodles taste like my mom’s cooking? I miss my mom…” Seeing my teary eyes, Iris panicked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” I just stared at her. She was so sweet. How could anyone be so sweet? Her bangs fell softly over her beautiful eyes, and that brilliant mind, capable of solving the most complex equations, was now fumbling for words, only able to say “I’m sorry.” I remembered the Vivian from my childhood—a beautiful but proud little swan. These past few years must have been incredibly hard on her. I tilted my head. “You’re going to be successful.” “Huh?” she blinked. “What?” I didn’t say any more. I had never met anyone like Iris. She was standing in mud, but she remained pristine. She was brilliant, consistently ranking first in our grade despite having so little time to study. A temporary loss of shine meant nothing. I knew, with absolute certainty, that Iris Thorne would succeed at whatever she did. 6 I gave Iris her space over the weekend. My hands were itching for some action, so I found a local racing club. I hadn’t been on a track since I arrived in Crestwood. But I was turned away at the door. “Sorry, kid. We’re closed for a private event today.” I pointed to the sign. “But your sign says you’re open.” “Ah, that’s a mistake on our part. Sorry.” I was dejected. It had been hard to find a club with a decent track. I’d loved riding since I was a kid, starting with cows and graduating to bikes. After I discovered racing, my dad sent me abroad to train for a few months. When I was fifteen, he’d sneakily handed me a folder. Inside was the deed to a large plot of hilly land just east of the city—the perfect terrain for the custom track I’d been dreaming of for months. Just as I was about to leave, a gust of wind blew past me. A familiar, beautiful face stopped in front of me. “It’s you!” she said, her voice full of pleasant surprise. It took me a moment to recognize her as the girl from the other night. “You race?” She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. I nodded confidently. “I do. Too bad I can’t get on the track today.” She gestured to the manager who had just been arguing with me, and he immediately backed away. She turned back to me. “How about a race? I’m a fan, too. Think of it as a friendly competition. After this, you can come to the club whenever you want.” I shrugged. I was never one to back down from a challenge. The moment the light turned green, both our cars shot off the line. I saw her car take the first turn with incredible precision, cutting tightly along the inside instead of the standard line. It was clear she’d had professional training. I smiled and wrenched my steering wheel. Too bad for her. She was still no match for me. When the checkered flag fell, her car was nowhere in sight. Back in the lounge, my phone rang. “Kid, it’s about that girl, Iris. Some guys just trashed her food cart. I’m watching now. Are you coming?” I couldn’t follow Iris 24/7, so I’d hired someone to keep an eye on things. I hung up, changed my clothes, and ran out without another word. When Vivian Sterling found the lounge, I was long gone. “Where is he?” she demanded of the manager. “He left. Said something came up. Didn’t even wait a second.” The manager tried to flatter her. “Miss Sterling, I’ve never seen you go so easy on someone. You’re really willing to humble yourself to chase a guy…” Vivian tossed her helmet aside, ignoring him. Go easy on him? Hell no. She had actually lost, to an amateur, even when she was going all out. But she wasn’t angry. A smile played on her lips. She was starting to really like this kid. She opened her group chat and dropped in a photo, her fingers flying across the screen. “See? This is fate. Ran into him again today.” “Hot, right? Even hotter when he’s racing. I’ll take you guys to see him sometime.” The chat exploded with replies, some complimenting the photo, others teasing Vivian for finally falling for someone. Only Becca was quiet. After a long pause, she sent a single picture. “Oh, crap, Vivian.” “You are seriously cursed. The guy you’re crushing on… isn’t that your fiancé from the sticks?” “That new-money kid. Look at our pictures. Aren’t they the same person?” “From what I hear, he really thinks Iris is you. He’s been treating her like a queen.” “This is a total disaster.” Vivian sat up straight. She opened Becca’s photo and stared at it, her heart sinking. After a long moment, she slowly typed back: “What did you just say?”

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After a lifetime of a loveless marriage and single-handedly raising our son, I finally saw him become a brilliant surgeon. I was over fifty, my duty done. That’s when my husband asked for a divorce. It turned out he had only married me because his first love, the free-spirited Lily, wasn’t ready to settle down. I, on the other hand, was gentle, quiet, and educated—the perfect incubator and mother. So, he married me to have a child, intending to swap our babies at birth, a twisted plan like a cuckoo laying its egg in another bird’s nest. Now, their son, the one I had raised, was an accomplished surgeon. My biological son was dying of kidney failure, waiting for me to donate a kidney. At this very moment, they were at my door with a horde of reporters, demanding I give their child back. But they didn’t know one crucial detail. Their switch had never succeeded. What mother wouldn’t recognize her own son? 1 We were all past fifty. Lily White, the wild bird, had finally tired of flying and decided she wanted a simple life. So my husband, Alistair, brought her into our home. They slapped a stack of photos onto my desk, forcing me to look. Alistair’s eyes were cold. “Veronica, the man in these photos, a man named Jack, is your biological son. He has kidney failure. He’s dying.” The photos showed a man ravaged by years of uremia. Jack was gaunt and sallow, a walking skeleton with a grotesquely swollen abdomen. Pain had twisted his features into a permanent, resentful scowl. His life had been one long tragedy. Abandoned at birth, he was taken in by an old, bitter bachelor who wanted someone to care for him in his old age. Jack grew up hungry and beaten, his leg broken in one of the beatings, leaving him with a permanent disability. He dropped out of middle school. He’d done time for theft. After his release, desperate for cash to show off, he’d sold one of his own kidneys. He’d lived extravagantly on the money for two years before the uremia set in. Now, his life was on a countdown. I looked from Alistair to Lily. Lily leaned against Alistair’s shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. “We gave birth in the same hospital. The nurse must have mixed them up when she was bathing the babies.” Mixed them up? It was a blatant, malicious lie concocted by these two vile people. Alistair just looked at me coolly. “Half a lifetime of mistakes. It’s time to set things right. Let’s get a divorce.” He said he’d waited half his life for Lily to be ready, and now his wish was finally coming true. “Veronica, thank you for raising my son so well,” Lily said, her voice dripping with triumph. Alistair looked at her with doting eyes and playfully tapped her nose. The son I had raised, Miles, had excelled in everything since he was a child. Now, he was a brilliant surgeon. To get such an outstanding son without lifting a finger, Lily was practically floating on air. I calmly gathered the photos of Jack from the table. “What’s the rush?” I asked them. “We haven’t even done a DNA test.” “I knew you wouldn’t accept reality,” Lily sneered. “We’re already prepared.” She reached over and plucked a few strands of my hair. “We’ll just send these straight to the lab.” She was smug, victorious. To have her son returned to her, a fully-formed success, while I was left to suffer—she was ecstatic. “Alistair,” I said, looking at him. “Does your conscience not bother you at all?” He answered without hesitation. “You only married me for my money and status. You’ve enjoyed it for all these years, haven’t you?” “Besides,” he added, “you should go meet him. Give him a kidney. He’ll be able to live a few more years, spend some time with you.” In the presence of his first love, a wife was nothing. Especially a wife who had been carefully selected to be a tool. “As long as you have no regrets,” I said. “We’ll talk after the test results are in.” The results would take three days. I stood up to leave. “Lily, are you really ready to stop flying? This all feels like a dream,” Alistair murmured behind me. “Silly, this isn’t a dream. I’ve seen enough of the world. From now on, I’ll watch the clouds with you.” Behind me, Alistair and Lily cooed at each other, like two old trees finding a second spring. 2 I moved into a small apartment I owned. I often stayed there, so it was fully equipped. This day had come much later than I’d anticipated, but it had always been inevitable. I knew, from the moment the absurdity began, that this day would eventually arrive. The memories, long buried, flooded back. Twenty-seven years ago, Alistair had bumped into me, spilling coffee all over my dress. He’d been distraught, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, I ruined your clothes. Let me pay for them.” I had smiled at him gently. “It’s alright.” I wasn’t concerned about the dress. I took a napkin and began to wipe the coffee from the floor. “Every accident is just fate’s way of helping me avoid something bad and welcoming something good.” My calm, gentle demeanor had caught his attention. He crouched down beside me to help clean up the mess. “You’re the most emotionally stable person I’ve ever met.” I smiled. “I just see things differently.” I had learned long ago that panic solves nothing. Emotional stability allowed me to handle any problem with a clear head. Alistair got my number. He asked me to dinner to apologize, and we talked for hours. He poured his heart out to me, and I learned about his past with Lily. They had broken up a year prior, but he was still heartbroken. I advised him to look forward, to cherish the memory of a past love but not let it hold him back. I loved to fish, and Alistair would sit with me for an entire day, saying that being with me brought him peace. He started asking me out more and more, and it was clear where things were headed. One day, he asked me, “If it were you, would you cherish it?” I knew what he was asking. I nodded. “If I were so lucky, I would cherish it with my life.” “And if someone cherished me with their life,” he said, his eyes full of a sincere, hopeful love, “I would love them with my life, too.” How could I not yearn for that? A year later, Alistair proposed. I accepted. Two months after the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to share the happy news, but he said he was working late. I couldn’t wait. I went to his office, only to find him holding Lily in his arms. “My baby is going to be a bastard! I should just get rid of it!” Lily cried, pounding on Alistair’s chest. He held her tightly, letting her vent. “You’re a free spirit, Lily. You don’t want to be tied down by marriage, I know that. I can give you the freedom you want,” he soothed. “Of course we’ll have our baby. Veronica is pregnant, too. She’s gentle and educated, the perfect mother. We’ll just switch the babies.” “Then, when you’re done playing, I’ll divorce her and marry you. We’ll finally be a family.” He said it without a flicker of hesitation. Standing just outside the door, I felt my heart shatter. “What about Veronica’s child?” Lily sniffed. “I’ll take care of her little bastard,” Alistair said dismissively. “We’ll dump it in some backwater town. Whether it lives or dies will be up to fate.” With just two sentences, Alistair had decided the fate of the child in my womb. His child with Lily was a precious baby; my child was a “bastard.” The love I had given him, he didn’t deserve. If he didn’t love me, he could have just said so. I wouldn’t have clung to him. But he didn’t. He wanted me to raise the child of his one true love. Like a cuckoo, laying its egg in another bird’s nest, forcing an unsuspecting mother to raise its young while her own chick is pushed out and left to die. Alistair wanted to play the cuckoo. 3 I went home and pretended I had never been to his office. When Alistair found out I was pregnant, he was ecstatic, spinning me around in his arms. He never missed a single prenatal appointment. But I knew that at the same hospital, he was also attending Lily’s appointments. During labor, Lily went into contractions first. He “accidentally” pushed me, ensuring our sons would be born on the same day. He secretly switched the babies. But he didn’t know that I secretly switched them back. Now, the son I raised was a success, while his son was riddled with disease. This absurd play was finally reaching its end. The DNA results weren’t even back yet when, the next day, my house was surrounded by reporters. The moment I opened the door, a forest of microphones was shoved in my face. “Mrs. Thorne, do you have anything to say about the baby switch twenty-seven years ago?” “Are you planning to donate a kidney to Jack? After all, he’s your biological son, and he’s never known a mother’s love.” “Do you resent your adopted son, Miles? Will you demand he repay you for everything you’ve given him?” An avalanche of sharp, invasive questions. I had no choice but to slam the door. I turned on my phone. Messages of concern from friends flooded in. I had become a trending topic. #FATE_AT_BIRTH_TWO_DIFFERENT_LIVES_TRAGEDY_VS_TRIUMPH #BABY_SWITCH_27_YEARS_AGO_JACKS_CURRENT_STATE_MILES_CURRENT_STATE #A_LIFETIME_OF_ERROR_ONE_MISTAKE_CHANGES_EVERYTHING #A_MOTHERS_KIDNEY_COULD_SAVE_JACKS_LIFE The headlines were glaring, sensational. I clicked on one. Miles was a top surgeon, a graduate of a prestigious university. Jack was a delinquent, now tormented by illness. The contrast was stark. The whole internet was buzzing. The topic of the kidney donation was the most heated. People were extolling the virtues of motherly love. Countless comments read, “If that were my son, I would donate a kidney in a heartbeat to save him.” People pitied Jack, sympathizing with the life that had been stolen from him. The video of me coldly slamming the door on the reporters this morning quickly went viral, with all sorts of judgmental headlines. My son, Miles, called. “Mom, is what they’re saying online true?” His voice was shaken. He’d seen the news and was in disbelief, wrestling with himself before finally calling. “Of course not. I can say with absolute certainty that you are my son,” I soothed him. How could I possibly have raised someone else’s child? “But Mom, Dad sent me a message, and he was so sure… and that woman, Lily, she wants me to call her Mom.” Miles was terrified. He couldn’t believe something so bizarre could be happening to him. “The results will be out in two days. Just be patient.” Explaining it all would be easy, but I wanted to see what other tricks Alistair and Lily had up their sleeves. 4 “Miles, stay off the internet for a few days. Play some games, relax.” My son was resilient, but online harassment was a different beast. It was safer for him to disconnect for a while. “Okay, Mom. You too.” He was worried about me, just as I was about him. After we hung up, I calmly made myself a bowl of instant noodles. But soon, a video call came through from the property manager, Mr. King. “Mrs. Thorne, you should probably come down… There’s a sick man here in the complex looking for you…” “He says… he says he’s your son. He’s begging to see you…” Mr. King sounded stressed. He flipped the camera, and I saw a group of aggressive-looking people. Jack was there, lying on a hospital gurney. Beside him, a man who looked nearly seventy was yelling, “I raised someone else’s son for twenty-seven years! Think of the damages! She has to compensate me!” “I raised Jack from a baby! Now he’s dying, and there’s no one to take care of me in my old age! I spent hundreds of thousands on him! Who am I supposed to complain to?” The old man, Jack’s adoptive father, David, was spewing his grievances. He was a lazy bachelor who had never managed to find a wife. He’d found the abandoned baby Jack and kept him. When others, seeing a healthy baby boy, offered to adopt him, David had chased them away. He claimed raising Jack was difficult, but that was a lie. He barely fed himself, and Jack was raised on cheap formula and rice paste. He never changed diapers, never took him to a doctor. As soon as Jack was old enough, he was forced to work and serve him. David beat him regularly. The claim of spending hundreds of thousands was laughable. “Get her down here! If I don’t get an answer today, I’m not leaving!” David shouted, belligerent and unreasonable. “Mrs. Thorne, you heard him. We really can’t touch this guy. Please, come down,” Mr. King pleaded in a low voice. Reporters had gotten wind of the situation and were already there, many of them live-streaming the spectacle. I hung up and called Alistair. He declined the call and sent a text instead. [Veronica, stop making a scene. I had no choice. Lily was jealous, so I had to do this.] [You’ve had me for almost thirty years. She’s angry. And you’ve enjoyed a good life for all this time.] [Besides, you’ll get a good settlement in the divorce. And he is your biological son, isn’t he?] I almost laughed out loud at the message. So, he and Lily were the innocent, star-crossed lovers, and I was the villain? I called the police. When they arrived, I went downstairs. With the police present, the reporters were a little more subdued. When Jack saw me, he became incredibly emotional. “Mom! Mom!” he cried, his eyes red. “I didn’t come here to cause trouble. I was just afraid I wouldn’t make it to tomorrow… I just wanted to see you.” He was putting on a good act, but I knew his real motive. He wanted to force me to get tested for a kidney match. His body couldn’t wait. The public attention was at its peak, and Jack wanted to live. David eyed me up and down, a lecherous smile on his face. “So you’re Jack’s real mom? I guess that makes us family, then.” I ignored David and walked over to Jack. “Jack,” I said calmly. “Do you remember me? I sponsored you once.” Jack froze, as if trying to recall something. Then, his voice trembled as he asked, “You… you’re Auntie Grace?”

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To piss off my rival, I started calling him “hubby” like one of his obsessive fangirls. On the basketball court, I’d yell with everything I had: “You’re so hot, hubby! You’re the best!” The result? He pinned me against a wall, kissing me hard before pulling back just enough to ask. “So, tell me more. How amazing is your hubby?” Wait, what? I thought he was homophobic?! 1 That morning, the driver had just brought the car to a smooth stop when I saw Justin’s silhouette flash past the window. Just a kid in a school uniform, his back lean and proud as he bent slightly to lock up his bicycle. I scrambled out of the car and chased him down, slapping him right on the ass. He shot upright, the look in his eyes promising murder. I danced a few steps back, a shit-eating grin on my face. “Damn, Justin, you’ve got a great ass! Feels good!” I taunted. “Why are you glaring at me like that? Want to feel mine in return?” I even stuck my own ass out for emphasis. Justin stared at me for two solid seconds, his face a stony mask. He said nothing, just finished locking his bike, walked around me, and disappeared through the school gates. Perfect. He was pissed. That meant I was happy. A beautiful day starts with getting under Justin’s skin. 2 I didn’t always want to be this way with Justin, but the guy just didn’t know what was good for him. He transferred to our school near the end of junior year. A transfer student at that time of year, combined with his striking looks, caused a massive stir among the girls in our grade. I didn’t pay him much attention at first. He was just another face in the classroom. Until one day, my driver was taking me to school when it started pouring rain. The car broke down halfway there. I tried calling for an Uber, but no one was accepting rides. Just then, Justin pulled up beside me on his beat-up old bicycle. “Hey, you’re going to be late,” he said. “I can give you a ride.” It was the first time in my seventeen years of life that I’d ever ridden on the back of a bicycle. That hard metal rack was pure agony on my ass. When we got to school, I dropped a hundred-dollar bill on his desk as a thank you. He frowned and pushed it back to me. “Hey, you dropped this.” He’s playing it cool, I thought. Is a hundred not enough? With a rare burst of patience, I explained it was for the ride he gave me that morning. Only then did a flicker of recognition cross his face. It turned out he had no idea who I was. Me. Charles Hale. I practically ran this school, and this guy didn’t even recognize me. Whatever. He was clueless, but I wasn’t the type to hold a grudge over something so small. If he wouldn’t take money, I’d buy him food, drinks, whatever. In my family, we don’t just accept favors without paying them back. But the bastard refused everything. Hah. What a poser. After watching him for a week or two, I realized the guy was a complete island. He had no friends, did nothing but attend class, read, and do practice problems. He was a total loner. Since he wouldn’t take gifts, I figured I’d try to be his friend. I invited him to play basketball, to grab food after school. He turned me down again. No one had ever turned me down so consistently. He was just asking for it. My crew, ever the opportunists, saw their chance. “Charles, you want us to teach him a lesson for you?” I was in the middle of a game and already pissed off, so I barely listened and just nodded. A few days later, I heard Justin had been beaten up. I was catching up on sleep at my desk when a stack of papers slammed down on it. I blinked my eyes open, confused. Justin stood over me, his face glacial. “You can have me beaten to death, but I will never do your homework for you.” I was completely lost. “When did I beat you up? And when did I ask you to do my homework?” He let out a cold, angry laugh. “Man enough to do it, but not to admit it.” That set me off. “You better have some proof before you start throwing accusations around, you asshole!” Justin’s gaze swept over me and my crew standing nearby, dripping with contempt. Whatever he was thinking, he just clenched his fists and walked away, seething. When I finally figured out what had happened, I chewed my guys out. I might be an arrogant prick, but I don’t bully people. I apologized to Justin later. He ignored me. At that point, I gave up on the whole “friendship” idea. I never imagined that one day, he’d be the one to report me. 3 During a break in our senior year, I was behind the old, abandoned warehouse with my crew, having a smoke. Even though none of us were academic superstars, the intense, stressed-out atmosphere of senior year was getting to me. A smoke break in this hidden corner had become my ritual. I had just lit a cigarette and put it to my lips. And there, at the entrance to our little hideout, stood Justin. With the Dean of Students. Justin pointed right at me. “Mr. Davison, the cigarette butts you found in the boys’ bathroom last week? That was them, too.” Son of a bitch. I glared at Justin. He just stared straight ahead, his expression placid. As if I didn’t even exist. Alright, Justin. You’ve crossed the line. This was war. But if he thought reporting me would get me in any real trouble, he was painfully naive. Like I said, I run this school. And why is that? Because the brand-new computer lab and the renovated library? My dad paid for them. I got an earful when I got home, but at school, I was untouchable. I made sure to rub it in his face. “What’s the matter? Surprised your little report did absolutely nothing to me?” Justin didn’t even look up from his worksheet. “Charles, I never expected you to get punished.” “Then why the hell did you bother reporting me?” He flipped his scratch paper over. “Smoking violates the student code of conduct. As your classmate, I’m simply concerned about your physical and mental well-being.” Concerned about my well-being, my ass. I kicked his desk and stormed off, cursing under my breath. Suddenly, Justin’s calm voice drifted after me. “But the guys you hang out with weren’t so lucky, were they?” After the Dean busted us, everyone except me got their bags searched. And unlike me, my crew wasn’t immune. One of them had something that had been reported stolen in his backpack. Besides writing apologies, some got suspended. One even got expelled. It suddenly hit me. Those were the same guys who had beaten up Justin. A cold dread washed over me. 4 Justin might live like a hermit, but you couldn’t deny he was brilliant. He won first place in the state math competition our senior year, making him an overnight celebrity at school. Even with his ice-cold demeanor, clueless girls were constantly stuffing snacks and drinks into his desk. Whenever this happened, I would magically appear, snatch the offerings, and stuff them in my mouth. Then I’d say, with a disgusting grin, “I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, but seeing your stuff really gets me going.” Then, mockingly, “Hey, weren’t you the one so concerned about your classmates’ health? Why the long face?” Justin would just stare at me. After a long moment, he’d walk down to the school store and buy the exact same items to give back to the girl. But what I didn’t expect was that it wasn’t just girls who were fooled by him. There were guys, too. One day, I happened to see a guy from the class next door corner Justin and confess his feelings. Justin said he wasn’t into guys and tried to leave, but the other guy got pissed and started getting physical, even trying to force a kiss on him. I was watching from the sidelines, thrilled. This was pure gold. Serves you right, Justin-boy. Justin finally snapped. He landed a solid punch in the guy’s stomach and walked away. I was still buzzing from the drama. And then it hit me—I had a brand new way to mess with him. When Justin was at the urinal, I’d stand next to him, dramatically glance down, and let out a theatrical gasp. “Whoa~” Justin would yank up his pants in disgust and move as far away from me as possible. During gym class, I’d sneak up behind him and smack his ass, giving it a little squeeze on the way out. “Whoa~” When Justin got his shirt dirty and went to change, I’d deliberately get too close. “Whoa~ Justin, you’re so pale.” Justin finally reached his breaking point and asked our homeroom teacher to transfer classes. Of course, our teacher didn’t want to lose a star student like him, and every other teacher was fighting to get him. In the end, our teacher called my dad. I got yelled at half to death and ended up hating Justin even more. 5 I discovered that the girls on the school’s Confession Page were calling Justin “hubby.” What terrible taste. Absolutely terrible taste. They had a rich, handsome guy like me right here, and they were chasing after Justin? The next day, I ran into Justin at the school gate again. Just as my hand was about to make contact with its favorite target—his ass—he spun around and grabbed my wrist. I scoffed. “Nice moves. Quick reflexes.” He shoved my hand away and started walking off without a word. That’s when I shouted, “Hubby!” Every head at the school entrance snapped in our direction. Justin froze for a split second, then started walking faster. Haha! He was flustered. This was glorious. I immediately ran after him, yelling even louder. “Hubby! Hey, Hubby Justin! Hubby Justin, why are you walking so fast? Wait for me!” Within a day, the story of me screaming “hubby” at Justin at the school gate was legendary. My newest followers were worried. “Charles, man, I get that you hate the guy, but this is like a suicide mission. What if people think you’re gay?” I thought they were worrying for nothing. So I call him hubby, and that makes me gay? If you guys called me your ancestor, would that make me George Washington? I just forgot one simple fact: even a cornered rabbit will bite back. And Justin was far from being a rabbit. That day, the school organized a sports day for the seniors to help us de-stress. Justin couldn’t hide in the classroom this time. He had to come out, and he ended up playing basketball—on the opposing team. On the court, I made it my mission to intercept his every move, gloating and taunting him. “Hubby! Hubby, why don’t you have the ball? Can’t get it?” My comment sent a ripple of laughter through the other players. Justin missed shot after shot. I smirked, targeting him relentlessly. “Hubby? What’s wrong, hubby?” “Why so quiet, hubby? Are you just naturally the silent type?” Justin’s face was turning darker by the second. Finally, after fighting through a wall of defenders, he managed to sink a basket. I gasped dramatically. “Whoa! So hot, hubby! You’re amazing!” Justin gave me one long, deep look, then turned and walked off the court. I’d really gotten to him today. I was ecstatic, humming a little tune as I headed to the locker room to change. I had just pushed the door open when a powerful force slammed me against the wall. 6 The next thing I knew, Justin’s face was inches from mine. “What are you—” doing here? Before I could finish, Justin’s mouth was on mine. It was a fierce, rushed kiss, his lips and tongue attacking mine, biting and bruising. For the first time, I realized how strong he was. I struggled, but he pinned my hands easily, holding me completely still. There was no emotion in it, no skill, just raw force. My lips were starting to ache. After what felt like an eternity, he pulled back slightly, though his grip didn’t loosen. We were both panting, out of breath. I shot him my most murderous glare. “Justin, are you insane?! Let me go!” He took a breath, his expression blank. “What happened to ‘hubby’?” I scowled. “Are you sick?” “You were just calling me hubby, weren’t you? What’s wrong with a husband kissing his wife?” Now it was my turn to get pissed. “Wife, my ass! I’m a guy!” A humorless smile touched his lips. “So what if you’re a guy? Weren’t you just cheering about how amazing your hubby is?” Then, before I could react, he kissed me again. This time it was even harder, but he was a fast learner. He wasn’t just conquering my mouth; his hands started roaming over my waist, and my knees actually started to feel weak. A wave of panic washed over me. He’s… he’s supposed to be homophobic! What the hell is with all the kissing and touching?! Justin finally pulled his head back, his grip loosening just a bit. “Now, tell me more. How amazing is your hubby?” Amazing my ass! You psycho! I shoved him away with all my might and bolted, not even daring to change my clothes. As I ran, Justin’s cold voice followed me. “Charles. From now on, every time you call me hubby, I’m going to kiss you.” “I mean it. Try me if you don’t believe me.” 7 People at school started noticing that I’d go out of my way to avoid Justin. Like he was the Grim Reaper himself. My crew was confused. “Charles, why are you scared of him? Let’s get him!” I felt like my guys and I were on completely different wavelengths. When I was on the warpath, they told me to back off. Now that I was backing off, they wanted me to go after him. So I beat them up. Now we were all on the same wavelength. We all avoided Justin. Suddenly, Justin became the guy even the school bully was afraid of. Someone on the Confession Page said it looked like we broke up. I was furious. What do you mean, broke up? We were never together in the first place! Someone else lamented that their favorite “ship” had apparently sunk. Ugh. Clearly, they didn’t have enough homework to do. But Justin’s life? It didn’t change at all. He was still number one in every exam, still had his head buried in a book, still wore that same faded school uniform, and still rode that piece-of-junk bicycle that even a thief would pity. My life felt like it had gone back to how it was before Justin ever transferred. Time flew by, and just like that, it was winter break. 8 It was New Year’s Eve, at the annual family banquet. My father and my stepmother were in the center of the grand hall, exchanging fake pleasantries. My other relatives stood around them, their smiles just as phony. It was a picture of perfect, artificial harmony. I was staring blankly at my plate, bored out of my mind, when someone bumped into me. Wine sloshed all over my suit. A waiter stammered an apology, crouching down to pick up the shattered glass. Looking at my stained clothes, I clicked my tongue in annoyance. “Forget it, don’t pick it up. Just get housekeeping to—” My words died in my throat when I saw the waiter’s face. “…Justin?” Justin, dressed in a waiter’s uniform, flinched but kept his head down, continuing to clean up the mess. The hotel manager rushed over, first berating Justin, then turning to me with an apologetic smile. I waved him off, pointing at Justin. “Have him take me to get changed.” The moment we were inside the hotel room they provided, Justin pursed his lips and spoke. “How much will the dry cleaning cost? I’ll pay you.” The banquet was painfully dull, and seeing him here, an idea for some fun sparked in my mind. “Not much, a few thousand maybe. But if you… service me right, I’ll let it slide.” I never expected the cool and collected academic genius to turn bright red. He just stood there, frozen. I was getting impatient and was about to mock him when he slowly raised his hands. I closed my eyes with a smug grin, ready to enjoy being waited on by my rival. But then I heard a rustling sound that didn’t seem right. I opened my eyes. Justin had already taken off his shirt. I leaped off the sofa in shock. “What the hell, Justin? Why are you taking your clothes off?” Justin’s face was a mask of humiliation and defiance. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Mr. Hale? The ‘service’ you rich gay guys are into? Isn’t this it?” What the hell? Us rich gay guys? I exploded. “Who the fuck is gay? You’re the gay one! What is wrong with your brain?!” “I wanted you to give me a foot massage! You’re a waiter here! Don’t you know this hotel is famous for its foot massages?” Justin’s expression went blank for a second. His face flushed, then paled, then flushed again. It took him a long moment to force out the words, his voice tight with embarrassment. “I’m a temp for the holidays. I only work the banquet hall. I didn’t know.” I closed my eyes, all my mischievous energy gone. I waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Just get out.” “Your suit—” “Worry about yourself. I’ve got more suits than I can count. This one getting dirty is nothing.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393922”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The moment I found out my brother was the tragic, manipulative ex in some real-life romance drama, he was in the bathroom trying to kill himself. I kicked the door open. “Get downstairs and buy me a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos,” I ordered. “And some Cool Ranch Doritos. And a Coke.” My brother, Leo, froze. “But—” “I’ll count to three!” He shot up from the water. “Okay, okay! The Cheetos—you want the regular kind or the lime-flavored ones?” Just then, a stream of text scrolled across my vision. [LMAO, I thought the tragic ex was supposed to be some dark, brooding, manipulative genius. Turns out he’s just terrified of his big sister!] [That’s the terrifying power of a big sister right there!] [Hahaha, this supposed supervillain knows his sister’s snack preferences by heart. He’s definitely done this run a thousand times!] 1 The bathroom door hung crookedly on its hinges from the force of my kick. My brother scrambled to hide the fruit knife behind his back. I shot him a withering look, pulled a twenty-dollar bill from my pocket, and slapped it into his hand. “Five bucks for your trouble. Not a penny more.” “Can’t you just order delivery?” he mumbled, his lower lip trembling. “Delivery is unhealthy!” He blinked, clearly bewildered by my logic, then grabbed a towel from the rack and headed out, muttering under his breath, “And I suppose spicy Cheetos are the pinnacle of nutrition.” After he left, I glanced at the fruit knife he’d hidden by the tub. It was clean. I flashed back to a few minutes ago, when I was lounging on the sofa, binge-watching a show. Suddenly, lines of text had materialized in front of my eyes. [Your sister’s just chilling here, completely clueless. You better get a move on, your brother is about to do something stupid again!] [She probably doesn’t even know. Her brother is the ‘tragic villain’ in a romance novel. He goes completely off the rails because he can’t accept that the female lead started dating the male lead as his replacement.] [But I heard the sister always resented her ungrateful little brother…] [Forget it, Kristen, you should just run. In a little while, your villainous brother is going to destroy himself, and he’s going to take you down with him!] I blinked. Excuse me? This sounded suspiciously like one of those trashy web novels I’d been seeing online. But wait. My brother was going to die soon, and I was going to die with him? No way. A fortune-teller once told me I was destined for a long and prosperous life. I exercise daily, drink milk tea from a thermos for my health, and even mutter a little eulogy for the souls of the rice grains I’m about to consume. How could I possibly end up with an early grave? Unacceptable. Leo returned with my Doritos, Cheetos, and a yogurt drink, placing them by my side. “They were out of Coke, so I got you a yogurt instead.” With that, he started tiptoeing back toward the bathroom. “Make dinner,” I said without looking up from my bag of chips. “I want orange chicken and sweet and sour ribs.” Leo’s shoulders slumped. He let out a long-suffering sigh and obediently shuffled toward the kitchen. 2 Half an hour later, the table was laden with all my favorite dishes. Leo watched me nervously. “Dinner’s ready.” “Coming,” I nodded, putting away my snacks. He seemed to be in a hurry, taking only a few bites before putting down his chopsticks. He sat across from me, lips pressed together, watching as I devoured a rib while my eyes were already locked on the orange chicken. A rule in our house since we were kids: the younger one can’t leave the table until the older one is finished. So, I ate. Slowly. My mind, however, was racing, trying to figure out how to stop my brother from framing the main characters of this story. The pop-up comments seemed confused by my behavior. [Kristen’s got a crazy appetite today. She’s eaten five whole dishes by herself!] [Yeah, didn’t she always complain that her brother’s cooking was disgusting? Why is she eating for so long this time?] [Is it just me, or is Kristen acting really weird…] I frowned, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “Who said my brother’s cooking is disgusting? It’s delicious!” The moment I said it, I felt a burning gaze on me. When I looked up, he quickly averted his eyes. Leo pushed a plate of food closer to me, his voice a little hoarse. “I’m glad you like it.” I stared at his downcast eyes and the tips of his ears, which were flushed a bright red. A lump formed in my throat. I was always so busy with work. When was the last time I’d actually taken a good look at the little brother who’d been by my side through thick and thin? 3 I blinked away the sudden sting in my eyes and shoveled a few more bites of rice into my mouth. When I was finally done, Leo cleared the table with practiced efficiency. After everything was clean, he headed back to the bathroom. And locked the door. I walked over and knocked. “Leo, hey. Can you take Bear for a walk? It’s late and I’m a little scared to go out by myself. Hurry up.” Silence. I turned, walked to the balcony, and nudged the sleeping Samoyed with my foot. Leo had found him in a dumpster when he was twelve. He was too scared to bring him home, afraid I’d be angry, so he used his own lunch money to feed the little stray. He’d raised him from a tiny fluffball into the big, dopey creature he was today. Bear, rudely awakened, grumbled and let out a couple of grumpy barks. The bathroom door creaked open. Leo’s face was blank as he wordlessly began searching for the leash. “Bear, come!” The comments exploded. [What villain? This is clearly his sister’s most loyal golden retriever!] [Framing the male lead can wait. If big sister wants orange chicken, she gets orange chicken. Walking Bear is more important than framing the male lead…] [Wait a second… I’m getting the feeling Kristen is actively trying to stop him from framing the male lead.] [Agree. In the book, today was the day he was supposed to do it. If she can just get him past midnight, maybe the male lead will be safe?] Whether it was true or not, I had to try. 4 Outside, Leo walked Bear while I trailed behind, sipping on a freshly squeezed orange juice I’d just bought. The smell of barbecue from a nearby stall was too tempting to resist… By the time I’d bought my skewers, the dog was gone. And so was my brother. A jolt of panic shot through me. I imagined him holding up a bleeding wrist, crying to the female lead about what the hero had supposedly done to him. I was about to call him when a voice cut through the darkness. “Kristen.” A streetlight in the park had flickered out, and standing in the dim light was a boy and his dog. Leo held up his phone, its flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. “I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s go home.” A warmth spread through my chest, but on the surface, I just huffed. “What’s the rush? Can’t you walk any slower?” “Okay,” he said, shortening the leash, his tone cautious. “Sorry, Kristen. Bear was running too fast.” He slowed his pace. The beam of his phone, however, was now aimed entirely at my feet, silently lighting the path ahead. By the time we passed through the dark stretch of the park, I could tell his arm was stiff from holding the phone at that angle. He seemed terrified of me. Under the warm yellow streetlights, Leo held the leash in one hand and my half-finished orange juice and uneaten skewers in the other. I, on the other hand, walked with a serene expression, lightly tugging on his sleeve. For the next two hours, I dragged him around the park, loop after loop, until even Bear couldn’t take it anymore and collapsed on the path, playing dead. Only then did I finally relent. The second we got home, I pointed at Bear. “He stinks. Give him a bath.” 5 Leo’s dark eyes stared at me, unblinking. I, however, was yawning so hard my jaw ached. I flopped onto the sofa and pretended to pass out. Finally, he took a deep breath, put the leash back, and dragged Bear by his hind legs into the bathroom. Just as he finished washing and blow-drying the dog, I pointed to a grease stain on the carpet from my chips. “Leo,” I said, my voice full of righteous indignation, “that rug was expensive. It has to be hand-washed. Don’t you dare put it in the machine.” He just nodded. He deftly rolled up the dirty rug and replaced it with a clean one. A moment later, I heard the sound of him scrubbing in the bathroom. And so it went. Under my “supervision,” Leo mopped the floors, washed the windows, and took down the curtains to be laundered. Finally, when there was absolutely nothing left to do, he walked over to where I was dozing on the sofa. “Kristen,” he said softly. “I’m done.” It was an hour before midnight. I couldn’t let him sleep. With a jolt, I sat bolt upright. “I want some dragon fruit,” I said, my voice raspy. “It’s in the fridge!” A smile lit up his face, his eyes sparkling. “Wait right there, sis. I’ll get it for you.” Watching his retreating back, I frowned so hard I could have crushed a fly between my eyebrows. For some reason, I could have sworn I heard a note of pure, unadulterated joy in his voice. 6 He returned with a plate of perfectly cubed dragon fruit, looking refreshed and cheerful. I, on the other hand, felt like the one who’d just done a full day of chores. Seeing my silence, his smile faltered. He ducked his head, looking wounded. “Kristen, the dragon fruit is ready. I changed the sheets on your bed and lit the aromatherapy candle for you… If there’s nothing else, I’m going to go get ready for bed.” The comments started buzzing again. [Damn, it’s after eleven and this dude is still determined to frame the male lead!] [Well, his sister already treats him like dirt. Now she’s worked him like a slave all day. Of course he’s resentful.] [This is probably when he decides the female lead is his only salvation!] [Kristen, think of something, quick!] 7 “Pick out the seeds for me,” I blurted out. Leo’s eyes widened in disbelief. “The… the seeds from the dragon fruit?” he asked in a small voice. I cleared my throat and, under his incredulous gaze, nodded. And so I watched him sit on a small stool, painstakingly picking out the tiny black seeds from each cube of fruit. His features were becoming more and more like our mother’s. Ten years ago, Mom died of cancer, and Dad remarried. People always say that a new mom means a new dad, and in our case, it was brutally true. Less than six months after Mom’s death, we were homeless. Lost in thought, I didn’t notice he was done until he pushed the plate in front of me. He was smiling, looking at me like a puppy waiting for praise. “All done, Kristen. Eat up!” I took a bite. “It’s so sweet!” After I’d eaten half the fruit, Leo again said he was going to bed. But then his phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. Lana. [Why is the female lead calling him?] [I remember! In the book, after the villain cuts his wrist, he calls the FL and tearfully tells her he’s ‘setting her free’ to be with the ML. That’s what makes her think the ML hurt her precious ‘white moonlight’ and she starts to hate him!] [But he didn’t do it this time… so my baby Julian won’t be framed, right?!] Julian? So that was the male lead’s name? It sounded familiar… Leo stared at the screen for a long time. My own heart started to pound. But then he answered, and in front of me, he made a few minutes of idle, meaningless small talk. I watched the clock on the wall tick past midnight and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. After Leo hung up, his gaze on me darkened. “We’ll always be together, right?” The question came out of nowhere. I opened my mouth to answer, but he quickly looked away. “I’m… I’m going to bed, Kristen. Good night.” And he fled. I didn’t think much of it. I peeked through the crack in his door and saw the light go out. Silence. He must have been exhausted and fallen straight to sleep. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. I grabbed my comforter, made a makeshift bed on the floor outside his room, and lay down. This way, if he tried to leave, I’d wake up immediately. 8 In a state between waking and sleeping, my mind drifted back ten years. I had just been accepted into a top junior high school. I came home, acceptance letter in hand, only to find my mother’s cold body. And my brother, kneeling beside her, numb and silent. That very night, our father brought home a beautiful woman. She was his first love. They had been together since high school but had broken up over a misunderstanding. Now, they were back together. The woman—our new auntie—was incredibly kind to us. She cooked delicious meals, helped Leo with his homework, took him to amusement parks, and would gently apply medicine to his bruises after our father punished him for bad grades. She bought me pretty dresses. She would tell me, in the same soft voice as my mother, that I was the most beautiful girl in the world. The feeling was so familiar, so warm. We both grew to love her, though we were too shy to call her “Mom.” But in our hearts, she already was. Then, she brought home a little boy. He was about Leo’s age. Our father told us he was our real brother. I didn’t understand then. How could our auntie’s child be our real brother? But after the little boy arrived, she had no time for us anymore. Leo’s room became the new boy’s playroom. My academic awards were folded into paper airplanes and scattered everywhere. Leo spent his allowance on a dinosaur toy for the new boy, only to have it thrown in the trash. The little boy cried hysterically, screaming that he was hurt. Our auntie held him tight, her eyes glaring at me and Leo with disgust. “He doesn’t like these things. Stay away from him!” When our father came home, he didn’t even ask what happened. He just made us kneel all night as punishment. From that day on, I knew. We didn’t have a mother, and we didn’t have a father. We were crammed into the smallest room, eating their leftovers, cleaning the house and doing laundry like servants. On the little boy’s birthday, he was the center of the universe, dressed in a custom-tailored suit, surrounded by adoring relatives. The living room was overflowing with flowers, cakes, and piles of presents. Leo and I hid in a corner, watching from afar, completely out of place. 9 The next year, I became a boarding student. When I came home for winter break, I found Leo covered in bruises, kneeling on the floor and scrubbing, his body burning with fever. When he was done, he staggered to the kitchen to cook. I held his feverish body and begged our father to take him to the hospital. Our father, who was on the floor playing with the little boy, just snorted. “That little brat stole money from your aunt and broke my son’s new toy. He deserves it!” “No… it wasn’t me…” Leo sobbed, tugging at my sleeve. Our auntie, sitting nearby admiring her new manicure, shot me a look of pure loathing. “Your brother is a delinquent. If we don’t teach him a lesson now, he’ll grow up to be a menace to society!” That night, I took Leo to the hospital by myself. While we were gone, our auntie had someone throw all of our clothes and belongings out onto the street. Our father watched in cold silence, his approval implicit. I was twelve. Leo was eight. After that, I dropped out of school to support him. I collected cans, washed dishes, handed out flyers… whatever it took. Under my strict upbringing, Leo thrived. He was always at the top of his class, a ray of sunshine so handsome his classmates called him the “campus heartthrob.” He was obedient and responsible, handling all the cooking and cleaning without complaint. He never gave me a moment’s worry. He was such a good kid. How could he have become the “vicious villain” the pop-up comments described? And Julian… how could he be the hero everyone felt sorry for? 10 But I overestimated my ability to stay awake. When I opened my eyes, the sun was already high in the sky. The door to my brother’s room was open. The bed was empty. Where was he? Did he sneak out while I was asleep to cause trouble? A surge of anger propelled me to my feet. But when I checked the bathroom, it was spotless. My toothbrush had toothpaste already on it, the washing machine was churning with a load of clothes, and my white sneakers were soaking in a basin. This was a far cry from the scene I had imagined: my brother lying in the tub, blood streaming from his wrist, whispering with his dying breath: Julian… did this to me… “Kristen?” Leo’s clear voice came from behind me. I turned. He was holding a tray with breakfast and a glass of juice, looking completely normal. “Hurry up and wash your face. Lunch is ready.” I stared at him for a long moment. I numbly brushed my teeth and walked to the table. As I drank the freshly squeezed juice and watched my brother across from me, a wave of pure, unadulterated joy washed over me. It was past midnight. He really wasn’t going to do it. I had succeeded. My intense staring seemed to unnerve him. “…Kristen? Is the juice not right? I can make you a new one. What flavor do you want?” Just then, the doorbell rang. Leo didn’t seem surprised. He glanced at me, grabbed an extra set of utensils, and went to open the door. Standing outside, holding a bouquet of roses, was the female lead. The moment Lana saw my brother, her eyes lit up. “Leo! I’m here to pick you up!” Leo didn’t speak, but his ears turned bright red. What the hell? I thought. “I’m so sorry, Leo,” Lana said, turning to me. “I didn’t know Julian would say those things about you. Anyway, Kristen, Leo and I have plans to go to an auction today. Do you want to come with us?” She added, “I heard there’s a special mystery item. If you like it, just let me know. I’ll definitely bid on it for you.” Lana was like a little ball of sunshine. She wasn’t shy around me at all, even shoving the bouquet of roses into my arms. Leo seemed used to her chattering. He pushed a glass of juice toward her and said calmly, “My sister’s very busy. She doesn’t have time to go play with you.” [The drama is about to explode!] [It’s over! It’s over! Because the male lead called the villain ‘ill-mannered,’ the villain is going to auction off the female lead’s private photos and frame the ML for it!] [You bastard villain, I’m going to kill you!] [Kristen, say something!]

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