Category: English

One in the morning, and I was scrolling through a local community board when I saw an SOS post. [S]: Help me. I’m on the metro and I can’t get off. A few replies had already trickled in. [User774]: Pro tip: the train has to stop before you can get off. [NightOwl21]: Sounds like someone’s half asleep. Then the original poster, S, replied again. [S]: I’m not asleep! I know how a metro works! But this train has been moving nonstop for ten minutes! The trip between these two stations is only supposed to take four minutes! [User774]: Whoa, okay, stay calm. Maybe it’s a malfunction. Which line are you on? I can try to contact transit control for you. [S]: Riverton Metro, Line 2. I stared at the last reply, and my blood ran cold. I was on that train. 1. I glanced at the time on my phone: 1:11 AM. It had been exactly eleven minutes since I boarded. Line 2 was Riverton’s main commuter line. The trains were frequent, the stops close together. Running this long without stopping was definitely not right. If I hadn’t stumbled upon that post, lost in the endless scroll, I might not have even noticed. My fingers flew across the screen as I replied. [Ava91]: Which car are you in? I think I’m on the same train. He replied almost instantly. [S]: The last one. It’s just a habit. [Ava91]: Don’t move. I’m coming to find you. 2. Three minutes later, I found him in the rear car. He introduced himself as Sam, a sophomore in college. “Thank God,” he breathed, clutching his chest in relief. “Another living person.” “You have no idea,” he rambled, his words spilling out in a rush. “When I realized the train wasn’t stopping, especially after one in the morning… I was terrified. For a second, I thought I’d stepped into some creepypasta story, you know? Like I was in another dimension.” He looked at me, his eyes wide. “So, uh… what do we do now?” Looking into his wide, earnest eyes, I had no doubt he was just a college kid. He had the presence of mind to post on a forum but hadn’t thought to make a simple call for help. “Let’s start with the emergency line,” I suggested. A few more minutes had crawled by, and the train showed no signs of slowing down. A malfunction seemed like the most logical explanation. I dialed the six-digit number printed on a sticker by the door. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service.” The automated voice made me freeze. Did I misdial? It was only six digits. I hung up, double-checked the number, and carefully punched it in again. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service.” Again. And again. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service…” After several failed attempts, the same robotic response echoed in the quiet car. Sam swallowed hard. “Ma’am… are you sure you’re dialing it right?” “I don’t think I’d get it wrong four times in a row,” I said, though a seed of doubt was planted. “Maybe it’s your phone,” Sam said, slapping his forehead as if struck by a brilliant idea. He pulled out his own phone. “Let me try.” “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in—” “NOT! IN! SERVICE!” a piercing shriek suddenly screamed from his phone, so loud and distorted that Sam nearly dropped it. His face went pale. “Ma’am… is my phone broken too?” At this point, my own composure was starting to fray. I was only three years older than him, just another corporate drone who’d been working for a year. I gripped a handrail, my knuckles white. “Why don’t you… check the post again? See what people are saying.” Sam fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking slightly. The thread had a dozen new replies. [CommuterDude]: Wow, another unlucky soul on board? [SleeplessInRiverton]: Hold on, does the metro even run this late? I thought they shut down at midnight. [CityDweller]: That’s only for the suburban lines. The main city lines in Riverton run until 2:30 AM. … [WorriedMom]: OP? Other commenter? Are you two okay? It’s been a while. [ScaryStoriesFan]: I’ve read enough of these online stories to know what happens next! They’ve crossed into a mysterious parallel dimension. Right now, they’re probably hiding from zombies or a vengeful ghost! Sam pointed a trembling finger at that last comment. “You don’t think he’s right, do you?” he whispered. “Probably not,” I said, pointing to another reply further down. “Look, this person says they called the emergency line for us.” Sam scrolled down. Sure enough, a user named SturdyCarrot had posted a few comments below. [SturdyCarrot]: Don’t panic, you two. I’ve already called it in. The staff said they’re running a system diagnostic now. [S]: Thank you so much! By the way, what’s the number you called? We keep trying, but it says it’s not in service. [SturdyCarrot]: It’s 618-999. “Son of a…” Sam swore under his breath. “The sticker on the wall here says 619-888.” “So we couldn’t get through because of a typo.” I sighed, shaking my head. “This whole world is held together with duct tape and a prayer.” Just like my boss, making me, a marketing specialist, write a technical grant proposal. That’s why I was on this damn train at one in the morning to begin with. A wave of relief washed over us. Knowing that help was on the way, we both relaxed, subconsciously pushing aside the memory of that bizarre shriek and one other, more fatal, inconsistency. 3. “Hello? Can you hear me?” A voice, crackling and distant, suddenly came through the train’s intercom. “Are there two passengers currently stranded on the train?” Sam, who had been dozing off, snapped awake. “Yes! Yes, that’s us! You finally found us!” “We sincerely apologize for this distressing experience,” the voice continued. “I will be performing an emergency stop shortly. After you disembark, you’ll need to walk approximately 600 yards down the track. You’ll see the next platform from there.” That sounded odd. “Why can’t you stop at the platform?” I asked. “I’m afraid the train’s system is completely compromised,” the voice replied. “A normal station stop is impossible.” “Whatever, man. As long as I can get off this thing and go home to bed, I don’t care where we stop,” Sam muttered, clearly done with the whole ordeal. “Understood. The train is now commencing an emergency stop. Please hold on tight.” The moment the words left the speaker, the train gave a violent, metallic lurch. And the lights went out. “Holy crap!” When the lights flickered back on, Sam and I were sprawled on the floor. “Ugh, a little warning would’ve been nice,” I grumbled, pushing myself up and dusting off my clothes. The train was still. A soft ding announced that the doors were open. “You may now exit the vehicle. Remember, the platform is straight ahead,” the voice said one last time, then fell silent. “Let’s go, let’s get out of here,” Sam said, eagerly jumping from the car onto the track bed. I looked out. The tunnel was a pitch-black maw, stretching into an endless void. There was no air movement, no sound. Something felt wrong, a cold knot tightening in my stomach, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Hey, Sam,” I called out. “Check your post. Has anyone else replied?” “Huh? Right now?” He looked back at me, confused. “We’re saved. Can’t it wait?” “Just let everyone know we’re okay.” “Fine, I’ll start a new thread,” he said, already typing. “But you should get off the train. We can walk and post at the same time.” He had a point. What if the train suddenly started moving again? I took a deep breath and swung one leg out of the car. The instant my foot left the train, a jolt like an electric current shot through my body. “I know what’s wrong!” I yelled. “Oh god, this is wrong!” Sam screamed at the exact same time. 4. In the next second, we scrambled back onto the train, shoving our way through the doors just as they began to slide shut. “You figured something out, didn’t you?” we asked each other in unison. I spoke first, my voice trembling slightly. “I just remembered something we completely overlooked.” “This train has been running for over half an hour. Not only have we not stopped at a station…” “We haven’t even seen a station,” Sam finished, his face ashen. Thirty minutes. Not a single glimpse of a platform, not even a flash of station lights in the darkness. Was this place still the city we knew? I had no idea what lay waiting for us in that dark tunnel, but my gut screamed that it was infinitely worse than staying on this train. Sam was shaking, his eyes wide with terror. He shoved his phone in my face. “That person, SturdyCarrot… they sent me a private message three minutes ago.” His finger pointed to a single, chilling line of text. “She said Line 2 was shut down for maintenance at 11 PM tonight.” “This train… it shouldn’t exist.” 5. The lights inside the car flickered violently, casting Sam’s face in a ghastly, greenish glow. The doors hissed shut, sealing us in. The intercom crackled back to life, but this time, it was the cold, automated voice from the phone call. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service…” “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service…” “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service…” Sam’s voice was a choked whisper. “Are we… still alive?” A cold sweat trickled down my spine, but I forced myself to stay calm, for his sake as much as my own. “We’re alive,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “But I think… I think we’re in another timeline. Or something like it.” My mind raced. An idea sparked. “Wait! Your phone!” My phone had lost its signal ages ago, but Sam’s could still connect to that one community board. “Try to post again! Tell them what’s happened!” If we were trapped in some isolated space, two ordinary people like us stood no chance. But if an outside force could somehow “open” this space for us, maybe, just maybe, we had a shot. Sam’s eyes lit up with a sliver of hope. He scrambled to open the app. “It’s working! It’s really still working!” he exclaimed. “That’s so weird. No other apps connect, just this one.” “Don’t worry about weird. Just post,” I urged him. The train began to move again, pulling us deeper into the unknown darkness. [HELP! Experts needed! We’re trapped in another dimension!] Replies flooded in almost immediately. [User101]: Is this some kind of viral marketing stunt? [ScaryStoriesFan]: I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU SO! This is a legit paranormal event! [SturdyCarrot]: Oh my god, thank goodness you’re okay! You vanished for a while, I was starting to think… [Writer wannabe]: This is a fascinating premise. OP, would you be willing to grant me the rights to write a novel based on your experience? [GoodGuyGreg]: Dude, really? Not the time. [SkepticSam]: You guys actually believe this? Come on. Amidst the noise of useless sympathy and outright disbelief, we found a beacon of hope. [Finn_Helps]: You’re on Metro Line 2? [Finn_Helps]: I studied this stuff with my uncle for a few years. I might be able to help. Tell me which station you got on at. I pointed at the screen, simultaneously slapping Sam’s thigh in excitement. “Him! Contact him, now!” “Ow, ow, okay! I’m typing!” Sam yelped. [S]: I got on at Willow Creek Station. He paused, then looked at me. “Where did you get on?” I met his gaze. “Willow Creek.” What a coincidence. It seemed the problem started right at the station. A new message from Finn appeared. [Finn_Helps]: Just as I thought. The problem is with the station itself. Willow Creek isn’t far from me. I’m on my way. Be there in five! 6. Five minutes later, as promised, Finn messaged us again. [Finn_Helps]: I’m here. And you were right. Something is definitely wrong with this place. [Finn_Helps]: But don’t worry. My uncle and I have dealt with something like this before. I can get you out. Finn’s words were a powerful sedative, calming our frayed nerves. The train was still speeding through the dark, but the suffocating panic had subsided. Sam let out a long, shuddering breath. “To be honest,” he admitted, “for a minute there, I thought maybe you weren’t human. This crazy stuff is happening, but you’ve been so calm.” I managed a weak smile. “I’m faking it. But maybe you should consider working on your own nerves, kid.” “At least we’re almost out of this,” I added. The truth was, I’d had my own suspicions about Sam. That he wasn’t human, or that something was wearing his skin. And I still did. Because a few minutes ago, I had glanced at our reflection in the dark train window. In the glass, Sam’s face was a complete blank. 7. I watched Sam closely, but his every move, every gesture, was perfectly normal. If I hadn’t seen that horrifying reflection, I would have just thought he was a fellow victim, another unlucky soul trapped with me. But what did it want? I didn’t know. All I could do was wait and see. For now, at least, it didn’t seem to want to harm me. “Hey, Finn says we need to go to the front of the train and find something,” Sam said, breaking the silence. To prove it, he held out his phone for me to see the messages. [Finn_Helps]: I’ve dealt with the anomaly at Willow Creek. Now you need to go to the operator’s cabin at the very front of the train. Find a specific object and destroy it. That will break the loop and return you to the real world. [S]: What is it? What does it look like? [Finn_Helps]: It’s hard to explain. But you’ll know it when you see it. It’s… obvious. Trust no one and nothing that tries to stop you. It’s all part of the illusion. Sam and I exchanged a look. “Let’s go,” I said. 8. We started from the last car, moving through the eight empty carriages. With every window we passed, our reflections ran alongside us. But out of the corner of my eye, Sam’s reflection was always just a fraction of a second behind his actual movements. Thankfully, our journey was unimpeded. No strange creatures, no ghostly apparitions. We made it all the way to the operator’s cabin without incident. “That was… too easy,” Sam panted, leaning against the wall. “I thought something was supposed to try and stop us.” I pulled my hand away from his, pretending to be annoyed. “Can you even pass a basic fitness test?” “A fitness test?” he asked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Oh… uh, yeah. Yeah, I passed.” That momentary hesitation didn’t escape me. My heart hammered against my ribs. The cabin door was right in front of us. What was behind it? And what would the thing standing next to me do? My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers closing around the small eyebrow razor I’d forgotten to take out of my purse. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all I had. “How do we open this?” Sam asked, fiddling with the locked door. On a whim, I stepped forward and knocked four times. The door clicked open. “Let’s go. Find ‘it’,” I said, starting to step inside. But Sam didn’t move. He grabbed my arm, his eyes fixed on me. “Wait,” he said. I spun around, the razor already in my hand, its tiny blade tracing a line across his neck. “What are you doing?!” he yelped. I kept my eyes locked on his. “Finn said to trust nothing that tries to stop us.” “What are you stopping me from?”

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I spent years chasing after my legal guardian, putting my heart on the line. Finally, on my nineteenth birthday, I summoned the courage to confess my love. But Julian looked at me with cold fury. “Hazel, don’t forget your place in this family.” Yet, clearly, three years ago at that gala, he was the one who pulled me into his arms. With the scent of whiskey on his breath, he whispered in my ear: “When you grow up, let’s get engaged, okay?” I took his drunken promise as gospel. He treated it like a forgotten dream. The day he publicly announced his engagement to his long-lost “one that got away,” I showed up with my suitcase. People scanned us with amused eyes, asking how I felt. For the first time, I didn’t cause a scene. “I wish Julian all the happiness in the world. As for me, I’m leaving the country to study.” He crushed the champagne flute in his hand, his eyes darkening for the first time. Later, he canceled the engagement. He stopped me on a snowy street in a foreign city, lowering his head in defeat for the first time. “I was wrong. Please, Hazel… come home with me.” 1 “Thank you, Professor Miller, but I won’t be joining the exchange program. Please give the spot to someone who needs it more.” After hitting send, I exhaled a shaky breath. A heavy weight lifted off my chest. This year, the university had a prestigious dance program in Europe. Professor Miller had been pushing for me to go. But my body… it could no longer support the dream of being a dancer. A cold wind cut through the air, and I couldn’t stop coughing. When I pulled the tissue away, it was stained crimson. Before stepping into the elevator, I crumpled the tissue and tossed it into the trash. Today was my nineteenth birthday. I couldn’t let Julian see this. Three years ago, he held my hand and told me to wait until I grew up. I had waited long enough. My phone buzzed. It was Julian. “Hazel, are you home yet?” Julian was my guardian. The man who raised me. I smiled involuntarily, my voice lightening. “Not yet, I’m just unlocking the door.” His voice sounded unusually exhausted. “Happy Birthday. Something came up tonight. I’ll be back before midnight.” I understood. I looked down and opened the door. The lights flickered on, revealing a room filled with pink flowers and blue balloons. On the table sat a velvet box containing the blue agate necklace I had begged him for last month. It was exactly what I expected. My mood soared, and my courage swelled. “Julian, I… I want to tell you something.” “Something I’ve kept buried in my heart for a long time.” Before I could spill my secret, the line went dead. Beep. I lowered my eyes, quickly composing myself. I placed the necklace back in the box, still hopeful, waiting for him to come back and clasp it around my neck himself. Midnight came. The clock struck twelve. Julian didn’t show up. This was the first time he had completely missed my birthday. I felt dazed. He must be too tired. That’s why he didn’t make it. Calculating it now, this was my tenth year living with Julian. When my parents passed away in a suspicious accident, rumors swirled that they had crossed the wrong people in the underworld. They left no bodies to bury. I went from being the pampered princess of the Cloud family to a girl standing in the mud. My father’s legacy was devoured by his so-called “best friends” and business partners over drinks and laughter. Red-eyed, I went from door to door, begging for help. But nobody in the city dared to take in an orphaned girl with a mountain of debt. On the day of the funeral, only one man in black arrived to pay his respects. Julian. I had never met him. Rumor had it he was a dangerous man, a fixer from the shadows who had lost all his own kin. He reached out his hand to me, his lashes lowering. “If you’re willing… you can come with me.” That was ten years ago. 2 The coughing fit returned. I swallowed a handful of pills with warm water and let the medicine drag me into a fitful sleep. When the sky began to lighten, a rustling sound woke me. “Hazel. Long time no see.” A woman stood in the kitchen, wearing Julian’s oversized shirt, busy plating food. Her shoulder was exposed, pale and marked with red hickeys. I froze, my hands clenching my sleeves. Vanessa. The woman Julian had placed in his heart years ago. Seven years ago, when Julian was in deep trouble, she left without a word. Why was she back now? My gaze shifted, and my breath hitched. She was wearing the necklace. The blue agate necklace Julian gave me for my birthday yesterday. I pointed at her neck, my voice trembling. “That belongs to me.” Vanessa looked at me with amusement. She wasn’t surprised. Instead, she yanked the necklace hard. Snap. “Ah!” She screamed dramatically and lunged toward me, whispering in my ear as she fell: “Hazel, you haven’t improved a bit in all these years.” Before I could react, she threw herself onto the floor. The necklace skidded across the tiles. “Hazel, I didn’t mean to wear your necklace! I’m sorry!” I narrowed my eyes. I walked over, picked up the necklace, and dusted it off. I suddenly remembered how many traps she had set for me seven years ago. How many fights she caused between me and Julian. I stood over her, my voice cold. “It’s been seven years. You still love framing people? There’s no one else here, Vanessa. Who are you acting for?” The next second, I was shoved aside. Julian stormed past me, helping the weeping Vanessa up from the floor. “Hazel, where are your manners?” I stood there, stunned. “She did it herself…” Vanessa cut me off, looking up with red, teary eyes. She looked fragile, like glass about to shatter. “I know… you blame me for leaving Julian seven years ago. You blame me for abandoning him when he needed me most.” “But I had my reasons!” She sobbed, collapsing into Julian’s arms, looking at me like I was a monster. But I caught the glint of victory in her eyes. I stood frozen. Since living with Julian, I had never been treated like this. I sneered. “Miss Vanessa, save the acting for the stage. Do you think this soap opera routine still works?” The air turned deadly silent. Only Vanessa’s soft sobbing remained. Julian looked up, his sharp gaze sweeping over Vanessa. His expression was unreadable. I stood my ground, watching their eyes meet, gripping the necklace in my hand until it hurt. 3 Vanessa wiped a tear, her eyes darting between Julian and me. Her tone was aggrieved, pivoting away from our confrontation to something sharper. “If I had known you and Hazel were together… maybe I shouldn’t have come back to disturb you.” My secret was out in the open. I forced myself to stay calm. It wasn’t a secret that I loved my guardian anyway. Julian raised an eyebrow, his gaze turning cold. “What nonsense are you talking about?” Vanessa let huge tears roll down her face. She tried to take off the apron and leave, but Julian grabbed her wrist. A stack of photos spilled out of the apron pocket. When I saw what they were, I froze. They were photos I had secretly taken of Julian. Candid shots that revealed my hidden admiration, my secret love. I had hidden these deep in my bookshelf. No one knew about them. A wave of shame washed over me. I looked at Julian. He stared at the photos scattered on the floor, his brow furrowing deeply. A moment later, he picked one up and tossed it into the lit fireplace. “These are just a child’s games. They don’t count.” I panicked, grabbing his sleeve. “How can this be a game? I’m nineteen, Julian! I’m not a child anymore!” “Do you remember… three years ago at the gala at the Royal Hotel? I came to pick you up. You said… you said when I grew up…” “Impossible.” Julian cut me off coldly, his eyes darkening into an abyss. “Hazel, I’ve indulged you too much.” “I have always seen you as a child. You shouldn’t have such disgusting thoughts.” I closed my eyes. My face went pale. I had anticipated the worst outcome, but hearing it broke me. He had spoken casually while drunk. I was the fool who took it seriously. Julian’s voice came from above, leaving no room for argument. “I bought a condo in the suburbs. The deed is in your name. Pack your things. You move out tomorrow.” I heard myself give a soft, defeated “Okay.” He was angry. I always thought I was special to Julian. That maybe, just maybe, he loved me too. The kitchen window was open. The wind blew the photos across the floor. I sniffled, squatting down to pick them up one by one. The cold air hit my lungs like razor blades. I couldn’t suppress the violent coughing. I felt the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat. I panicked, searching my pockets for a tissue, turning my back to wipe the blood and tears from my face. Julian glanced at me coldly, then walked around me. “If you’re sick, go to the hospital. The Sterling family isn’t so poor that we can’t afford a doctor.” Vanessa followed him closely. I stood up. “Julian.” I refused to give up. “You said last time you’d go to the hospital with me. I want to go tomorrow.” Julian stopped walking. I stared at his back, stubbornness fueling my voice. “I’ll wait for you tomorrow.” 4 The weather in the city turned bleak. Heavy rain poured down. I waited alone at the hospital for a long time. I waited until the storm turned into a drizzle. My heart sank. Finally, only Wes, his assistant, showed up. “Mr. Sterling said he’s accompanying Miss Vanessa shopping today. Here is a card. Buy whatever you need.” I pulled my coat tighter, asking the question I didn’t want the answer to. “Did he say anything else?” Wes lowered his head, hesitating. “Say it,” I urged. “Mr. Sterling said… he hopes you remember your position.” “In one month, he will be engaged to Miss Vanessa.” Engaged? I took the card expressionlessly. I finally realized that my relationship with him was gone. He was eager to start a new life. My feelings were a stain he wanted to wipe away. He was reminding me, every second, to remember who I was. In that moment, I felt foolish. Holding onto a drunken sentence for years? Pathetic. Fortunately, the test results came back. Not cancer yet, but I needed surgery. The doctor suggested I go north, or even abroad, for treatment. After hesitating, I decided to tell Julian everything one last time. When I arrived at the company, it was late. The light was still on in Julian’s office. Just as I was about to walk in, a woman stepped out of the shadows. It was Vanessa. She was sneakily arranging her clothes, hiding a file behind her back after snapping photos of it. Her phone screen lit up. She hurried to a quiet corner to make a call. The office was empty. I followed her to the stairwell. Her voice was light and triumphant. “Don’t worry, I got it. This data is enough to bring down Sterling Corp.” “Of course. He loves me so much, getting the key to his safe was easy.” My hands shook. I pressed the record button on my phone. Vanessa turned abruptly. The clicking of her heels got closer. She was coming towards me. I backed away, trying to keep my breathing steady. I retreated out of the stairwell, my heart pounding. Vanessa was dangerous. I had to tell Julian immediately. As I backed up, I bumped into a broad, warm chest. “You’re looking for me?” Julian was behind me. He took a deliberate step back to create distance. I was so panicked I almost cried. I played the recording. “Julian! I saw Vanessa stealing documents in your office! She’s on the phone with someone planning to destroy the company…” Julian’s face went rigid. To my shock, he snatched the phone from my hand. His expression was pitch black. Without hesitation, he pressed delete. “Since I’ve chosen to marry her, she will be your sister-in-law. I don’t want to see you doing this again.” “When did you become like this? Using such underhanded tactics?” I looked at him in disbelief. It felt like I was meeting a stranger. Julian was supposed to be sharp. Calculating. Ruthless to his enemies. Could a man like that lose all judgment over love? I fought back the tears, looking straight into his eyes. “Is that really how you see me, Julian?” He turned his back to me and lit a cigarette. I took a deep breath, wiped the corner of my eye, and let my heart die. “I came here to clear things up. I was immature before. I had feelings I shouldn’t have had.” “From now on, I wish you and Vanessa a long, happy life.” I did as he asked. Overnight, I moved everything out. I waited in the small condo for two weeks, confirming my surgery date abroad for the end of the month. While packing, there was a knock on the door. “Delivery.” I opened the package. It was a gold-embossed engagement invitation. Julian Sterling & Vanessa Li. Inside was a photo of them. Vanessa holding Julian’s arm, smiling brightly. I realized today was the engagement party. After packing the last of my life into a suitcase, I went to the venue. Before I even entered the hall, I heard the cheers. “Congratulations!” “What a perfect couple!” “Kiss her! Kiss her!” The moment I stepped through the doors, the room fell silent. All eyes fixed on me.

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The fake heiress, Veronica, was a mess of tears and mascara on the day I officially came back to the manor. Her drama queen moment? Mom and Dad were forcing her to marry Gideon Kessler—the notorious, ill-tempered playboy of the city’s elite, who also happened to be confined to a wheelchair. My mother, Elaine Ashton, glanced at my own rough hands, the skin calloused and scarred from years of manual labor, and let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “Since you’ve decided to show up, Maisie, you can take the contract. It’s not like you’ve seen the inside of a decent restaurant, let alone the world. You’ll be lucky to have it.” Veronica sat beside her, barely concealing a smirk, waiting for me to throw a fit, to beg, to refuse. Instead, I simply took a calm sip of the cheap coffee I’d been given and asked in my unpolished, direct way: “What’s the actual money we’re talkin’ here? Is the dowry stock options or cold, hard cash? And does the monthly allowance come on time?” The entire family froze. My mother, visibly stunned, stammered that the monthly allowance would be two million. I couldn’t help it—I laughed out loud, slapping my thigh. “Two million a month? You serious? Shoot, give me the money, and he can have the temper of a psycho. If he’s rich enough to pay, I’ll sponge-bathe him, flip him like a pancake, and tuck him in until he kicks the bucket!” “Where I come from, survival is the only virtue. What’s a little hardship, huh? Piece of cake!” My grand declaration landed with a thud. My birth mother stared at me as if I were a lunatic, before finally digging into her Birkin bag and tossing a bank card onto the coffee table. “Here’s a million. Your severance, so to speak. You’re the elder, but this marriage was always… well, never mind. Once you’re married, stay gone. Don’t come back and embarrass Veronica.” My hand shot out, pressing down on the card before it could slide off the polished wood. One million dollars. Back home in the country, my step-parents were ready to sell me to the village simpleton for a five-thousand-dollar bride price. To pay for my little brother’s school fees, I’d prick my hands bloody clipping thousands of threads a day at the factory just to earn fifty bucks. Now, I get a monthly salary and a one-million-dollar bonus just to play nursemaid to a rich cripple? This wasn’t a punishment. This was the lottery. “What’s the PIN?” I pulled out my beat-up phone—the screen spiderwebbed with cracks—and opened my notepad to write it down. Veronica, sitting primly across from me, covered her mouth, a sneer flashing in her eyes. “Sister, you’re just… going to check your dignity at the door? That’s the Kesslers. It’s a literal death trap. You might get the money, but you’ll never live to spend it.” I didn’t even lift my head. I jotted down the password, then carefully slipped the card into my inner pocket, patting it securely. Then I looked up. “Dignity, little sister? How much is that going for a pound these days? Does it buy dinner?” “Back home, I spent winters hauling a hundred-pound sack of feed to the pigs, with my little brother strapped to my back. If I was a minute late, I got hit. Now all I have to do is look after one guy for two million? Only an idiot like you would call this a death trap.” Veronica rolled her eyes, deciding I was clearly a lost cause, a peasant too poor to be reasoned with. My father, Robert Ashton, waved his hand dismissively from the head of the table. “Fine. Since you have no objections, pack your things and go. The Kessler car is waiting outside.” “You got it, Boss… I mean, Dad.” I agreed instantly, turned, and walked back to the cramped guest room where I’d left my belongings. I came out carrying one thing: a battered, bright red-and-blue utility tote. It held my entire life: two sets of faded clothes, a pack of my frozen pasta, and a few bottles of medical muscle rub. When I reached the front door carrying that ratty bag, Elaine’s face went pale green. “You’re going to show up at the Kesslers with that? Are you trying to make the Ashton name a joke in this city?” I looked down at the sturdy, synthetic canvas. “It’s durable. It holds a lot and it’s waterproof. We always used this kind for travel.” “Just go! Get out!” Elaine shooed me away, unable to look at me a moment longer. I shrugged, unbothered, and climbed into the stretch limo sent by the Kesslers. As the door closed, I looked through the tinted window. The three of them were huddled together: Veronica clinging to Elaine’s arm, whining, and Elaine stroking her hair. A perfect, intimate family tableau. I touched the bank card in my pocket, and a genuine, private smile stretched my face. If they knew this wasn’t punishment, but a rescue, a genuine opportunity for me, I wondered if they’d be furious enough to demand that million back. The car made a smooth climb into the exclusive hillside community. The Kessler estate loomed on the hillside like a silent, black beast. It was late, and only a few dim ground lights were on. The man who’d picked me up, the butler, stopped the car. His eyes held a mixture of pity and contempt as he opened my door. “Miss Ashton,” he said, using the wrong name as a deliberate slight. “We’re here. Mr. Gideon’s temper is… challenging. Especially at night. Good luck to you.” I grabbed my utility tote and stepped out, looking up at the obscenely large house. I took a deep breath. “Show me the way,” I said, straightening my spine. My gaze was steady, as firm as a rock. “I’m clocking in.” The butler led me to a door at the end of the second-floor hallway. He dumped me with a curt, “The master doesn’t want visitors. Take care of yourself,” and vanished, as if a ghost were chasing him. I held my bag and reached for the knob. The moment my hand touched the brass, a heavy, metallic scent of medicine wafted out of the crack in the door. “Get out!” The door was barely ajar when a black shadow accompanied by a furious, primal roar flew at the opening. The years of endless farm work and factory shifts had trained my reflexes better than any boxing class. I sidestepped, and a delicate porcelain cup shattered against the doorframe. The shrapnel grazed my cheek, leaving a stinging trail. The room inside was pitch black. The legendary crippled husband was hidden in the shadows, his voice a gravelly snarl. “Are the Ashtons that desperate for cash? Sending me this?” I touched my cheek, feeling the warm bead of blood, but I wasn’t angry. I was relieved. He could still throw things. That meant he wasn’t dead. My long-term meal ticket was secure. Instead of retreating, I pushed the door open, walked in, and flipped the main light switch. The sudden glare made the man in the wheelchair throw an arm up to shield his eyes. I took him in: gaunt, too thin, with a pale face and sunken eye sockets. But nothing could hide the sharp, exquisite bone structure of his face, or the dark, bloodshot fury in his eyes. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Gideon Kessler saw my cheap clothes and the ratty utility tote and his disgust intensified. He snatched a black Amex from the bedside table and threw it. It hit my collarbone—sharp, painful—but the crisp sound it made as it hit the marble floor was music to my ears. My eyes lit up. I bent to snatch the card faster than a gambler seizing a winning hand. “Boss, what’s the PIN?” I pulled out my phone, opening my banking app. Time to verify the goods. Gideon choked on his anger, clearly not used to someone so mercenary. He gritted his teeth. “Six eights! Now get out!” I typed it in. Search. Seeing the dizzying string of zeros on the screen, my breath hitched. Hundreds, thousands, millions… Two million. It was real. Back home, I cooked, fed the livestock, washed clothes for ten people, and still had to bring piecework home from the factory—all for barely three thousand dollars a month, tops. Now, I take one hit, and I get two million? “Thank you, Boss!” I tucked the card into my inner pocket, patting it firmly, afraid it would somehow fly away. My sheer, naked greed made Gideon laugh—a weak, humorless sound. He pointed at the door. “You have the money. Can you leave now?” “Oh, no can do.” I put down my utility tote, rolled up my sleeves, and walked to the corner, where I expertly located a broom and mop. “I’ve accepted the money. And where I come from, we honor a deal. The money’s taken, the job’s getting done.” I knelt down and began to silently sweep up the shards of porcelain. The work was second nature, quick and efficient. I wasn’t kidding; this felt like a break. In the old village, I spent winters washing ten people’s clothes in the icy river, my hands covered in cracked, weeping chilblains. I endured that soul-deep, burning pain for twenty-three years. Standing here now, in an air-conditioned mansion with the thermostat set to a comfortable seventy-eight degrees, and getting paid two million to sweep a floor? What reason did I have to leave? Gideon stared at me, as if I were a madwoman. “Are you deaf, or just trying to get yourself killed?” I finished mopping the floor until it gleamed, even wiping a smudge of dirt from his wheelchair tire, before standing up. I gave him a standard, deferential smile. “I’m Maisie Shaw. And from now on, I’m your full-time everything. You can have the worst temper in the world. As long as the checks clear, you can tear the roof off the house, and I’ll stack the bricks back up for you.” “Also, that cup looked expensive. Next time you need to vent, just smash the stainless-steel thermos. It won’t break, it’s loud, and it’s way cheaper.” My “dead pig doesn’t fear boiling water” attitude seemed to completely baffle Gideon. He stared at me, then slammed his finger onto the call button on his wheelchair armrest. Ten minutes passed. The massive mansion remained utterly silent. No one came. “Do you see now?” Gideon slowly lifted his finger, a self-mocking sneer on his lips. “In this house, I’m less than a dog. Follow me, and you’ll get those numbers, but you’ll get nothing else.” I ignored his cynicism, my attention snagging on the untouched food tray on his bedside table. It was a bowl of congealed pastas, topped with sickly yellow, rotting greens. The oil had solidified into white grease. I walked over and touched the bowl. Ice cold. Hard as a rock. “You’re supposed to eat this?” I frowned. Gideon turned his head away, utterly jaded. “It’s fine. Just go. Stop playing the martyr.” I didn’t say another word. I picked up the bowl and walked out. “Where are you going?” “To file a complaint.” Carrying that bowl of slop—worse than pig feed—I marched downstairs. As I approached the kitchen door on the first floor, I heard laughter, the sharp click of cards, and the rich, pungent scent of a catered hot meal wafting out. Unbelievable. The master eats cold slop while the staff hosts a party? I kicked the kitchen door open. The three housekeepers huddled around the table, their mouths slick with grease, nearly jumped out of their skin. The head cook, Doris, saw me and snorted, spitting a grape skin. “Well, look at the new Mrs. Kessler. Hungry? There’s some leftover dishwater in the pot. You can serve yourself—” “Splat!” I didn’t wait for her to finish. I backhanded the bowl of cold pastas onto the center of the poker table. Broth splattered everywhere. A long, yellow piece of congealed vegetable clung to Doris’s cheek. The room went dead silent. “Are you crazy?!” Doris shrieked, jumping up. “You backwoods—” “I am backwoods, but I know this much: you take the money, you do the job,” I cut her off. I grabbed the heavy meat cleaver off the cutting board and brought it down hard onto the corner of the table. It sank deep into the wood. The handle still vibrated. All three faces drained of color. Doris swallowed her next insult. I yanked the cleaver out, my voice flat and cold. “I don’t care what the old rules were here. I’m here now, and the rules change.” “That man upstairs? He’s my money tree. You feed him trash, you’re trying to starve my future.” “And messing with my money… is worse than killing my family. Got it?” My eyes were hard, the reflected light off the cleaver’s blade glinting. The sheer, unrefined menace I’d learned from decades of living under the threat of violence was now fully deployed. No one spoke. Doris’s legs were shaking. “Make him a pot of rice congee, slow-cooked. The best shrimp and dried scallops you have. It needs to be upstairs in half an hour,” I tossed the cleaver back onto the board. “Do it wrong, and I’ll make you taste that cold pasta slop.” Without another glance at the three bullies, I turned and went back upstairs. Returning to the room, Gideon was in the same position. Seeing me empty-handed, his eyes were full of scorn. “Get chased off already?” I didn’t answer. I walked over, bent down, and crossed my arms beneath his armpits and under his knees. Gideon’s eyes widened. “What are you doing? Don’t touch me!” “Ah!” Following his startled shout, I inhaled, centered my weight, and—with the strength of a woman who’d spent two decades hauling pig feed and firewood—lifted him, blanket and all, off the wheelchair. “Let go of me! Maisie Shaw! I will kill you!” Gideon’s face was crimson with rage as he struggled violently in my arms.

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On New Year’s Eve, I ran into Steven Constantini at an upscale restaurant near the office. I was there late, closing a deal. He was there with his secretary, enjoying a candlelight dinner. Our eyes met across the room. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a deep frown—a silent warning. As I choked down glass after glass of wine I couldn’t refuse, enduring the predatory gaze of my client, the night sky outside suddenly exploded with the New Year’s fireworks he’d arranged just for her. The brilliant flashes reflected in my eyes, searing my heart. After finally securing the last contract of the year, I calmly made a phone call. “Mom, I’ve agreed to break up with him. Please arrange for me to go abroad next week.” 1 I walked aimlessly down the street, still on the phone. The last night of the year was exceptionally cold. A freezing rain fell, and the wind cut straight to the bone. The midnight bells began to chime, followed by cheers from the passersby. I looked up and saw a line of text scrolling across the massive screen of the Constantini Industries headquarters. “To the most beautiful and capable rising star at Constantini Industries, Lyla. Happy New Year.” Even on the first day of the new year, her name was inescapable. The envious murmurs of the crowd carried through the phone. My mother’s voice was laced with fury. “That’s outrageous! I’m going to have a word with Arthur.” “Don’t bother, Mom. I’m leaving anyway.” I ended the call, my voice flat. The crushing weight in my chest wasn’t as suffocating as it used to be. But seeing the two-hour wait time on the rideshare app sent a spike of irritation through me. A jarring honk broke the night’s quiet. Steven’s car was shadowing me, keeping a steady, close distance. Lyla leaned out from the passenger seat, waving enthusiastically. “Josie! Are you heading home?” “Yes,” I answered evenly. She let out an exaggerated sigh of pity, practically melting against Steven. “Oh, the wait for a ride tonight is going to be ages. We’re going your way, but it’s such a shame Steven bought me so many gifts. The back seat is completely full, otherwise we could have given you a lift.” I stopped and peered through the car window. I could just make out a massive bouquet of flowers occupying most of the back seat. Before I could get a better look, a suit jacket was thrown hard against my face. I caught it instinctively as Steven’s sneer cut through the air. “Cover up that reek of alcohol. It’s disgusting. I don’t want you getting a complaint filed against the company because you stunk up someone’s car.” The heavy fabric of the jacket stung my cheek. I watched his taillights disappear down the street. Then, I took the jacket—the one I had personally ironed for him, now carrying the scent of another woman—and tossed it into a nearby clothing donation bin. It was three hours later when I finally got home. The house was brightly lit but empty. He must have gone out again. I thought I was used to it. But when the steam from the hot shower fogged up the bathroom mirror, revealing the ghost of two handprints, pressed intimately together, the alcohol in my stomach churned violently. I retched, a bitter mix of bile and tears. By the time I emerged from the bathroom, the sky was beginning to lighten. Two unread messages were on my phone. One was a flight confirmation. The other was from Steven. 【Something came up. Not coming home.】 I scrolled up. Our conversations over the past year were practically nonexistent. Mostly just his terse, two-word reply of “I’m busy” after I’d left a storm of hysterical, unanswered calls. I opened Lyla’s social media, a familiar, masochistic ritual. As always, a perfectly curated nine-photo grid greeted me. Nine hundred and ninety-nine roses, the New Year’s fireworks… and in the center, a mirror selfie of her and Steven in a tight embrace. I recognized the place. It was Steven’s property on the west side of the city. In the corner of the mirror, I could see the Zootopia sticker we’d brought back from a movie date. It was now soaked through, a limp, pathetic smear against the glass. Utterly sickening. Steven didn’t come home for the next few days. The housekeeper was on holiday, leaving me to drift through the vast, empty house like a ghost. Only the timely arrival of takeout deliveries reminded me that time was still passing. Cajun shrimp, Szechuan noodles, ghost pepper wings… When the fifth spicy takeout box appeared on the table, I finally snapped. I swept everything into the trash, took a picture, and sent it to Steven. 【Stop ordering. I’m not the one who likes spicy food.】 His call came almost immediately. His voice was a husky, post-coital rasp, laced with annoyance. “Are you pulling that hunger strike nonsense again? Fine. Just don’t call me when you end up back in the hospital.” Lyla’s playful, conciliatory voice chirped in the background. “You should just try it, Josie! Steven and I tasted them all, they’re super delicious!” “Ignore her,” Steven grumbled. “She can eat it or not.” I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to ask the humiliating question. Steven, you remember I have stomach problems and need to eat regular meals. Do you also remember it was spicy food that put me in the hospital in the first place? The words died in my throat. All I managed to say was, “I’ll order my own food.” “Hah, order your own?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain before he scoffed. “Josie, you don’t want food. You just want money, don’t you?” 2 “Josie, you and your mother are only after my family’s money, aren’t you?” The mocking voice from a year ago merged with the present, hitting me with the same devastating force. A tear splashed onto the dining table. When I came back to myself, the line was dead. A bank notification showed a transfer of fifteen thousand dollars. It was followed by a voice message from Steven. “Five thousand for food, ten thousand for your trouble. Lyla’s bra strap fell into the sofa cushion. Find it and bring it to her at work on Monday.” I moved the couple’s throw pillows from the sofa and found the black strap tucked deep in the crevice. Steven and I had picked out this sofa together at a furniture store. I had fallen in love with it the moment I saw it. He had tested its firmness and grinned in agreement. “Perfect size. We should get a couple of throw pillows, too. Make it a little more… comfortable for us.” The words of lovers in their honeymoon phase, always tinged with a playful heat. I had playfully scolded him, and he had just laughed. We went on like that, picking out one piece after another, building the home of our dreams. But now, looking at the things I had so carefully chosen, sharing the same space with him and another woman… all I felt was a deep, nauseating revulsion. Since I was leaving, I might as well throw it all away. I worked from dawn until dusk. Eight years of a relationship, reduced to five boxes of junk and a single suitcase. After confirming that not a single trace of me was left in the house, the knot in my stomach finally began to loosen. Only one thing remained. I took a photo album from the bedside drawer. Inside were two hundred and seventy-nine pictures, each one torn to pieces and then painstakingly taped back together. From our high school graduation, through college, to moving in together and starting our careers, the photos chronicled our entire youth together. The last picture was from New Year’s Eve last year. We were raising our glasses under a sky full of fireworks, celebrating our seventh anniversary. Three days after that photo was taken, at a family dinner, my widowed mother and Steven’s divorced father announced they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Steven’s expression never changed. He agreed. I was happy for them. But when we got back to our apartment, he tore that last photo to shreds and threw it in my face. “Josie, you and your mother are just alike. You’re parasites, just after our money. ‘Bringing the families closer’? Don’t make me sick.” I stood there, stunned and helpless, as he unleashed his fury. We had both learned the news at the same time. I thought he had genuinely accepted it. I took out every single photo. Along the carefully taped seams, I tore them apart again. Then I threw them all into the boxes of junk. 3 The next time I saw Steven was at the first morning meeting after the holiday break. He sat at the head of the table, with Lyla perched beside him, whispering and laughing intimately in his ear. Our relationship was a secret at the office. In the past, to avoid suspicion, the most intimate we ever got was a shared, knowing smile across the room. My gaze fell on his hands, resting on the table. On the middle finger of his left hand, where a simple silver band—the match to my necklace—should have been, was now a gold ring set with a green diamond. A brilliant, flashy couple’s ring, identical to the one on Lyla’s hand. A gentle nudge from my colleague brought me back. “Don’t feel bad, Josie,” she whispered sympathetically. “We all know what kind of tricks she used to get where she is. You’re the real top seller in our hearts.” Her words made me look up at the screen in a daze. Today’s meeting was the annual review. The number one spot for sales performance was proudly displayed with Lyla’s name—someone who wasn’t even in our department. A single project had knocked my twenty-seven deals down to second place. Steven’s explanation was that the profit from that one project far exceeded the others. But that was the project I had stayed late on New Year’s Eve to close. The contract I had placed on his desk this morning, along with the bra strap. He had seen it with his own eyes. He knew exactly what I’d had to endure to get that signature. My pen slipped, tearing a gash across the paper. The sound was jarringly loud in the tense silence of the room. After the meeting, Steven called me into his office. We stood in stubborn silence, neither of us willing to speak first. Steven’s face grew darker by the second. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk, the ring on his finger flashing, making my eyes ache. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Is there something you need?” “Don’t you have anything to ask me?” Our voices overlapped. I paused, then laughed. Ask him what? Why he stayed out all night on our anniversary? Why he gave my project to someone else? Or how much longer he intended for us to torture each other? None of it mattered to me anymore. My resignation letter, submitted to HR yesterday, had been specially approved by his father, bypassing him completely. My last day was today. My luggage was already packed in the trunk of my car. I could drive straight to the airport after work. I continued calmly, “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” Steven stared at me, his expression grim. “Where’s my gift?” It took me a second to realize he was talking about my anniversary gift. We always made each other something by hand. With the way things had been, I assumed it was an unspoken agreement to skip it this year. “I forgot,” I said, offering a weak excuse. His face hardened, and he yanked at his tie in frustration. “Josie, can’t you have a little empathy? Isn’t the money I give you enough? Do you really have to make a scene over this?” “Lyla is all alone in this city. I spent New Year’s with her out of basic human decency from the company. And she needs that bonus more than you do.” He paused, then added awkwardly, “If you really want the bonus that badly, I can just give it to you.” With one sentence, he invalidated all my hard work. After our fight last year, I had thrown myself into my job, working insane hours, pulling six-figure commissions for months on end. I wanted to prove to him that I wasn’t after his family’s money, that I could make more than enough on my own. But I still remembered the condescending look on his face back then. “That money,” he had said, “didn’t it all come from my family in the end?” Afraid of seeing that same contemptuous expression again, I just shook my head. “No, thank you. Is there anything else?” He made a frustrated sound, almost a growl. “No.” 4 As I was about to leave, a red string bracelet was tossed from behind the desk, landing by my feet. “If you don’t like it, just throw it away.” Steven’s voice was flat, a strange mix of offering and command. I looked down. The red string was clumsily woven, not particularly attractive, with a single, rather stingy-looking gold bead strung on it. It really wasn’t something to like. But I didn’t want any more complications. I bent down and picked it up. “Got it.” Tossing it in the trash outside would be just as easy. The moment I opened the door, I saw Lyla pretending to be busy but secretly watching the office. She greeted me with a sweet smile. “Josie, did you and Steven fight because of me? I’m so sorry. I just mentioned offhandedly that I wanted that project, I never thought he’d actually give it to me.” Her eyes flickered to the bracelet in my hand. Her smile froze for a split second before returning. “I was wondering why Steven was being so cheap, taking back the little gold bead that came with our rings. So it was a peace offering for you.” “When we bought the rings, the salesgirl said this little bead was a part of our love story. I guess it’s fitting that he gave it to you.” “Lyla!” Steven’s flustered voice came from inside before I could say a word. Lyla fluffed her hair, casually revealing her own large gold ring. “Steven’s calling me. I’ve got to go!” As the door clicked shut, I took the simple silver-band necklace from around my neck and threw it, along with the red string bracelet, into the nearest trash can. When I got back to my department, the acrid smell of spicy food hit me. An HR representative was awkwardly handing out afternoon snacks, and everyone looked less than thrilled. “What’s going on?” My team members swarmed me, finally having someone to complain to. “Josie, isn’t she just trying to piss us off?” I followed her gaze to the snacks on the table: extra-spicy snacks and double-sugar milk tea. And then I saw Lyla’s message in the group chat. “Mr. Constantini said the top seller gets to choose the celebration snacks, so I just ordered what I like. Don’t be so bland, everyone. Life is better with a little extra spice and sweetness.” No wonder everyone looked miserable. Our department worked the most overtime. A few bites of this, and half the team would be sick. “Throw it all out,” I announced. “Whatever you guys want for an afternoon snack, it’s on me.” “Josie for president!” I smiled as they cheered. I was going to miss my colleagues more than I would ever miss Steven. We had worked together for five or six years. I couldn’t tell them I was leaving, so this would have to be my farewell. As soon as the workday ended, my mother called. She asked if I had told Steven I was leaving. I said no and made her promise that if he asked where I was, she would say she didn’t know. I could hear Arthur’s apologetic voice in the background. “Josie, my dear, it’s Steven who has wronged you. I apologize on his behalf. Please don’t blame him. The boy is not having an easy time either.” Don’t blame him? I couldn’t. Steven and I were in the same class for all three years of high school. My mother was our homeroom teacher. Back then, the Constantini family wasn’t wealthy yet. Arthur was always busy chasing deals, and Steven was a problem student at the bottom of the class. I remember after a parent-teacher conference in our first year, Steven had a huge fight with his mother in the hallway. “To Dad, all you say is ‘take care of yourself.’ To me, it’s just ‘study hard.’ What else do you do besides laundry and cooking? You’re useless! If you can’t help, can you just shut up with all your pointless nagging?” Later that day, on her way home, his mother was in a car accident. She died at the scene. My mother, afraid he would spiral, took him into our home to live with us. I could understand Steven’s guilt and his inability to accept his mother’s death. But this past year… who had it been easy for? When Arthur and my mother decided to separate because of his cold ridicule, he sent them off to live abroad. When I tried to break up with him, he pointed his finger in my face and sneered, “What? Your mom took your place gold-digging in my family, so now you get to walk away scot-free? Don’t think it’s that easy.” Over the past year, any sympathy I had for him had been worn down to nothing. Tap, tap, tap. A knocking on my car window startled me. I turned to see Steven, his mouth moving. His voice was muffled through the glass. “My car’s in the shop. We’ll ride home together for the next few days.” 5 I rolled down the window, frowning at him. In the past, we would carefully avoid our colleagues every day, meeting in the parking garage to drive home together. But this past year, let alone driving together, he had barely even come home. Seeing my lack of response, Steven leaned on the window frame, his eyes meeting mine. “I said, we’re going home together for the next few days.” “You have more than one car.” My refusal was instinctive. My flight was at ten, my luggage was in the trunk. I had no time to play games with him. “Is it out of your way?” Steven’s brow furrowed, a questioning look in his eyes. “Or are you not going home? Where else would you be going?” Defeated, I unlocked the doors. “Let’s get something to eat first.” “I’m starving too. How about that hot pot place near the old campus?” His casual suggestion surprised me, but it worked in my favor. It was close to the airport, making my escape easier. The drive was silent, except for the rhythmic drumming of the rain. I was plotting my getaway while Steven, in the passenger seat, seemed to start and stop several sentences. Finally, he said carefully, “About the gold bead on the bracelet, that’s not what I meant. It was—” A flurry of message notifications interrupted him, followed by a shrill ringtone. The moment I saw the caller ID, I flicked on my hazard lights. Boldly displayed on his screen were the words “Little Josie.” He answered, and Lyla’s tearful voice came through the phone. “Steven, sniff, the elevators in the building are broken, and now I’m all alone in the office. I’m so scared.” It was just past seven. Most of our department was still at work. And the elevators at Constantini Industries had weekly maintenance checks. But of course, Steven believed her ridiculously flimsy lie. “It’s okay, don’t worry. Wait for me in the office, I’m coming back to get you right now.” By the time Steven hung up, I had already thoughtfully pulled over and unlocked the doors. “You should go.” “What do you mean? You’re not coming with me?” His eyes flashed with anger. We were already almost in the suburbs. If I went back to the city with him, I would definitely miss my flight. “I’m hungry.” “Fine, Josie! You’re really something else!” With a slam of the door, Steven was out of the car and yanking open the driver’s side. “Lyla’s in a real panic. I need the car. You can grab a ride home after you eat, or wait for me to come pick you up after I’m done.” The airport was only ten minutes away. The only downside was the rain. I quickly ran through the contents of my suitcase in my head—just clothes, all my important documents were in my purse. I let him take the car. As my flight was about to take off, my phone buzzed incessantly. “Are you home?” “Did you eat? Want me to bring you back a takeout box?” “I was hungry, so I got my own.” Attached was a picture of two takeout containers of hot pot. Just as the phone started ringing, the flight attendant announced that all electronic devices needed to be turned off. I blocked his number, switched to airplane mode, put on my eye mask, and slept soundly all the way to a new country. … 6 Meanwhile, Steven stared at the unanswered call, a knot of unease tightening in his chest.

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After overtime, my boyfriend drove me home. But his little assistant walked right past me and sat directly in the passenger seat. “Director Tessa, I adjusted this seat to my height. I was afraid you wouldn’t be used to it.” She apologized while buckling herself in. I didn’t speak, just glanced lightly at the back seat, piled high with a young girl’s bags and clothes. Sensing the atmosphere was off, Lucas tried to smooth things over. “She’s a new intern, just a kid. Don’t be petty with her.” I nodded thoughtfully, a hint of realization in my tone. “How can a child come out to work? Go to HR tomorrow and process her resignation.” Chapter 1 As soon as these words came out, both of them looked at me in unison. The little assistant huffed and got out of the passenger seat. “Director Tessa, I’m a Management Trainee officially hired this year. What right do you have to fire me just like that?” “It’s just sitting in the passenger seat. Are you that petty?” Looking at her flustered appearance, I couldn’t help but find it funny. “So you do know the passenger seat isn’t where you should be. I thought you were really just a child who didn’t know anything.” Indeed, she had a child’s temper. Blowing up after just two sentences, face flushing red, unable to squeeze out a word of rebuttal for a long time. Lucas finally reacted, smiling and putting his arm around my shoulder to mediate. “Mia is just my assistant, a kid fresh out of college. She can’t understand when you’re joking.” When he hugged me, there was a smell of very cheap perfume on him. I guessed the owner of the perfume was Mia, who was currently clenching her hands tightly, staring at us through the rearview mirror. I leaned against Lucas with a smile, but my eyes scanned Mia up and down. “But I wasn’t joking. Do you really need an assistant like this? No wonder you work overtime every day.” Hearing this, Lucas’s body stiffened for a moment, and his smile faltered. “Tessa, Mia is a bit rash, but if you fire her directly, people will say we treat new employees harshly. It doesn’t sound good.” Saying that, he signaled Mia with his eyes. Mia, who was still puffing up with anger, immediately softened her attitude and apologized to me pitifully. “Sorry Director Tessa, I’ve been with Brother Lucas for so long, I got too relaxed. I’ll give the seat back to you, please don’t mind.” She even stuck out her tongue playfully. Director Tessa, Brother Lucas. Tsk. Seeing no reaction from me, Mia seemed possessed by a drama queen. “Director Tessa, I will definitely, definitely, definitely pay attention next time~” Every sentence addressed “Director Tessa,” but her eyes only revolved around Lucas. I withdrew from Lucas’s arm and looked at Mia. “Next time? What do you want to pay attention to next time? Tell me.” Chapter 2 “Tessa, it’s late. Let me take you home.” Lucas spoke again. Every time he opened his mouth tonight, it was to defend Mia. This made me very unhappy. It’s true we agreed to have our own fun in this arranged marriage, but who allowed you to dance in front of me with your little lover and use me as a shield? Mia didn’t notice the undercurrent between us and spoke again. “Brother Lucas, I’ll go with you to drop Director Tessa off. It’s too late, I’m afraid you’ll be tired driving at night. I can keep you company.” “Keep him company? Miss Mia is such a thoughtful assistant. Brother Lucas, don’t you think?” I smiled and pulled Lucas’s tie. Caught off guard, he staggered towards me. He held my wrist pulling his tie, not too hard nor too light, with a hint of helplessness. “Mia, take a taxi back tonight, okay? Tessa and I have something to handle.” Mia caught the gentleness in Lucas’s tone and saw the seemingly intimate but actually confrontational posture between us. She bit her lip. “Is Director Tessa unhappy because of me? If so, I can apologize until she cools down.” I interrupted her performance, pointing to the pile of personal items in the back seat. “Save the apology for HR tomorrow. Now, pick up all your stuff, or wait to find them in the trash tomorrow.” “Hey! Aren’t you deliberately making things difficult for me? How can I take all these things?” Angry now, not even calling me Director Tessa anymore. I ignored her, picking up those clothes with two fingers and throwing them out one by one. Mia couldn’t pick them up in time and screamed in breakdown: “What do you want!” “I should be asking you that, right? Don’t you have a closet at home? Need to keep everything in your boss’s car?” “Don’t overthink it! I just left them temporarily when I was out on field work with Brother Lucas and forgot to take them.” She was a bit guilty, lacking confidence in her speech. I couldn’t be bothered to expose her, just smiling at her. “Perfect then. Today is the last day of ‘temporary’.” Mia’s eyes turned red instantly. She glared at me fiercely, almost diving into the back seat, scrambling to hug those bags and clothes, stuffing them into her arms. Too many things, she couldn’t hold them steady. A shiny hair clip fell to the ground. She squatted to pick it up, hair falling to cover her face, but I could see her shoulders trembling gently. After picking up her things, she left without looking back. Chapter 3 As Mia’s figure faded into the distance, only the two of us remained in the car. Silence reigned for a long time until Lucas finally couldn’t help but speak. “Mia is just a young girl after all, thin-skinned. You went a bit too far today.” I was leaning back with my eyes closed, resting. Hearing this, I sneered. “Her face matters, but my rules don’t?” Lucas tugged at his tie irritably. “Don’t push your luck. You know we…” He didn’t finish, but I knew what he meant. We were in a commercial marriage, the kind where we hadn’t even met before the engagement. No feelings whatsoever. Both our families’ companies had been declining in recent years and urgently needed transformation. Marriage meant we would prosper or decline together. We were the closest partners. The first time Lucas saw me, he said that for a commercial marriage, keeping up appearances was enough. I nodded lightly and stated my bottom line: “Since we’re married, we must maximize the value of this engagement. I accept playing separately, but if you make outsiders laugh because of private affairs, don’t blame me for turning hostile.” Lucas laughed indifferently: “As long as you have this awareness. Don’t worry, no matter how many flags flutter outside, they won’t be an eyesore to you.” Guessing he remembered his bold words back then, he spoke dryly after a long while. “I will make it clear to Mia.” “Good.” I closed my eyes again. “But my patience is like this passenger seat. There is only one. You’d better remember that.” Chapter 4 Our communication wasn’t pleasant, and coupled with busy work, we hadn’t seen each other for over half a month. Tonight there was a meeting with Mr. Sterling, the Chairman. Lucas sent someone to deliver a gown matching his suit. Mr. Sterling was a key figure both our companies wanted to win over. Half of the commercial value of this marriage depended on this. Lucas and I stood side by side, exchanging pleasantries with Mr. Sterling. Just as the conversation cut to the main topic, a figure inserted itself abruptly. It was Mia. Perhaps it was her first time attending such a cocktail party. exquisite makeup couldn’t hide the forced composure. The ill-fitting white dress made her look like a little girl stealing adult clothes. I narrowed my eyes slightly. In her glass, it seemed to be… juice? She trotted over in high heels, target clear: Mr. Sterling. “Hello Chairman Sterling! I’m Mia, a Management Trainee specially recruited this year. Just joined Mr. Lucas’s team not long ago. Please guide me in the future!” Mia held the cup with both hands, squeezing out what she thought was the most decent and obedient smile. I could clearly feel she emphasized “Mr. Lucas” and “Specially Recruited,” tone rising slightly, with undetectable showing off. In such an occasion, an intern introducing herself so abruptly and trying to chat was simply rude. The scene quieted for a second. Mia was oblivious, perhaps taking the silence as encouragement. She raised the orange juice in her hand, smile sweeter, voice crisp: “Chairman Sterling, I’m young and can’t drink, so I’ll toast you with this juice! Wishing you good health and prosperous business!” This time, even the surrounding conversations seemed to lower. The gazes of several nearby guests swept over subtly. I had no time to care about Lucas’s expression. I was so angry I wanted to kick Mia myself. What is your status? What is Mr. Sterling’s status? Toasting with juice? Do you deserve it? Lucas pulled Mia, who was still naively waiting for Mr. Sterling to clink glasses, behind him. He picked up a glass of champagne, squeezing out a near-fawning smile. “Sorry Chairman Sterling, I didn’t discipline my subordinate well. I apologize on her behalf with this glass.” He drank the champagne in one gulp, but Mr. Sterling didn’t even lift his eyelids. “Let’s talk about the cooperation another day. I have something to do.” Mia simply slapped his face in front of everyone. Mr. Sterling left the venue with his subordinates without even saying goodbye, leaving only his back to us. Lucas’s arm holding the glass froze in mid-air, face turning from green to white, then flushing with embarrassment.

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Since I can remember, I knew my family was poor. So when I suspected I had a serious illness, my first reaction wasn’t fear, but asking my parents carefully: “If… I got cancer, what would we do?” They laughed at my overthinking, but their tone was firm: “If that day comes, we’ll sell everything we own to treat you.” I tossed and turned all night, finally deciding—I couldn’t be a burden to them. But after I swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills, I “saw” them laughing and chatting in a penthouse in the city center. At that moment, I finally understood. The “hard life” that forced me to be sensible all these years was just a play they carefully choreographed. They were just pretending to be poor. And I… was really dead. Chapter 1 During recess, my nose started bleeding suddenly. I used up half a pack of tissues to stop it. My desk mate Hannah looked at my pale face and whispered: “My neighbor’s brother was like this. Later he was diagnosed with leukemia… His family spent all their money, but he still didn’t make it…” I smiled and called her a jinx, but my heart sank. Lately, I’ve had no energy. Running two steps in PE class makes me pant. Bruises appear on my knees for no reason and won’t fade. I tried hard to tell myself not to overthink, not to worry my parents for nothing, but the panic in my heart grew wild. What if… what if it’s true? I secretly went to the community clinic for a blood test. The doctor looked grave after seeing the results. He said he couldn’t rule out malignant blood disease and urged me to go to a big hospital for a full checkup ASAP. My heart hit rock bottom instantly. Clutching the light lab report, my steps were unsteady. I don’t even know how I dragged myself home. Mom was busy in the kitchen, wearing a faded apron. Hearing the door, she called out: “Wash your hands quickly. I made your favorite Mac and Cheese tonight.” I hurriedly crumpled the report and stuffed it deep into my backpack. A while later, Dad came back too. He looked exhausted, took off his jacket with frayed cuffs, threw it on the chair back, and let out a long sigh. Mom served the food. A plate of boiled cabbage, a bowl of watery soup, and a small plate of scrambled eggs in the middle—a rare treat. Dad ate fast and urgently, like he was starving. Mom ate while complaining that the price of pork went up again. I took small bites, tasting nothing. The doctor’s words echoed in my head, lingering. “Dad, Mom…” I called them softly, putting down my fork. They both looked up. “If… if I got a very serious illness,” I stared at the table, daring not to look into their eyes, “Like cancer… what would we do?” The table went silent instantly. Dad’s hand holding the fork stopped in mid-air. Mom’s spoon hit the bowl with a clink. “What nonsense!” Mom reacted first, frowning tight, “Kids shouldn’t say such unlucky things!” “I mean if… just in case?” I persisted, my eyes getting hot. Dad put down his fork, his rough hand rubbing my hair. “Luna, don’t overthink. Your job now is to study hard. If that day really comes…” He paused, “Don’t worry, Dad will sell everything, mortgage the house, to treat you.” Mom nodded quickly: “Yes, even if we go bankrupt! Eat now, food’s getting cold.” After they finished, it seemed the topic was over. Dad buried his head in eating. Mom put a piece of egg in my bowl: “Eat more, you’re growing.” I listened to them, looking at their faded old clothes and the simple meal. “Sell everything…” “Go bankrupt…” I slowly picked up my fork, lowered my head, burying my face in the bowl. Tears fell suddenly, dropping into the rice. I shoveled a big mouthful of food, swallowing it with my tears. Chapter 2 Since I can remember, I knew my family was poor. We lived in a dilapidated apartment complex. The paint peeled off the walls. When it rained, water seeped into the corners, growing fuzzy mold. There wasn’t a single new piece of clothing in my closet. All hand-me-downs from my sister, Stella. Cuffs worn shiny, colors washed white. Mom said they were still good, couldn’t waste. She always patted my head and sighed: “Your dad and I work double shifts every day. Every penny is hard-earned. So you have to be more sensible than others, understand?” Dad also looked at me seriously: “You have to be successful, study hard, to be worthy of our sacrifice.” I clutched the frayed hem of my shirt and nodded hard. Life went on tight like this. I had no allowance. Classmates bought snacks, stickers, colorful pens. I just watched. When they talked about eating pizza or going to Disneyland on weekends, I couldn’t join in, so I just lowered my head, silent. When hungry, I drank hot water. My stomach felt heavy and warm, not so empty anymore. If I felt unwell, I never said anything, just endured. Last winter I coughed for a whole month. Afraid of waking my parents at night, I covered my mouth and coughed until tears came out. The next day I went to school as usual. Mom and Dad always praised me: “Our Luna is the most sensible girl.” Hearing this, I didn’t know how to feel. Actually, I wanted to tell them something. That my throat itched terribly. That the old backpack from Stella was worn out, straps about to break. That I also wanted a small slice of cream cake on my birthday. But I was afraid. Afraid that if I asked for money, Mom and Dad would be more tired. I was afraid of seeing their troubled eyes, afraid of hearing their sighs, afraid my small wish would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. At night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning. In the dark, eyes open, the doctor’s grave face and my parents’ words about “selling everything” and “going bankrupt” spiraled in my mind. By dawn, I made up my mind. If treating me would drag this family down completely, push them to a dead end, I’d rather… rather disappear. Outside, sounds of movement. Mom and Dad got up. A while later, Mom gently pushed the door: “Luna, Dad and I are going to work. Breakfast is warm in the pot. Eat before school.” I lay in bed, hummed a low “Mmhmm,” eyes shut tight, daring not to look at her. The door closed gently. Footsteps faded. The room was scary quiet, only my heartbeat. I sat up slowly, took paper and pen from my bag, and wrote a letter to Mom and Dad, stroke by stroke. Folded it carefully and put it under my pillow. I walked to the old cabinet, squatted, and pulled the bottom drawer. Messy inside. I rummaged for a while before finding the yellowed pill bottle. I remembered when I was little, Mom took these for insomnia. She hid the bottle specifically, patting my head and warning: “Luna, kids can’t touch this. If you eat it… you will leave Mom and Dad forever.” I always remembered that. Now I’m grown up. I know “leave forever” means death. If I die, they will be free. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then sat back on the bed. Unscrewed the cap, poured all the white pills into my hand. Looking at the tiny pills, my parents’ smiling faces suddenly appeared. Nose sour, tears fell pat pat on my hand. I was suddenly scared, and reluctant. But the smiles faded quickly, replaced by their exhausted faces from daily toil. I closed my eyes, telling myself— Don’t be selfish. Leaving is the last act of sensibility I can give them. I took a deep breath, stuffed all the pills into my mouth, and swallowed them with cold water. A bit bitter, but soon I felt nothing. Put the empty bottle by the pillow, lay down, and covered myself. The heavy feeling in my heart seemed to vanish suddenly. Outside, light grew brighter. Birds started singing. I closed my eyes, feeling so tired. Just wanted a good sleep. Chapter 3 After a while, I seemed to “wake up” again, body light as a feather. Looking down, another me was still lying quietly on the bed, face calm as if sleeping. Am I… already dead? But where to go next? I didn’t know. I suddenly thought of my sister, Stella. Last time I saw her was Christmas. She stayed for only three days and left in a hurry. Yesterday I called her. Before I could say much, noise came from her end. She hung up before I could finish. Before leaving, I wanted to see her again. Thought flashed, vision blurred. I was standing outside a bright cafe. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I saw Stella laughing with friends. She wore a beautiful floral dress, hair perfectly done, a delicate cake in front of her. My gaze fell on the brand-new designer bag beside her. I’ve seen this brand in the mall, secretly counted the zeros on the price tag. But how could Stella… I leaned closer to look. Her phone rang, startling me. She walked to a quiet corner to answer. I followed. “Mom?” Her voice was light. “Why call now?” Mom’s clear voice came through: “Has your sister contacted you lately? I feel she’s acting weird these two days…” “Oh, she called yesterday.” Stella’s tone was casual. “Said she wanted to buy textbooks, asked to borrow a hundred bucks.” “Buy textbooks?” Mom’s voice spiked, full of undisguised dissatisfaction, “Can’t she tell us if she needs books? That child… don’t know what schemes she’s plotting.” I lowered my eyes instinctively, heart feeling sour. Actually… I lied to Stella because I couldn’t afford the hospital checkup fee. “Relax, I didn’t give it to her.” Stella smiled slyly. “I pretended to be busy and hung up. Let her ask you guys.” “Smart girl!” Mom’s tone became serious, warning, “Remember, never give her money privately. If I find out, forget about your allowance! But speaking of which, you’re working now, should learn to be independent…” “Oh Mom—” Stella dragged her voice, spoiling, “I won’t give it. My salary barely covers rent, how can I shop without family subsidy…” “Okay okay.” Mom sighed helplessly, softening, “Anyway, be sharp in front of your sister. Don’t slip up. She’s sensitive. If she finds out, it’ll be big trouble.” “Got it, thanks Mom!” Stella hung up beaming, returned to her friends, chatting about the weekend concert. My mind was a mess. They were hiding something from me. Thought flashed, scene changed abruptly. A spacious living room, blindingly bright. Polished floors reflecting the crystal chandelier, a huge window overlooking the city skyline. Where is this? How am I here? I looked around blankly. A woman was lying comfortably in a massage chair, playing with the latest foldable phone. A man walked over with two glasses of fresh juice, wearing comfortable loungewear. I stared at their faces, brain buzzing—aren’t these my parents? Shouldn’t they be guarding the food stand at the market right now? “We spoiled Stella since she was little, she never focuses on the right path. Now Luna is learning bad habits too…” Mom frowned complaining, “She called her sister for money, saying she needs textbooks. Didn’t dare tell us, must be lying!” Dad put down the juice, comforting: “Luna is sensible enough. Maybe she really wants something. A little white lie is fine. Under our noses, nothing big can happen.” “True,” Mom hammered her shoulder, “Just tired of living in that dump to act out this play. Uncomfortable all over…” “Endure a bit more for Luna’s future.” Dad massaged her shoulders, tone soft, “When she gets into a good college, we’ll tell her the truth. She’ll be thrilled.” Mom sighed heavily: “Hope so… As long as she doesn’t waste our efforts, my suffering is worth it…” “Hard work for wifey! I’ll cook your favorites later to reward you.” Dad handed the juice, both smiling eyes curved. These words drilled into my ears, weird and indigestible. After a long time, I realized. So, they were pretending to be poor. But I… was really dead… Chapter 4 I floated in the center of the luxurious living room, staring at them blankly. My heart felt like it was being gently squeezed, a dull ache. So the exhaustion from early mornings and late nights, the bitterness of struggling for a living, were all just a play they put on. And all the hardships I suffered growing up were just their calculation “for my own good.” In a trance, I remembered finding a designer belt under Dad’s bed. He snatched it back, saying it was a fake from a street stall. Remembered the high-end face cream behind Mom’s mirror. She said it was a sample from a friend, worthless. Remembered the large window flashing behind Stella during video calls. I asked if she moved to a big house, she laughed and interrupted, saying it was a colleague’s place. Turns out those moments that felt off were clues to this scam. In this family, only I was like a fool, kept in the dark, guarding the fake poverty they created, living carefully. The sadness surged like a tide, then slowly receded. Whatever. Leukemia is a tough disease. Maybe even spending all the family’s money wouldn’t save me. By then, they might really be forced into that precarious, poor life. At least now, they don’t have to really get up early and stay up late at the stand, don’t have to haggle over pennies. They live so decently and comfortably, not hard at all. I have nothing to worry about. Thinking this way, I felt much more at ease. Curious, I started floating around this bright big house. Soft carpets, huge balcony, all kinds of high-end appliances, things I only saw on TV. I floated into a room. The vanity was full of bottles, closet door half open, filled with beautiful clothes. I recognized it instantly. This was Stella’s room, the place often in her videos. Then, I found another room. Walls painted pale pink. White curtains with lace edges. Bed covered in floral sheets. On the nightstand, a photo frame. Inside was me, about seven or eight, wearing the red plaid coat handed down from Stella, smiling shyly at the camera. This room… was prepared for me. My heart felt warmed by something gentle. I lay on that floral bed. Though I couldn’t feel the softness, I imagined if I could sleep here, it would be as comfortable as lying on clouds. Sunlight shone in, warming the whole pink room. I lay there, watching, feeling sad again. I knew, this perfect room prepared for me, I would never move into. Time passed. Suddenly, a phone rang in the room. Mom’s old phone. I floated over to look. The screen flashed with Teacher Wang’s name. Mom took a deep breath, answered, voice instantly switching to that familiar tired tone: “Hello, Teacher Wang? Yeah, busy at the stand. What’s up?” Teacher Wang’s anxious voice came through: “Luna’s Mom, I called several times! Finally picked up!” “Oh, so sorry,” Mom’s voice lowered, apologetic, “This broken phone always dies. Just turned on. Is something wrong at school?” “Luna didn’t come to school today. Didn’t ask for leave. Is she home? Is she sick?” Mom’s hand gripping the phone tightened. Surprise flashed on her face, voice rising: “What? Luna didn’t go to school?”

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Tidying my son’s room, I stumbled upon his blood donor card. The box for blood type was clearly marked: B. But my husband and I are both type O. How could we have a type B child? I took the card to my husband, Victor. My usually composed, gentle husband flew into a rage. “Our son is in college, Amelia! What more do you want? You’re always so suspicious. Are you having some kind of breakdown?” I insisted on a paternity test. He struck me twice, hard across the face, then stormed out, locking the door from the outside. Hearing the deadbolt turn, a strange laugh escaped my lips. Eighteen years of marriage, of selfless devotion, all fed to the dogs. Calmly, I picked up my phone and dialed the number for my husband’s main competitor. “I’m ready to transfer the patent rights to you.” … 1. After hanging up, a wave of desolation washed over me. Over the years, so many industry giants had extended golden invitations to me. For Victor and our son, Noah, I’d turned them all down, content to be the ghost in the machine of Stone Enterprises. I had given Stone Enterprises patents worth billions without ever seeing a dime in dividends. Looking back now, the foolishness of it was staggering. I sat on the sofa until three in the morning. Victor didn’t come home until the dead of night. We sat in the darkness, a chasm of silence between us. We’d had good times in those eighteen years. When he was first starting his company, I’d stay up with him, poring over business plans. When I got tired, I’d rest my head on his shoulder for a quick nap. He always used to say, “Amelia, when the company makes it big, I’ll give you the world.” And the company did make it big. He was so busy I barely saw him. He’d come home exhausted and collapse into bed. When I told him the house felt empty, he’d say, “But you have Noah to keep you company.” When I said I wanted to go to a concert, he’d say, “Have my assistant go with you. I just can’t get away.” Slowly, I stopped asking. I thought this was just what marriage became. A slow burn from passion to placid companionship, from romance to the comfort of family. Now, I realize, perhaps I was the only one who made that transition. He had transitioned into something else entirely. At dawn, I rose and went to the kitchen, only to find Victor there. He hadn’t cooked in years. “You’re awake?” He looked at me, dark circles under his eyes. “I made breakfast.” On the table were glasses of milk, toasted bread, and fried eggs, slightly burnt around the edges. He sat down, and neither of us mentioned the day before. “Noah’s coming home next week.” My hand, wrapped around my mug, tensed. “I know.” His voice dropped. “Amelia, please, don’t overthink this. I promise I’ll spend more time with you and Noah from now on.” I looked up at him. I had looked at this face for eighteen years, watched it morph from youthful ambition to weathered success. I used to be able to tell a real smile from a fake one, to know his joys and his worries with a single glance. Now, I couldn’t see through him at all. Without meeting his eyes, I asked softly, “When are we doing the paternity test?” The tenderness on his face froze, then slowly dissolved. “You’re really going to force this?” He dropped his fork onto his plate with a sharp clatter. I suddenly remembered when Noah was little. Everyone said he was the spitting image of Victor. Not a single person ever said he looked like me. I stood on the balcony and watched his car pull out of the garage. Then, I went to the study. A set of divorce papers and a property division agreement lay on the desk. I held one hundred percent of the rights to the patents that had built Stone Enterprises. But it had been so long, Victor seemed to have forgotten they weren’t his. My phone rang. It was my mother. “Amelia, dear, are you feeling better today?” her voice was cheerful. “Oh, by the way, your sister is coming back from overseas next week. Victor knew you were feeling down, so he bought Isabelle a ticket. He’s already arranged a director position for her at the company. It’s been so long since you two have seen each other. We’ll all have dinner together next week.” Isabelle. The name made my eyelid twitch. She was coming back, and Victor had arranged it. After all my years of work for the company, I didn’t even have a title. But she was waltzing into a director’s role the moment she stepped off the plane. Flashes of memory surfaced. When had Victor and Isabelle become so close? I pressed my lips together, keeping my voice steady. “What time? I’ll prepare the food.” “No, no! We’ll bring everything. You just rest,” my mother said. She paused. “Amelia, listen to me. Be a little warmer to Victor tonight. You know how men are, their egos need stroking.” I didn’t want to hear any more. I mumbled a few words and hung up. Then I opened my phone and scheduled an expedited service with an out-of-state DNA lab. After that, I went to Noah’s room and collected a few strands of his hair. Once the sample was sent off, I messaged a private investigator, asking him to look into all of Victor’s external financial records. Twelve hours later, the lab report arrived in my inbox. I sat in the study, staring at the file for a long time before I clicked it open. I scrolled straight to the bottom. “Amelia Stone is excluded as the biological mother of Noah Stone.” Even though I had already known the truth in my heart, seeing it in black and white made my hands tremble uncontrollably. Eighteen years. The air hitched in my lungs, and the world tilted on its axis. I closed the file and walked to the window. Outside, it was autumn in Riverton. The leaves of the sycamore trees were turning gold. In the distance, the Ferris wheel at the amusement park turned slowly, and for a moment, I saw the three of us there, happy. I once believed those were the two people I would protect for the rest of my life. My phone buzzed. It was the preliminary report from the investigator. A few bank statement screenshots, several transfer records. Monthly wire transfers from Victor’s personal account to an offshore account, a fixed amount, going back at least a decade. The owner of that offshore account was Isabelle. The amount wasn’t astronomical, but it was more than enough for a very comfortable life abroad. On the last page, the investigator had added a note. Ms. Isabelle has a property overseas, purchased nineteen years ago, paid in full. That was the year I found out I was pregnant. The same year Isabelle went abroad. A horrifying suspicion began to form in my mind. That weekend, my parents arrived as promised, their arms laden with groceries. Isabelle followed them, dressed in a chic cream-colored suit, a delicate gift box in her hand. “Sis,” she said with a bright smile, moving to hug me. I subtly shifted, and her arms closed on empty air. Her smile faltered for a second before she recovered smoothly. “It’s been so long. I brought you a gift.” The dinner table was laden with food. My mother bustled about, while my father and Victor discussed business in the living room. Isabelle naturally took the seat next to Victor. I frowned but said nothing. During the meal, Isabelle reached for a dish, revealing a jade bracelet on her wrist. My gaze froze. I had seen that bracelet two years ago at an auction. The jade was exquisite, a vibrant, translucent green. I had loved it, but the price made me hesitate. Victor had said at the time, “If you like it, we’ll get it. Money isn’t an issue.” I’d replied, “It’s too much. Let’s forget it.” When I asked about it later, he said someone else had bought it. Now, it was on Isabelle’s wrist. “Sis, what are you looking at?” Isabelle noticed my stare and playfully twirled her wrist. “Isn’t this bracelet lovely? Victor gave it to me. Said it suited me.” Victor, who had been sipping soup, choked slightly and looked up at me. “It was a welcome gift, for her new position.” “That’s right, that’s right,” my mother chimed in, smoothing things over. “We’re all family. What’s wrong with a little gift? Amelia, don’t be so petty.” I said nothing, just kept my eyes on Victor. He looked away. Isabelle smiled again, her voice soft. “Don’t misunderstand, sis. I just think some things look better on the right person. Like this bracelet. Doesn’t it seem even more radiant on my wrist than it did at the auction house?” As she spoke, her eyes were on Victor. I knew that look. It was possessive, triumphant. The way a woman looks at her man. After dinner, Isabelle offered to do the dishes. Victor stood up to help, and they disappeared into the kitchen together. I sat in the living room, listening to the sound of running water and their low voices. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could hear Isabelle’s occasional laugh. My mother sat down beside me. “Amelia, look how thoughtful Isabelle is, always willing to help. She’s only back to support Victor. You should stop looking so stern all the time and talk to her more.” My father added his opinion. “Victor’s worked hard to build this company. Having another trusted family member on board is a good thing. As her older sister, you need to be more gracious.” I turned to my father. “Dad, Victor is your son-in-law. Isabelle is your adopted daughter. Don’t you think they’re a little too close?” His face darkened. “What nonsense are you talking about? We watched Isabelle grow up. She’s like a daughter to us. What’s wrong with her helping her brother-in-law?” “Like a daughter?” I repeated softly. “What if I told you Noah might not be my biological son?” My parents froze. My mother was the first to react, grabbing my hand. “Amelia! You can’t say things like that! How could Noah not be your son? Are you having these strange thoughts again?” My father slammed his hand on the table. “That’s enough! I think you really have a problem! Victor was right, you need to see a doctor!” Their reaction extinguished the last flicker of hope in my heart. In their eyes, only people like Victor, who brought them tangible benefits, mattered. They had no idea that Victor was only where he was today because of me. That night, after everyone had left, I told Victor, “I’m going to the old house for a few days next week. I need to sort through some things.” He didn’t ask questions, just nodded. “Do you need me to drive you?” “No.” The old house was where I lived before I got married. My parents had since moved into a new condo, leaving it empty. I was in the attic, rummaging through old boxes. In a worn leather suitcase, I found things Isabelle had left behind. A few diaries, some photos, and a small tin box. I opened the box. Inside was a stack of letters. The envelope on top was yellowed with age. It read: “To my dearest Victor.” The handwriting was elegant, undeniably Isabelle’s. I pulled out the letter. Victor, you came over to see my sister again today. The way you smile at her breaks my heart. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I love you so much. I read the next one. Victor, I heard you two are getting married. My sister is so lucky. If I had met you first, would things be different? My hands started to shake as I continued. The last item wasn’t a letter. It was a photograph. In the photo, Isabelle and Victor stood side-by-side under a cherry blossom tree. Her head was resting lightly on his shoulder, one hand protectively on her stomach. On the back, a line was scrawled in small letters: The one who isn’t loved is the other woman. I clutched the photo, my fingertips turning to ice. It started so long ago. And I had been the fool, kept in the dark for all these years. Then where was my real child? I took out my phone, took a deep breath, and sent a message to the investigator. “Check the birth records and security footage from Riverton General Hospital’s maternity ward for June 21st, eighteen years ago, around 3 PM.” “Also, pull all of Isabelle’s records from her time abroad eighteen years ago. Focus on any birth records.” Just then, my phone vibrated. A notification from our smart home app. “Unusual motion detected in living room.” I frowned. Victor should be at the office. The housekeeper had the day off. I opened the app, and the live feed loaded. The camera was aimed at the sofa. Isabelle was there. Victor was leaning back on the cushions, his tie loosened around his neck. Isabelle, now in a slinky, semi-sheer slip dress that clung to her body, was sitting on his lap. Her fingers were slowly, deliberately unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. And Victor wasn’t pushing her away. Instead, he raised a hand, tracing a line down her hair, his fingers coming to rest on her waist, giving it a gentle squeeze. His breathing was noticeably heavier. The light cast their entangled shadows on the wall. I stared at the screen, a cold, nauseating feeling rising in my throat. “Victor, darling,” her voice was a husky whisper, practically dripping with seduction. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts me every time Noah calls me ‘Auntie’? He should be calling me…” “Isabelle!” Victor cut her off sharply, turning his face away from her touch. But his hand, gripping her wrist, didn’t let go. In that moment, I felt something inside me shatter completely. What followed was a blur of intimacy I couldn’t bear to watch. I stopped the recording. I closed the app and threw the phone aside. My stomach churned violently. I ran to the old bathroom sink and dry-heaved, but nothing came up, only a searing pain that spread from my chest through my entire body. The phone buzzed incessantly on the bed. It took me a long while to compose myself enough to look at it. Message after message from the investigator. “Ms. Stone, I found it.” “Isabelle landed in the U.S. in July, eighteen years ago. In August, she gave birth to a full-term baby boy at a private hospital in Los Angeles. Blood type on record is B.” “I’ve pulled the records from Riverton General for the day you gave birth. Between 3 PM and 5 PM that day, two baby girls were born. The hospital has since closed, and the archives are lost.” “However, when Isabelle returned to the U.S. in November of that year, she was accompanied by a female infant, approximately five months old.” “She is currently working under the table at a Chinese restaurant in the area. According to the owner and neighbors, her life is difficult, she’s withdrawn, and she often has unexplained bruises. Isabelle collects most of her wages every month through an intermediary.” Photos were attached. One was of a back alley, a small, thin figure hauling an enormous trash bag. Another showed her in the corner of the restaurant, huddled on a stool, eating cold leftovers, her face blank. The most recent was a close-up of an arm covered in bruises. My daughter. So far away, doing the hardest work, getting beaten, and the money she earned went to the woman who stole her life. A tidal wave of hatred consumed me. I stood up, and the world went black for a few seconds. I braced myself against the wall, my nails digging into my palms. The pain brought me back. I cried for a long time, until the tears ran dry, leaving only a raw, burning ache in my chest. I forwarded all the files, including the video footage, to my lawyer. Then I called Victor’s rival company. “The patent authorization can be signed tomorrow. But I have one condition. Stone Enterprises has to go bankrupt.” A low chuckle came from the other end, a cool, male voice filled with confidence. “Consider it done.” Hanging up, I looked at the evidence on my phone. Victor, the higher I built you up, the harder I’m going to make you fall. On the flight to Los Angeles, I barely slept. New information from the investigator revealed my daughter’s registered name was Anna. She worked at a restaurant in Chinatown, living in a windowless basement room in the alley behind it. In the photos, she was alarmingly thin. At eighteen, she had the weary eyes of a forty-year-old. What broke my heart were the bruises and marks on her arms, a patchwork of old and new. The plane landed in the early hours. I rented a car and drove straight to Chinatown. At seven in the morning, the restaurant was still closed, the back alley piled with last night’s trash. A girl in a faded T-shirt and worn-out jeans emerged, carrying two enormous black trash bags. She was so frail, the bags seemed to crush her. Her face had several faint scars from what looked like burns, but I recognized her instantly. She had my face. She struggled to heave the bags into the dumpster, then stood by a utility sink, washing her hands. The water was cold; she shivered and wiped her face with the back of her hand. In that instant, she looked up. Our eyes met through the car window. She froze, a flicker of confusion in her eyes, before she quickly looked down and turned to go back inside. “Wait!” I pushed the car door open, my voice trembling. The girl stopped and looked back at me, her eyes wary and distant. “Are you Anna?” I approached her, trying to keep my voice steady. “Who are you?” Her voice was quiet, raspy from disuse. I opened my mouth, but my throat was tight. “I came from… back home.” “Do you know Isabelle?” Her gaze turned icy. “What does she want now? I already sent this month’s money.” “No, it’s not her.” I took a deep breath. “I’m Amelia Stone. I’m your real…” Before I could finish, a harsh voice bellowed from inside the restaurant.

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The night before our wedding, I found photos of another girl on Jared’s phone. She had a sweet smile, full of energy, mostly candid shots. I didn’t choose to suffer in silence. I handed the phone to him and demanded an explanation. Jared smoked in the living room all night. In the morning, he walked into the bedroom and said: “I admit, I have some feelings for her, but that’s all.” After ten years of love, I wasn’t willing to give up on Jared just for some photos. I put on my wedding dress and let the ceremony proceed. But halfway through, his assistant Liam rushed out and shouted to Jared: “Chief Jared! Claire found out you’re getting married and slit her wrists!” The diamond ring hovered in mid-air, then fell heavily to the floor. Jared bolted toward the door like lightning. Red-eyed, I screamed at his back: “If you walk out that door today, we are done forever!” He paused for a second, then left the wedding without hesitation. Chapter 1 Looking at the endless stream of photos on his phone, my heart seized with pain. No intimate poses. Just moments of her eyes shining while working. Pouting playfully while eating, pretending to be mad. Laughing freely when she got a bonus. … Most were candid shots. There were also a few selfies acting cute for the camera. In the past, I would have smashed the phone in Jared’s face and walked away瀟洒ly. But now, tomorrow, we were about to complete our ten-year marathon. A happy ending. Marriage. We notified all friends and family, booked the venue, sent the invitations. Happiness was within reach. And I found this at such a critical moment. I didn’t want to face it. I forced the tears back and took a deep breath. I decided to confront him. Jared is an excellent man. Youngest Chief Engineer at NASA JPL. Ten years of mutual support, I knew his character. When I placed the photos in front of him, he wasn’t surprised. He probably didn’t intend to hide it. During the eight long hours of darkness. He smoked two packs of cigarettes in the living room. I watched the stars from the bedroom all night. Early the next morning, before the makeup artist knocked. He walked into the bedroom and confessed. “This girl is my assistant, Claire.” “I admit, I was moved by her.” My heart, suspended in mid-air, sank violently. Then I heard Jared say: “But Winnie, it hasn’t been easy for us to get here. I will transfer her out of my team. I promise you this will never happen again.” Jared promised sincerely. In ten years, he never broke a promise to me. I couldn’t let go of these ten years, couldn’t cut off this love connected to my bones and blood. So I chose to forgive. Until the wedding, when the officiant asked that solemn question: “Do you take Winnie to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and cherish her forever?” My heart pounded with anxiety. Thump, thump. Waiting for him to give me, give this relationship, a perfect ending. But with one sentence from his assistant, he threw the ring onto the cold floor. Everyone watched him rush out of the wedding. Leaving me behind. His promise was broken. Chapter 2 The wedding turned into chaos. Neither set of parents knew what happened. Assistant Liam’s eyes flickered as he explained anxiously: “An assistant under the Chief had an accident. She… she has important experimental data. The Chief just went to check. He’ll be back soon.” Liam has been with Jared for eight years. He was always respectful to me, calling me “Sister-in-law” with a smile. But now, he didn’t even have the courage to look me in the eye. I didn’t know how much he helped Jared hide from me, or what was going on with that girl named Claire. A dense pain spread in my chest. I truly felt Jared’s betrayal. My parents held my hands, anxious. “This is ridiculous! Who is more important than his wedding? Making him leave Winnie like this?” Jared’s parents were guilt-ridden, making calls while comforting me. “Winnie, don’t worry. I’ll make that brat come back and apologize to you immediately.” I gripped the ring in my hand, piercing the skin. Leaving a bloody mark. For three full hours, Jared didn’t answer any calls. He ran recklessly to save that girl. Leaving me alone at the wedding like a moth to a flame, accepting the strange looks and whispers of the guests. Overwhelmed by rage and grief, I fainted. When I woke up, the doctor gently instructed: “You are eating for two now. Don’t get agitated. Take care of your body.” My heart sank. Looking at my excited parents and in-laws. I forced a bitter, ugly smile. Tears filled my eyes. How do I explain to my parents that this ten-year marathon had its first real tear? Not long after, Jared arrived. His face was pale, looking at me with guilt. My parents left the room, telling Jared to apologize properly. The room was quiet. He held my cold hand, silent for a while, voice raspy. “Winnie, in ten years, I’ve never asked you for anything. Our relationship has always been good. Just this once, I beg you not to spread this, it will ruin Claire’s reputation, okay?” Looking at his pleading eyes, my heart twisted into a knot, suffocating me. He shouldn’t beg me. He should apologize. A person’s first reaction doesn’t lie. He didn’t think about how humiliated I was left at the wedding. Didn’t worry why I was in the hospital. He opened his mouth only for Claire. Tears uncontrollable rolled down my cheeks onto the blue sheets. Creating a wet stain. I squeezed out a word from my throat with difficulty. “Okay.” He sighed in relief and continued: “Claire is emotionally unstable knowing I was getting married.” “I want to stay at the hospital to comfort her these days. Let’s wait a bit, maybe half an year. Just six months, then we’ll get married, okay?” Jared’s voice was tentative. Half a year. I waited ten years. Six months. I could afford to wait. But there was no need. It was just a change of heart. I could take it. A dull anger blocked my chest, burning my insides. There was a little life in my belly, waiting for me to nurture. I thought for a long, long time. My mind was full of that girl’s smile, and Jared’s doting look at his phone. The blockage in my chest slowly dissipated. Suddenly, I didn’t want to wait anymore. I pulled my hand from his and spoke softly. “Jared.” “I’m not a smart girl. I’ve loved you since I was eighteen, for ten years.” “I remember how you trembled when you first confessed to me. Your performance that day made me laugh and my heart flutter.” “I remember when I agreed to be your girlfriend, you hugged me and cried tears of joy. That was the first time I felt love outside of family.” “Over the years, you bought me everything I liked, fulfilled every promise, kept every vow.” “For ten years, I thought you loved me to the bone.” I looked up, tears suddenly surging. “But today, I feel… you don’t love me anymore.” One sentence: Not loving anymore. Defeated me completely. Ten years of love, too many beautiful memories. Jared’s eyes reddened, a tear slipping out. “But Winnie, she needs me right now.” One sentence: She needs me. Nailed me in place. Completely awake. I didn’t ask him to stay. I let Jared leave the room. Chapter 3 The next day, as I prepared to be discharged, I bumped into Jared in the hallway. He didn’t see me. His eyes were full of the girl he was supporting. She was tall and thin, looking very pure, eyes big and round. So that was Claire. The girl who slit her wrists for Jared, making the usually calm Jared lose composure at his wedding. Probably because my gaze lingered too long, she noticed me. Her face turned white, turning away, gripping Jared’s arm nervously. Jared noticed me. He walked towards me unhappily, voice muffled. “Winnie, Claire is weak. Let’s talk at home. Don’t make a scene here and embarrass Claire.” Claire in his arms looked even paler, terrified of me. “Si… Sister Winnie, I… there’s nothing between me and the Chief. Don’t misunderstand.” I gripped the lab report, smiling lightly. “You misunderstood. I’m here to pay the bill.” Jared looked at me weirdly, his anger inexplicably dissipating. I walked past him to the payment window. Walking out of the hospital, Jared texted me. [Winnie, don’t be mad. I was just urgent earlier. I bought you a gift, remember to sign for it.] When the courier knocked, I accepted a cake. I was spoiled and loved romance. When Jared upset me, he always sent a Disney castle cake. I ate it for ten years. I was tired of it long ago. But Jared was so busy. I felt sorry for him, staying up late for research and still trying to coax me. So every time I received this cake, I pretended to be happy. Hoping he would be happy too. Now, I finally didn’t have to pretend. I gave the cake to the neighbor’s kid and replied to Jared. [Ten years. Just like you, no matter how good the cake is, I’m sick of it.] Jared probably understood my insinuation. He replied with an apology. [I was inconsiderate. Tomorrow, I’ll pick a gift for you personally at the mall.] That night, Jared didn’t come home. Peeling away a ten-year relationship isn’t easy. I had insomnia, so I got up to pack my things. Throwing things into boxes, I couldn’t help recalling. Graduation year, Jared just entered the research institute, busy as a bee. A year later, he put a ten-year contract and five million dollars in my hand. “Winnie, I’ll give you a home. I keep my word.” The boy in my memory was sincere and brave. His love burned hotter than the rising sun. That day, I cried and hugged him. We bought this house. Kissed in the sunset. Blushed while shopping at IKEA. Chatted like chirping birds. The star lights on the balcony were hung by us, the rocking chair held ten years of whispers. We leaned on the carpet eating watermelon, drinking soda, watching cheesy dramas. He said he’d give me a home. Now he forced me to leave this home. Chapter 4 I spent three days clearing out everything that belonged to me. While packing, both sets of parents came. I was too ashamed to tell them what Jared did, so until today… They didn’t know why we separated. My parents respected my decision, but Jared’s parents kept persuading me: “Winnie, the wedding is so close. Couples fight, it’s normal. Don’t really separate!” I didn’t speak, letting the movers carry boxes out one by one. Jared’s parents were wearing out their lips when Jared unexpectedly returned. Holding Claire’s hand. The room went silent. Everyone looked at them, expressions varying. Jared’s mom’s voice trembled: “Jared… did you… do something wrong to Winnie?” Jared’s dad stared wide-eyed in anger. “Son! Who is this woman?” Jared didn’t answer. He scanned the half-empty room and looked at me. “Where are you moving?” He was still so calm and rational, accepting my departure peacefully. No explanation. No retention. And shamelessly brought Claire back here. I said calmly. “Back to my real home.” Jared nodded. “Okay. I’ll visit you later.” After saying that, he pulled Claire to his side and introduced her. “This is my lab assistant. She was discharged today. I brought her to see the house and have a meal.” Jared’s open introduction made our suspicions seem petty. Claire warmly held Jared’s mom’s arm, smiling sweetly. “Auntie, the Chief takes good care of me at the institute. He said he’d treat me to dinner to celebrate my discharge!” “But how dare I trouble the Chief? Since you and Uncle are here, why not try my cooking?” Jared’s mom looked at me awkwardly. “Winnie, why don’t we sit down and talk it out…” I was about to refuse. Claire interrupted, eyes flashing with provocative triumph. “Sister Winnie, let’s eat together, what do you say?” Slap. The change happened in an instant. I widened my eyes, watching my mom slap Claire. “Mom, you…” Mom looked at me with red eyes, voice trembling. “I gave birth to you. You think I don’t know anything?” “You’ve been with Jared since eighteen. Now twenty-eight. Ten years of youth! For him, a rich young lady learned to cook, knit, swallow grievances… if it wasn’t unbearable, would you come home?” “Mom doesn’t ask for much, but today, Jared brought this woman to slap your face. Mom can’t stand it.” “If my daughter won’t stand up for herself, I will.” Mom’s words were powerful. Claire covered her face, daring not to speak. Jared looked at her with heartache, face ugly. “Winnie! You’re an adult, still tittle-tattling to parents…” Before he finished, I rushed out with red eyes and slapped him hard several times. After venting, I took a diagnosis report from under the coffee table and threw it at him. “Do you know what I regret most in my life?” Jared turned his head, opened the report, and pupils shrank. “Winnie… you… you’re pregnant?”

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One week before our wedding, my fiancé Chase got into a car accident while protecting me on the way to pick up my dress. When he woke up, all memories of me were replaced by his childhood sweetheart, Lyla. When I rushed to the hospital, he was holding Lyla, kissing her head. Seeing me, his eyes were distant. “Excuse me, who are you?” Red-eyed, I sat by his side and recounted our love story. He listened, then smiled gently. “Sorry, Miss Sierra. I remember all of that, but the woman in those memories isn’t you.” Tears fell instantly. I stumbled out of the room. Downstairs, a wave of indignation made me turn back. Just as I was about to push the door open, the conversation inside froze me in place. “Chase, are you feeling guilty? You promised to be my boyfriend for a week.” Chase laughed. “Lyla, I never go back on my word.” A week later, Chase regained his memory and wanted to fulfill our engagement. I held my new fiancé’s arm and asked him with a confused look: “Excuse me, who are you?” Chapter 1 I stood outside the door in disbelief, tears drying on my face. I didn’t even notice the doctor standing next to me. “Are you family? Why don’t you go in?” Chase saw me, and a flash of panic crossed his eyes. “She’s not family.” “Miss Sierra, I don’t know where you heard about my love story with Lyla, but please stop disturbing us.” His hands were tightly clasping Lyla’s. When Chase felt guilty, he would subconsciously squeeze his hands. That confirmed it. He was lying. Beside him, Lyla smiled triumphantly. “Miss Sierra, stop staring at someone else’s boyfriend. It makes you look cheap.” I bit my lip, trembling slightly. Lyla was the only other woman in Chase’s life besides me. Chase’s frat brothers all thought she would be the future Mrs. Sterling. Until I appeared. Now, one week before our wedding, they decided to play me for a fool. My voice was hoarse. “What about our wedding?” Chase looked confused. “That’s clearly my wedding with Lyla. What does it have to do with you?” I looked up sharply, staring at Chase in disbelief. Seeing my red eyes, Chase hesitated. Lyla’s eyes darkened. She squeezed Chase’s hand, a silent reminder. Chase avoided my gaze, twisting the ring on his finger. My eyes lit up. “The ring on your hand! It still has our names engraved on it!” Chase stiffened, trying to hide his hand. I rushed forward, my hands shaking, trying to pull the ring off to verify. But Chase wouldn’t let go. My tears fell onto his hand. His grip loosened instantly. I frantically turned the ring to check the inscription inside. I froze. Lyla laughed and took the ring back. “Sierra, look closely. It’s our initials, not yours!” So, he didn’t want to let go because he was afraid I’d find out the ring had already been swapped. Tears wouldn’t stop flowing. I muttered to myself. “What about the invitations? You can’t fake invitations.” Five hundred invitations. I watched him handwrite them for three whole months. He, who had a strict schedule, broke his rules to stay up late for me. Watching his dark circles deepen, I was heartbroken. Chase just hugged me, burying his face in my neck, smiling. “Sierra, I want to be involved in every detail of our wedding. I want to give you the best.” I looked up, sobbing. “Chase, deny all you want, but the guests won’t lie!” Chase looked at me coldly. “Seems like you won’t give up.” He took out his phone and dialed a number in front of me. The ringing sound terrified me. It connected. It was Mr. Whitman, our officiant. “Chase, you’re finally awake. is the wedding with Lyla still on?” Chase smiled. “Uncle Whitman, thanks for asking. Everything is on schedule.” “Good, good. I’m waiting for your wedding wine.” My eyes widened. I couldn’t hear anything anymore. It felt like everything in the past was just a dream I had. Mr. Whitman was a legend in the industry, known for his happy marriage. Everyone wanted him as an officiant. But he hated doing it. Chase begged him for a whole month. I saw him dragging his tired body to Mr. Whitman’s house many times. I tried to stop him. “Chase, I don’t care about that. Anyone will do.” But he pinched my cheek, eyes full of seriousness. “Sierra, I hope we last forever.” Looking at the evidence piling up before me. I had to believe it. From the beginning, the wedding Chase was preparing… wasn’t for me. I couldn’t stay any longer. I turned and left. Chapter 2 Chase’s voice came from behind. “Wait. We’re being discharged too. We’ll give you a ride.” I didn’t look back. “Not on the way.” I tried to keep walking, but Chase grabbed me, brooking no refusal. His familiar scent made me tremble. “I’m not comfortable letting a girl go back alone. I’ll drive you.” He dragged me downstairs. Seeing the car, I instinctively walked to the passenger seat. He blocked me, looking at me distantly. “Miss Sierra, this is my girlfriend’s exclusive seat.” Just last week, Chase told me: “Sierra, you get carsick. This seat is yours forever. No one else sits here.” I swallowed the bitterness and walked to the back seat silently. After getting in, I was about to tell him the address. But Lyla started reminiscing with Chase about the past, giving me no chance to speak. I used to be jealous of Lyla. Because Chase never said no to her. But seeing my jealousy, Chase laughed out loud. “I grew up with Lyla. I only see her as a sister. If you don’t like it, I’ll contact her less.” He said that, so I let it go. I never expected him to do this for a “sister.” My stomach started to churn. Chase saw my face in the mirror and frowned, wanting to slow down. Lyla pouted unhappily. “Chase, you’re the best racer in the city. Why are you driving like a turtle? Faster!” I met his eyes in the mirror, pale-faced. He quickly looked away and said dotingly to Lyla: “Yes, my princess.” I knew there were motion sickness pills in the passenger glove box. I wanted to ask for them, but Chase accelerated instantly. My forehead slammed into the seat in front. I was thrown around. Chase just glanced back indifferently and drove faster. I closed my eyes tight, curling into a ball. As soon as I got out, I vomited on the curb. Lyla looked at me with disgust. “So dirty. Don’t come into our house.” Only then did I realize I was brought to my wedding house with Chase. While I was dazed, my things were thrown out of the villa like trash. Lyla looked down at me from the steps. “Sierra, take your trash and get out!” “You stole my man. You have to pay it back eventually!” Seeing the ceramic doll Chase made for me smashed into pieces. I stood up weakly and slapped her. But Chase blocked it. I used all my strength. My nails scratched Chase’s chin. He looked at me coldly. “Sierra, you crossed the line.” “You put your things in our wedding house without permission. I haven’t even settled that with you!” My heart shattered. My throat was blocked with cotton. “That was our wedding house!” I pointed at the fragments on the ground. He looked, his voice cold. “Just some worthless trinkets. Name a price, I’ll pay you.” That was the first birthday gift Chase gave me. He ruined a room full of clay to practice. Finally, he gave me the perfect pair on my birthday. His love felt tangible back then. “Sierra, this is our token. Put it in your office. Look at it and think of me every day.” I cherished it for three years. I only brought it to the wedding house recently. He looked at me silently, frowning. “Miss Sierra, take your things and leave my home with Lyla.” My heart went dead silent. I had no energy to argue. I looked down and picked up my things. Chase turned to the butler. “Deep clean the house. I don’t want to see anything related to Sierra.” My hand paused. A shard cut my finger. Lyla squatted in front of me, sneering. “Sierra, I told you. You can’t beat me.” I didn’t look up. I said calmly. “I’m not fighting. My leftovers… are yours.” I picked up the bags and left. On the empty road, I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I called my dad, crying. “Dad, I agree to the merger marriage.” Chapter 3 I cried for three days at home. After venting, the phone rang. “Sierra! You cancelled the wedding with Chase?!” My best friend Mia’s voice exploded in my ear. I smiled bitterly. “Mia, not cancelled. The bride just isn’t me.” She paused. “Impossible. The invitation says…” I interrupted her. “Mia, what did you call for?” Mia snapped back to reality. “That dog couple went to your mall to pick wedding dresses! They complained about the service and it’s trending on Twitter!” I opened my phone. #1 Trending Topic: Sierra Mall Service Horror Story. Comments were full of hate. Definitely Lyla’s doing. I poured my heart into this mall. I couldn’t let Lyla ruin it. I fixed my haggard self and went to the mall. Inside the bridal shop, the staff were red-eyed and panicked. Lyla sneered when she saw me. “Like boss, like employee. Sierra, I want you to serve me.” I rolled my eyes internally. What era is this? But with the crowd watching, I gritted my teeth. “Fine.” Chase looked at me in surprise. He didn’t expect me to be so obedient. I was known for my pride. Seeing that I didn’t even look at him, he felt annoyed. “I ordered a pink wedding dress last month. Bring it out for my fiancée.” My smile froze. That dress… was for me. Seeing my expression, Chase relaxed. Lyla’s eyes flashed with hate. I looked at the dress mockingly. “Sierra, you are unique in this world. I want to give you a unique dress.” Lyla shouted. “Come put it on me!” I helped her dress expressionlessly. She laughed. “How does it feel? Your dress on me?” I pulled the laces tight. She gasped. Before she could scream, I covered her mouth and stared into her eyes coldly. “Lyla, how does it feel to marry the man I threw away, wearing a dress that doesn’t belong to you?” She glared. I smirked and walked out. Lyla came out, face black. She sat on the sofa and pointed at a pair of shoes. “Put them on me!” I clenched my fists. Chase stepped forward, voice cold. “Is this your service attitude?” My heart clenched. Chase knew best. To build this mall, I worked for months. I didn’t even have time to plan the wedding. I took a deep breath. I knelt on one knee and put the shoes on Lyla. Lyla kicked the shoe into my face. The sharp heel hit my nose. Tears burst out instantly. Chase instinctively wanted to help me up. Lyla threw herself into his arms, crying. “Chase! She pinched my foot! I didn’t mean to kick her!” Chase’s face turned frosty. “Apologize to my fiancée!” The crowd’s phones flashed brighter. I lowered my head and gritted my teeth. “I’m sorry.” I will remember today’s shame. Sierra never leaves a grudge overnight! Chapter 4 That night, Lyla’s arrogant video went viral. Public opinion flipped. Sterling stock fell. My family’s stock rose. I sighed in relief and slept well. The next morning, my phone rang. “Boss! Bad news!” My secretary was frantic. “Lyla posted online saying you are the mistress! She posted videos of you at the hospital and villa!” “Also, Sterling Group retweeted and confirmed it.” My hands shook. Gaslighting bitch! Suddenly, glass shattered downstairs. I ran down. Lyla stood at my door with reporters and a crowd. Chase grabbed my hand, eyes confused. “Why did you ruin the dress?” I pulled away, looking at him coldly. “I don’t stoop that low!” Chase froze at the coldness in my eyes. Lyla cried. “Miss Sierra, you can’t ruin my dress just because you love Chase! We are getting married in three days!” The crowd whispered. I laughed in anger. “Are you sure that’s your dress?” That dress was one of a kind. Custom made for me. Although ordered in Chase’s name. I asked the designer to weave my name into the fabric. Lyla shouted, red-eyed. “Chase ordered this for me! Chase, tell them!” Everyone looked at Chase. Chase looked at me, then stood firmly behind Lyla. “Yes. I ordered this for Lyla.” The crowd exploded. “A mistress ruining the bride’s dress! Die!” An egg hit me. A woman screamed. “Mistresses deserve to die!” I tried to block. Another egg flew. Chase blocked it for me. Silence. He spoke calmly. “Aim better. You almost hit my fiancée.” Looking at the filth on me and the accusations. My mind snapped. I rushed forward to grab the dress. To show the evidence. My hand touched the fabric, but Chase grabbed my wrist. His eyes were complex. His grip was crushing. He wouldn’t let me take it. In an instant, I understood. Chase knew the secret. He blocked the only way to prove my innocence. The light in my eyes died. Seeing me restrained, others came to beat me. I was kicked to the ground. Chase held my wrist the whole time. Suddenly, someone hit my head with a stick. Blood flowed. Seeing the blood, Chase finally let go. The crowd went silent. I propped myself up, grabbed the dress, and exposed the evidence. I looked at Lyla, word by word. “Why does your dress have my name embroidered on it?” Everyone looked at each other. I looked at Chase weakly. “Take your people and get out!” After they left, I couldn’t hold on anymore. I called an ambulance before passing out.

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1 After I took the fall for the fake heiress and was sent to prison. The guards forced me to kneel on shattered glass to repent, made me drink from the toilet, and seared my back with cigarette butts until it was a tapestry of scars. I endured a thousand days and nights of this hell, finally making it to my execution day. The cold, dark barrel of a gun pressed against the back of my head. Through a one-way mirror, I could see my family in the observation room, popping champagne to celebrate. My third brother, Kian, pointed at the monitor and roared with laughter. “Look at the way the little fool is shaking! She actually thinks she’s about to be executed for murder.” “Hiring a few actors to dress up in uniforms was a brilliant idea. We’ve scared the pride right out of the ‘true’ heiress.” “That’s what she gets for making our little princess cry. This ‘private prison’ is her own personal playground, built just for her.” The gun fired a blank. The sound ripped through me, tearing my sanity to shreds. Just as they were about to come in and enjoy the sight of my humiliating breakdown, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind: Host, have you had enough of this so-called family? Teleportation countdown initiated. Let them weep over a corpse. … I was strapped into the execution chair. Cold metal clamps bit into my wrists and ankles, digging into flesh that was already raw and infected. A hard, cold cylinder pressed against the base of my skull. The muzzle of a gun. Behind me, the crisp click of the bolt being pulled back sounded like the Grim Reaper knocking at my door. My body trembled uncontrollably. I bit my lip until it was a mangled mess, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth. Is this how it ends? I had spent a thousand days in this lightless “death row.” Three whole years. Three years it took me to go from screaming my innocence to silently begging for scraps of food. “Rhea Blackwood, I’ll ask you one last time. Do you confess to your crime?” The executioner’s voice was distorted by a modulator, sounding like harsh, electronic static. I managed to pull my lips into a pained grimace, my voice as raspy as a broken accordion. “I… confess.” What else could I do? If I didn’t confess, dinner tonight would be a bowl of rancid slop mixed with porcelain shards. If I didn’t confess, I’d be dragged to the water cell to soak in freezing, filthy water for twenty-four hours. If I didn’t confess, the barbed whip would fall on my back again, a back that had never had a chance to heal. I was terrified. The pain had broken me. “Very good.” The executioner seemed pleased with my submission. But something felt wrong. The wall directly in front of me suddenly became transparent. It was a massive one-way mirror, now electrified to reveal the scene behind it. The bright lights made me squint. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw them. My family. My eldest brother, Wyatt, swirled a glass of amber liquid, a mocking smile on his lips. My third brother, Kian, was clutching his stomach, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face. And there, in the center of their adoring circle, was the fake heiress, Corinne. She wore an expensive designer gown, looking like a pure, innocent angel as she snuggled into our mother’s arms. There was no jury. No victim’s family. Only my biological parents and brothers, watching me as if I were a clown in a circus act. I froze. Even with a mind dulled by years of torment, I knew something was terribly wrong. This was no official execution chamber. 2 Kian’s voice, dripping with undisguised contempt, crackled through the speakers in the wall. “Look at the way the little fool is shaking! She actually thinks she’s about to be executed for murder.” “It was Corinne’s idea, and it was a brilliant one. Hire a few actors, put them in uniforms, and we’ve scared the pride right out of Rhea.” “That’s what she gets for making our little princess cry. This ‘private prison’ is her own personal playground, built just for her.” Every word was a sledgehammer to my heart. It was all fake. There was no murder, no prison, no sentence. This was all because three years ago, Corinne had framed me time and time again, until my family’s disappointment in me curdled into hate. The final straw was when she cried that I had pushed her down the stairs. Just because she had whispered, “Does my sister hate me?”, my entire family had conspired to create this hell for me. To appease their precious adopted daughter, they had spent a fortune building this basement, hiring professional actors, and faking everything. Three entire years. Right under their noses, I was tortured like an animal. And they were right here, on the other side of the glass, sipping wine and watching my suffering for their own amusement. A casual after-dinner entertainment. My vision blurred. Not with tears, but with a despair so absolute it felt like blindness. Corinne seemed to notice me looking at her. She walked up to the glass, picked up a microphone, and her voice, sickeningly sweet, filled my cell. “Happy birthday, sister.” “This little gift took the boys a long time to prepare. Do you like it?” “All you have to do is get on your knees, bow to me three times, and say you’re sorry. Then we’ll let you out, okay?” She giggled, a delicate, tinkling sound. Behind her, Wyatt stroked her hair fondly. “Corinne, you’re too soft-hearted. Trash like her should be scared to death in there.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. A metallic sweetness flooded my throat. These were my blood relatives. The family I had fought so desperately to belong to, to please. “Proceed with the execution,” our father’s stern voice commanded, tinged with impatience. “Don’t be late for the celebration dinner tonight.” The “executioner” behind me pulled the trigger again. BANG! A deafening roar. I felt a massive impact at the back of my head, and a violent ringing consumed all other sound. It was a blank, but at this range, the concussive force and sound were enough to shatter a person’s spirit. My body convulsed, my heart seizing violently in my chest. The world began to spin as darkness flooded my vision. And in that final moment, a cold, mechanical voice exploded in my mind. [Host’s vital signs are in rapid decline.] [Host’s mental threshold has collapsed.] [System activated.] [Host, have you had enough of this so-called family?] With the last shred of my consciousness, I grasped onto that lifeline. Had I had enough? How could I not have? If I had another life, I would rather be a blade of grass, a stone, anything but a member of the Blackwood family. [Do you wish to abandon the salvation of the Blackwood family and depart from this world?] [The moment this body dies, you will be able to return to your original world and embrace a new life.] I want to go back. I’ve dreamed of escaping this place. [Affirmative. Teleportation sequence initiated.] [Detachment commencing.] [Let them weep over a corpse.] 3 The pain was gone. In its place was a lightness I had never felt before. My perspective began to rise, and I looked down at the emaciated, scar-covered body slumping lifelessly in the execution chair. That was my body. And it was my final “gift” to the Blackwood family. On the other side of the one-way mirror, the laughter continued. “Whoa, she’s down for the count!” Kian slapped his thigh, howling as he pointed at the monitor. “Not bad acting! That fall looked pretty convincing.” “She probably wet herself. That gunshot even made me jump.” Wyatt took a sip of his wine, his eyes full of contempt. “A coward is a coward. With guts like that, how did she ever think she could compete with Corinne?” Corinne covered her mouth, giggling, a flash of vicious pleasure in her eyes. “Don’t be so mean, boys. My sister has always been a bit timid.” “But that expression on her face was so ugly. Like a dead fish.” They were still waiting. Waiting for the person strapped to the chair to wake up from her terror, to start crying and begging for mercy, to get on her knees and bark like a dog. That was the script they had written. But a minute passed. Then two. The figure in the chair remained motionless. Not even the slightest rise and fall of her chest. Her head hung limply, like a broken doll. A strange stillness began to seep through the thick, soundproof glass. “What’s going on?” our mother frowned, setting down her teacup. “Why isn’t she getting up? Has she gotten addicted to playing dead?” Kian clicked his tongue in annoyance and grabbed the microphone. “Hey! Rhea! Stop faking it!” “The show’s over! Get up and bow to Corinne!” No response. Only the crackle of static from the speakers and the dead silence of the small room. The actor “guards” exchanged uneasy glances. The prop guns they used were specially made to produce sound and a slight puff of air. They were completely harmless. “Are these the actors you hired?” our father’s displeased gaze fell on Wyatt. “Completely inept. Did they actually scare her into fainting?” Wyatt’s face flushed with irritation. He slammed his glass down. “I’ll go wake her up.” “This stupid girl. I give her an easy way out, and she forces me to get my hands dirty.” He strode out of the observation room, pushed through the heavy metal door, and entered the “execution chamber.” Kian and Corinne followed, eager to get a closer look at my pathetic state. Wyatt walked up to me and kicked the iron leg of the chair. CLANG! “Wake up! How long are you going to keep this act up?!” My head lolled with the vibration of the chair, but it didn’t lift. My matted, yellowed hair covered my face, hiding my expression. Wyatt’s patience ran out. He reached out, grabbed the collar of my prison uniform, and tried to haul me to my feet. “I said—” His words died in his throat. His hand froze. The skin his fingertips touched was as cold as ice. Not the normal coolness of a living person, but a profound, bone-deep cold that had lost all trace of life. And she was so light. The person in his hands felt as light as a sheet of paper, as if she were nothing but a skeleton. Wyatt’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively let go. My body, no longer supported, slid down the back of the chair and crumpled onto the concrete floor with a heavy thud. My limbs were bent at grotesque, unnatural angles. “What are you doing, bro?” Kian walked in, pinching his nose in disgust. The room stank of old blood and mildew. “Hurry up and wake her so we can get out of this dump. It stinks.” Wyatt didn’t speak. He stared at my body on the floor, his pupils constricting violently. That feeling… it wasn’t right. That stiffness… it wasn’t an act. “Kian, call a doctor,” Wyatt’s voice was hoarse. Kian paused. “A doctor? Why? Just throw a bucket of cold water on her. She’ll wake up.” “I SAID CALL A DOCTOR!!!” Wyatt suddenly roared, the veins on his neck bulging. The shout startled Corinne, who had just entered the room. “Wyatt, what’s wrong?” she pouted. “Sister is just playing dead to scare us. Why are you yelling at Kian?” Wyatt ignored her. He crouched down, his hand trembling as he slowly reached a finger toward my nose. No breath. Dead silence. He then shakily felt for a pulse on my neck. Nothing. Not even the faintest flutter. Wyatt collapsed onto the floor, his face instantly turning a deathly white. “She’s… gone.” “What’s gone?” Kian was still clueless, kicking my leg in annoyance. “Hey, Rhea, knock it off. You really think you’re some kind of A-list actress?” “I SAID SHE’S NOT BREATHING!!!” Wyatt whipped his head around, his eyes like those of a cornered animal. “SHE’S DEAD! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! SHE’S DEAD!!!” 4 “Dead?” Kian looked as if he’d just heard the world’s most ridiculous joke. “Bro, did she fool you too?” “How could a blank kill someone? We had experts calibrate these props!” Refusing to believe it, he crouched down to slap my face. “Rhea, that’s enough—” His hand touched my cheek. The icy, rigid feel of my skin made the words catch in his throat. Kian was a race car driver. He’d seen his share of blood and accidents. He knew the difference between a living person and a dead one just by touch. No one could fake that temperature. Kian snatched his hand back as if he’d been electrocuted. He scrambled backward, knocking over a nearby rack of torture implements. A loud crash of metal echoed through the room. “How could this happen…” Kian muttered, his eyes vacant. “The medical report said she was in good health…” “I had someone give her nutritional IVs regularly for the past three years…” “How could she just be scared to death by a single blank?” By now, our parents, who had been watching from the doorway, realized something was terribly wrong. Our father strode in, his face ashen. “What is all this commotion! Get a hold of yourselves!” Despite his stern words, his pace was hurried. If someone had actually died, even here, it would be a massive problem. Especially since the dead person was his own daughter. Even though he had never truly acknowledged me. “The doctors! Where are the doctors?!” he roared. There was no need to call for one from outside. Our second brother, Nolan, was a top surgeon. He had been delayed by an important surgery and hadn’t arrived yet. But the facility was equipped with its own emergency medical team, precisely to prevent them from “taking the game too far.” Several people in white coats rushed in. They were also on the family payroll, responsible for patching up my wounds to ensure I wouldn’t die, so the torture could continue. “Quick! See what’s happened!”

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