Category: English

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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I was looking for a new electric toothbrush for my husband, Professor Damon Hawthorne, for Valentine’s Day. It was a mundane chore, but I still wanted it to feel like a gift. In the reviews section of a popular online retailer, I saw a comment with over ten thousand likes: “Must Buy! This electric toothbrush is incredibly durable, I haven’t charged it in six months!” Three days later, an update followed: “My sincere apologies for misleading everyone. It turns out my husband has been charging it the entire time. I’m so absent-minded; I only found out today when I pressed him for details, realizing how much he does.” “I never replace the toilet paper in the bathroom—I just think, ‘Wow, this roll lasts forever.’ Our streaming subscription never lapses, and I always assumed there was a glitch in the software. And that dry patch on my lips that suddenly disappeared? He was applying lip balm to me in my sleep.” “He’s a university professor. I always criticized him for not being ‘romantic,’ but now I understand: the one who loves you finds a way.” The comments section exploded in swooning adoration. Readers complained that Valentine’s Day hadn’t even arrived, and they were already choking on the sweetness. Under relentless demand, the original poster finally shared a photograph—a clear, handsome side profile. I clicked on it, a familiar, wistful smile on my face, but the smile froze instantly. The man in the photo was unmistakably my professor husband. Looking over at my mother-in-law, Mrs. Hawthorne, who had been paralyzed and bedridden for six years, and then considering Damon’s frequent, convenient stays on campus, a deep chill of dread ran through me. Sure enough, when I took our marriage certificate to the county clerk’s office to inquire, the attendant pointed to the raised seal. “Ma’am, your marriage license appears to be a forgery. Professor Damon Hawthorne’s record lists another woman as his spouse: Delaney Shaw.” My fingers loosened, and the shockingly red fake certificate clattered to the floor. A laugh, sharp and desolate, clawed its way out of my throat. Everyone in the academic community knew Damon Hawthorne and Delaney Shaw were not just Professor and student. She was his star pupil, his intellectual equal, the one who truly understood him. And me? I was, apparently, just the free, live-in caregiver. I stumbled home, the fake license clutched in my hand, the sickeningly familiar odor of urine and stale air hitting my nose. Mrs. Hawthorne, paralyzed for six years, needed to be changed again. I wiped her down, cleaned the bed, and disposed of the waste with the practiced indifference of six years. Then, I pulled up the online retailer again. I stared at that familiar, elegant side profile for a long time before slowly lifting my head. I looked around the house, meticulously clean, every item exactly where it should be. And I laughed. The laughter broke, turning into tears that streamed down my face. Six years. I had silently propped up this life, this house, for six years. Because of me, Damon could remain above the mess, far from his sick mother’s bedside, free to be the celebrated, detached Professor Hawthorne. Yet, he hadn’t had time for a wedding with me—not even a simple ceremony—while simultaneously playing the role of the perfect husband for someone else. And that “someone else” was Delaney Shaw, the very girl who had once called me “Mrs. Hawthorne” while clinging to my arm. I scoffed. I was about to reply to the thread—“She knew about me. Your bliss is built on a lie.”—when I saw the entire thread, photos and all, suddenly disappear. Moments later, a text arrived from Damon. The tone was all command. [Students are coming over for dinner tonight. Make sure Mom is clean and prepare a good meal. Especially your Braised Short Ribs—make extra, I need a takeout container for later.] Braised Short Ribs. If I recalled correctly, that was the dish Delaney had gushed over the last time she was here, saying it was her favorite. I had been foolishly flattered then, urging her to have seconds. The irony was crushing. I hadn’t even recognized my replacement when she was sitting at my dining table. Yet, six years ago, Damon and I were the perfect match. I was the hottest Teaching Assistant in the Literature Department, and he was the most principled, most revered academic—the high-tower intellectual. He had pursued me for four years. When we were together, he took care of every detail: the phone that never needed minutes, the feminine products that never ran out, the feeling of leaving the house with a perpetually full phone battery. When did it all change? It was the time he tried to share an analysis of 19th-century poetry, and I was frantically scheduling a specialist appointment for his mother. It was the time he wanted me to help him copy classical texts, and I was frowning while changing his mother’s adult diaper. It was the time he wanted a late-night snowy walk under the moonlight, and I was already asleep, clutching my cracked, working hands. “Willa, you simply don’t understand my world.” He’d said that to me once, his eyes full of disappointment. I hadn’t paid attention. I was too busy researching the most durable, cost-effective wheelchair for our nonexistent wedding. But now, I finally understood. He resented me for losing the poetry and romance of our dating days. Yet, he completely forgot that I was the one who resigned from a tenure-track position to carry the crushing weight of his life. The old clock on the wall was broken, only the hands still stubbornly ticking in place. The ceaseless, jarring sound made me feel utterly exhausted. Six years. I had given everything. I’d gone from a brilliant academic to a hollow-eyed, worn-out housewife. And he had never even considered me his wife. Fine. If this house was just a lie, I was done with it. Ignoring Damon’s text, I started packing. To be closer to Mrs. Hawthorne, I had moved out of the master bedroom and into the adjacent study years ago. The room held pitifully little that belonged to me. Mrs. Hawthorne’s supplies—diapers, medicine, bedding—were piled high. Damon’s things—calligraphy brushes, antique texts, his pristine writing desk—were perfectly ordered. All I had was a small, cheap dresser and a vanity. My clothes were dated. My few skincare products had long since expired. Looking in the mirror, I saw a thirty-year-old woman with a sallow complexion and a look of utter depletion. A stab of pain hit me. I had hollowed myself out for Damon. I felt a surge of shame, remembering the regret in my mentor’s eyes when I resigned. For the first time in six years, I dialed Professor Robert Eldridge. The line picked up immediately. “Willa, you finally decided to call this old fool.” I choked on my words, tears welling up. “Professor, I’m so sorry I wasted your faith in me, I was too ashamed to call, but now I want to—” “I told you, you have a place here whenever you want it. I’ll start the paperwork. You’ll be back on the faculty in three days.” “Thank you, Professor.” I hung up, my rough hands trembling around the phone. Tears of relief streamed down. I still had a way back. With a final flicker of compassion, I drafted a meticulous list of Mrs. Hawthorne’s necessities. As I pulled my suitcase toward the door, Damon walked in, followed by a handful of students. The moment they caught the smell of the room, they instinctively covered their mouths. “What is that odor? God, it stinks.” “Did a dumpster truck drive past with the window open?” Seeing Mrs. Hawthorne’s door slightly ajar, Damon immediately understood. His face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He strode quickly into the study. “Willa Benson, I told you to clean up after Mom! How are we supposed to eat with this smell? Go change her. Now.” I looked up at him, my expression blank. “Why should I?” Damon, used to my silence and compliance, stopped dead. He stared at me, disbelievingly. “What did you just say?” “I said, why should I? Let’s be clear, Damon. She’s your mother, not mine.” “Willa, are you losing your mind—” I cut him off, reaching down for the fake marriage certificate and tossing it onto the floor. I pulled my suitcase, meeting his eyes head-on. “Yes, I was crazy when I thought I was happily marrying you. But today, I’m finally lucid. And as of now, I have nothing to do with you.” The old suitcase wheels ground a grating, broken sound across the floor—a brutal echo of the hopeful silence six years ago when I first moved in. Damon was no longer the beaming young man who had wrapped me in his arms, saying, “Welcome home.” Now, his eyes were filled with resentment. “Because I haven’t had time for a wedding, you’re going to pull this stunt in front of my students?” The room went completely still. I turned back, stunned. Even now, he dared to blame me? “Mrs. Hawthorne, Professor Hawthorne is truly very busy. If you want a ceremony, can’t you discuss it calmly? Why do you have to force his hand like this?” Delaney Shaw jumped in immediately, her voice dripping with protective sympathy for Damon. The other students quickly backed her up. “Exactly. A wedding is just a formality, why be so traditional?” “The Professor is teaching non-stop, he’s exhausted. She, on the other hand, chose to be a housewife, sitting around with his money, and she can’t even manage his mother.” “What can she even do without the Professor?” A wall of young women was suddenly judging me. They saw themselves as the vanguard of modern womanhood, and me as a dependent parasite, ripe for judgment. They had no idea. Every loaf of bread, every roll of paper towels, every item in this house had been paid for by my thriftiness. The fees for his mother’s specialized care were covered by my late-night freelance editing and grading work. Damon’s entire salary was spent on academic retreats with students, fine-art painting supplies, and, I now realized, on his life with Delaney. My knuckles turned white on the suitcase handle. Thinking of my wasted years, I gave a hollow, bitter laugh. “That’s right. Professor Hawthorne is famous for his clear conscience and noble elegance, yet he’s carrying on with his student, a known home-wrecker.” “Your mother’s mess, and yours, is filthy. As of today, I quit cleaning up after both of you.” I turned to leave, but several students blocked my path. “What are you saying? We spoke the truth, and now you’re going to spread slander?” “We’re here to study with the Professor. Why are you making it sound so ugly?” I slowly turned, my eyes cold and sharp on Damon. I felt a change—the once-brilliant, assertive academic, Willa Benson, was back. Damon’s breathing hitched. He glanced down at the crumpled fake marriage certificate. A flicker of panic crossed his face. But then he remembered my six years of obedience, and he seemed to conclude I was simply desperate and couldn’t leave him. He reached into his wallet, pulled out two hundred dollars, and tossed the bills onto the desk. “A wedding is just a catered dinner. If you’re truly that desperate, go rent a dress.” “I’m taking the students to the stone bridge to see the snow. I expect dinner to be ready and everything to be back to normal when we return.” He adjusted his thin, gold-rimmed glasses with his long, recently-softened fingers, and swept out with his entourage. The heavy front door slammed shut. The next second, I heard the sound of breaking glass from Mrs. Hawthorne’s room. I rushed in. On the floor, next to her withered hand, a pool of scarlet was rapidly spreading. I immediately called 911. As the piercing ambulance siren approached, Mrs. Hawthorne pleaded with me, her voice faint and weak. “Willa, you’re a good girl… Damon is just confused right now… Don’t let me burden you, don’t blame him, okay?” My head exploded in a searing rush of sound. The word “Mom” caught in my throat. I swallowed it, my voice trembling. “You knew? You knew he was going to marry Delaney before he did it?” Mrs. Hawthorne shut her eyes tightly, giving a barely perceptible nod. I collapsed onto the floor. My eyes fell on the simple cell phone she wore around her neck for emergencies. On impulse, I took it, unlocking it and opening the social media app. There, on an album only visible to Damon and “Family,” were photos of Damon and Delaney’s destination wedding. A snowy mountain, a wedding dress, flowers everywhere. Their hands were clasped tightly in front of a sacred altar, sweet vows lighting up the screen: “I do.” “Forever and always.” These were the vows—the exact, romantic, self-written promises—he and I had planned together. Every comment underneath was a congratulation. Including the students who had just righteously criticized me. Their words implied a single, cruel truth: The unloved one is the true mistress. They saw Damon’s deceit as charity, a desperate attempt to keep me in my role as the housekeeper I needed to survive. Domesticity and Romance. Damon had cleanly separated them. The former was mine; the latter, Delaney’s. When our mutual friends had questioned his sudden silence, he’d posted the photo of his legal marriage license with Delaney, silencing their concerns. Tears splashed onto the screen, blurring the vows. When the tears finally stopped, I looked at the woman I had spent six tireless years caring for, and I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness. Just cold detachment. I spoke the last words I would ever say to her. “I will never forgive either of you.” Her mouth twitched. She strained to whisper, “I’m sorry,” before finally losing consciousness. The paramedics arrived. A doctor rushed over with a consent form for emergency surgery. I picked up the pen, then remembered the forged marriage license. I had no right to sign this. I called Damon. “Get to St. Jude’s Hospital, now. Your mother tried to take her own life and needs emergency surgery.” Through the phone, I heard a mocking chorus of young voices. Delaney snatched the phone away, her tone sharp and undisguised. “Mrs. Hawthorne, you don’t have to lie to get the Professor to come home.” “I’m not lying.” “Then why don’t you just sign the form?” I looked at the blazing red surgery light and the anxious doctor beside me. I gave a slight, careless smile. “Believe me or don’t. But I won’t be signing anything.” “Willa Benson, you are an absolute disaster!” Damon screamed before slamming the phone down. I snorted, giving the doctor Damon’s cell phone number, and quickly downloaded the surveillance footage from Mrs. Hawthorne’s room. When the doctor called Damon, he hung up instantly and texted me: [Willa, my cold-weather painting session isn’t finished. Stop creating drama.] [Make sure the ribs are cooking. We’ll be home soon. Don’t forget the takeout container.] The message was grotesque. But I still sent a photo of the Emergency Room door, out of what little decency I had left. The response was a red exclamation point. He had blocked me. After a few more attempts, Damon eventually turned his phone off. Watching the drops of blood that led to the Emergency Room, I knew I couldn’t wait. I bypassed my old mentor and called the one person I could always count on. “Idiot, what’s the penalty for document fraud and fraudulent marriage?”

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Not long after I was diagnosed with Leukemia, my parents adopted the daughter of our housekeeper. That girl wore the same knee-length cashmere dress as me, combed the same shoulder-length straight black hair, appeared in front of my parents. Almost instantly, made my mother cover her face and weep, hands trembling: “Too alike, if my daughter was also healthy, she would be this quiet and elegant look.” After getting approval, the Imposter very proudly moved into my room, used my cosmetics, called my parents, even changed her name to be 70% like mine. Unknowing people, all recognized her as that sickly real heiress of the Vance family. Hearing this news, I was in the hospital, but didn’t feel a bit uneasy or replaced. “Stupid people, are going to pay a high price for their ignorance and overstepping.” I picked up the somewhat twisted wooden Voodoo Mask on the table and put it on my face, through the mask, I could see, dead Grandma appeared in the mirror, looking at me kindly smiling: “Don’t be afraid, Hazel, soon someone will replace your bad luck.” Chapter 1 Speaking of strange, my family inherited for several generations, enduring, is one of the top Old Money families. People in the family, basically wishes come true, doing things, also never encountered any obstacles. Unknowing outsiders, all think our family are all “Chosen Ones”. But I know, all this seems to have a price. Certain members in the maternal family, will die at uncertain ages, with an extremely painful and unrelated illness, generation after generation, like a kind of genetic bad luck. After those family members died, family wealth and fortune, will develop like a raging fire with fiercer momentum. Times many, it’s not coincidence. Everyone thinks, it is the tragic death of relatives, like “Sacrifice”, nourished the bloodline and fortune of this huge family. But some family members seem not want, not want to lose their loved ones, to exchange for momentary glory and wealth, what we got is already enough. They attempted to join hands to resist, this “Inherited Curse”. But even donating family property, selling everything, this “Sacrifice”, did not stop. Until, Grandma found a way to break the genetic bad luck. She sat in front of the window, letting sunlight warm her fingers. Grandma’s curled fingers, because of bone cancer influence, exceptionally different from normal people. Knuckles swollen high, other places exceptionally withered, skin on fingers no luster, covered with lines, like withered old tree in mountains. Grandma paralyzed in wheelchair, like pumped away spirit, but her pair of protruding eyes were shining. She first pulled Mom to side instructed something, then looked at me full of expectation, comforted: “Don’t be afraid, Hazel, Grandma already found the way to crack.” Later, all females, will find a person, extremely similar to themselves in all aspects. Or, find a person, with extremely strong will, to replace and seize their identity. Let this person come home, eat wear live travel together, let her enjoy wealth and glory. Gradually, become from dressing to body shape, from voice to appearance, at first glance, unable to distinguish situation. Then, family members live elsewhere, let this person, become family member replacing her existence, live with everyone… Mom has “Replacement”, Auntie has, Cousin has. Such people, we call them “The Replacement”, in novels, call her “Fake Heiress”. Auntie Sarah was Mom’s “Replacement”. She under Mom’s eyelids, had affair with Dad, wearing Mom’s nightgown, using Mom’s perfume, all this tacitly allowed by Mom, indulged by Dad. Dad always behind back, looked at Auntie Sarah with exceptional disgust, then treated affectionately after Auntie Sarah turned around. Like a puppet show no one pulling strings, can’t understand, but very mysterious. Later, Grandpa even gave Auntie Sarah, changed a name same as Mom, publicly announced adopted Auntie Sarah. “Mom, I quarreled with classmate at school today…” Me in middle school, often called wrong Mom and Auntie Sarah, I hugged “Mom” from behind somewhat aggrieved complaining. But not wait my words finish, Auntie Sarah exceptionally surprise turned around, eyes bright: “What did you call me? Hazel, I am Auntie Sarah.” “Am I very like your mom, actually even you this biological daughter can recognize wrong, really very like? Hazel?” “Like this, I can replace that bitch, become your mom, I can completely change from original self to her.” Auntie Sarah while talking, while couldn’t help grabbing my shoulders, shaking hard. She widened eyes, this time I then saw, her eye whites, all red bloodshot. When she asked me these questions, exceptionally crazy, eyes straight, like a monster stripped of soul, like a parasite desiring to replace host. I was scared, shrank back, then, felt exceptionally guilty standing on spot. How could I even call Mom wrong? But Mom seemed not think so. In corner mirror, emerged Mom standing behind second floor wall, peeking all this, she seeing this scene, no sadness, no sorrow. Replaced by, was a kind of extreme excitement and surprise. Seemed like thing Mom long looked forward to became true, desired dream became reality. Not long after, Mom moved out, gave herself a new name. Dressing style, also completely different from before, Mom cut long hair, put on strange clothes never liked before. In my eyes, completely became another person. She not allow me call her Mom, she touched my head, let me call Auntie Sarah Mom. Don’t know why Mom wanted do this, but looking Mom somewhat begging and fearful eyes, I agreed. From that day, time less than a year, Auntie Sarah seriously ill died. Those discomforts troubling Mom, bit by bit disappeared, Mom changed back to that Mom again, returned home… Most importantly, from that day, family bought new luxury cars again, built hot spring villa, seemed no one cared Auntie Sarah’s death. Dad wearing newly bought Richard Mille watch, sitting on beach watching Mom running under not far afterglow. Although I somewhat ignorant, but still could guess, Mom’s bad luck, already replaced by “The Replacement”. So, now turn to me? My body always very good, at least annual physical exam and gene test, all proved this point, but Mom always not assured. Start from middle school graduation, Mom asked me bring those, classmates with bad intentions to me home, let them become my “Replacement”. But I unwilling, I always luckily thought, I can escape this calamity. Those girls just dislike me, doesn’t mean, degree I hate them, can let me easily use “Bad Luck” this torture tool, to execute them. My life, not nobler than their life much, I don’t want anyone become my “Replacement”. I also too easily believed, human nature not bad to this degree. Until, family housekeeper Mrs. Baker’s daughter, Lola, appeared in my life. Chapter 2 At first meeting her, she stood at foyer, wearing old tattered clothes, timidly called me “Sister”. Later she and I entered same school, eyes looking at me more and more timid. Later again, she always followed behind me entering school, always displayed her full body scars in front of everyone, also always when contacting me, obedient unlike words. Gradually, appeared in school, I am “Mean Girl”, take pleasure in abusing Lola, such rumors. Childhood sweetheart neighbor brother, extremely angry pushed me to wall: “Knowing person like you, really disgusts me, Lola told us all, how you privately found people beat her humiliate her.” “I really didn’t expect, you actually such bad person.” To this, I chose a slap fan back, and blunt said: “Believe who you love believe! Idiot brainless thing.” But later, things didn’t easily stop, my nude photos taking bath at home, inexplicably appeared on school forum. Title is “Rich Miss escort play, just for stimulation”. Comment section below exploded: “I long knew she not a good person, this photo is it leaked by that play guy.” “Look at her that slutty look, really is material for this line, body not bad oh, Miss overnight what price.” “That leg really white ah, why can’t think open go do this line.” I sat on steps, lost mind looking these comments, a kind of causeless despair surrounded me, what should I do? Thoughts in brain haven’t cleared, eyes suddenly spun. Suddenly pushed hard by someone behind, I directly fell down from stairs. Sky spin earth turn, forehead hit a big hole, blood blurred my eyes, but I still saw standing in stair crowd, Lola looking at me. Her eyes not like before soft and enduring, instead full of provocative meaning. Her lips proud upward, silently mouthed these words: “You really deserve it.” During time I recuperating at home, she started imitating me, imitating my handwriting, wearing clothes I like appearing in school. She cut same hairstyle as me, surrounded by my former suitors. Even many classmates felt, she more like Vance family spoiled grown big miss than me: “Hazel is just fate good, can reincarnate in Vance family, she want looks no looks, want upbringing no upbringing.” “Now still notorious, did rotten things discovered, can’t bear self-harmed right?” “Want me say, Lola generous decent, definitely envied by Hazel, then targeted by her like that before.” Lola’s mom, also started when parents business trip, cold words to me. Back home, on dining table, no longer my favorite sweet sour ribs and fried fish, instead placed Lola loved black pepper small steak. Rotten plot in real fake heiress novels, just appeared in my life like this. I vaguely felt something wrong, but couldn’t say reason. Seemed all reality situations, guiding me to hate her, to let her become my “Replacement”. But everything now, let me unable stop think clear, classmates targeting, teachers misunderstanding. Even back to own home, still encounter annoying person. This feeling of being slighted and invaded, made me angry unstoppable, I directly smashed bowl and chopsticks: “Mrs. Baker, here should be my home right? Why you not follow my order, make some dishes I like? What are these on table?” Mrs. Baker looked at me eyes somewhat disdain: “Eat what not same eat? You really think self is thousand gold miss, so eat must follow your order?” “Your parents just asked me cook for you eat, not want let me become your slave.” “Don’t think telling your parents, who can prove you morning said want eat sweet sour ribs, you think my daughter will help you prove?” I smashed bowl, she roughly pulled me to kitchen, let me clean kitchen: “Miss Hazel, I really never seen child like you, your parents not discipline you right? I come discipline. You today not finish cleaning, don’t think eat.” “How you not like my daughter a bit, she so obedient, you look at yourself.” Even after they finished eating, Mrs. Baker called me wash bowls chopsticks together. I called parents, but Mrs. Baker very proud stood at stair entrance smiling: “Place your parents went business trip, very few signal, they said, this period by me take care you, I am your temporary guardian.” “You don’t think make trouble, listen my words well, otherwise you have good suffer.” I past never couldn’t contact parents, this not fit past experience and memory, I always felt where appeared problem. I seemed cleverly fell into a dilemma no one can help. That night, Lola under Mrs. Baker instruction, slept in my room. She wore my clothes, slept on my bed. Although I didn’t deliberately guide, but always felt. Lola, to certain extent, unknowingly, seemed already became my “Replacement”. Thinking her actions, I actually to matter she become my “Replacement”, had a kind of revenge pleasure. If she really can bear bad luck originally belong to me, then to her why not a kind of revenge? She framed me, posted my nude photos online, pushed me down stairs, simply crime big evil extreme. She deserves it. Chapter 3 Midnight, I came to attic Grandma once liked most. Here has a mask Grandma asked Shaman carved for her. Since Grandma passed away, I found, wearing this mask, can see former Grandma look in mirror. She will talk to me, tell me live well. At this moment, I very want ask Grandma, what I should do. But I just opened attic, picked up mask, whole person uncontrolled fell backward. A stream heat gushed from nose, how also wipe not clean, brain also sky spin earth turn a burst dizziness. Blood non-stop flowing ah flowing. I helpless, holding cuff wipe, wipe till sleeve full blood, then realized this is precursor of Leukemia, my “Bad Luck” is it already descended? I fainted sleep, whole body cold terrible. In coma, seemed see not far, Grandma sitting on rattan chair, gently rocking. Don’t know slept how long in attic, I then dragged up by a somewhat warm small hand, I couldn’t open eyes, but ear side rang familiar voice: “Endure don’t sleep ah!” Half faint half awake, I saw Lola one hand holding me in arms, other hand flustered using phone call 911. Her eye corner don’t know why hung tears, seemed scared by my full face blood. That arm holding me still slightly trembling, her eyes this moment seemed so sincere kind. Lola trembling speaking my situation to phone: “Yes, in Garden District, Building 3, someone in this house keeps bleeding nose, seems dying, woo woo, you come quick, how long arrive?” I lay in her arms looking at her. Somewhat not understand, current Lola exactly doing what? Isn’t she person most want me die? As long as I die, she can thoroughly replace me, become me. But now, that anxious look, looks like, seems not want me die? “Aren’t you most want harm me die? Now isn’t as you wish?” “Is you pushed me down stairs right? Didn’t harm me die, are you very disappointed.” Lola raised hand, wiped tears cried out by scare, somewhat stubborn said: “I not as bad as you, debts you bullied me, I find you calculate later, you better not coma, wait you coma, I will take chance slap you.” “Why you flow so much nose blood, do you have some big illness?” When she wiped tears, raised hand, forearm not covered by cuff, impressively revealed a terrifying scar. I forced spirit, look closely, there are large amount burns, scars cut by knife then stitched, blue purple bruises. Curiosity drove me ask this question: “Who made these wounds?” She bit tight back molars, somewhat viciously sarcastic me: “Evil person still have face ask knowingly? I really should choke you death while you sick, I didn’t offend you, why you always want find people hurt me, woo woo woo, do you know how hard I am?” “I since small always raised by grandparents, my mom long died, is Auntie Baker took me in, now can come city school, you still treat me like this.” She crying look, very ugly, I somewhat dizzy, also somewhat impatient: “What is your mom surname?” She stunned, obviously didn’t expect I ask this question, her eyes dimmed a moment: “My biological mother surname Sarah (Xu).” This instant, I seemed thought through, before fainting, somewhat indistinct said to Lola: “Idiot, run fast ah.” Chapter 4 When I woke up, eyes front a piece pure white, parents still didn’t come back. Mrs. Baker in ward, looking me lying on bed dying look, somewhat afraid shirking responsibility: “Not my business ah, is yourself body weak, who can you blame?” “Also this matter, all yourself went attic take things, so would…” Not wait her finish, I somewhat unhappy interrupted: “Where is your daughter Lola?” She eyes panicked a second, somewhat hem and haw, doubts in this too many I must ask clear face to face. Mrs. Baker evasive: “Did she tell you something? She this child sometimes will have some consciousness confusion, she born like this, speak not reliable.” Looks like, person manipulating all this behind scenes, already detected, did I hear something shouldn’t hear. I somewhat impatient, pretended angry: “I sick now, I just want her come serve me, you hurry call her come, right, I have some clothes old long time, you take give her wear.” Mrs. Baker once heard “old clothes” these few words, eyes lit up. From her reaction, I roughly can know, seems this Mrs. Baker also knows something. Approaching afternoon time, Lola then sent to hospital. In process waiting her, I walked circle in room, room didn’t put surveillance camera, also didn’t put bug. But that camera on corridor, directly facing my ward. I must use more confidential way, to ask truth I want know. When Lola came my side, already put on my clothes, even hairstyle also somewhat similar to mine. Only difference me and her, is she slightly fatter than me, and face different. She holding fruit knife, peeled a pear for me eat. I picked up newspaper, pretended reading newspaper, actually blocking my mouth corner, low voice asked: “Those people hurt you before, have what characteristics? Where road you beaten? I actually don’t know all this, I also yesterday saw scars on your hand then discovered.” “Also, is you uploaded my nude photos to school net, outside has surveillance, you speak small voice, you recently also detected this home somewhat abnormal right?” She lowered head, somewhat dare not speak, thought, pretended organize trash can, back to surveillance said: “Person hurt me, said sent by you, height not tall, is a woman, looks thirty something look, behind left ear, has a purple birthmark, birthmark looks like a starfish.” Starfish? I crazy searched my memory in brain. Seem, indeed have seen, somewhat familiar… Right, that is Mom’s assistant, one of Mom’s most trusted people, behind ear has such starfish birthmark, I impression very deep. I found Mom colleague team building group photo from phone, WeChat sent to Lola: “Is her?” Lola looked once, hands couldn’t help trembling afraid, she small amplitude nodded. Night, I on internet, found a hacker. Let him help me see, appeared in school, my bathing nude photos, exactly sent from where. Finding a photo address from forum simply too simple, ten minutes later, he found original network address sending this photo. Vance Group, Dust Replacement Tower. This is our family group location. Truth seems bit by bit, start gradually emerge on water surface. I opened tablet. Searched on it, regarding our family consortium recent economic report. Sure enough, before “Replacement” sacrificed, consortium will appear large scale performance decline, financial loss, after sacrifice, then will steadily rise. “Did they ever try really stop all this?” I produced doubt to things Mom told me before. Doctor said, I got Leukemia, must hospitalized recuperate, see if have suitable bone marrow, can transplant. Midnight woke up, on tea table before bed, actually placed Grandma’s that mask. Safety sign not far in corridor emitting green light very creepy. I put on that weird mask, walked to mirror beside toilet, instantly, Grandma appeared in mirror. She still sat in wheelchair like before, but this time she no longer had past kind of kindness. Her sharp voice constantly high laughing, eyes couldn’t help spinning on me: “Hehe… he, Hazel, found own double?” I looked at Grandma, first time felt so creepy. I stepped back a step, somewhat timid asked: “Grandma, what exactly is this all about, this bad luck, does really want find person replace then disappear? Why our family has such bad luck?” “Where parents went these few days?” Grandma still hehe laughing, she saw me straight staring her, actually stood up from wheelchair. “Hazel, you really smart, I feel, you are family child most like me, smart guts big.” “Granddaughter, don’t you want glory wealth, everything easy to get?” “You think poor days, just really that easy pass? Don’t go explore so much, listen parents and family words, so you can have good days live.” “Whether she can become your replacement, ultimately, still depends on your will, if you unwilling, that time nourishing Ancestral House is your own flesh and blood.” She just finished words, then red eyes pounced towards me. I somewhat scared, hurry took off mask. But ear side, still echoed Grandma somewhat sharp voice: “Hazel… don’t fear, already someone want replace your bad luck.”

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The seller missed shipping a $50 cashmere sweater, so I applied for a “Refund Only”. Unexpectedly, the seller insisted I was trying to scam $50: “I hate scammers like you the most! The warehouse never makes mistakes, not a penny will be refunded, if you dare to apply for refund again I’ll expose your whole family online!” I was stunned, does the seller plan to ship only one sweater but earn double the price? A “Receive Only, No Ship” extreme seller, actually met by me? I backhanded reported the seller for false shipping, mailed a Cease and Desist Letter. Half a month later, the shop was permanently banned by the platform. The seller cried again saying he would give me ten times compensation begging for my forgiveness. Chapter 1 I paid $100 for two cashmere sweaters. But the FedEx package I received only contained one. I thought I missed picking up a package. Looking closely, I found the seller filled the same tracking number on both order logistics pages. That means the seller merged shipping. Saved himself a shipping fee. But missed sending me one sweater! What a joke operation. I quickly contacted the seller to explain the situation, applied for “Refund Only”. Unexpectedly, the seller insisted I wanted to get their clothes for free: “I hate scammers like you the most! The warehouse never makes mistakes, not a penny will be refunded, dare to apply for refund again I’ll expose your whole family online!” I was instantly confused. My finger applying for refund shook violently. There are many “Refund Only No Return” extreme buyers circulating on the internet. But a “Receive Only No Ship” extreme seller. Actually met by me? Chapter 2 I patiently sent the photo of the received sweater to the seller. “Received the package at 5 PM today, only one sweater inside.” “Your shop merged shipping, filled the same tracking number in two separate orders, but didn’t put the two clothes from two orders together to send to me. I paid $100, only received one, request refund of $50.” I expressed clearly enough. The seller still instantly rejected my $50 refund application. Next second, customer service message popped up: “Our warehouse has outbound records, freeloader, don’t think about scamming! “For freeloaders like you, we sue one accurate one, don’t blame me for not reminding you when you go to jail! Online shopping fraud is illegal!” I almost laughed in anger. Seller missed shipping items, yet so righteous? I expressed reasonable demands. But was easily labeled as a “freeloader”? Anger rushed up along my hair strands. I am a valued customer. Won’t take this crap! I told customer service again, after I opened the courier bag. There was one and only one sweater inside. Customer service immediately sent me a middle finger emoji. “Are scammers so arrogant now? Coming to boost performance on the first day of New Year? Rather than freeloading $50 here, better go work in a factory!” Seeing the message, my hands unconsciously clenched into fists. Wished I could fly in front of the customer service. Throw the sweater on his face. When I was ready to reply, the system showed customer service changed. New customer service attitude was slightly better than the previous one. “Hello dear, we need to verify the situation with the warehouse, will tell you result before 10 PM tonight.” I patiently waited for the verification result. Two hours later, I thought I could finally get a refund. Unexpectedly the notification received was still: [Your refund application was rejected by the seller. Seller note: No missed shipment.] I couldn’t hold it anymore. Staring at the thin sweater in hand fell into thought. Is the seller planning to deny till death? What new type of scam is this? Chapter 3 I didn’t plan to continue chatting with the seller. I directly contacted platform customer service. Explained the seller’s missed shipment situation. “The seller filled the same tracking number on two independent order pages, causing both orders to show as delivered. Actually I only received one sweater, requesting refund of $50.” I sent the delivery photo and order screenshot in order. Thinking refund would definitely succeed. Unexpectedly customer service actually asked me to provide an unboxing video! “If can’t provide complete unboxing video, here also can’t determine if seller missed shipment~” I really laughed in anger. Buying expensive electronics definitely record unboxing video. Who records unboxing video for a $50 sweater? I truthfully told customer service I didn’t record unboxing video. Official customer service replied me: “Then here also can’t help verify if seller has missed shipment behavior, thank you for understanding.” I stared at customer service’s words falling into thought. Since customer service asked me for unboxing video. Then I ask seller for packing shipping video. I messaged seller: “Since your warehouse verified no missed shipment, please send me a copy of packing shipping video.” After a minute, shop customer service sent a “disdain” emoji. “Our shop’s packing shipping video belongs to our internal data, not transmitted externally.” At this moment, I was very sure the seller had no packing shipping video at all. Without evidence, based on what ascertain warehouse didn’t miss shipment? Isn’t this purely deceiving consumers? Their so-called verifying missed shipment situation was just an hour interval. Found my chat box again. Sent me a sentence “No missed shipment” again without basis. Shopping online for ten years, first time met seller who missed shipment and refused refund! Chapter 4 I checked shop profile. Profile showed this is a new shop established just three months ago. All items in shop are sweaters. Style single, colors rich. Price far lower than shops selling similar items. I thought I picked affordable sweater relying on years of online shopping experience. Even collected this treasure shop at first time. Didn’t expect actually stepped into a big pit. A while later, seller customer service sent new message: “Unboxing video must start from goods outer packaging intact, we don’t recognize video filmed after opening packaging bag. “Unless you can provide real unboxing video, otherwise we won’t agree to your refund application. Smile.jpg.” I suddenly sensed something wrong. Seller seemed to guess from beginning I wouldn’t record unboxing video. So this shop deliberately used one sweater, earning double price? I won’t agree! I prepared to apply for return and refund. Page suddenly popped a new message. “If you want return and refund, send back both sweaters oh, we have special person for inspection, refund as many as sent back. “You send back one, not affecting secondary sales, we will only refund price of one. Stained with lipstick, perfume smell, our warehouse will reject all.” My finger clicking return and refund hovered in air. Meaning I not only won’t receive replacement sweater… Even return and refund, can only refund half of payment. Simply robbing my $50! Chapter 5 Matter to this point, this is not about $50 anymore. I suddenly remembered, weight of one sweater and two sweaters is different. By same logic, actual weight of courier package is also different. I quickly contacted FedEx courier. Asked weight when package sent out. Courier told me: “Package weight less than one kg, charged as one kg.” So weight shown on waybill is one kg. I checked specific weight record during transportation again. Sure enough found real weight. At previous station. Courier package weighed 1.5 lbs (0.71 kg). Shop page marked one sweater weight as 0.8-0.9 lbs. Counting weight of packaging bag and box. Exactly around 1.5 lbs. This weight data enough to prove seller only sent one sweater. I impatiently told this news to seller. Conveniently sent courier weighing screenshot to seller. Thought this farce could finally end. Unexpectedly shop customer service still coldly replied: “We verified, warehouse no missed shipment.” Customer service sent another screenshot. Picture clearly showed recent news: [Shock! Woman refunded without return 305 times in a month, sellers jointly sued, court sentenced!] Customer service also sarcastically said: “You understand right?” I laughed in anger. At this moment, she hadn’t realized yet. How painful price she would pay for this sentence. Chapter 6 I weighed the received sweater together with packaging. LCD screen showed 1.5 lbs. Consistent with weight when courier transported to last station. I sent courier weight screenshot to seller. “Courier sent out weight 1.5 lbs, I received also 1.5 lbs. One sweater about 0.8 lbs, this proves package you sent originally only had one sweater.” I thought this time seller no matter what must refund me. Matter of few minutes refund. Dragged for whole day. Really made people mentally exhausted. I planned to solve this small problem ASAP. Unexpectedly I still underestimated seller’s determination of “Receive Only No Ship”. Seller who was extremely unwilling to send packing shipping video just now. Suddenly threw out a 10-second shipping video. “This is our shipping video, video shows sent two, weight of each sweater varies, not 100% same weight. We also marked sweater weight for reference only, error exists, we sent two sweaters.” Simply too ridiculous! What error can differ by nearly a pound? I skeptically clicked open video. Date on top left showed three days ago. A pair of big hands picked up two packs of sweaters, put into package. Sealed bag, pasted tracking number, operation smooth. I zoomed in item info pasted on package. Indeed tracking number I received. Since seller sent two, I actually received one. Where did the lost one go? After sending this video, seller became more righteous: “Did you see? Our warehouse just distributed you two, you know in heart how many you received. “We provided shipping video, where is your unboxing video? Have it?” Seeing I didn’t reply, seller even cursed: “Unexpected right? We saved shipping video, otherwise really let you succeed in refund.” I watched packing shipping video three times consecutively. From video start to end. Indeed no trace of editing at all. I scratched head. Couldn’t understand no matter how. Chapter 7 I contacted courier. Other side confirmed goods not lost or damaged. Which means situation of losing one sweater halfway doesn’t exist. Seller and courier, must be one person lied. Seller uploaded this packing shipping video. Platform even straightforwardly judged seller no missed shipment. System immediately cancelled my refund application. Seller thought occupied reason, still constantly mocking me: “Warehouse no missed shipment, dear you can carefully check if there is another sweater in your home.” I pinched the only sweater falling into thought. I can buy expensive ones. But absolutely can’t accept seller selling me a $50 sweater with double price! I reported to platform customer service that authenticity of shipping video needs verification. Platform customer service sent message: “Need you provide unboxing video, otherwise we also can’t verify.” Unboxing video again. As if without unboxing video, can only admit bad luck! Customer service solemnly told me: “Here see shipping video provided by seller indeed packed two for you. “Clothes weight error is within normal range.” Clearly weight doesn’t match, just rely on a video appeared from nowhere. Seller can just not refund? I anxiously observed shipping video repeatedly. Video clear, watermark normal. Indeed can’t see a bit problem. Really want admit bad luck? After platform judged no responsibility, seller tone became more arrogant: “You not receiving is your own business, you not receiving doesn’t represent we didn’t send! “Now platform all gave result, what else you want quibble? You still want scam?” Seller sent three “rolling eyes” emojis in a row. I almost exploded in anger. I even found evidence of insufficient courier weight. In front of seller’s “packing video”, actually useless! After closing refund application page. Seller still perseveringly mocking me: “Don’t you know in heart how many received? “I tell you, I seen many like you!” Unbearable, I backhanded sent seller into blacklist. Chapter 8 I am Platinum Member of shopping platform. Recharged membership for five consecutive years. Credit score even full. This dispute judged seller no need refund. Not only lost $50. More means later I use this account again. Will be marked as “risk” user. Thinking here, my head hurt like cracking. I accessed VIP customer service line. Anxiously told other side: “I am dissatisfied with handling result of previous order dispute. Online shopping ten years, no need scam a sweater.” Platform customer service asked me again: “Was courier damaged or abnormal when received? Here can ask courier if missed.” I replied: “Package no damage trace, inside only one.” Platform customer service comforted me cool down. “Dear, here see you are our platform high quality customer, to guarantee your shopping experience, here can apply $10 no-threshold coupon for you, do you agree this handling plan?” Moment seeing message, I laughed in anger. Want use $10 coupon send me away? Don’t even think about it!

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I woke up from a car accident. My brother, my childhood sweetheart fiancé, and the college student I sponsored all told me I had amnesia. They said I was the daughter of the housekeeper. And Chloe, the real housekeeper’s daughter, was the true Heiress. “A maid’s daughter is still a maid. Go, cook me something.” I didn’t expose them. Instead, I obediently walked into the kitchen. But I didn’t use balsamic vinegar. I used engine oil. They ate it and spent the night in the ER. I didn’t use an iron for their clothes. I used a blowtorch. Millions of dollars in couture went up in flames. It wasn’t until I washed their underwear with chili powder instead of detergent that they finally broke. “Are you amnesiac or just brain-dead? You idiot, are you trying to kill me?!” Chloe strangled me, her face twisted. The three men looked at me with murderous intent. I smirked secretly. Isn’t this what you wanted? In my past life, because I exposed your lies, you strangled me to death in the basement. “You’ve been treated like a princess since birth. Chloe wants to experience it too. Why can’t you just let her?” The suffocation I felt when they killed me was still fresh. Reborn, I decided to play along. I’ll satisfy your wish for an amnesiac maid. Let’s see who dares to “trigger” my memory back! Chapter 1 “Your name is Scarlett. You are the daughter of the housekeeper. This is Miss Chloe, the heiress of this house. Your main job is to serve her.” Julian made the introductions. Ethan and Caleb stood by, nodding in agreement. “You were naturally mischievous. Before you lost your memory, you were rude to my sister. You need to turn over a new leaf.” “Exactly. Miss Chloe sponsored my college tuition. She is the kindest heiress I’ve ever met. You can’t overshadow her just because she’s nice.” While they sang their duet painting me as a wicked servant, they didn’t even take down my oil portrait from the wall. I pretended to be blind and bowed ninety degrees. “So I’m a maid. Thank you for telling me, Young Masters, Miss.” Seeing me accept this identity so easily, the three men sighed in relief. Chloe struck while the iron was hot, lifting her chin proudly. “Maid’s daughters are tough. You aren’t that delicate. Leave the hospital now and go home to work.” I frowned. The three men instantly went on high alert. “What’s wrong? Do you… remember something?” “Didn’t you say Miss Chloe is kind? I just had a car accident, and she won’t even give me a few days of sick leave?” The hospital room fell silent. Chloe cleared her throat and pouted coquettishly. “I just wanted to test if she really became obedient after losing her memory…” The three men immediately felt she made sense and forced me to be discharged. I looked at these men bustling around Chloe and sneered internally. The man handling the paperwork was my brother, Ethan. The man holding water for Chloe was my fiancé, Julian. The man carrying Chloe’s bag was Caleb, the student I sponsored. In my past life, they staged a car accident to give me a concussion. They bribed the doctor to damage my memory nerves. When I woke up, they gaslighted me, saying I was the maid’s daughter. But the doctor failed. I remembered everything. I fought back, causing chaos. Terrified that I would contact the secret security firm my father left me, they strangled me in the basement. “We just wanted to satisfy Chloe’s princess dream. Why couldn’t you just play along?” “You’re so disobedient. We have to send you away.” In my past life, I died with my eyes open. In this life, I will give you the amnesiac maid you wanted. As soon as we got home, I put on the maid uniform and went into the kitchen. When I served a plate of pitch-black lettuce, Ethan frowned. He knew I had never stepped into a kitchen in my life. Eating my cooking required courage. “Young Masters, Miss, please try my ‘Special Oil Lettuce’.” Chloe glanced at me smugly, picked up a leaf, and chewed. After a few chews, her face changed. She bent over the table and vomited violently. “This isn’t balsamic vinegar! It’s engine oil!” Chloe’s teeth were instantly stained black. Ethan was about to explode, but I clutched my head in pain. “Am I not a maid? Isn’t cooking my forte? Why can’t I tell the difference between vinegar and engine oil?” “How could I forget my skills just because of amnesia? How could I feed Miss Chloe oil?” “My head hurts… think, stupid brain! Remember!” I punched my own head wildly. Ethan and Chloe were stunned. Afraid I might actually remember something, Ethan rushed over and grabbed my wrist. “Enough! Stop hitting yourself!” He dragged me to the laundry room. “Don’t cook for now. Start with simple chores.” “Chloe and I have clothes that need ironing. Iron them and hang them up. That’s your task.” I nodded obediently, watching them leave to eat out, abandoning my oil feast. After they left, I walked into the bedroom that used to be mine. It was now fully occupied by Chloe. I smirked and flicked my lighter. Chapter 2 After sirens wailed and chaos ensued, I was sent to the hospital. I pretended to be unconscious until I heard familiar voices. “Chloe, I thought you were inside! What would I do if you were trapped?” My fiancé, Julian, held Chloe with hope, thankful she was safe. I swallowed my anger and coughed weakly. Ethan’s face was grim. “We were only gone for a while, and the whole house burned down. Scarlett, what did you do?” “Young Master, I was just ironing your clothes. I don’t know why they caught fire.” “What did you use to iron them?” I waved the charred blowtorch I had been clutching since I got on the stretcher. Julian looked like he wanted to kill me. “You used a blowtorch to iron clothes? Scarlett, are you insane?” I pouted, hitting my head again in frustration. “Yes… I’m sick… I have amnesia… Why can’t I remember? I’m so stupid. Am I really a maid?” At these words, Chloe, Ethan, and Julian’s faces changed. I rolled off the bed, shouting for a doctor to cure my amnesia. The door swung open and shut. Caleb rushed in, covered my mouth, and looked at the others in panic. “I heard her screaming from down the hall. Why aren’t you stopping her?” Chloe glared at me and checked her watch. “She’s acting like a maniac. It’s 1 AM. I’m exhausted!” Julian hugged her and threw a set of keys to Ethan. “I have a villa in the suburbs. Stay there for a few days. As for Scarlett…” He looked at me, then at Ethan and Caleb. “It must be the aftereffects. She’s too destructive. We should all watch her so she doesn’t cause more trouble.” I moved into Julian’s suburban villa with them. My room was the maid’s quarters next to the bathroom. 4 AM. The villa was silent. I sneaked into the bathroom and squatted in front of their dirty laundry. “What are you doing?” A cold male voice sounded behind me. I didn’t move or speak. Julian lost patience. He turned on the light, grabbed my neck, and pulled me up. “Sneaking around in the dark. What are you doing?” I held up a pair of pink panties, looking innocent. “I’m washing Miss Chloe’s underwear.” Julian saw the dripping panties and looked awkward. “Wash them tomorrow. Go to sleep.” I nodded, threw the panties into the dryer, hung them on Chloe’s doorknob a few minutes later, and went back to sleep. The next morning, I was dragged out of bed by my hair. Chloe’s face was twisted in pain. She slapped me frantically. “Are you amnesiac or brain-dead? You idiot, are you trying to kill me?!” Chapter 3 Chloe kept her legs tight together, twisting her body in agony. It seemed the chili powder I used to wash her panties last night worked. I suppressed a laugh and looked at her innocently. “Miss, is your… flower okay?” Another slap landed on my face. I wailed and ran out the door. Chloe pinned me down at the top of the stairs, trying to hit me again. I covered my eyes and screamed as if in pain. Then I threw myself backward, tumbling down the stairs. Ethan, Julian, and Caleb rushed over to find Chloe standing at the top, looking dazed. I squinted my red, swollen eyes, clutched my broken leg, and pretended to faint. I don’t know how long passed before Caleb’s voice woke me. “Chloe, you should control yourself. The doctor said she can’t be stimulated. What if she remembers?” “She’s acting like an idiot! How could she remember?” “I only slapped her a few times! Look at me! I’m bleeding down there!” “She rubbed chili powder in her own eyes! She threw herself down the stairs!” Chloe screamed hysterically. Ethan and Julian, who usually defended her, stayed silent. I slowly opened my eyes. The stinging was gone, but my vision was blank. I waved my hand in front of my face. A hand held mine. “The doctor said the chili powder damaged your corneas. Temporary blindness is normal,” Julian said, his voice tinged with pity. I stared blankly ahead, silent. “What about your leg? Does it hurt? Want a painkiller?” Ethan touched my cast gently. I remained numb. If I had to describe myself right now: weak, helpless, autistic, pitiful. Seeing me like this, Chloe exploded. “Scarlett, stop acting! I didn’t throw chili powder or push you! You washed my underwear with chili powder and left it for me! You provoked me!” Under her abuse, I finally reacted. I cried, punching my head again. “I’m sorry. Since the car accident, my brain isn’t right. I can’t do anything right. I should have died in that crash…” Julian and Ethan tried to stop me, but I broke free like a frightened animal. I huddled in the corner, banging my head against the wall, crying that I deserved to die. Pain flashed across their faces. They pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay. We know you didn’t mean it. No one wants you to die.” I sobbed in their arms like a wronged bunny. Chloe was about to explode. “Scarlett, you fake…” “Chloe! She’s badly hurt. Stop it,” Ethan said coldly. Julian held me tighter. Chloe’s face cracked. Chapter 4 This time, they didn’t force me to leave the hospital. I discharged myself. I walked on crutches, wearing the maid uniform again. When I served a bowl of noodles boiled in laundry detergent to Chloe, she flipped the bowl. Hot liquid scalded my hand red. I knelt and kowtowed, crying. “Enough!” Ethan pulled me up, frowning at my hand. “Chloe, Scarlett just doesn’t know how to do chores. She meant well. Can’t you be more tolerant?” Julian applied burn ointment to my hand, looking at Chloe with blame. “Chloe, calm down. No need to fight with someone who has brain damage.” Caleb didn’t speak, but he stared at my hand worriedly. Chloe cried in anger and ran out. I pulled my hand back, lowered my eyes, tears trembling on my lashes. “Young Masters, go chase Miss Chloe. I shouldn’t have made her angry. If anything happens to her, I’ll pay with my life.” The men’s breath hitched. Their eyes filled with heartache. When they brought Chloe back, I was gone. Muddy footprints of men’s shoes led from the living room to my bedroom. The three men panicked. They rushed into my room. The bed was messy, chairs overturned. Scraps of my clothes were on the floor. A kidnapping scene. Ethan and Julian exploded, turning on Chloe. “Did you hire someone to kidnap Scarlett?” “Did you run away to distract us? Scarlett is still injured! Why are you so vicious?” Chloe shook her head frantically. “I didn’t! I don’t know!” “Brother, Julian, why do you care? You chose me over her when you planned the car accident! Why are you nervous now?” “You said I was your princess! Are you regretting it? Fine, I’ll leave too!” Chloe threw a tantrum. The men suppressed their emotions and comforted her. But their worry and guilt for me were obvious. Ethan thought of me when he saw vegetables. Julian thought of me when he saw laundry detergent. Caleb started avoiding Chloe. Tortured by their coldness, Chloe exploded. Eventually, they got tired of her. “Chloe, you took Scarlett’s place. What more do you want?” “She has brain damage. You know what happens if she gets kidnapped. Can’t you let it go?” “We ruined her for you. Is that not enough?” When Chloe cursed me to die again, their love for her vanished. They adopted my methods. Forced Chloe to eat gasoline lettuce and detergent noodles. Soaked her underwear in chili water. Chloe screamed, trying to win their pity again. “We were blinded by you. A fake is a fake. You can never replace Scarlett.” When Chloe was on her last breath, I returned. Looking at the disheveled Chloe in the maid’s room, I laughed. “Did you enjoy the game?” Chloe’s pupils shrank. She screamed. “You didn’t lose your memory! You were faking!” “Yes. I was faking from the start.” Terror on Chloe’s face turned into a maniacal grin. “Did you hear that? I told you she was faking!” The door opened. The three men walked in, faces grim. “Scarlett! You tricked us! How can you be so evil?” Chloe couldn’t wait. “Don’t let her leave! If she goes to the media, we’re done!” Thinking of that, the three men turned vicious. Ethan grabbed a data cable. Julian put on gloves. Caleb held duct tape. They approached me. “It’s your fault for being clever. If you stayed a maid, we wouldn’t be here!” Hypocrites. “Actually, the ones who are done… are you.” I smirked and revealed my trump card. “Come out.”

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I was handpicked by the head of the Sterling empire. My job? To be the perfect, obedient “trophy” for his wild younger brother. Don’t control Asher. Let him race his cars. Let him get into brawls. Let him party until dawn. I was useful because I was invisible. So I happily collected my double paycheck. Until that night. I stood there, tears welling up in my eyes. “Asher, please don’t race tonight. I’m really scared…” Asher just idly touched his cigarette. He smirked. “Relax, babe. Your husband is invincible.” I turned my head, following a gut feeling. I looked at the prize for tonight’s race. It was a girl. A girl in a white dress. Damn it. There goes my double salary. I silently unlocked my phone. And I started drafting my resignation letter to his brother. 01 Asher Sterling was a certified hell-raiser. His hobbies included, but were not limited to: Running people off the road with his sports cars. Sending other trust-fund kids to the ER during bar fights. Refusing no one. This caused socialites to tear each other apart, eventually dragging the drama to the Sterling doorstep. Because of Asher’s chaotic track record, the Sterling Group’s stock prices were a rollercoaster. Eventually, a secretary brought me before the eldest Sterling brother. Harrison Sterling. He sat with his long legs crossed, assessing me calmly. The secretary spoke respectfully. “She’s the most beautiful hostess at The Onyx Lounge.” A long silence followed. Harrison withdrew his gaze. His long fingers wrote out a check. He handed it to me. I glanced at the number of zeros. I paused. Then I smiled. “Does Mr. Sterling want a sugar baby?” The secretary clarified immediately. “It’s for the Second Young Master, Asher.” Then came the instructions. Asher likes girls with long hair. White dresses. He hates personalities that are too sharp. He wants someone submissive. He hates being lectured. After the briefing, Harrison spoke his first words to me. His tone was cold. “You’ll get this amount every month. Wired to your account.” He was certain I wouldn’t refuse. I held the check. After a moment, I gave Harrison a brilliant smile. “Deal.” I really couldn’t refuse. 02 I was delivered to Asher’s side. The third time he played the hero to save me, he looked down. He curled his lip. “Hey doll, we seem to have a connection.” I lowered my head shyly. I whispered, “I’m sorry to trouble you again.” Asher tutted. His fingertip caught a lock of hair by my face. “Being too pretty isn’t always a blessing. Why are you always getting bullied?” The night wind lifted the hem of my white dress. My long hair danced gently in the breeze. My eyes reddened. After a long pause, I hummed softly. “I… I’m used to it. It’s been like this since I was little.” Asher froze. Just then, his friends stumbled out of the bar, looking for him. “Asher, why are you hiding in this alley?” One of them sized me up. He reached out with a grin to touch my face. “Where’d you find this beauty? She looks fresh.” Smack. Asher slapped the hand away. He frowned deeply. “Back off.” The others immediately smoothed things over. “My bad, my bad. If she’s pretty, she’s obviously Asher’s girl.” Once they awkwardly left, tears I couldn’t hold back finally spilled. I tugged at Asher’s sleeve. He didn’t pull away. I looked up, meeting his gaze with pitiful adoration. “Because you’re here, they don’t dare bully me anymore.” Asher bent his finger. He wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. My eyelashes trembled. I summoned my courage. “Do… do you have a girlfriend?” The night wind was cold. It made me shiver. Asher bent down. He effortlessly scooped me up into his arms. His tone was casual. “Not right now. And I don’t plan to in the future.” I stared at him blankly. Asher carried me toward the sports car parked at the intersection. Many eyes turned our way. Embarrassed, I buried my face in his chest. I murmured, “It’s okay… I… I don’t need a title.” My answer was within his expectations. After all, a girl’s love and dependence are always so obvious. So intense. Asher gave a lazy, satisfied smirk. He placed me in the passenger seat. And dropped a kiss on my lips. “Good girl.” 03 Everything went smoothly. In everyone’s eyes, I was beautiful, gentle, and clueless about Asher’s wealth. I simply loved Asher, the man. I loved him so much I worried about him every second. I didn’t want him racing or fighting. I was terrified of him getting hurt. I didn’t want other girls around him. I feared losing him. Even though I had no official title, I never threw tantrums. I would only cry silently. Begging him with pathetic weakness. Luckily, Asher really liked me. As long as I cried, he compromised on everything. He settled down for a long time. It shocked everyone. Asher took me shopping. Movies. Trips. We just spent time kissing and sleeping. His friends said he had turned over a new leaf. Harrison must have been satisfied too. He tripled my salary. I became the canary in Asher’s palm. Pampered and spoiled. In many eyes, I was the top candidate to be the future Mrs. Asher Sterling. Honestly? I didn’t know if Asher actually cared about me. Maybe it was just the novelty. But I knew Harrison would never allow a hostess to marry into the family. Even though I was taken to Harrison on my very first day at the club. But in the eyes of these elites, just squeezing into their circle was my honor. I couldn’t ask for more. Harrison was right. Asher was right. So, when I stood there crying again, begging Asher not to race… He just idly touched a cigarette. “Relax, your husband is invincible.” This was the first time, outside of the bedroom, that he refused me. My eyes were red as I looked at him. “Asher.” He didn’t look at me again. He crushed the cigarette. He walked toward the black sports car he hadn’t touched in ages. His back was tall and imposing. The crowd whistled in excitement. This was Asher’s first race in a year. I had a sudden premonition. Slowly, I turned my head. A girl in a white dress was being pulled onto the podium. She looked down uneasily. She incited pity. In that moment, I felt a mix of emotions. A rich heiress glanced at me. She inspected her nails. “She was sick a few days ago. That girl is a hostess who got harassed. Asher saved her.” I blinked slowly. I digested the information. In those few seconds, doubt flashed through my mind. Did Harrison customize another perfect canary for Asher? Unlikely. Harrison wouldn’t be this sloppy. Plus… although the girl looked scared, she was stubborn. She lacked my practiced affectation. I sighed. I looked up at the sky sadly. Tears filled my eyes. Purely muscle memory at this point. But I was genuinely sad. My double salary was gone. The heiress saw my expression and scoffed. “You really don’t know your place. This day was bound to come.” I silently opened my phone. I Googled: “How to write a resignation letter.” How to write it professionally yet emotionally? I needed to get one last severance package from Harrison. After all, I worked so hard. 04 Asher won. The other driver’s car spun out and crashed. The scene was chaotic. Ambulance sirens drew closer. The crowd didn’t dare blame Asher. So they vented their anger on the girl. “If anything happens to Liam, you’re done for! Just wait.” The girl backed away. She trembled with fear. Asher sneered. He stepped in front of her. “You guys are pathetic. What does this have to do with her?” I stared at them for a few seconds. Then I walked over. I took off the jacket Asher had draped over me. I put it on the girl. I spoke gently. “It’s cold tonight. Be careful.” Ignoring Asher’s probing gaze, I smiled. “When you helped me, it was a night just like this.” The girl stared at me blankly. Then she turned to Asher. “Mr. Sterling, is she…” Asher didn’t answer. He just lowered his eyes, staring at me. Under his gaze, I couldn’t even fake a smile anymore. I could only twitch my lips bitterly. After all… With this incident, forget the bonus. Harrison might dock this month’s pay. Sigh. Fine, deduct it. I’ve saved enough anyway. Wait. I won’t be held legally responsible, right?! The thought scared me. My expression nearly crumbled. The girl anxiously grabbed Asher’s hem. “What… what’s wrong with her? Does she not like me?” Asher withdrew his gaze from my face. He comforted the girl flatly. “No. Don’t be afraid.” I turned around. I walked away, looking like I had lost my soul. Many people were watching the drama. They didn’t expect my day of abandonment to come so soon. Asher didn’t chase after me. The girl was sweating from fear, so Asher took her to change. I was sweating too. I took out my phone, leaving a sweaty print on the screen. I wiped it on my dress. I opened my email. Sent. The drafted resignation letter was on its way to Harrison. Sincere language. Gratitude to the boss. Before I get blamed, I need to cut ties! Just then, I got a call. It was the manager at The Onyx Lounge. “Chloe, can you come back tomorrow? You left stuff in your locker.” I paused. “Okay.” After hanging up, I hailed a cab. I went to the apartment I secretly bought. To maintain perfect skin for Asher, I rarely stayed up late. But tonight, I relaxed. I pulled out the SIM card. I played on my phone in bed until dawn. I slept until evening. I woke up, put in a new SIM card. I threw on a loose T-shirt and shorts. I went to The Onyx Lounge bare-faced. I hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time. The manager was briefly stunned when she saw me. She led me to get my things without asking questions. I grabbed my stuff. I waved goodbye. I turned to leave. “Is this the place?” A familiar voice. Magnetic. Lazy. A girl whispered, “Yes.” The entourage behind them exclaimed. “Asher is so good, finding the place for the little lady.” Asher looked at the manager. “Bring the people who were in her group.” I silently pulled a mask from my pocket. I lowered my head, trying to slip away. “Chloe?” Someone gasped. No way. They recognized me like this? I messed up my hair and shook my head. The manager stepped forward, smiling. “Who is that? Ladies and gentlemen, let me take you to the VIP room.” I felt a surge of gratitude. The next second, my wrist was grabbed. Asher’s voice rang out in the gilded lobby. “Look up.” “Take off the mask.” I froze. But I didn’t move. I stared at the floor, playing deaf. The room was dead silent. Until a weak voice called out mournfully. “Asher, my stomach hurts.” A stalemate for a few seconds. Asher finally let go of my hand. He walked toward the girl. I walked out step by step. My nerves were pulled tight. I was terrified there was still a scene for me to play. Only when I was in the taxi did the realization hit me. The scent of cedarwood on Asher… It was replaced by a faint floral perfume. They must have been together for a long time. To catch each other’s scent like that.

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“Six days. Don’t you think your mom’s visit has, you know, run its course?” My husband, Adam, put his fork down with a deliberate clatter that nearly sent it skittering across the table. My mother, Elaine, sitting next to me, visibly flinched. Her face went white. She left the next morning. Clutching the bag of fruit I had insisted she take, her shoulders slightly stooped, she looked back at me just before the security checkpoint at the train station. I didn’t have the courage to meet her eyes. Three days later, Adam came up to me, a casual, friendly smile on his face. “My mom, Joyce, is coming to stay for a while next week. Can you clean up the guest room?” His tone was as light as if he were discussing what we should have for dinner. I looked at his face and a slow, quiet smile spread across mine. “Sure.” “This time,” I said, “I’ll make sure she’s properly hosted.” 1. I had practically forced my mother to come. It had only been three months since her gallbladder surgery. My father had passed years ago, and my brother, Sam, worked in construction a thousand miles away, only coming home once a year. She was alone in the cramped old house, the kitchen sink leaked, and the only bathroom was outside in the yard. I told Adam, “I want my mom to stay for a few days. She needs a place to rest and recover.” Adam was staring at his phone and didn’t look up. “Fine. Whatever you think is best.” The day Mom arrived, Adam came home from work, saw a different person sitting on our sofa, and paused. “Elaine’s here, then.” He called her Elaine. Five years of marriage, and he had never once called her “Mom.” “She just had surgery, Adam. I want her to recuperate here for a bit,” I explained. “Uh-huh.” Adam slipped off his loafers, went into the bedroom, and closed the door. That first night, I cooked four of her favorite dishes. Mom ate one small bowl of smash potato and kept saying, “This is enough, honey, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.” Adam finished his plate, pushed it forward. “I’m going to my study. Working late.” He didn’t say a single word to my mother. The next morning, Mom was up before five. When I woke up, the living room had been meticulously cleaned. “Go on to work, sweetie,” she said. “I’ll take care of things here.” When I got back that evening, dinner was ready. A pot roast, some scalloped potatoes, and steamed asparagus. Adam tasted the roast. He frowned. “Bit salty.” Mom rushed over. “Oh, I can take it back and adjust the seasoning.” I put my hand on her arm. “No, Mom, it’s fine. It’s delicious.” Adam didn’t reply. He ate a couple more bites and then retreated to his study. On the third day, Mom mentioned she wanted to walk to the supermarket. I Venmo’d her fifty dollars and told her to pick up anything she wanted. She came back that evening with a bag of groceries and a container of gourmet deli turkey that Adam loved. “I saw that Adam likes this kind of meat,” Mom said, smiling. “I made sure to get a good brand.” Adam came home late that night. At dinner, he glanced at the turkey, but didn’t touch it. “Where did you get that? The color seems off.” “From the market,” Mom said, a flicker of tension in her voice. “Is it not fresh?” “You buy prepared meats from the local supermarket?” Adam put his fork down. “Full of preservatives, I bet.” My mother’s hand froze. She barely ate anything else that evening. When I went to the kitchen to load the dishwasher, she followed me, her voice a whisper. “Sweetie, should I not have bought that meat?” A sudden, sharp ache hit my chest. “Mom, please don’t think about it. That’s just how he is.” On the fourth day, Adam began breaking things. Not intentionally, of course. Always by “accident.” In the morning, he “accidentally” slammed the bathroom door shut so hard the shower curtain rod rattled. In the evening, he “accidentally” let the remote slip and hit the glass coffee table with a thud. Mom sat on the sofa through all of it, gradually turning the TV volume lower and lower until she finally switched it off. “Honey, do you have a mop? I can tidy up a bit.” “Mom, you don’t need to. Please rest.” “I’m just sitting here anyway.” As she was wiping the floor, Adam came out of the bedroom, looked at her for a moment, said nothing, and went back inside. On the fifth day, I came home from work and found my mother’s small suitcase by the door. “Mom, what are you doing?” “Sweetie, I’m leaving tomorrow.” She was smiling, but her eyes were red-rimmed. “I’ve rested enough. I miss my own place.” “You’ve only been here a few days!” “Six days,” she said, patting my hand. “That’s long enough.” That night, Adam actually stayed in the living room and watched TV instead of retreating to his study. Mom brought out a plate of sliced fruit and placed it carefully in front of him. “Adam, have some fruit.” He grunted in acknowledgment, but didn’t reach for it. Mom then said, “I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you too much these past few days.” Adam finally looked up. “Elaine, you’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” Then he looked back down and continued watching his show. My mother stood there for a few silent seconds, then turned and went to the guest room. Later that night, I heard her turning and tossing. She didn’t sleep a wink. On the sixth morning, she was gone. I drove her to the station. She carried the fruit and the vitamins I’d forced on her, her back slightly bowed, saying over and over, “Too much, too much, I can’t carry it all.” At the entrance, she turned back one last time. “Go home now, sweetie. You need to focus on your life.” I nodded, unable to speak. Because if I opened my mouth, I knew I would start to cry. 2. Three days after my mom left, Adam told me his mother was coming. “My mom, Joyce, is coming to stay for a while next week. Can you clean up the guest room?” I was doing the dishes, and my hand stilled under the running water. “For a while? How long is ‘a while’?” “No set time,” Adam said from the living room, still looking at his phone. “Maybe a month or two. Her back’s been bothering her, and she wants you to look after her.” A month or two. My mother stayed six days, and Adam wore a dark cloud of resentment the whole time. His mother was coming for two months, and he spoke of it casually. “Fine,” I said, turning off the faucet. “I’ll get it ready.” The next few days were a master class in “preparation.” Adam took a half-day off work and went to IKEA for a brand-new bed set. Organic cotton, four hundred bucks. When my mother stayed, she slept on the old, faded sheets we’d used when we first got married. Adam told me to replace the guest room curtains because Joyce was sensitive to light. When my mother stayed, the curtains were the original flimsy sheers; the sun woke her at six every morning. Adam bought a case of his mother’s favorite specialty organic milk and a box of expensive health bars. “My mom has low energy. You need to make sure she has one of these every morning.” When my mother left, I gave her two bottles of vitamins—which I had bought with my own money, not a penny of Adam’s. The day Joyce arrived, Adam drove to the station to pick her up himself. When my mother arrived, I went alone. Adam said, “Work conflict.” When Joyce walked in, Adam was a different person—fawning, solicitous. “Mom, are you tired? Sit down and rest.” “Mom, are you thirsty? Have some water.” “Mom, what do you want for dinner tonight? Maya will cook it.” Maya is me. I stood there, watching Adam hover, and a strange, cold humor bubbled up. When my mother was here, he couldn’t even manage a genuine “Elaine.” When his mother arrived, he shouted “Mom” loud enough to shake the walls. Joyce surveyed the living room, then turned her gaze to me. “Maya, is the guest room ready?” “Yes, Mom.” “The sheets are new, right? My skin is very sensitive; I can’t sleep on old linens.” “They’re brand new. Changed them today.” “Good.” Joyce nodded. “Alright. I’m going to lie down.” She went into the guest room and closed the door. Adam turned to me, smiling. “She had a long trip. Can you make sure you work a little harder these next few weeks?” “I know.” “Also, she likes bland food. Go easy on the salt.” “I know.” “And her back hurts, so don’t let her lift a finger.” “I know.” “What’s with the attitude?” Adam’s smile faltered. “My mom is here to help us, Maya. Why do you look so unhappy?” I looked at him. “Your mother is here to help us?” “Yes. You’ll be more relaxed with her here.” “Did you ever say, ‘My mother-in-law is here to help us,’ when my mom stayed those few days?” Adam froze. His face changed. “Why are you bringing that up now?” “I’m not bringing it up.” I placed the dishcloth on the counter. “I’m asking you a single question.” “My mother stayed six days, and you were sullen, dropping things, refusing to say a kind word. Your mother is coming for two months, and you’re telling me to ‘work a little harder,’ ‘go easy on the salt,’ and ‘don’t let her lift a finger.’” “Why?” Adam was silent for a few seconds. “Your mother has somewhere to live, Maya. What was she even doing here?” The sentence felt like a direct slap across my face. I stared at him, and then I laughed—a short, sharp burst of air. “You know what?” “You’re right.” 3. On the third day of Joyce’s visit, I took out the ledger from the back of my cabinet. It was a notebook I’d started keeping right after our wedding. It wasn’t for tracking household expenses. It was for tracking the money given to our respective parents. Adam didn’t know I had it. He thought I was “easygoing” and didn’t care about money. I wasn’t. But every time I tried to mention money, he’d say, “Why are you so petty?” So I stopped mentioning it. I just tracked it silently. The first page dated back five years. First month of marriage: Joyce’s birthday. Adam sent her a $2,000 cash gift and bought her a gold necklace for $3,800. My mother’s birthday: Adam said, “You handle it.” I bought her a skincare set for $80. Third month of marriage: Joyce visited for the first time. She stayed a month and a half. During that time, our household spending doubled because Joyce insisted on organic, grass-fed meat and expensive imported fruit. Adam paid the bills with our joint card. I tallied it up: an extra $12,000 in expenses. Sixth month of marriage: My mother had her gallbladder surgery. I wanted her to stay with us, but Adam said, “The apartment is too small. You go home and take care of her.” I took two weeks of vacation and went back to my hometown. Hospital bills, home care, and supplements cost $8,000. How much did Adam contribute? $0. He said, “Your brother, Sam, should cover that. He’s her son.” Sam was working minimum wage in a different state. I didn’t argue. I paid for it all myself. I turned to the third page. First year of marriage: Joyce said her house had a minor roof leak. Adam wired her $10,000 for repairs. My mother said her kitchen sink was leaking. Adam said, “Just patch it up. It’s fine.” Second year of marriage: Adam’s father was hospitalized. Adam flew home for a week and transferred another $15,000. When my father passed away, Adam took three days off. On the third day, he said, “Work emergency,” and left early. I paid for the funeral expenses myself. Third year of marriage: Joyce mentioned wanting to travel. Adam immediately booked her an all-inclusive Caribbean cruise. Cost: $8,000. My mother said she wanted to visit me and see the monuments in D.C. Adam said, “Too crowded, too much hassle, not worth it.” She never came. The ledger grew thicker. Five years of dense, meticulously recorded numbers. I added them up, line by line. Money given to Joyce/Adam’s father (from joint account): $185,000. Money given to my mother (from joint account): $0. It wasn’t that I didn’t give her money. It was that every time I brought it up, Adam would say, “What about Sam? Shouldn’t he pay for that?” So I always gave her money secretly, using my own salary, my own personal savings. Those payments weren’t in this ledger. The $185,000 was from “family expenses”—our shared money. $185,000. In five years, $185,000 of our combined earnings went to his side of the family. To my mother? Zero. I stared at the number for a long time. Joyce’s voice drifted in from the living room. “Maya, my tea’s cold. Can you brew me a fresh cup?” I closed the ledger and put it back in the cabinet. “Coming, Mom.” 4. On the fifth day of Joyce’s visit, Adam came home from work and found me calculating the numbers again.

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