Category: English

After six months closing a major deal, my boss promised a promotion. At the company meeting, it went to a new grad instead. Then comments appeared like subtitles: [ML is falling for FL! Giving her the promotion!] [He’s been faithful to FL the whole time!] [He’ll dump the villainess when FL gets hurt!] I stared at my smiling boyfriend of seven years. So I’m the villainess? Fine. I’ll play the role perfectly. … “While Ivy is new to the company, her hard work is plain for all to see,” my boss, Landon, announced. “This promotion is a way to encourage our new talent. For those who didn’t get the opportunity this time, keep up the good work.” He smiled warmly at the new graduate, Ivy. “To celebrate Ivy’s promotion, we’ll be having a company dinner at The Crown tonight at 7 PM. I hope everyone can make it.” Landon’s gaze lingered on Ivy, who returned it with a shy, blushing smile. A few of my colleagues exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting towards me, filled with a pity I didn’t want. My limbs felt like ice. I couldn’t move. Hard work? Did he mean coming in late more than a dozen times a month, and turning in a proposal a week late—a proposal I had to fix for her? Encourage new talent? Did he mean the five years I’d worked here without a single promotion, with him telling me it was a “temporary sacrifice” to protect our secret relationship? As I trembled with rage, more text appeared in my vision. [Look! He’s making eyes at her again! The chemistry is insane. The second they get together it’s gonna be explosive.] [He’s so worried the villainess and the other jealous randos will give the FL a hard time. He’s protecting her in public, even throwing a dinner just for her. He’s so in love. He deserves a wife like her.] I bit back tears and forced a smile. Oh yes. He was so in love. We’d been together for seven years, since college. When he started this company, he asked me to start from the bottom, and for five years, that’s where I’d stayed. He always said the company had a strict no-office-romance policy, and that I had to endure it for a while to avoid suspicion. But Ivy had been here for three months, and she was already my superior. Maybe he didn’t even realize it, but at home, her name was always on his lips. “This new girl is pretty good. You should mentor her. But as her senior, you need to take on more of her workload.” At the office, he was the impartial boss. When I accidentally spilled a cup of coffee, he scolded me in front of everyone: “Be more careful. You can’t do anything right with that kind of carelessness.” But when Ivy lost a contract, costing the company a significant amount of money, he comforted her in private with soft, gentle words. Then he turned to me, his face a stern mask, and said, “Ivy is your responsibility. When something like this happens, you need to reflect on your own failings.” On the night of our seventh anniversary, I waited for him at a restaurant, surrounded by flowers and candles, until midnight. I got a text saying he was working late and couldn’t make it. The next day, I found out he and Ivy had worked so late that they’d fallen asleep together on his office sofa, sharing a blanket. He seemed to have forgotten everything. When he had nothing, I worked myself to the bone, pouring every penny I earned into his fledgling company. I even borrowed a small fortune from my family when we were short on funds. He promised he would marry me. How quickly people change. Or maybe, he never really loved me at all. He just used me. After the meeting, Landon passed by my desk. He squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “You’re in charge of the dinner tonight. Put some effort into it. Make sure it goes well.” I ignored him, a cold laugh echoing in my mind. That night, I didn’t go. [What the hell is wrong with this villainess? Is she sick? The ML told her to do something and she just blows it off? She’s just a tool, why is she so bent out of shape? So lame.] [She embarrassed the ML so badly. He got to the hotel and found out no room was booked. My poor baby FL was standing there, about to cry. The villainess wanted this, didn’t she? So evil. If it wasn’t for her, the ML and FL would have been making out in the private room by now.] [Good thing the ML is rich. He just made a call and the hotel fixed everything. The villainess thinks the world revolves around her. So pathetic.] [Don’t worry, let her act out. She’ll push the ML away eventually. He was only staying with her out of a sense of duty anyway. She really thinks she’s something special.] [Look on the bright side, because of this, the ML spent an hour comforting the FL. That’s some sweet content for us. And when he gets home tonight, he’s definitely going to tear into the villainess. She’s about to get kicked to the curb.] I closed my eyes, shutting out the words. My breathing was ragged. I told myself not to care, but a deep, sharp pain still twisted in my gut. It had been seven years, after all. I’d noticed Landon’s strange behavior over the past few months, had my suspicions. But in the end, my faith in our long history had won out over my doubts. How could it not hurt to finally learn the truth? After what felt like an eternity, my pillow vibrated. I pulled out my phone. A message from Ivy. “Hey girl, truth or dare tonight. I got to kiss the boss. And he picked dare! ;)” “It was a French kiss. He was so into it, his tongue was all over mine. My lips are still sore, lol. So embarrassing, but it felt really good.” Below the text was a video. I pressed play. The two of them were locked in a passionate, desperate kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were breathless, their eyes glazed over, a thin strand of saliva connecting their lips. My heart clenched. Tears streamed down my face. Just then, Ivy sent a few more messages. “Oops, sorry, Claire. Sent that to the wrong person.” “Meant to send it to my friend. You’re not mad, are you?” My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles were white. Wrong person? A month ago, I had hinted to her about my relationship with Landon. Even if no one else knew, she should have known. I typed out a furious reply, my thumb hovering over the send button. But I stopped. Her brazen provocation was only possible because Landon gave her the confidence to do it. Responding would only make me look like a pathetic, jealous clown. Forget the woman. It was time to deal with the man. Landon didn’t get home until almost midnight, his face a dark storm cloud. He didn’t go to the bathroom first, as he usually did. He just stood there, looking down at me on the sofa. “You’ve had all evening to reflect. You can explain yourself now.” He spoke as if we were really just boss and subordinate. I smiled and slowly stood up. The cloying scent of another woman’s perfume hit me. I spoke each word with deliberate clarity. “Let’s break up.” The pop-up comments exploded. [Is this villainess crazy? This isn’t in the script! Psycho.] [How serious do you think she is about this breakup? 0%. She’s just throwing a tantrum to get the ML’s attention. She doesn’t realize this will only make him resent her more and appreciate the FL’s maturity in comparison.] [If he actually agrees, she’ll be the one who’s upset.] Landon froze, then frowned, his bright eyes staring at me. “Are you serious?” I nodded. “Perfectly serious.” He let out a derisive snort. “If you’re mad about the dinner, you’re being incredibly petty.” He took a step closer. “I gave you that responsibility because I trusted you. You failed, and I didn’t even blame you, and now you’re the one throwing a fit?” His voice grew colder. “Frankly, you embarrassed me today. And as a senior employee, you showed a complete lack of grace. Ivy is just a newcomer. There was no need to humiliate a young girl like that. What will the other employees think of her now?” I just looked at him, my expression unreadable. “So, let’s break up.” I continued, my voice even. “Because I’m not good enough. Not as good as the newcomer who’s only been here three months.” Landon stared at me for a long moment, then finally dropped his gaze. He gripped my shoulders, but he couldn’t meet my eyes. “Claire, I know you feel wronged,” he said, his voice softening. “But we agreed, didn’t we? We built this company together. No matter what your position is, we’re a team. Half of this company’s success is yours.” He sighed. “As for Ivy… she’s just a kid. To be honest, seeing her reminds me of us when we just graduated. I just want to give her a hand, that’s all. It’s not because I have feelings for her. And she is talented, she just needs time to grow. I’m asking you, please, don’t push her away.” He finally looked at me, his eyes pleading. “But… I’m not heartless. I would never abandon you… Let’s not talk about breaking up.” With that, he turned and went to his room, his back weary and tired. He never once asked if I was willing to continue. As if our relationship was his alone to decide. As long as he said we would continue, it was impossible for me to leave. But, Landon, since you won’t agree… Then you can’t blame me for what comes next. After that night, I didn’t mention the breakup again. I threw myself into my work, acting as if Landon’s words had moved me, ready to sacrifice everything for the company. Over the years, I had learned every inch of this business. How the big contracts were negotiated. Which projects bent the rules. Who our competitors were. I knew it all. When Ivy clicked into the office in her new designer heels, my colleagues oohed and aahed. “Wow, Ivy! Is that the latest bag? It must be worth a fortune!” “Did you get a new boyfriend? Spill!” “Oh, come on, you know who her boyfriend is. Better start sucking up now.” Ivy feigned embarrassment. “Stop it, you guys. Office romances are forbidden, you know. Don’t spread rumors.” She added coyly, “I didn’t even want it, but someone insisted on buying it for me.” She glanced at the cheap trinkets on my desk, her eyes filled with smug satisfaction. It was laughable. When Landon and I were together, we scrimped and saved. After he made it big, he never bought me a single item of clothing that cost more than a hundred dollars. I thought he was just naturally frugal. Turns out, he just didn’t think I was worth it. A dull, persistent ache started in my chest. I forced a smile and walked to Landon’s office. He raised an eyebrow when I entered. I handed him a report. “This is for the Northside development. There seems to be a problem with the funding. I need to see last year’s bidding contract.” Landon’s hand, which had been flipping through a file, paused. He didn’t question me, just stood up and walked to the safe. After all these years, he still trusted me. But only to a point. He would never let me see the combination. Just as I turned my back to wait for him to enter the code, the door was thrown open. Ivy bounced in without knocking. If that had been me, I would have been chewed out already. But Landon just gave her an indulgent look and tapped her on the nose. “You have no manners.” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “Hmph. Just wanted to see what you old folks were up to.” She shot me a hostile glare. She probably thought I was in here to pick a fight over him, and had rushed in to stake her claim. My chest tightened. Seeing my expression, Landon seemed to remember why I was there. “Claire needs a contract from me.” “Oh,” Ivy said, her tone suddenly sweet. “Let me get it for her.” I was about to remind her that the contract was in the safe, when she reached out and casually keyed in the combination. With a soft click, the safe opened. My world plunged into an icy abyss. I stared at Landon, my eyes wide with disbelief. The pain in my heart was so sharp it was numbing. Landon, how could you? [Does anyone else get a rush seeing the villainess’s face in that moment? Like, duh, he’s going to trust my girl over you. What if you took all the money and ran?] [Haha, this part of the plot is so satisfying. I skipped right to it. The ML is so doting!] I started to tremble uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face. Landon’s first instinct was to shield Ivy, pushing her behind him. “Go on, sweetie. You can go out first.” Ivy crossed her arms and shot me a timid look before scurrying out of the office. The moment I heard the lock click, I lost control.

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The first year after my death, my daughter was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The director of the children’s home called Lucian Blackwood, telling him they needed half a million dollars for the life-saving treatment. He was holding his childhood sweetheart, his fingers idly twirling a lock of her hair, his face a mask of cold indifference. “Don’t treat her,” he said. “If she dies, she dies. She can go keep her short-lived mother company.” In the end, with no money for treatment, my daughter died in that children’s home. The director called Lucian again. His voice was laced with irritation. “Oh? So she’s really dead this time?” 1 A full day after our daughter died, Lucian finally sauntered into the children’s home. I hadn’t seen him in a year, and the chill in his eyes had only deepened. In his hands, he carried shopping bags filled with high-end baby supplies. A sharp pain lanced through my spectral heart. Of course he was late. His new wife was already expecting. He spotted the director, his expression tightening with impatience. “Where’s the body of that little brat?” he demanded. “You’re the one who kept calling, telling me to come collect it.” The director, who had been wiping away tears, froze. She led him silently to the small, cold room where they had laid our daughter’s body. Lucian strode forward and ripped back the white sheet. He glanced down, and a cold smile touched his lips. “Not bad,” he drawled. “They did a good job on the corpse this time. How much did Janie pay you to help her pull this stunt?” A flash of anger cut through the director’s grief. “Mr. Blackwood, Lily is truly gone. If we didn’t need a parent’s signature for the cremation, I would never have disturbed you.” Lucian ignored her completely, his gaze fixed on the small form under the sheet. “It seems you didn’t mean much to your mother, either,” he said to the body. “You’re dead, and she still won’t even show her face.” A bitter sting pricked my eyes. Lucian, it’s not that I don’t want to appear. It’s that I can’t. I’m already dead. I died a year ago. For some reason, my spirit has been tethered to my daughter ever since. I’ve spent countless nights watching her convulse in pain, watching her kneel on the cold floor and cry out my name, utterly helpless to comfort her. And her father? He was busy making a new life with his precious childhood love. Our daughter wasn’t his flesh and blood; she was a piece of trash he was desperate to throw away. “Since the little nuisance is dead,” Lucian’s voice sliced through my thoughts, “I can take the body, right?” He walked out the main entrance, took a call, and then, without a second thought, tossed our daughter’s small, shrouded body into a nearby dumpster. He didn’t stop there. He instructed his bodyguard to go to a local dog pound and bring back a few starving hounds. I froze, the horror paralyzing me for a moment before I dove into the dumpster, my ghostly hands clawing frantically, trying to pull her body out. He was going to let her be torn to pieces! But no matter how I struggled, I was powerless. I could only watch as the slobbering, desperate animals crept closer and closer. A cruel smirk twisted Lucian’s lips. “Garbage belongs in the trash,” he murmured to himself. “Janie, why would you think I’d want the trash you threw away?” Despair shot through me like a bolt of lightning, from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. I screamed, a silent, spectral shriek. “Lucian, that’s our daughter!” The hounds lunged. As cold blood spattered against the grimy pavement, a flicker of confusion crossed Lucian’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “The props are convincing, I’ll give them that,” he said, his voice hard. “But it’s a shame, really. Even if the little brat were actually dead, I wouldn’t feel a thing.” “Just like her mother,” he added, his voice dripping with venom. “You should have both been out of my life long ago.” He watched, satisfied, until the dogs had left nothing but a mangled, unrecognizable ruin. Only then did he turn to leave. Just then, the director came rushing out of the home, stopping dead in her tracks at the horrific scene. She pointed a trembling finger at Lucian. “You… you…” Lucian’s eyes were like ice. He looked at her with smug certainty. “You tell Janie that if she wants custody, she can stop hiding. This little trick, faking the brat’s death, isn’t going to fool me.” His voice dropped, becoming a low, menacing snarl. “The anniversary of my mother’s death is coming up. If she doesn’t show herself, I won’t mind making this fake death a real one.” He bit down on the words “real one,” the sound chilling to the bone. Anyone else might have thought he was joking. What kind of father could be so monstrous to his own child? But I knew. He meant every word. And in a sick, twisted way, I was suddenly grateful. Grateful that Lily was already gone. Before the director could even form a response, Lucian was gone, flanked by his bodyguards. My soul was dragged along in his wake. 2 The car pulled up to a lavish villa. As they reached the gate, a pregnant woman ran out to greet them, her face alight with joy. The figure was painfully familiar. As she threw her arms around Lucian, I recognized her. Christine. Lucian’s childhood sweetheart. During the years Lucian and I were together, she had humiliated me time and time again, telling me to stay away from him, calling me a low-life whose entire salary wouldn’t cover one of Lucian’s dinners. I ignored her, so she started booking appointments at the hospital where I worked, spreading rumors that I was a quack, even hiring thugs to try and cripple the hands I used for surgery. When Lucian found out, he used his company’s power to crush her family’s business, threatening to bankrupt them entirely if she ever bothered me again. Her father had no choice but to lock her away. And now, here she was. She fussed over him, asking where he’d been. When the conversation turned to our daughter, Lucian’s handsome face turned to stone. “Hah. The bodyguards told me long ago that the brat was perfectly healthy. This is all just a game Janie cooked up with the children’s home to manipulate me.” A flicker of guilt crossed Christine’s face. “But… what if she… what if she really is dead?” she asked, testing the waters. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy fist. I stared at Lucian, waiting. The old Lucian, the man I had loved, would have stayed up all night worrying if our daughter so much as sneezed. He used to say that Lily and I were the most important people in his life. Now, his face was a cold mask. “Then I’ll hire a band,” he said, his tone clipped and annoyed. “We’ll celebrate for three days and three nights.” The next morning, Christine’s water broke. Lucian rushed her to the hospital. After a few hours in the delivery room, she gave birth to a baby girl, whose eyes were a perfect mirror of Lucian’s. His gaze softened as he held the newborn, refusing to let her go for even a second. He looked just like he had when I gave birth to Lily. But now, not even a week after our daughter’s death, he was pouring all that fatherly love onto another child. A phone rang on the bedside table. Lucian answered, and his secretary’s urgent voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Blackwood, my apologies, but there’s an emergency at the office. We need you to come in.” After a brief conversation, Lucian placed the infant gently beside Christine. “Be a good girl,” he cooed, his voice soft. “Don’t bother your mommy, or Daddy will have to teach you a lesson, no matter how little you are.” Those words struck me like a bolt of lightning. My spirit trembled. Christine’s child… was Lucian’s? How could it be? Why Christine? She’s the one who killed your mother, Lucian! I wanted to scream, rushing to his ear to roar the truth. But how could he hear the voice of the dead? Slowly, a cold calm settled over me. Just as Lucian was about to leave, a doctor entered the room, holding a file, his brow furrowed with concern. “Mr. Blackwood,” he began, “after running some tests, we’ve discovered an issue with the baby’s heart. If she doesn’t receive a transplant before she’s three, it’s unlikely she’ll live to adulthood.” He paused, the gravity of his words sinking in. “A suitable heart will be very difficult to find. It has to come from a donor under the age of ten, otherwise, the risk of rejection is too high.” The doctor’s words cast a pall over the room. Lucian’s face was a canvas of shock, which quickly morphed into a chilling resolve. “Leave it to me,” he said, his voice steady. “I have a solution.” After the doctor left, he beckoned a bodyguard into the room. “Bring me that little brat.” I understood instantly. He wanted to take Lily’s heart and give it to this new child. The bodyguard nodded and left immediately. Lucian stared out the window, his expression hardening into something predatory. “Janie,” he whispered to the empty air, “this is what you and your daughter owe me. A life for a life. Fair, isn’t it?” A bitter laugh escaped my spectral lips. When I was alive, I could never convince him I didn’t kill his mother. Why would I hope for him to believe me in death? After all, every piece of evidence in his mother’s death pointed directly at me. And Lucian believed it. The day of his mother’s funeral, he dragged me before her memorial tablet and slammed my head against the floor, again and again. He clutched her memorial plaque to his chest, his eyes bloodshot with hatred as he stared at me. “Janie,” he had hissed, “this isn’t over until one of us is dead.” 3 From that day on, I went from being the woman Lucian loved most to the woman he hated most. He tortured me, and he tortured our daughter, who looked so much like me. At only a few years old, she was forced to do chores, to scrub and clean. The slightest mistake, the smallest sign of imperfection, and she would be viciously punished with a cane. I tried to take her and leave, to file for divorce, but he wouldn’t allow it. He even threatened to break our daughter’s legs if I ever mentioned the word “divorce” again. Seeing the despair in my eyes, he would just smile that cruel smile, tipping my chin up with his fingers. “Hopeless, isn’t it, Janie? You deserve every second of this.” But I didn’t kill his mother. I hadn’t. Even though she never liked me, always believed I wasn’t good enough for her son. Even though she publicly humiliated me, calling me a shameless slut. Even though she once slapped me in front of the media. I never hated her. Because I could never forget that to marry me, Lucian had been willing to break ties with the mother who had raised him all alone. How could he not shatter when he believed that same mother died at the hands of the woman he loved? By evening, the bodyguard returned. When Lucian heard he couldn’t find Lily’s body, he swept everything off the coffee table, sending fruit crashing to the floor. “What?” “The… the young miss… Janie already took her.” My spectral eyes narrowed, fixing on the bodyguard. If I wasn’t standing right here, I’d have no idea how easily they could heap lies upon my name. While Christine was recovering from childbirth, Lucian hired a private investigator to find me. The moment he got a lead, he rushed to the location. He had his men break down the door and then strolled casually inside. “Janie, hand over the little brat now.” When no one answered, he sank onto the sofa and waved a hand, sending his bodyguards to search the place. They all returned empty-handed. His face was a thundercloud. He called the PI immediately. After confirming this was the last place I’d been seen, he gritted his teeth. “She can run, but she can’t hide. Janie, you’d better pray you can live the rest of your life hiding like a rat in the sewer.” I’m not hiding, Lucian. I don’t need to hide! I’m standing right in front of you, but you can’t see me! As darkness fell, Lucian’s face grew grimmer, his eyes glued to the door. Finally, there was a sound. A moment later, Dave’s figure appeared in the doorway. He saw Lucian through the crowd of bodyguards, and a flash of pure hatred crossed his face. “What are you doing in my house?” Lucian let out a derisive snort. “What am I doing? I’m looking for my wife and daughter, of course.” Dave’s expression shifted, and a grim smile spread across his lips. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.” “Your wife and daughter are dead. Oh, that’s right, the daughter died because her loving father, the millionaire CEO, wouldn’t pay the half-a-million dollars to save her. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” “Hah. You think some realistic-looking doll is going to fool me? I’m not an idiot, Dave. Now, hand them over.” A wave of pain washed over Dave’s face. His eyes, once full of life, were now like dead pools as he stared coldly at Lucian. “I told you. Your wife and daughter are dead. You collected your daughter’s body yourself.” Lucian grabbed Dave by the collar, his knuckles white. “Are you taking me for a fool?” he snarled. “That brat was a survivor. She would never just die.” “I’m warning you, get her out here now. She owes me her life, and I’m here to collect!” Just then, his phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, Lucian hit the speakerphone button, a mocking sneer on his face. “Janie, what’s the matter? Finally decided to crawl out of whatever hole you’ve been hiding in?” But the voice that answered was not mine. It was the private investigator. “Mr. Blackwood… I have some information. Through a source, I’ve learned that Janie… she died a year ago.”

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At the company celebration dinner, the handsome new intern started charming my wife, Nina. He playfully asked to see the hearing aid in my ear. With a laugh, Nina reached over and pulled it off, handing it to him. The intern, Charlie, glanced at it with a flicker of distaste before casually dropping it on the floor. I lunged to pick it up, but he “accidentally” stepped on my hand. A sharp, searing pain shot through my fingers as the device was crushed under his shoe. When I put the mangled aid back on, a wave of fury washed over me. I turned to confront him, but Nina’s hand cut through the air, slapping me hard across the face. “Elliot, this is a party to celebrate Charlie’s new software. Don’t make a scene!” I looked at my wife’s furious face, then at Charlie, who was smiling at me with open provocation from behind her. A sense of release washed over me. I smiled, a real smile, and plucked the hearing aid from my ear. I dropped it into the nearby trash can and turned to leave. It was the most precious gift she had ever given me, from the day we made our relationship official. But now, her and the crushed hearing aid… I was done with both of them. 1 Under the stunned gazes of everyone in the room, I calmly smiled. “You all enjoy. I’m heading home.” Then, I walked out. My world plunged back into silence, an isolated bubble where sound couldn’t penetrate. I saw the anger on Nina’s face but didn’t care anymore. Once outside the private room, I sent a text to my best friend, Mark. [I’m quitting in a couple of days. I’m coming to join you.] He replied almost instantly, his excitement palpable even through the text. [YES! With you here, we can develop that software together. This is going to be huge!] I was grateful he didn’t ask any questions. In college, Mark and I were both computer science majors, obsessed with coding and software development. We’d teamed up for countless competitions, winning award after award. After graduation, he moved to another city to start his own company. I stayed behind, married Nina, and went to work for her family’s tech firm. Mark’s career took off. Mine stagnated. He often told me my talent was being wasted and urged me to join him, but I always refused, wanting to stay by Nina’s side. But now, she had changed too much, all for a new intern. There was no reason for me to stay anymore. Back home, I took out a spare hearing aid and put it on. My phone buzzed. It was a video from Charlie. I opened it. The lighting was dim, a karaoke bar. Nina was holding the microphone, her eyes looking at the camera with a melting tenderness. “Charlie is an exceptional talent,” she announced. “This song is for him!” Then, the familiar intro to “Prank” began to play. Her voice was beautiful, clear, and full of emotion. My heart seized. Nina was famously tone-deaf. “Prank” was the one song she had practiced for months, the only one she could sing perfectly. She did it for me. Because a childhood illness had stolen most of my hearing, she would lean in close, her voice a sweet, soft whisper right next to my ear, so I could hear every word clearly. Her smile back then was warm and dazzling. “Elliot,” she’d said, “I learned this song for you. And I’ll only ever sing it for you.” That was the moment a string deep inside me snapped, and I was filled with an overwhelming love for her. Now, she was singing it in a crowded room, for another man. Nina had broken her promise. I closed the video, a bitter taste in my mouth. The apartment felt cold, desolate. I opened my closet and began to pack. 2 Nina didn’t get home until almost one in the morning. She saw me sitting calmly on the sofa watching TV, and her face darkened with anger. “I texted you. Why didn’t you come down to meet me?” Whenever Nina worked late, I would always go downstairs to wait for her, to make sure I was the first thing she saw when she entered our complex. This time, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I picked up my phone. The chat log with Nina was a sea of my own green text bubbles, with only a few terse replies from her. The latest one was hers. Four cold, simple words: [On my way home.] I looked up at her, my voice flat. “I forgot to check my phone.” She strode towards me, unleashing a torrent of accusations. “Elliot, what is your problem? Charlie is younger than you, can’t you cut him some slack? He stepped on your hearing aid by accident, and you throw a fit in front of everyone! Did you even for a second consider how that made me feel?” I listened silently to her tirade, my expression unchanging. My eyes, however, drifted to the smooth, white skin of her neck. There, nestled just below her jawline, was an angry, red mark. Noticing my gaze, Nina flinched, instinctively pulling up her collar to hide it. But her tone remained harsh. “The slap was a lesson. Don’t you ever do that again! Charlie is young. You need to be the mature one.” I nodded, not arguing. “I understand. I’m a little tired, I’m going to bed.” I stood up and walked into the bedroom. Behind me, Nina’s face was ugly with rage. I heard her let out a cold, dismissive huff. I lay in bed, my eyes closed, but my mind was a raging storm. “He stepped on your hearing aid by accident.” She accused me of being petty. But that hearing aid was the one she gave me when we first got together. I treasured it, protected it like a holy relic. It was old, but it worked perfectly. I remembered that day so clearly. She had smiled, placing it gently in my ear. In that instant, the muffled world snapped into focus. I heard her voice, crisp and clear. “Elliot, I love you!” It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. But after Charlie crushed it, she dismissed it with a single, careless sentence. It was as if she’d completely forgotten what it meant to me. From the living room, I could hear her laughing, her voice light and flirtatious as she sent voice messages to someone. My phone buzzed again. Another message from Charlie. It was a screenshot of his chat with Nina. They were in the middle of a lively conversation. Nina’s last message was a love-filled “Goodnight.” [Elliot, you and Nina should get some rest too! I won’t bother you anymore ;)] Charlie’s words were pure provocation. I closed my eyes, refusing to look. After her shower, Nina went into the spare bedroom. Ever since Charlie had joined the company and she’d grown close to him, she hadn’t wanted to sleep in the same bed as me. The love I had for her was slowly, painfully, dying. 3 The next morning, I wrote my resignation letter. Then I went to the best law firm in the city and had them draw up divorce papers. Only then did I go to the office to finish my work. Nina was at Charlie’s desk, their heads close together, intimately discussing something. It was strange. Seeing them like that, I felt almost nothing. Charlie’s sharp eyes spotted me. “Elliot, you’re late today,” he called out. “You look awful. Didn’t sleep well?” His eyes danced with triumph as he leaned even closer to Nina. “He thinks just because he’s been here a while, he can ignore the rules,” Nina said, frowning at me without even waiting for my response. “If he keeps this up, he won’t last long in this company.” I offered a faint smile, looking at them both. “I’ll be more careful in the future. Thank you for the reminder, Ms. Vance.” Hearing me call her that, Nina’s expression turned thunderous. I rarely used her last name. My tone was polite, but distant. Ignoring them, I sat at my desk and dove into my work. I was almost finished with my part of the project. Even though I was leaving, my sense of responsibility demanded I see it through. At lunch, Nina pulled her car up to the front of the building. Charlie happily slid into the passenger seat. He saw me walking past and called out, “Elliot! Nina and I are going to that new Italian place. Come with us!” The invitation was empty. He made no move to give up his seat. I shook my head and smiled. “I’m not a big fan of Italian. You two go ahead.” I walked away without looking back. I could faintly hear Nina’s voice drift over. “He’s been in such a mood lately. Don’t mind him. It’ll just be us.” A small smile touched my lips as I pushed them from my mind. While eating, I scrolled through my social media feed and saw Charlie’s latest post. [Boss found out I smoke and got me a designer lighter! Best boss ever, I’d work for her for life!] I raised an eyebrow at the picture. On the table was an exquisitely crafted lighter. The background was unmistakably the Italian restaurant. And in the corner of the photo, you could see Nina’s slender fingers. When Nina and I first got together, I still smoked when I was stressed. She would always pluck the cigarette from my fingers, put it to her own lips, take a huge drag, and dissolve into a coughing fit, tears streaming from her eyes. I’d quickly stub it out and pat her back. Her eyes would be watery, but she’d pout, half-joking, half-angry. “Elliot, I hate the smell of smoke! If I ever see you smoking again, I’ll just do this and make myself sick! Then you’ll feel bad!” She’d shake a tiny fist at me, her girlish charm utterly adorable. I’d laughed, and from that day on, I quit smoking. After Charlie showed up, Nina’s attitude towards me grew cold and distant. I sometimes found myself unconsciously reaching for a cigarette. She would see it and snap at me, her face contorted in disgust, demanding I put it out immediately because she hated the smell. But now, she was buying a lighter for a smoker. I shook my head and turned off my phone, a dull ache spreading through my chest. 4 When I got home after work, I found a custom-tailored suit Nina had ordered for me had been delivered. She loved to dress up, and she loved to dress me up. After we got married, she bought all my clothes. She would watch me try on new outfits, her eyes sparkling, telling me I had a great figure, a natural-born model. Then she would flutter into my arms like a butterfly and plant a kiss on my cheek. She always said I looked best in a suit and had a standing order with a high-end tailor to send me their new seasonal collection. The memory brought a flicker of warmth to my heart. I tried on the new suit, but to my surprise, it didn’t fit. Nina knew my measurements by heart, and the tailor had been making my clothes for years. They shouldn’t have made a mistake. I took off the suit, put it back in the garment bag, and drove to the tailor’s shop. I never expected to find Nina and Charlie there. “Charlie, you look amazing in that suit!” I heard Nina exclaim. “I opened an account for you here. You can come by whenever you want, it’s all on me!” I glanced over. Charlie was standing tall and proud in the season’s new suit. And Nina, her face flushed, was nestled against his side. They were looking at each other, smiling, the air thick with intimacy. “Mr. Fusco, what are you doing here…?” a sales associate recognized me and gasped. The sound was just loud enough for Nina and Charlie to hear. They sprang apart and whipped their heads around to look at me. Anger instantly flooded Nina’s face. She strode towards me, her voice loud and accusatory. “Elliot, what are you doing here? Are you following me? How could you be so shameless!” I looked at her calmly, then at Charlie standing behind her. Charlie’s height, his waist, his shoulder width… I let out a soft, humorless laugh. They had mixed up our measurements. That’s why the suit didn’t fit me. “I wasn’t following you. The suit you ordered arrived, but it’s not my size. I came to return it.” I held up the garment bag, dangling it in front of her. “I’ll just leave it here. I have other things to do, so I won’t disturb you.” I turned to go. A storm of complex emotions crossed Nina’s face, her beautiful eyes glaring at me. “Elliot, don’t take this too far! There’s nothing going on between me and Charlie! Stop thinking such disgusting thoughts!” I shrugged, a careless smile on my face. “I wasn’t thinking anything. You don’t need to be angry.” With that, I turned and walked away. I felt like I was making progress. Seeing Nina and Charlie together like that didn’t hurt as much anymore.

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We held a wedding three years ago, but my husband, a pilot, has canceled our trip to get a marriage license eighteen times. The first time, his female trainee was on a test flight. I waited at the courthouse all day. The second time, he got a call from her, made a sharp U-turn, and left me on the side of the road. Every time we scheduled it, something would happen with his trainee. Finally, I decided to leave him. But when I boarded the plane to Paris, he chased me there, frantic and desperate. 1 We’d been “married” for three years, but Mason Croft had never gotten around to making it legal. Today was supposed to be a milestone—his one-thousandth successful flight. It was also the seventeenth time he had promised we would finally go to the courthouse. But at his celebration dinner, while his supervisor was forcing shots on me, Mason was busy feeding appetizers and trading sips of wine with his trainee pilot. I was burning up with a fever, downing drink after drink until I was nearly unconscious, but he never once glanced my way. I could see the pity in our colleagues’ eyes, the unspoken “you deserve better” hanging in the air. It was obvious to everyone who I was doing this for. But after the dinner, Mason, the man who was supposed to take me to get our marriage license, stood me up again. He pulled his convertible up to the restaurant entrance and put a hand out to stop me from getting in. “Cora drank too much on my behalf,” he said, his voice flat. “I’m taking her home. You can grab a cab.” “We probably won’t make it to the courthouse this afternoon. We’ll reschedule.” He didn’t wait for my reaction. He got out, opened the passenger door, and gently helped his trainee into the seat. We’d been together for eight years, married for three. This was the seventeenth time Mason had postponed our official marriage because of Cora. Usually, this would be my breaking point. I would have dissolved into tears, screaming at him, demanding to know who his real wife was, who had actually been taking drinks for him all night. But this time, I just smiled. “Okay. Drive safe.” Mason froze, clearly taken aback by my calm demeanor. A moment later, his face hardened back into its usual indifference. “I’ll buy you a gift tonight to make it up to you.” He sped off, carefully rolling up the passenger-side window to shield a drunk Cora from the wind. He used to hate the smell of alcohol in his car. Whenever I’d had too much to drink for him, he’d put the top down, even in the dead of winter. He certainly never would have rolled up the window. It hit me then. The rules were just different when it was me in the car. The midday Miami heat was suffocating, but a strange, profound chill settled deep in my bones. I took a deep breath and put my wallet, the one holding my ID for the license, back in my purse. I knew then that our eight-year relationship had to be put away with it. 2 That afternoon, I went straight back to the airline’s headquarters and submitted my resignation. “Does Mason know you’re quitting?” my manager asked, shocked. I was, after all, the airline’s top-rated flight attendant for seven consecutive years. My future here was limitless. A bitter smile touched my lips. “I’ll tell him tonight. Not that he’ll care.” “I don’t understand,” she sighed, her expression full of regret. “You two pioneered new routes together, won ‘Best Crew’ awards together. Three years ago, even the CEO came to your wedding. Everyone was so envious. But now…” She was right. Those were beautiful memories. But memories were all they were. There was no going back. It was after ten by the time I got home. The apartment was dark and empty. Just then, a notification popped up on my phone. A new social media post from Cora, and she had tagged me. “Thanks to my amazing mentor for spending the afternoon with me! As a thank you, I’m taking him to the Jay-Z concert tomorrow! So excited!” I knew then that Mason, who had promised to be home, wasn’t coming home. This had become a familiar pattern over the past three years. I made myself a bowl of instant noodles and opened my laptop. My inbox was full of job offers from airlines around the world. My cursor hovered over the one from Air France, and without a second thought, I clicked “accept.” Then I booked a one-way ticket to Paris for two days from now. Five years ago, on a flight to Paris, Mason had experienced the worst crisis of his career. Since then, the word “Paris” had become a taboo. He refused to fly there, and he’d made sure I never did either. Mason, I thought, once I’m in Paris, we’ll never have to see each other again. 3 The next morning, I started packing. I was halfway through when Mason walked in, wearing a crisp, pink button-down. A cloud of rich, floral perfume followed him into the room. The scent hit me, and I froze. He used to despise perfume. Because of him, I hadn’t worn a single drop in years. I’d even thrown away my entire collection. It wasn’t that he hated perfume, I realized. He just hated it on me. He saw the open suitcases and paused. “Cora was too hungover to drive last night. I got a hotel room. That’s why I didn’t come home.” I glanced up at him, surprised. It was the first time in three years he’d bothered to explain himself. I just nodded, not saying a word. He walked over to me, his eyes on the luggage. “Are you packing for a flight?” “Something like that,” I said. He seemed to visibly relax at my answer. “I have to run. I just came back to grab something. Can’t stay for lunch.” “Okay.” I didn’t look up, just kept folding clothes. I had planned to tell him I’d quit over lunch, to finally put an end to our eight years together. It seemed I wouldn’t get the chance. Mason grabbed a red gift bag from the closet, picked up his jacket, and rushed out the door. CRASH! The photo frame that had hung by the door for eight years suddenly fell, shattering on the floor. Glass sprayed everywhere. I looked over. It was a picture of Mason and me at our first concert together, our hands clasped, our faces beaming. He had promised me that day that no matter how busy he got, he would take me to a concert every year. But ever since Cora became his trainee, he had forgotten. The only sound in the empty apartment was the ticking of the clock. After a long silence, I swept up the broken glass. I took the photo, a perfect capsule of our past happiness, and threw it, along with the last remnants of my feelings for him, into the trash. 4 That evening, exhausted from packing, I was lying in bed when my best friend called. “What is wrong with Mason? This is too much! Did you see his feed? He’s all over it, showing off with that homewrecker Cora.” “You guys aren’t even divorced yet! How could he?” As she ranted, I opened my phone. The first post was from Cora. In the photo, she was wearing a new Van Cleef & Arpels necklace, and in her hands was the red gift bag Mason had picked up that afternoon. I finally understood. He’d come home to get Cora’s concert gift. The caption read: “Three years since we met. So lucky to have you, Mason. Happy third anniversary!” My mind went blank. Three years? That’s right. Today was supposed to be my third wedding anniversary with Mason. We had never once celebrated it. I had completely forgotten. I let out a long breath. “He doesn’t need a divorce,” I told my friend. “We were never legally married.” “What?” “You’ve been ‘married’ for three years, and he never got a license with you?” My friend’s shriek was so loud it almost deafened me. Yes. We had a wedding three years ago. And he had canceled on me seventeen times. 5 At eleven that night, Mason came home, a rare occurrence. He took off his jacket and went to hang it on the hook by the door. He stopped, staring at the empty space where our photo used to be. “Where’s our picture?” he asked, walking into the bedroom without even putting his jacket down, a hint of panic in his voice. “It fell. It broke.” He looked towards the trash can by the door, saw the shattered glass, and his shoulders relaxed. He put his jacket aside and pulled out a shopping bag with a new Louis Vuitton purse inside. “I didn’t get a chance to give you your gift yesterday,” he said. “And today is our third wedding anniversary. So… Happy Anniversary.” He placed the bag on the bed. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him. After three years, he actually remembered our anniversary? But then I saw the receipt. The purchase time was thirty minutes ago. Cora’s post must have reminded him. He’d just picked it up on his way home. He didn’t know that I already had two of this exact same bag in my closet. I said nothing, just stared at him. “By the way,” he said, his tone shifting, “the annual airline awards are coming up. Can you… can you step aside this year? Cora’s been in the industry for three years, and her biggest dream is to win ‘Best Attendant,’ just like you. You’ve won it so many times. Can you let her have it this year?” He looked uncomfortable saying it. I had to laugh. So this last-minute gift had a price tag after all. “Fine,” I said calmly. Not just this year. Next year, the year after—I would never compete with her again. Because after tonight, I would be gone. “You… you agree?” My quick reply seemed to surprise him. He kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat. “Cora is my trainee. You’re her mentor’s wife. This is how it should be.” He paused, as if just remembering. “Oh, right, you’re flying tomorrow, aren’t you? What time is your flight?” “Three in the afternoon.” I looked at him, deciding to take this last chance to tell him I was leaving. But before I could speak, his phone rang. It was Cora. Her saccharine voice drifted from the phone. She was on her period, had no pads, and was calling Mason for help. He hung up and looked at me, a guilty expression on his face. “Uh… Cora’s in a bit of a jam. She’s all alone, can’t handle it. I should probably go.” For the first time, his voice held a note of pleading. I swallowed the words I was about to say and forced a smile. “It’s fine. Go.” He looked immensely relieved. He stood up, and as he was leaving, he said again, “Your flight is at three, so there’s still time. Tomorrow, ten a.m. Let’s go get the license. I promise, no matter what happens this time, I’ll be there.” A bitter smile played on my lips. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to break up with him face-to-face. The next morning, I finished packing. I didn’t go to the courthouse. I went straight to the airport. By noon, I still hadn’t received a single call from Mason asking why I wasn’t there. As I was boarding my flight that afternoon, I finally got a text from him: “Sorry, Cora wasn’t feeling well today. I just took her to the hospital. We missed our appointment. When you get back from this trip, I’ll take you to the courthouse first thing.” I felt nothing. Of course. The eighteenth time was a no-show too. “Don’t bother, Mason. I’ve quit my job. I’m on my way to Paris. After today, we will never see each other again.” I sent the message, my final message, and prepared to turn off my phone. The next second, the chat window, which had been silent for so long, began to vibrate uncontrollably. 6 The flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, announcing the final boarding call. I ignored the buzzing of my phone, deleted Mason’s contact, and turned it off. From that moment on, Mason Croft and I were finished.

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For years, I sold down jackets in a forgotten corner of this country. Twenty bucks a pop. Then one day, an influencer waltzed in, camera rolling, ready to “expose” me. “This material is garbage, folks, the down fill is pathetic, and the style is just plain ugly! This is trash!” Then, smooth as a snake, she launched her own brand of jackets, even getting the locals to try them on. Feeling the difference, and egged on by the influencer, the townspeople turned on me. They called me a con artist, trashed my shop, and swore they’d only buy her jackets from now on. What they didn’t know was that a single one of her jackets cost four hundred dollars. 1 Winter was creeping in again, and my little shop was open for business, racks lined with down jackets. But today was different. Just as I was setting up, a woman walked in, phone held high, live-streaming her every move. She was a splash of polished city glam against the faded backdrop of my humble store, her meticulous makeup and trendy clothes a world away from the dusty streets outside. She pulled me into the frame of her phone. “Hi, ma’am,” she said, her voice sugary sweet for her audience. “My name is Lexi, I’m a content creator with over a million followers. I was hoping I could review one of your jackets today?” I had no idea what that really meant. I figured she just wanted to have a look, so I nodded. “Sure.” That was my first mistake. She plucked a jacket from the rack, her brow furrowing in theatrical disgust. “Okay, guys, you can see right away this is just cheap polyester. No one uses this stuff anymore for quality outerwear. It’s worthless.” After trashing the fabric, Lexi pulled a small, wicked-looking knife from her purse. With a sickening shh-rripp, she sliced the jacket open. The stuffing, a cloud of grayish down, drifted out. Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of feigned shock. “Oh my God, you guys! Look at this! There’s barely any fill in here, and it’s the absolute worst quality duck down. This jacket is pure garbage.” Watching her performance, a hot spike of anger shot through me. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just come in here and destroy my merchandise!” She ignored me completely, grabbing several more jackets and slashing them open one by one. “Let’s just see about the others,” she narrated to her phone. “Wow. Unbelievable. They’re all the same. All of them are trash.” The sight of my inventory being gutted on the floor sent rage boiling up in my chest. “Are you out of your mind?” I yelled. “You’ve ruined half my stock! How am I supposed to run a business? You’re paying for all of that!” Lexi just laughed, a triumphant, mocking sound. “Did you hear that, everyone? I’m doing a public service, exposing this scammer, and she wants me to pay her.” Just as I was about to let loose a string of curses, one of my regulars, Caleb, walked in. He was a familiar face, a man who’d bought a jacket from me every other winter. “Hey, Ava!” he called out. “Got one in my size?” I turned to help him, but Lexi stepped between us, blocking him. “Sir, please, don’t buy anything from this woman. Her jackets are a complete rip-off.” Caleb just stood there, scratching his head awkwardly, caught in the middle. That was it. I was done being polite. “If you’re not buying, get the hell out of my store,” I snarled at Lexi. “Stop scaring off my customers. I don’t care if you’re some big-shot influencer.” “You’re selling fake, shoddy goods and you don’t want people to talk about it?” she shot back, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stand up for these good people.” And she did. She plopped herself down on a stool right by the door, pulling out a megaphone and announcing to everyone who passed by that my jackets were trash and that I was a cheat. A crowd started to form, drawn by the commotion. I risked a glance at her phone screen, at the live-stream chat. It was a waterfall of hate, all directed at me. “OMG that jacket is so ugly. My grandpa wouldn’t be caught dead in that. Who even buys stuff like this anymore?” “Go Lexi! Expose her! The quality is so bad I’d rather freeze than wear that thing.” As her viewer count soared and the crowd outside grew, Lexi seized her moment. She pulled a sleek, stylish jacket from a suitcase and held it up for everyone to see. “Now, everyone,” she announced, her voice booming. “This is from my own brand. Let me show you what a real down jacket looks like.” 2 The jacket in Lexi’s hands was a thing of beauty, modern and expertly crafted. “This,” she declared, her voice resonating with passion, “is made with premium goose down, a high fill power, and a high-tech, water-resistant fabric. It practically heats itself the moment you put it on.” She beckoned to Caleb. “Sir, why don’t you come and try it on? Feel the difference for yourself.” A little shyly, Caleb shuffled forward and slipped on the jacket. His eyes widened. He gave a huge thumbs-up. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe. “This… this is way better than Ava’s stuff.” A triumphant smile spread across Lexi’s face. “You see? That’s what quality feels like. Anyone else want to try it on?” One by one, people from the crowd stepped forward, each trying on the jacket and agreeing: it was infinitely better than mine. Flushed with victory, Lexi urged them all to buy her brand instead. But then Caleb, ever practical, asked the million-dollar question. “It’s a great jacket, no doubt. But… how much does it cost? It looks expensive.” Lexi chuckled. “Folks, do I look like the kind of person who would rip you off?” she asked her audience, both online and in-person. “Tell you what. This weekend, in my live stream, I’m going to give you all an insane discount. And for everyone watching right now, I’m dropping a fifty-dollar coupon into the stream. A little gift from me to you.” Caleb’s face lit up. “A fifty-dollar coupon? That’s practically a steal!” I rolled my eyes, unable to stay silent any longer. “It’s a classic sales tactic, Caleb. Even with fifty dollars off, I guarantee that jacket is still going to cost a fortune.” Lexi shot me a venomous look. “At least it’s not counterfeit garbage like yours.” That did it. The word “counterfeit” lit a fuse. “Counterfeit?” I spat, grabbing a metal clothing rod from the back room and pointing it at her. “Did I slap a designer label on it? Did I make false claims about what it is? No! Now pay me for the jackets you destroyed and get out of my store!” Lexi didn’t even flinch. She glanced at the eager faces in the crowd and fanned the flames. “Everyone, tell me, does this junk even compare to the real deal?” A resounding “NO!” came from the crowd. “A shop that sells fake goods like this has no right to exist!” Lexi pointed a dramatic finger at my storefront. “Tell you what. If you all help me tear down this sham of a shop, I’ll do a buy-one-get-one-free deal for everyone here on my jackets!” The crowd roared. Panic seized me. I lunged forward and slapped Lexi hard across the face. “Are you insane? I’m just trying to run my business! What is your problem? You want a fight? Is that it?” She didn’t back down. She met my gaze with a defiant smirk. “Bring it on.” So I did. I slapped her again, the force of it leaving a bright red mark on her cheek, and started shoving her toward the door. I saw Caleb hesitate for just a moment, his eyes darting between me and the influencer. Then, his face hardened. “Buy one, get one free!” he yelled to the crowd. “Let’s go, people! Her jackets are way better than Ava’s! We can’t let her keep ripping us off after all these years!” And with that, Caleb, my loyal customer, shoved over my main display rack. It was like a dam breaking. The crowd surged into my little shop, a wave of angry, greedy people. They tore at the shelves, ripped jackets from their hangers, and smashed everything in sight. And through it all, Lexi stood to the side, live-streaming the destruction, a tiny, almost invisible smile playing on her lips. 3 My heart splintered with every crash and shatter. “Stop it!” I screamed into my own megaphone, my voice cracking. “Please, stop! We’re neighbors! Why are you doing this?” “I’m calling the police!” But the lure of a BOGO deal was stronger than any sense of community. They didn’t listen. Left with no choice, I dialed 911. By the time the officers arrived, the shop was a complete wreck. After taking my statement, the lead officer addressed the crowd, his voice heavy with disapproval. “What on earth possessed you all to destroy this woman’s store? A whole mob of you…” Caleb, his face flushed with righteous indignation, stepped forward. “She’s a cheat! She’s been selling us fake, worthless junk for years! We’re lucky we didn’t do worse to her.” Hearing those words from a man I’d always considered a friend, a man whose family I’d helped keep warm for years, felt like a knife in the gut. The officer frowned. “Whether her goods are fake or not doesn’t give you the right to destroy her property. You’re all liable for the damages.” The mention of money instantly doused the crowd’s fiery mob mentality. They grew quiet, a sea of downcast eyes and shuffling feet. That’s when Lexi stepped forward, her voice clear and confident. “How much is it? I’ll pay for everything.” A wave of admiration rippled through the crowd. In their eyes, Lexi was a hero. My jackets were cheap, the shop had no fancy decorations, and the racks were flimsy. The total damage only added up to a few thousand dollars. Lexi paid it without flinching, a small price for the image she was building. After everyone had left, I stood alone in the wreckage and let out a long, shuddering sigh before locking the door for good. Four years ago, I’d seen a story online about an old man in a cold region, too poor to afford a proper coat, stuffing his clothes with straw just to stay warm. The image broke my heart. So I came here, to this struggling town, and opened my jacket shop. My whole reason for being here was to make sure everyone could afford a warm coat for the winter. That’s why I was only open for one season; the rest of the year, I ran my own online fashion boutique to make a living. To keep costs down, the designs were basic and the fabric was inexpensive. But I made damn sure every single jacket was filled with real down. For four years, I sold them for twenty dollars a piece. I wasn’t really making a profit. Most of the time, I was losing money. At first, the townspeople were so grateful. They told me they could finally afford a real winter coat, that their kids wouldn’t be cold anymore. Their smiles were what kept me going. I never imagined that one influencer’s words could turn them against me so completely, that they would look at me with such hatred and call me a fraud. My jackets weren’t stylish, and they weren’t a fancy brand, but they were warm, and they cost twenty dollars. Wasn’t that enough? My heart felt like a block of ice. I closed the shop and decided I was done. That night, I found Lexi’s social media account. She had already edited and uploaded a dramatic video of her “exposing” me and then heroically paying for the damages. The stunt had earned her two million new followers overnight. The few thousand she’d paid for damages was nothing compared to the traffic she’d gained. She played it perfectly. When the weekend came, Caleb and a few others huddled around a single smartphone, ready to jump on Lexi’s big sale, dreaming of the high-quality, affordable jackets they were about to score. Thanks to the drama, her live stream was packed. Virtual gifts and effects flooded the screen. Lexi, looking flawless, spent an eternity hyping up her jacket, spinning tales of its miraculous quality, but she skillfully avoided mentioning the price. Finally, after people in the chat started getting restless, she got to the point. “Alright, everyone, for my top-of-the-line, premium goose-down jacket… we’re not asking for eight hundred, not five hundred… but for you, my family, it’s just $399! Three… two… one… the link is live!” Caleb and the others just stared, their faces frozen. A four-hundred-dollar jacket might as well have been a million. There was no way they could ever afford it.

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On my twenty-ninth birthday, my husband, who was supposed to be celebrating with me, never showed up. Instead, his assistant posted on her social media story, with the privacy set so only I could see it. It was a picture of two hands, clasped together, both covered in a thick, creamy foam. The caption read: Oops, wrong post. Guess the boss will have to punish me now… I wasn’t surprised. I just calmly liked the post. After all, this was the third time he had cheated on me. … I turned off my phone. My heart was numb, but a deep chill had settled into my body, a cold that urged me to find a source of warmth. I drove home. To my parents’ house. When I reached the front door, I raised my hand to knock, but it felt shackled by an invisible cord, unable to move. I stood there for several minutes, frozen on the welcome mat. Muffled voices drifted from inside. My brother, Sebastian. “Mom, Dad, isn’t it Audrey’s birthday today?” My mother paused. “Your birthday is tomorrow, so… oh, I guess it is hers today.” “Should we give her a call?” She scoffed. “Call her for what? We’ll just celebrate hers with yours tomorrow. It’s what we do every year. She’s used to it.” My father chimed in. “Besides, Paul is probably with her.” My mother’s voice suddenly sharpened, rising in pitch. “With her? Don’t be ridiculous. Paul’s on a business trip. That’s just an excuse, if you ask me. He probably can’t stand the sight of her. She walks around with that long face all day, like the world owes her a million dollars. Whose fault is it that she can’t keep a man’s heart? “And besides, Paul’s a big shot now. What successful man doesn’t have a little fun on the side? She’s making a mountain out of a molehill. He didn’t abandon her after he made it big; he promised she’d always be the lady of the house. That’s more than most get. Can’t she just turn a blind eye? Her constant nagging… who could stand it?” My father and brother murmured their agreement, and the conversation shifted. Laughter soon filled the house again. But for me, standing outside, the world grew colder and colder, until my teeth began to chatter. Two years ago, I walked in on Paul cheating for the first time. The world went cold, and I managed only one word: “Divorce.” When you truly love someone, there’s no room for a single grain of sand in your eye. It didn’t matter that he knelt in the pouring rain all night. It didn’t matter that he claimed he’d been drugged, set up. I cried for an entire night, but I refused to forgive him. That was when my mother slapped me. Hard. She pointed a finger in my face, her voice shaking with rage. “You were the one who insisted on marrying him! Now you want to throw it all away? Do you want to bring shame on this entire family?” Seeing the disbelief on my face, she softened her tone, trying a different tactic. “Paul was tricked by that slut. Just give him another chance. Don’t take it so far.” For a month, Paul came every day, begging, apologizing. I finally relented. But I couldn’t share a bed with him. I couldn’t get past the betrayal. When he saw me, a walking skeleton who had wasted away in just a few weeks, he broke down in tears. He wrote me letters of guarantee, sent me his itinerary every single day, and cared for my every need. But less than six months later, I found him with his secretary. He said he was drunk. He said he thought she was me. I just stared at him in silence, until he exploded in a fit of shame and anger, slamming the door on his way out. This time, Paul didn’t beg for forgiveness. He went straight to my parents, confident they would fight his battles for him. And they did. My mother blamed me, saying I had given him the cold shoulder for half a year, leaving him with nowhere to turn. My father threatened to disown me if I filed for divorce. My brother reminded me that Paul had funded his startup company, and told me to stop being selfish and think about the family. They screamed at me at home. They made scenes at my office. Finally, when I wouldn’t break, my mother took a bottle of pills and was rushed to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. She cried, snot and tears streaming down her face. “Audrey, if you still consider me your mother, you will not mention divorce! Our family depends on him! Everyone knows I have a golden son-in-law. If you divorce him, how will people laugh at us? You can’t be so selfish!” Paul’s circle of friends, the same men who used to respectfully call me their sister-in-law, now offered their own brand of condescending advice. “Come on, Audrey. What man at Paul’s level doesn’t have a few beautiful distractions on the side?” “All you have to do is be the rich wife and spend his money. No one can ever take your place. Honestly, he’s been more than good to you.” “If you won’t think of yourself, at least think of your leech-like family, right?” Paul didn’t have to say a thing. Everyone else had said it for him. I gave in again. This time, my relationship with Paul froze over completely. I treated him like air. After a few failed attempts to get my attention, he started coming home later and later. I don’t know how I survived that period. My mind felt like it was filled with paste, and a thick glass dome separated me from the world. I couldn’t feel a thing. The third time Paul cheated, he brought his assistant home. They had just finished, right there on our sofa. A bright red lipstick mark stained the open collar of his shirt. “Why?” I asked him, my voice hollow. “Why won’t you just let me go?” He lit a cigarette, his features blurring behind the smoke. He sighed, a sound of weary resignation. “Audrey, we’re too old for fairy tales. Even if I agreed to a divorce, your parents never would. I’m doing this for your own good.” He took a long drag. “They say the first thing a blind man does when he can see again is throw away his cane. I didn’t. Even when I no longer needed you, I promised to keep you safe. So you can continue to be the wealthy Mrs. Thorne. If we don’t have love, we still have family.” I actually laughed. A dry, rasping sound. “So you finally admit it? You don’t love me anymore.” Paul watched me for a long moment, a playful, cruel curve to his lips. “Yes. I have to admit, even the deepest feelings fade with time. Now, when I see you cry, I don’t feel anything at all. Just… annoyance.” What comes after your heart has turned to ash? I didn’t know. After I left that place we once called home, I ran into a drunk, leering at me on the street. He chuckled, stumbling closer. “Hey, gorgeous. Where you headed? Let your big brother give you a ride.” His hand reached for me. My eyes, unfocused, stared right through him. A dark, unstoppable wave of destruction crested within me. Go to hell. Go to hell, all of you! What’s the point of living? Then let’s all just die!

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At the end-of-year review meeting, Jonathan’s childhood friend, Cheryl, stood up and asked to be made the project lead, a move that would secure her promotion to Vice President. For the good of the company, I said no. In a fit of rage, she quit, announcing she was going home to get married. Under my leadership, the project netted over ten billion in profit, and our company went public. Later, I married Jonathan. But during our honeymoon, I was kidnapped and thrown into a cartel’s hidden compound deep in the desert. As I frantically looked for a way to signal for help, I heard Jonathan’s cold voice cut through the darkness. “You can have your fun with her. Do whatever you want to this venomous bitch.” I screamed, demanding to know why. Jonathan’s answer was a brutal kick to my stomach. “If you hadn’t stolen the project lead position from her, Cheryl would never have been forced into an abusive marriage. She wouldn’t have died. This is what you owe her.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the very day Cheryl demanded to be made project lead. … “Zoe,” she said, her voice cloyingly sweet, “I was hoping I could be the lead on the Riley Corp project. It’s the last thing I need on my record to get promoted to VP.” The familiar words sent a jolt through me. A glance at the wall clock confirmed it. I had been reborn. Jonathan nudged me from the side. “Zoe, did you hear Cheryl? Just give her the position. She needs the credit more than you do.” In my past life, I had refused them instantly. The Riley project was a hundred-million-dollar deal, a make-or-break opportunity that could take our company public. Cheryl simply didn’t have the skills to manage it. To soften the blow, I told her that if the project succeeded, everyone on the team would get a promotion and a hefty bonus. She took it as a personal insult, quit on the spot, and disappeared back to her hometown to get married. I never heard from her again. The project was a massive success. The company went public. Jonathan and I got married. And on our honeymoon, I was taken. When I came to, I saw Jonathan standing with my kidnappers, his face a mask of cold indifference. “Do what you will with this black-hearted snake,” he’d said. As their hands pawed at me, I screamed at him, over and over, “Why?” He drove his foot into my gut. “If you hadn’t been so selfish, so possessive of that title, Cheryl wouldn’t have been married off to that monster. She wouldn’t have been beaten to death. You owe her this.” The memory of that agony, of dying in filth and despair, made my hands tremble with a rage so fierce I had to clench them into fists to contain it. Jonathan tugged at my arm again, his voice sharp with impatience. “Zoe, what are you daydreaming about? Did you hear me? Give the position to Cheryl.” I looked at his annoyed face and let out a cold, sharp laugh. “When I was working myself to the bone for this project, losing sleep and hair, I asked Cheryl to help share the load. And what did you two say? ‘You’re the project lead, you should do more.’ When I was drinking myself sick, ending up in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer just to schmooze clients, you said, ‘You’re the lead, it’s your responsibility.’” The bitterness of my sacrifices rose in my throat. I turned my gaze to Cheryl, my voice dripping with scorn. “Where were you then? Why didn’t you want to be the project lead when the work was hard and dirty? Now that the proposal is written, the deal is negotiated, and all that’s left is to sign the contract, you suddenly want to swoop in and take the credit? Cheryl, how do you even have the nerve to say something so shameless?” My blunt words made her eyes well up with tears instantly. “Zoe, you don’t understand. My family is poor. I need this promotion to help them. My mom… she said if I don’t start making real money, she’s going to marry me off to some rich, old monster to pay off my brother’s debts.” Then, she dropped to her knees in front of me, pressing her forehead to the floor. “Please, Zoe, I’m begging you. I don’t want to go back home. That man… he’s already had two wives who died under mysterious circumstances. If I marry him, I’m as good as dead. Please, don’t force me to go back.” Jonathan shoved me so hard I stumbled backward. His eyes were blazing with fury. “Zoe, are you really that heartless? Do you have to push her to her death to be satisfied?” The entire office was now staring, their whispers filling the air. “What is wrong with you, Zoe? You drove her to her knees!” “Just because you come from money doesn’t give you the right to treat people like this. How could you be so cruel as to make her kneel and beg?” The shove sent my hip crashing into the sharp corner of a desk. A gasp of pain escaped my lips. Rubbing the throbbing spot, I straightened up, walked over to Jonathan, and slapped him hard across the face. “Who the hell do you think you are,” I seethed, “to lay a hand on me?” Without missing a beat, I spun around and kicked Cheryl’s kneeling form, sending her sprawling. “If you want to kneel, go find your mother’s grave and do it there. Don’t bring your bad luck near me.” Gasps echoed through the office, followed by a fresh wave of condemnation. “Zoe, now you’re hitting people? You’ve gone too far!” I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “I’ve gone too far? When I was pulling all-nighters to find new clients, when I was in the hospital for this company, did anyone say I’d gone too far?” I swept my gaze across their faces. “When you were cashing the bonus checks from the deals I closed, did you think that was too much?” “You’re all a bunch of ungrateful parasites. You throw people away the second you’re done using them.” Silence. They stared at their shoes, ashamed. I pressed my advantage, my tone laced with ice. “If pity is all it takes for me to give up what’s mine, then why don’t all of you donate your corneas to the blind? It’s not like you’re using your eyes to see the truth anyway.” That finally seemed to get through to them. One by one, they mumbled apologies in my direction before turning on Cheryl. “Cheryl, Zoe poured her heart and soul into this project. She’s earned her position as lead.” “Exactly! Just because you have a sad story doesn’t give you the right to emotionally blackmail her. Zoe doesn’t owe you anything.” Seeing the tide turn against her, Cheryl panicked. Her tears became a full-blown flood. “Zoe, that’s not what I meant… I… If you’re really going to force my hand, then… then I’ll just go and die!” My heart ached with frustration. All I did was state the facts, and suddenly I was the villain driving her to suicide. It was so transparently manipulative, anyone with eyes could see it. But Jonathan, as always, was blind. He rushed to Cheryl, pulling her into a protective embrace, his voice soft with pity. Then he turned to me, his tone now a stern command. “Zoe, that’s enough. As of today, Cheryl is the project lead. You will be a member of her team. Do your job and don’t cause any more trouble.” I gritted my teeth, fury coursing through me. “On what grounds? I landed this deal. I’m not giving it up.” “What do you mean, you landed it?” Jonathan scoffed. “Riley Corp is working with us because our company has potential. Stop taking all the credit for yourself. Even without you, Cheryl could have closed this deal. She might have even done a better job.” Cheryl, nestled in his arms, nodded in agreement. “Riley Corp probably heard about Jonathan’s genius reputation. That’s why they trusted a small company like ours.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. Seeing the smug certainty on Jonathan’s face, I just shrugged. “Fine. If that’s what you believe, then I don’t want to be the project lead anymore.” Jonathan smiled, satisfied, thinking I’d finally caved. “Don’t worry, Zoe. There will be other opportunities for you. You don’t need to fight with Cheryl over this one.” Cheryl walked over, a triumphant, provocative glint in her eye. “Zoe, you can just continue with the parts of the project you were already handling. Once the final proposal is ready, I’ll go and sign the contract with Riley Corp.” I almost laughed out loud. As the project lead, I had been shouldering a quarter of the entire workload myself. Now they wanted me to keep doing the work of a pack mule without the title or the credit? What a beautiful dream. “Sorry,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “I’m not doing it.” Cheryl’s brow furrowed. “Zoe, this project is critical to the company. Stop messing around.” Jonathan’s face hardened. “Zoe, if you’re going to keep throwing a tantrum, you can get the hell out of this company.” At that, I grabbed my bag and stood up. “Great! I’m gone. And since you’re firing me, remember to deposit my severance pay—three times my salary—into my account.” Without a backward glance, I walked out of the company and into the fresh air of my new life. Once outside, I called my brother. “Lucas? The deal’s off. Jonathan just fired me.” My brother’s voice was laced with shock. “What? Isn’t he your boyfriend? You’ve been with him since college, helped him build that company from the ground up. How could he fire you?” I quickly recounted the day’s events. I heard a loud thud on the other end of the line—the sound of his fist hitting a desk. “Dump him,” he snarled. “Dump that scumbag right now. You don’t need trash like that. I’ll find you a new guy—six-foot-three, eight-pack abs, and a hundred percent loyal.” He took a breath. “I’m canceling the partnership. Honestly, if it wasn’t for you, his little startup wouldn’t have even made it past our initial screening.” That night, back at my apartment, I couldn’t shake the bitterness. I had poured so much of myself into that company. Lucas must have seen the melancholy on my face. “Zoe,” he said gently, “why don’t you come work at Riley Corp? You can take over this partnership project from our end. Get familiar with the business. You own a piece of it, you know. Once you’re settled, you can choose whoever you want to partner with.” I thought for a moment, then nodded. It was the perfect solution. A week later, it was the day of the official bidding presentations for the Riley Corp partnership. As soon as I walked into the lobby, I saw Jonathan with his arm wrapped possessively around Cheryl’s waist. He spotted me and his face twisted into a scowl. “Zoe? You’re not the project lead anymore. What are you even doing here?” Cheryl chimed in, her voice dripping with mock pity. “Oh, Zoe. Didn’t you say you were leaving the company? Why did you follow us here?” I shot them an icy glare. “This isn’t your building. I can go wherever I please.” Jonathan let out a derisive laugh. “Zoe, be realistic. You probably couldn’t even get past the front door of Riley Corp without our company’s name on a visitor pass. You should leave now, before I have security throw you out. That would be embarrassing.” I rolled my eyes, ready to walk away, but Jonathan grabbed my arm and shoved me. I stumbled and fell to the floor. “Security!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the marble lobby. “How did this person get in here?” A guard rushed over. “This woman is impersonating one of our employees to cause trouble,” Jonathan said authoritatively. “Get her out of here.” “Wait, you’re mistaken,” I said, trying to get up. “I’m the project manager for this partnership, from Riley Corp.” Jonathan laughed cruelly. “Still lying through your teeth. You just got fired from our company, and now you’re suddenly a project manager at Riley? Who do you think you are? Why would a powerhouse like Riley Corp ever hire you?” A crowd had gathered, their eyes on me, whispering and pointing as the guards dragged me out and deposited me on the sidewalk. I let out a cold laugh and sat down right there on the curb. Fine. Let’s see how this meeting goes without me. Inside the Riley Corp conference room, ten minutes had passed. Jonathan grew antsy and asked one of the Riley executives when the meeting would begin. The executive, a senior manager named Mr. Lee, frowned. “We’re still waiting for our project lead to arrive.” Another half an hour crawled by. “I don’t understand,” Mr. Lee muttered, checking his watch. “Ms. Riley said she arrived a while ago. How is she not here yet?” Someone suggested calling her. When my phone rang, I was sipping a bubble tea at the shop next door. “Oh,” I said calmly into the phone when Mr. Lee asked where I was. “I was there. But I got thrown out. I’m at the tea shop downstairs.” A few minutes later, Jonathan, Cheryl, and their team appeared in the doorway of the shop, their faces slick with sweat. Jonathan spotted me and stormed over, his expression a mask of irritation. “Zoe, you have some nerve showing your face here. Get out, now. If you disrupt our partnership meeting with Riley Corp, I’ll make you regret it.” He then scanned the small shop, seeing only me and the staff. He turned to Mr. Lee, confused. “Mr. Lee, you said your project lead was here. I don’t see anyone.” Mr. Lee shoved Jonathan aside and hurried towards me, his face a mixture of apology and deference. “Ms. Riley, my deepest apologies. Why are you out here? Why didn’t you come inside?” I glanced at Jonathan and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I tried. But I was thrown out. I was told I might disrupt their very important partnership with Riley Corp.” Understanding dawned on Mr. Lee’s face, quickly replaced by a flash of anger directed at Jonathan. “She would disrupt it? Let me make something crystal clear. This entire project hinges on Ms. Riley’s approval. If she’s not in the room, there is no deal. For anyone.” Jonathan and Cheryl stared at me, their jaws slack with disbelief. “Zoe? You’re the Riley project lead? How is that possible? There must be some mistake! Mr. Lee, you have to be wrong. We just fired her! A person with such weak skills and poor character could never get a job at Riley Corp!” Even now, faced with the truth, they couldn’t accept it.

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I was the scholarship kid. My roommate, Mary, was the campus princess. But the moment we moved in, she insisted we become best friends. She swept me into her world of luxury, treating me to fine dining and lavish parties. She even introduced me to her childhood friend, the impossibly handsome and wealthy Wesley Thorne. But the moment Wesley and I actually got together, the princess wasn’t pleased anymore. She “accidentally” knocked over my instant ramen, claimed the splash of hot broth had scalded her, and demanded I pay for her “injuries.” After I’d emptied my bank account for her, she spread a rumor that I was a thief, that I’d stolen her new Louis Vuitton wallet. The university put me on academic probation. My classmates ostracized me. Even Wesley broke up with me. “You’re an ugly duckling who got a taste of the good life and thought she could become a swan,” he’d sneered. I had no way to defend myself. Hounded by the gossip and cyberbullying, I dropped out. My spirit shattered, I fell into a river and drowned. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in a crowded, pulsing bar, at the very moment Mary was introducing me to Wesley Thorne. 1 “Wesley, this is my absolute best friend from college, Lynn. What do you think? She’s a looker, isn’t she?” The deafening music and Mary’s teasing voice snapped me back to the present. This was it. The first time I’d ever met him. He hadn’t thought much of me then, and he didn’t now. He didn’t even bother to glance my way, just took another sip of his drink. Mary slung an arm around my shoulders, a sly grin on her face. “So, Lynn, what’s your verdict on our Wesley here?” she purred. “His family is in real estate development. We’re talking the wealthiest family in the entire state.” I lowered my head, feigning a shy, bashful smile. “He’s… impressive. I’m just going to use the restroom.” Mary was desperately in love with Wesley, yet she insisted on pushing him toward me. And Wesley, the bastard, played along, getting with me even though he couldn’t stand me. I was nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, splashing my face with cold water. Then, I reached up and took off the thick, black-rimmed glasses that hid my face. Not this time. This time, I refused to be their plaything. And who says the ugly duckling can’t become a swan? I grabbed my bag and left the bar without a word to anyone. Just as I’d expected, I found Wesley outside. He was sitting alone on a hidden bench, his head bowed as he stared at something in the dim light. In my past life, I’d been obsessed with learning everything about him, piecing together his history from the scraps Mary would feed me. Today was his birthday. It was also the anniversary of his mother’s death. Last time, the whole group had pressured me into toasting him. He’d just laughed in my face, mocking me for not knowing the difference between brandy and whiskey, before leaving me standing there alone. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small carton of strawberry milk. It was supposed to be my breakfast for tomorrow, but now, it would have to serve as a prop. “Here,” I said softly. “Drinking so much on an empty stomach is a bad idea.” Wesley shot me a cold glare. “I don’t need your pity.” I wasn’t offended. I simply set the carton down beside him. “Your mother would worry if you hurt yourself.” Then, I turned and walked away, ignoring the piercing, questioning gaze I could feel on my back. Rich kids like him and Mary would never truly see me. But in this life, I wouldn’t just make him see me. I’d make him put me in his heart. And then, I’d make him and Mary turn on each other, becoming bitter enemies. As expected, when Mary found out I’d left, she complained that I’d disappeared without a word. I fell back into my old role, flattering her and soothing her ego. I became her shadow, her servant. When she skipped class, I answered the roll call for her. When she was too lazy to get food, I delivered it right to her dorm room. When she complained the campus washing machines were filthy, I washed her designer clothes by hand, piece by piece. My other roommate muttered behind my back, calling me a pathetic lapdog. “What’s the point of all that sucking up?” she’d scoff. “It’s not like she’s going to give you a dime.” I pretended not to hear, perfecting my role as Mary’s loyal follower. My days were filled with her chores and her endless bragging. The cafeteria food was “pig slop,” she’d declare, saying her father should just buy the campus and open a proper food processing plant. Occasionally, Wesley would stop by to see her, bringing flowers, gifts, and snacks. He’d even bring a little something for me, an afterthought. Riding on Mary’s coattails, I started bringing him food, too, whenever I did a run for her. “Isn’t Wesley the best?” Mary would say, preening. “So many girls are after him. Do you like him?” I shook my head frantically, my voice full of rehearsed shyness. “How could someone like me ever hope to be with him? Besides, it’s obvious you’re the only one he really cares about.” My words hit their mark, and she beamed with satisfaction. Mary knew Wesley was crazy about her, of course, but she wasn’t ready to be tied down just yet. Soon, the annual university track and field meet would happen. She was a banner bearer for the opening ceremony parade. In my past life, she tripped on her dress, sprained her ankle, and a handsome athlete had swept her up and carried her to the infirmary. That was the day Wesley, consumed by jealousy, confessed his “feelings” to me. This time, however, on the day of the meet, I sprained my ankle first. Biting back a searing cry of pain, I limped my way across the field to deliver her makeup bag. Mary showed not a flicker of concern, only annoyance. “What took you so long? It’s just a sprain, walk it off! What if I’m late for the procession because of you?” I bowed my head and apologized, the perfect little pushover. Just then, the same well-built athlete from my memories appeared. “Hey, are you okay? Let me help you to the infirmary.” I blushed, waving him off, but nearly stumbled and fell. Without another word, he scooped me up into his arms and started carrying me off the field. Suddenly, an icy stare locked onto us. I looked up and saw Wesley. Mary, spotting him, called out in a delighted voice, “Wesley! Don’t I look beautiful today?” He didn’t answer her. His eyes were fixed on me. “Put her down,” he commanded the athlete. “I’ll take her.” Mary’s smile vanished. “Wesley, what are you doing? The procession is about to start!” “It’s okay, really!” I interjected quickly. “This student can take me. Don’t let me hold Mary up.” In the infirmary, the school nurse said the sprain was pretty bad and I needed to stay off my feet for a while. I thanked the athlete, finally learning his name was Thomas. Thomas started to leave but hesitated at the door and turned back. “Hey, uh… can I get your number? You know, in case you need help with anything.” I stared at his bright red ears, a little confused. Not long after, Mary was carried in, just as I knew she would be. Wesley brought her himself, his face a thundercloud. She looked like a fallen princess in her long, gauzy dress, with him as her grim-faced knight. Thomas returned with an ice pack, freezing in his tracks when he saw the two of them. Mary was wailing in pain. The nurse said she needed to ice it immediately. Without a second thought, Mary pointed at Thomas. “Give that to me. Now.” Playing my part, I said in a small, weak voice, “Give it to Mary first. I can get another one later.” Thomas looked annoyed, but he handed it over. “Okay, then I’ll take you back to your dorm first. I can buy you another one.” “Lynn, don’t you have hands of your own?” Wesley’s voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. “Why do you always need someone to run around after you?” But then, to everyone’s shock, he snatched the ice pack from Mary’s hand and knelt, pressing it gently against my swollen ankle. Mary’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wesley! I was using that! What are you doing?” He ignored her, his gaze lifting to meet mine. “Lynn, you like me, don’t you? Let’s be together.” I masked the cold fury in my eyes with a look of pure astonishment. Wesley wouldn’t fall for me this easily. This was just a game to make Mary jealous. I didn’t agree right away. I stammered, my voice trembling with fake nervousness, “I… I never said I liked you.” Then I fled, scrambling back to the dorm. Mary’s attitude towards me had flipped 180 degrees. She greeted me with a voice full of acid. “Well, well. I had no idea you were so good at seducing men. Hooking up with Wesley Thorne… you’ve really hit the jackpot, haven’t you?” I kept my head down. “It’s not like that.” “Oh, stop pretending!” she spat. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a crush on him. I’ve seen girls like you a million times. Always trying to climb the social ladder, without a thought as to whether you even belong there. Even if he likes you, his family would never, ever approve of you!” This isn’t nearly enough, I thought to myself. I want more than just his affection. Wesley actually began to pursue me. He’d wait for me in the mornings to walk me to class, have lunch with me, and ask me out for evening strolls. With my sprained ankle as an excuse, I stopped being Mary’s errand girl. The dorm grew quiet, with no one talking to either of us. Eventually, she couldn’t stand it and moved into an off-campus apartment. Slowly, in everyone else’s eyes, it seemed I had genuinely fallen for Wesley. I’d blush when I saw him. I’d give him small, handmade gifts. I’d even share a portion of the food I bought with the money from my part-time job. I sent him ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts, sharing little details of my day, whether he replied or not. I ditched the clunky glasses, let my hair grow out, and though my clothes were simple, I had to admit, the girl in the mirror was becoming quite pretty. And gradually, I felt the way Wesley looked at me begin to change. He’d lean in close just to see me blush. He’d steal a kiss under a shared umbrella on a rainy day. We started to feel like a real couple. Until the night Mary got drunk. She burst into my dorm room and swiped the cup of ramen I was eating off my desk. I jumped back just in time, but the hot broth splashed across her own wrist. Even though she shook it off instantly, a painful red mark bloomed on her skin. She glared at me, her teeth clenched. “Lynn, I thought you were my friend, and you go and seduce Wesley behind my back? You’re such a pathetic bitch!” I maintained my innocent facade. “Seduce? Were you two officially together?” Mary fell silent for a beat, then pointed a trembling finger at me. “You just wait,” she hissed. “Do you really think Wesley Thorne would ever fall for someone like you? He’s just playing with you.” So am I, I thought. And I’ve already gotten what I wanted. A breakup is no big deal. Just as before, Wesley came to put me in my place for Mary’s sake. He dragged me into a private room at an exclusive club, filled with his circle of wealthy friends. “Just be reasonable, Lynn,” Wesley said, his voice low. “Mary’s never been hurt a day in her life. This happened because of you.” Mary stood with her arms crossed, a smug smirk on her face. “Make her apologize? Oh, I wouldn’t dare. She’s your precious girlfriend now, isn’t she, Wesley?” He sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Are you still jealous about this? You’re the one who introduced her to me.” Mary pointed to a line of full shot glasses on the table. “Fine. If you’re really sorry, drink this entire row of tequila, and I’ll forgive you.” Wesley didn’t object. He picked up a glass himself and held it out to me. “A whole row is too much. Just this one.” I took the glass from his hand. But then, with a flick of my wrist, I poured the contents onto the floor. “I’m not drinking a single drop.” In my past life, my frantic explanations were met only with laughter. They didn’t care about the truth; they just wanted a show. I was the ugly duckling, the toad lusting after a swan. I was, in short, not one of them. I’d been forced to drink the entire row and ended up vomiting right there. Mary had pinched her nose in disgust while Wesley had someone throw me out. This time, after emptying the glass, I slammed it back down on the table. The sharp clatter silenced the room. I stated my case, once and only once. “You got burned because you deliberately knocked over my food. You deserved it.” Mary shrieked, jumping to her feet. “Who deserved it? What happened to the timid little mouse? Finally dropping the act, huh? I knew you were a manipulative bitch all along!” she screamed. “I’m telling you, if you don’t drink this row and apologize right now, I’ll have you kicked out of this university by tomorrow!” Wesley frowned, shooting me a disapproving look. “Lynn, did you forget what I said? It’s just an apology. Why make this so difficult?” A small, sarcastic smile touched my lips. “I did nothing wrong. I am not apologizing.” He hadn’t expected this defiance. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes boring into mine. “What if I make you apologize?” I gritted my teeth and wrenched my arm free. “Then we’re breaking up.” Wesley’s face darkened instantly. Mary jumped in, a triumphant sneer on her face. “Lynn, do you really think you’re all that? Wesley was just toying with you! If anyone’s doing the dumping, it’s him!” But Wesley took a step toward me, his voice low and dangerous. “Break up with me? You don’t have that right.” “Whether I do or not isn’t for you to decide.” I turned my back on him and walked out, without a single glance behind me.

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At the Harvest Moon Gala, as music and light filled the palace, an unknown woman suddenly proclaimed, “The titans of old are dust, mythic empires rust… Legendary heroes are but shadows, while true glory burns in our time!” I nearly choked on my tea. I wanted to shake her—”Sister, wake up! This is a fictional world. No Roman Emperors, no Greek heroes, no Genghis Khan. See the reality!” The hall fell silent. Nobles exchanged baffled glances. The Emperor chuckled awkwardly, lost for words. Fifi Meadows stood smugly, hip cocked as if awaiting applause. Sighing, I curtsied to the Emperor. “Your Majesty, I feel drawn to Lady Fifi. May I take her into my household?” “Granted.” He gave me a knowing look while Fifi glared daggers at me. Another sigh. Of all fellow travelers from my world, why did it have to be a fool? 1 My name is Lashana Veyle. I am the Duchess of Sunstone in the Kingdom of Aethel. And for a fellow transmigrator, Fifi Meadows was a true spectacle of idiocy. I lived my new life on a razor’s edge. I was meticulously careful, never daring to reveal my modern sensibilities, never producing anything anachronistic, and certainly never claiming the poetry of my world’s long-dead masters as my own. Fifi, on the other hand, lectured everyone she met on the virtues of democracy and free speech. She held court in my own ducal manor, preaching about universal equality and forcing my handmaidens to dine at the same table as her. Her cultural knowledge seemed to be limited to a basic high school education; she recited half-remembered lines from Shakespeare and Frost over and over again. This, in itself, wasn’t a catastrophe. Confined to my manor, the staff simply concluded she was mad. Her shocking pronouncements wouldn’t travel beyond the walls. But the girl had no sense of self-preservation. One day, just as I was about to extend a hand of friendship, to call her ‘sister’ in our shared, secret language of displacement, she scowled at me. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed. “Lashana Veyle, don’t think being a duchess makes you special. If you hadn’t stolen my thunder at the gala, I’d already be the most celebrated poet in the kingdom.” “…” Words failed me. I turned to leave. Some fools were beyond salvation. “Hey,” Fifi called out impatiently, puffing up like an arrogant peacock. “Where am I supposed to live?” Behind me, my two guards, Lyra and Vesper, clenched their fists, their knuckles white. They were just waiting for my order to march over and slap some sense into her. I swallowed my anger. “Take Lady Fifi to… the Rosewood Pavilion.” The Rosewood Pavilion was the most remote courtyard in the entire estate. Out of sight, out of mind. Her appointed maid later reported to me in secret, whispering that Fifi spent her days staring into the mirror, chanting, “Brave Fifi, fear no evil. I will be the Empress. The Empress is me.” The poor maid clung to my leg, weeping and begging me to reassign her. Coveting the Emperor’s throne was high treason, a crime punishable by a slow, agonizing death. She was terrified that when Fifi was inevitably executed, she’d be dragged down with her. I had to promise her, repeatedly, that even if Fifi charged the palace with a dagger, I could guarantee her safety. Only then did she release her grip on my leg. Fifi was so stunningly stupid, she must have been brainwashed by a self-help guru. I was drowning in my own duties. The Autumn Equinox was approaching, which meant new clothes and bonuses for the entire ducal staff. Then there was my mother’s family at Veyle Manor to attend to. My ten-year-old sister, Elara, had apparently defeated every other student at the Royal Academy in single combat, and I had to make personal apologies to a dozen noble houses. My father, suffering from gout, threw a tantrum every time I restricted his diet, threatening to join a monastery. My brother, Cassian, had fallen for the top courtesan at the Gilded Cage and was currently being disciplined by his wife, a formidable woman from a mercenary guild… what a harmonious, picture-perfect family. Fifi burst into my study without knocking, rolling her eyes dramatically. “My, my, Duchess, what airs you put on. You actually dared to keep me waiting for a whole ten minutes.” I ignored her, my eyes fixed on the ledgers. My handmaiden, Jade, couldn’t hold back. “My lady is the Duchess of Sunstone, favored by the Emperor himself!” she fumed. “Even royal princes and the Emperor’s own consorts show her respect! Who do you think you are, waltzing in here without so much as a curtsy?” Fifi rolled her eyes again. “I act this way in front of the Emperor, too. What are you going to do about it?” I had to smile at that. The Emperor was famously magnanimous, never sweating the small stuff. And this fool mistook his tolerance for a license to be reckless. Ignoring Jade’s ferocious glare, Fifi plopped down in the chair opposite me, slouching gracelessly and helping herself to the pastries on my desk. I shot a sharp look at Jade. She understood immediately and led the other servants from the room. Only then did I raise my eyes to truly study Fifi. She had a delicate, girl-next-door beauty, but she was draped in gaudy crimson silks and glittering jewels that clashed horribly, making her look like a parody of a noblewoman. Sensing my gaze, she preened, flicking her hair. “The Emperor is deeply in love with me,” she stated with absolute certainty. “It’s useless for you to keep me locked up in here. You’d be wise to let me go. Otherwise, when His Majesty’s wrath descends, you won’t be able to handle the consequences.” 2 Fifi’s earnest conviction left me speechless. The imperial court was a nest of vipers. With the Empress’s throne empty, the two most powerful consorts—Lady Thea, the Emperor’s childhood sweetheart, and Lady Cora, sister to the formidable Prince Regent—were locked in a battle to the death. They used lower-ranking ladies-in-waiting as pawns in their schemes, discarding them without a second thought. Young women were sent into the palace like fresh flowers and came out as bleached bones. Any sensible girl, upon hearing she was chosen for the court, would sooner throw herself down a well. The Emperor’s handsome face meant nothing when your life was on the line. Three years ago, I’d taken an assassin’s arrow for the Emperor. He claimed it was love at first sight and, breaking all precedent, made me a Duchess. He had hinted, and then outright stated, on multiple occasions that he wanted me in his palace. I refused every time. The so-called “true love” offered by a man with a harem of hundreds was cheap. I had assumed this was a shared sentiment among transmigrators. Fifi, however, was a testament to the sheer diversity of our species. Not only was she champing at the bit to dive into the court intrigue, but she’d also developed a full-blown delusion that the Emperor was passionately in love with her. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I prided myself on my eloquence, my ability to talk my way out of any situation. But looking at Fifi, all I could think was: my native tongue is stunned silence. A few days ago, Fifi had managed to sneak out and position herself along the Emperor’s procession route. She’d put on a grand performance, weeping and pleading with him. I don’t know what she said, but she somehow convinced him to name her a Baroness and grant her half of my own ducal estate. Fifi was now absolutely insufferable, puffed up with pride like a balloon. She marched around my gardens, pointing at the ancient plum trees and the vibrant azaleas. The plums, she declared, were bad luck because their name sounded like the word for “misfortune.” The azaleas were unlucky, their crimson blossoms reminding her of blood. And the Emperor indulged her. He ordered the trees cut down and the flowers uprooted. She said she wanted a high place from which to gaze at the moon, so he immediately commissioned the construction of a “Stargazer’s Tower.” Whispers in the capital grew louder: the Emperor had been bewitched by a siren. Countless scholars scribbled angry poems on my manor walls, cursing her. From time to time, people would even fling dung at the gates. One day, I almost got beaten by a mob that mistook me for her. She, however, wore this infamy like a badge of honor. She ordered the poems collected into an anthology, claiming she wanted to “preserve them for posterity.” She spun around like a hedgehog, pricking everyone she met. The worst was when she stormed into Princess Aurelia’s estate and mocked the princess for her unrequited love for a certain Marquis, accusing her of being unchaste. This was beyond foolish. Princess Aurelia wasn’t just anyone. She was the Emperor’s beloved younger sister, the jewel of the kingdom, a peerless beauty celebrated for her kindness, intelligence, and skill with a sword. From the lowliest street vendor to the Emperor and the Prince Regent themselves, no one would dare speak a harsh word to Aurelia. If Aurelia so much as frowned, the heart of the nation would break. Chastity? Aurelia didn’t need to follow the rules of chastity. Aurelia could rewrite the rules of chastity. When I rushed to the princess’s estate, I found Fifi hanging upside down from a tree, swinging like a grotesque piñata. The sight was deeply satisfying. But I had to plaster a somber expression on my face and beg Aurelia to let her down. Aurelia, a dear friend of mine, furiously threw her sword to the ground. “Lashana, have you lost your mind? I’ve seen my share of baronesses and duchesses, but never one so arrogant and stupid. Why are you keeping this lunatic in your house?” I curtsied deeply. “Your Highness, I truly don’t know what purpose she serves. But she is, after all, a Baroness created by the Emperor himself. If she were to die like this… I fear His Majesty would hold me accountable.” “Get out,” Aurelia snapped, waving a dismissive hand. “Of course, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness.” I had my people escort Fifi back to my manor and went straight to the palace. My main concern was the Emperor’s mental state. He could be a bastard, but he was a wise ruler. He never let personal feelings cloud his judgment on matters of state. It was impossible that he would disregard law and reason for a woman. When his feelings for me were at their peak, I was framed by the Prince Regent and thrown in prison. He knew I was innocent, yet he kept me locked up for two weeks until he had irrefutable proof to clear my name publicly. The idea that he was “bewitched by lust” was laughable. 3 “Lashana, you came.” In the imperial study, the brilliant young emperor put down his vermilion brush, his face lighting up with surprise as he took my hand. It was true; I never sought him out voluntarily, not even when my life was on the line. I performed the formal curtsy and delicately brought up the incident with Princess Aurelia. The Emperor just smiled and asked an unrelated question. “Lashana, have you ever heard of the scholar Sir Malcom from the previous dynasty?” I maintained my respectful, distant tone. “I have not, Your Majesty.” He gently tapped my nose and pulled me closer to his side. “Sir Malcom was a genius of his time. With a pen, he could govern the world; on a horse, he could conquer it. He redesigned the river levees and built reservoirs, saving sixteen cities from devastating floods. He claimed to be a ‘traveler’ from another world. He refused all titles and rewards, choosing to live in seclusion with his family. I suspect… that Lady Fifi may be his descendant. Or perhaps… she is a traveler, too. She can recite Sir Malcom’s poetry.” “Which poem?” “‘The world is a vast and fleeting stage, our time a flickering light; why rush and rage? Our lives are a struggle, a contest of might, yet we forget that fortune is fickle, our gains ever slight. See the autumn wind in the golden valley, the cold moon on the midnight river, the palaces of old now silent and chilly, the bronze pavilions now dust forever. Glory is but dew on a flower, wealth is frost on the grass; see through the illusion of power, and all your worries will pass.’” My heart twisted. Had I known that reciting a simple poem was all it took to win the Emperor’s favor, why did I have to throw myself in front of that arrow? It had pierced my left shoulder, and to this day, the arm is weak, aching with a deep, grinding pain on cold, rainy days. I didn’t recite the rest of the poem to reveal my identity. I just asked, my voice flat, “What is it you hope to gain, Your Majesty?” The Emperor’s smile was clear and bright, his eyes filled with the pride of a man who held the world in his hands. “If she is Sir Malcom’s descendant, her title is justified. If she is a traveler, then even if she seems useless now, she will inevitably contribute to the kingdom in the future. Either way, it’s a sound investment.” I sighed silently. As a transmigrator, I couldn’t cure all diseases. I couldn’t invent cement, glass, or soap. I couldn’t smelt steel. In my past life, I’d spent seven years studying medical imaging—a field utterly useless here. All I had was a bit of basic medical knowledge, which was better than nothing, but not by much. The Emperor, full of vigor, tossed a book to his head eunuch. “Take this collection of forbidden poems to the Royal Scribes,” he commanded with a laugh. “Have them copy it. I want a volume in the hands of every official in every province. And issue my decree: anyone, man or woman, old or young, who can recite these poems is to be arrested and brought to me.” A profound chill washed over me. Fifi was bait. The Emperor was fishing for people like me. The more foolish and arrogant she acted, the more he showered her with favor, the more believable the story that our kingdom welcomed transmigrators would become. The ruse had almost tempted me, a woman who wanted for nothing. What about our other countrymen, lost and struggling just to survive in this strange world? The Emperor leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. His voice was a soft, dangerous murmur. “If these travelers serve Aethel, they will be rewarded. If they do not… they will be eliminated. To crush any future dissent, to protect the foundations of my throne.” His words were as gentle as a spring breeze, but I felt as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. The way he bit down on the word “eliminated” was heavy with intent. Thank God I had always been so cautious, never revealing myself. But the Emperor was clever enough to connect an old dynasty’s scholar to Fifi through a single poem, to deduce her origins, and to quietly compile an anthology to hunt down every last one of us for his own use. Fifi’s title was a sugar-coated poison pill. What about my duchy? Was I truly so flawless in my disguise? And even if he had already discovered me, was my loyalty not enough? Was this his way of telling me to confess? I had no idea how many people he would catch. In my five years here, I had only ever met one other transmigrator, Kaelen, and one “aberration,” Orion. Fifi didn’t count. She wasn’t worthy. In my eyes, Fifi was as dumb as a pig. But I had to wonder… in the Emperor’s eyes, was I the real fool? 4 Leaving the palace, I ran into Prince Kaelen. He hopped into my carriage with easy familiarity, a teasing smile on his face. “Lashana, my friend. You, I, and Lady Fifi are all… you know. You’ve always been so kind and warm. Why are you and she like fire and water? Could it be… you’re jealous?” Kaelen was my best friend. His current identity was that of a hostage prince from a small, conquered kingdom. He lived his life in Aethel walking on eggshells, cautious to a fault, never saying a wrong word, never making a wrong move. He was even more useless than me. In his past life, he was a programmer. I lifted the carriage curtain, glanced outside, then leaned close to Kaelen’s ear and told him everything that had happened in the study. He broke out in a cold sweat, his already pale, scholarly face turning as white as a sheet. “We have to go,” he hissed. “We can’t stay in the capital. We have to run.” “Fine,” I said calmly. “But you might want to put the knife down first.” The blade I held against his throat pressed a fraction of an inch deeper. He sighed. “You’re a Duchess, and I’m a royal hostage. We can never leave this city. Don’t be afraid, Lashana. The Emperor loves you. He would never kill you. Last month you tore up an imperial edict naming you his consort, and you threw the Imperial Seal at him during an argument. He didn’t punish you at all. His love for you is as deep as the sea.” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Deep as the sea? How many women are in his harem? Just because he claims to love me, I’m supposed to lock myself in that gilded cage? I’m not someone who can be imprisoned in the name of love. Besides, do you think Lady Thea and Lady Cora are easy to deal with? He can protect me ten times, a hundred times, but can he protect me for a lifetime? And we argued because he wanted to marry Elara off to the barbarian king of the Sunstone Isles. Elara is ten, Kaelen! Ten! I will never accept that.” “Never?” “Never!” Kaelen stared at me, then a slow smile spread across his face, his eyes shining. “Alright. I’ll get you out of here. After all, who knows what the Emperor expects from us? If he thinks we can move mountains or bring the dead back to life… we’d be better off dead. I promised I’d help you escape, and I won’t break my word. This is a serious matter; we need a long-term plan. Promise me, until then, you won’t panic. You won’t do anything reckless. Wait for me.” “Okay.” The maid from the Rosewood Pavilion reported that Fifi had been talking to herself again, convinced she was going mad. “Are you sure this is a sweet romance plot? Shouldn’t the heroine in a sweet romance just sit there while men fall all over her? Why do I only have the Emperor? Where are my second and third male leads?” “That cannon fodder Duchess is always making trouble for me. I complained to the Emperor, but he ignored me. I don’t want him as the male lead. He’s not worthy.” “I almost got killed by Princess Aurelia today. What a disaster. Grinding for points is so hard. Good thing I’m the protagonist and can’t die, or I’d be done for.” I stood silently outside her window. This whole unscientific business of transmigration had forcibly converted me from a staunch materialist to something else entirely. I was open to anything now. Reincarnation, cultivation, system interfaces… bring it on. My ‘aberration’ friend had been reborn ten times. He called himself Orion, a name he chose because it sounded like “aura of nothingness.” My old friend Orion wasn’t driven by any grand obsession; he was just immune to the waters of forgetfulness between lives. He had no special powers, but his mental state was… unique. His heart was like deadwood, utterly devoid of worldly desires. He didn’t work, didn’t marry, didn’t read, didn’t practice martial arts. Nominally a servant in my manor, he did absolutely nothing. He dressed like a beggar and spent his days lying on the roof, sunbathing and stargazing. When I felt overwhelmed, I’d bring wine and food up to the roof and listen to him talk about nihilism and Schopenhauer. I entered Fifi’s room, dismissed the maid, and prepared to have a serious talk with her. Before I could say a word, she started babbling. 5 “Let me tell you something,” she began, her eyes wide. “We’re all just characters in a book. You’re the cannon fodder rival, and I’m the female lead. I’m destined to marry the Emperor, become the Empress, and rule the world.” I laughed. The female lead was supposed to be a devastating beauty who weaponized her looks, or a lucky charm who stumbled into success, or a brilliant strategist, a female Zhuge Liang. Even a useless, clinging vine type had the skill to charm a man into doing her bidding. Even a villainess had to be ruthless and beautiful, with a knack for poison and a talent for scheming. “No protagonist is as stupid as you,” I said with contempt. She just grinned. “Hahahaha! That’s because I have a point system! Every poem written to curse me earns me one point. Offending a commoner gets me ten. Offending Princess Aurelia? That got me a hundred thousand points! A hundred thousand!” My already fragile worldview took another major hit. What kind of garbage system was this, rewarding someone for making enemies? Was that a sustainable growth model? Was the ultimate prize a choice between a silken cord, a dagger, and a cup of poison? She sat on her bed, looking at me like a smug child. “And you? You’ll be sent as a political bride to the Sunstone Isles. You’ll die in humiliation on the way. Prince Kaelen will try to retrieve your body, get trapped in a swamp, and his bones will never be found.” I silently rolled my eyes. “Don’t you believe me?” she said. “The Emperor is already sick of you. He’s just using you to pave my way. It was love at first sight for him. He’s completely smitten. Why else would he break all the rules to make me a Baroness?” Looking at Fifi’s unwavering conviction, I felt a deep sense of regret. Why did I think I could have a rational conversation with a lunatic? Wasting time is wasting life. I said nothing, gave her one last look of profound pity, and turned to leave. She leaped off the bed and blocked my path, speaking to the empty air. “System A, I want to use one million points to redeem the Pill of Absolute Obedience.” In the blink of an eye, a small pill materialized in her hand. She grabbed my chin, a vicious smile spreading across her face, and tried to force it into my mouth. “Swallow this, and you’ll have to do everything I say. It was worth offending all those people to finally get something useful.” CRACK. Fifi crumpled to the floor. I had grabbed the nearest vase and smashed it over her head. The Veyle family had a strong martial tradition. My shoulder injury prevented me from serious training, but I could still handle at least three pampered noblewomen in a fight. I glanced down at her unconscious form and, mimicking her, spoke to the empty air with a string of creative curses. “So you’re the fucking ‘System,’ huh? Let me show you what happens when a human decides to defy fate. Characters in a book? My ass! Did it ever occur to you to tell your host that scheming without the strength to back it up is just asking for a beating?”

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I was reborn as the wicked stepmother in a novel, and my only goal was to meet the KPIs set by my “System.” To do that, I ordered the son, Matt, to do the laundry and mop the floors, while the daughter, Monica, had to wipe the windows and weed the garden. A year later, the male lead—my husband—finally returned, bringing his one true love with him. I had my bags packed, ready to be kicked to the curb and jet off to the Maldives to find a hot young model. But his true love pointed a manicured finger at my suitcase, demanding I leave all my gold and jewels behind. That’s when my stepson, Matt, stepped forward. “Don’t worry, Mom. You go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” My stepdaughter, Monica, nodded in agreement. “We don’t need this junk anyway. Dad has a safe. As soon as I crack the lock, I’ll wire all the money to you.” The male lead: … Me: ? 01. “Host, all you have to do is maintain your ‘wicked stepmother’ persona and torment them!” the System’s voice echoed in my head. “Make them suffer! Make them despair! When the male lead returns with his beloved, the two little ones will be so moved by her maternal grace that they’ll flock to her. Then, your mission will be complete!” “Your reward? Forty years of ageless youth!” I practically burst into tears of gratitude. This System got me. Because a woman’s heart stays young forever! That was a prize more tempting than any amount of money. And speaking of money, I wasn’t worried. In this mansion, a single vase was worth a fortune. On the day I was thrown out, I’d just secretly pocket a few trinkets—enough to live lavishly for the rest of my life. Once this gig was over, I was going to chase after college boys! I immediately snapped to attention. “Yes, sir! Mission accepted!” The System, pleased, sweetened the deal by offering me three lifelines. If I ever ran into trouble, I could call on it for help three times. I glanced at the two pudgy little things standing before me, barely reaching my knees. I scoffed. Handling them? It would be as easy as playing with a pair of puppies. 02. “You,” I pointed at the older one, Matt. “Go get the watermelon.” In the future, he was destined to be a ruthless, decisive tycoon. Besides his own sister, the only person he would ever care for was his “true” mother, the woman my husband was about to bring home. But right now, he was just a freshly hatched chick, all fluff and indignation. He plopped down on the Persian rug, his expression one of pure humiliation, and watched as I lounged on the sofa with my legs crossed. “Feed me,” I commanded. His eyes widened in disbelief, his little mouth trembling with indignation. But in the end, he resigned himself to his fate, stabbing a piece of watermelon with a fork and lifting it to my lips. “Matt, was it?” I said between bites. “From now on, all your snacks are mine.” “Butler,” I called out, “have all these chips, gelatin cups, and beef jerky sent to my room.” Matt’s chubby chin quivered. As the prized heirs of the Sterling family, these two had more money than they could ever spend. Everything in their lives was top-tier. I’d heard their drinking water was freshly melted snow from the Alps, rich in minerals, and their vegetables were grown by a specialist with a Master’s in agriculture to ensure they were organic and pollution-free. In short, they were well-fed, with a high percentage of prime-grade chub. My plan was to start with all that baby fat. Mission #1: Get them in shape. “You’re breaking your promise!” Matt cried, his eyes welling up with tears. He puffed out his chest, trying to be the protective older brother as he shielded Monica behind him. “You said if we gave you our allowance, you wouldn’t torment us!” At his words, Monica burst into a full-blown wail. Hmm? There was an allowance, too? My eyes lit up. I suppressed my inner glee and added slowly, “The allowance is still due.” I paused for effect. “And the snacks are mine, too.” The color drained from their faces. I could practically see them clenching their tiny fists in helpless fury. I laughed, a triumphant sound filling the room. I knew it. Snacks were the key to every child’s soul. Matt wasn’t giving up. “This is abuse! I’m telling Dad!” (Oh, really?) I thought. You said it, kid. Don’t back down now. Abuse was exactly what I was aiming for. Hahaha… Go on, tell him. The louder, the better! 03. Day three of being a wicked stepmother. The defiant Matt hadn’t given up, calling his father eighteen times a day. His father, of course, never answered. If my calculations were correct, he was currently in France, having a fateful encounter with his one true love. He was far too busy with his whirlwind romance to bother with the son born from a loveless business marriage. Undeterred, Matt called his maternal grandfather. The old man had a softer heart. He sent someone to give me a gentle warning, along with a black card, asking me to go easy on his grandsons for the sake of the money. (Holding the unlimited black card): Well, that puts me in a tight spot, doesn’t it? On one hand, eternal youth. On the other, an infinite line of credit. Oh, fuck it. For the money, I decided to be a little nicer to Matt. I personally prepared him a gourmet “light” meal. Tomatoes, lettuce, and crystalline ice plants. Drizzled with a magnificent salad dressing, it was a feast for the eyes. Matt stared at the plate of what looked like lawn clippings, his face a mask of silent rage. I glanced at the soft, plump little girl beside him and had a moment of magnanimous inspiration. “Starting today, we’ll have a competitive eating contest. Whoever finishes their ‘grass’ first gets a reward: one piece of grilled chicken breast.” At my words, the two of them bowed their heads and began shoveling the greens into their mouths. Heh, heh, heh… Being a stepmom was a blast. 04. But being a wicked stepmother had its own set of headaches. When one of the little tykes failed a class, I was the first person the teacher called. I was in the middle of a delightful manicure when my phone rang. “Hello, is this Monica Sterling’s guardian?” “Your daughter came in last in her piano assessment. I need you to come in.” Piano? Last place? My mind went blank. I ran through the plot of the novel again and realized something was off. In the future, Monica was set to become the nation’s youngest and most celebrated cellist. If not for her delayed start, she could have been an international sensation. Even with a late start, she was a bona fide genius. So what did failing piano have to do with her destiny as a cellist? I rushed to the music academy. As I walked in, I could hear the teacher laying into Monica. “The piano keys, from left to right, the notes get higher. It’s the most basic concept, and you can’t even remember that?” “I don’t know why your family wastes so much money on piano lessons for you. It’s all going to that pig-headed brain of yours!” Monica was sobbing, her little shoulders shaking with misery. A fire ignited inside me. Taking my money and bullying my kid? Who gave her the nerve? The teacher caught sight of me and tilted her head arrogantly. “I can’t teach your child. You should find someone else.” The male lead’s true love was a piano virtuoso. Naturally, he believed all proper young ladies should learn the piano and had spared no expense enrolling Monica with a renowned instructor. The original “wicked stepmother” from the novel, trying to curry favor with him, had forced Monica to practice relentlessly. Any mistake was met with a brutal punishment, which had nearly given the poor girl a complex. I smirked. I knew this trick. It was all about manufacturing anxiety in parents to pressure them into paying more for extra lessons. But I was the wicked stepmother! More money? Not a chance. A refund? Now we’re talking. I sat down on the plush sofa and crossed my legs. “If you can’t teach, then don’t.” I leaned forward. “My husband paid for a block of 300 lessons at $5,000 each. Including today, you’ve taught 53. That leaves 247 lessons.” I pulled out my phone. “That comes to $1,235,000. I’ll take a refund. Venmo or direct deposit?” 05. I helpfully pulled up my payment QR code. The teacher trembled with rage. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “You… you are utterly uncivilized!” I chuckled. So, asking for my money back made me “uncivilized.” The teacher, full of pride, tried to manipulate me further. “I know it’s not easy for you parents. How about this? I’ll extend each lesson by an hour, and we’ll just adjust the fee. Say, a modest $7,500 per session?” Oh, please. Just $7,500. Don’t strain yourself on my account. I waved my hand dismissively, declaring that I was a simple person who hated to inconvenience others or take advantage of their generosity. A direct refund would be just fine. The teacher, grinding her teeth in frustration, finally scanned the code and processed the refund. She spat that with an unreasonable parent like me, no respectable instructor would ever agree to teach my child. “Hold on. Did I say you could leave?” I flicked my finger, and my bodyguard, who had been waiting outside, shut the door. The teacher was livid. “What do you think you’re doing? This is a society of laws! You could go to jail for this!” Her voice was so shrill it could have shattered glass. I casually cleaned out my ear. “The only one going to jail here is you.” I pulled up a video file on my phone—crystal-clear surveillance footage of her verbally abusing Monica. The teacher froze. “You were spying on me?” I rolled my eyes. “Please. This is the Sterling family’s private music room. A single one of these pianos is worth more than your entire life. You think we wouldn’t have cameras?” “I was motivating her,” the teacher said, her tone sharp and defensive. I let out a cold laugh. As a professional wicked stepmother, dealing with societal scum was my specialty. If that’s how she wanted to play it, I wouldn’t hold back. I opened my mouth and let loose a torrent of insults, a verbal storm that started with her mother and worked its way through her entire family tree. She turned beet red, gasping for air. “That’s character assassination! I’ll sue you!” I tossed a flash drive onto the table. “Go ahead and sue,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt. “But before you do, I’ll make sure every parent in this school sees a highlight reel of you ‘motivating’ your students. Let’s see how they feel about your methods then.” The teacher’s face went green. Monica attended an exclusive private academy. The teachers’ base salaries were low; their real income came from private tutoring fees from the wealthy students. If I released those videos, her reputation would be destroyed. Under my unwavering glare, the teacher finally broke down, tearfully apologizing to Monica and telling her what a wonderful, talented child she was. 06. Monica’s eyes were shining like little stars. On the way home, she kept calling me “Good Mommy.” God help me, I groaned internally. I shot her a glare. “Quiet. Call me ‘Bad Mommy’.” “No,” she said, her voice filled with grievance. “Mommy fought the bad lady for me. You’re the best mommy in the world.” I made a fist and threatened her. “Say it again and I’ll sew your little mouth shut.” The little girl let out a squeak and quickly clamped her hands over her mouth. After a moment, she whispered, “Aren’t you mad?” After all, I used to force her to practice piano relentlessly so I could film a perfect performance, send it to my husband overseas, and get a “red packet” of cash from him. Now that source of income was gone. It was definitely strange that I wasn’t punishing her. “Of course I’m mad,” I said fiercely. “As punishment, you’ll eat a double portion of steak and eggs tonight.” A look of pure agony crossed Monica’s face. But just because one thing stopped didn’t mean everything did. The piano lessons were over, but other lessons would take their place. Hmph. One a day. That was the new rule. I gave Monica’s chubby cheek a vicious pinch. “Starting tomorrow, you’re learning the cello. One lesson every day.” Monica’s eyes were wide with confusion. She had no idea what a cello was. Heh, heh, heh… The cello is an incredibly heavy instrument. Just you wait, little girl. Your suffering has only just begun. Mwahahaha.

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