Category: English

Texting my advisor, practically in tears, to subtly guilt him into processing my stipend. To make my plea extra pathetic, I tossed in a casual exaggeration: “My boyfriend is dead from starvation.” His reply was instantaneous: “Boyfriend is dead?” “Understood. I’ll send him this afternoon.” I thought he meant the money. Instead, that afternoon, Professor Harrison Stanford led his prodigal, recently returned-from-overseas son straight to my office. His son, who was also my… ex-boyfriend, who I’d told everyone had been dead for two years. … 1 The ridiculously tiny grad student stipend was, yet again, weeks past due. I’m a coward. Give me ten times the guts I have, and I still wouldn’t dare ask Professor Stanford directly. My only option was to use the classic “send a desperate text to my mom, but send it to the professor instead” strategy. I typed it out: Mom, I’m skipping the holidays. Tuition money is gone, my Venmo is overdrawn, my boyfriend is dead from starvation, and Professor Stanford is too senile to remember the payroll deadline. Guess I’ll be staying here, living off instant ramen and sheer willpower. Professor Stanford replied with a single, damning question mark: ? My phone nearly flew out of my hand. Panicking, I immediately tried to backtrack: I am so sorry, Professor! Wrong person! Please ignore that! Professor Stanford: Your boyfriend is dead? Professor Stanford: Understood. I’ll send the boyfriend this afternoon. My brain short-circuited. What? We were supposed to get paid at the start of the month. It was almost Christmas break, and I hadn’t heard a single clink of a coin. Professor Stanford is a brilliant man, but he’s pushing sixty and his memory is shot. I knew exactly what happened: he forgot to submit the payroll form to the Bursar’s Office. Again. Normally, a month’s delay is inconvenient. But now? The entire administration was about to shut down for two weeks. This meant a two-month delay, minimum. How was I supposed to live? I needed that money just to buy a plane ticket home and look halfway respectable. I needed to remind him, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Just yesterday, I had sent him the initial draft of my thesis—a piece of writing that I knew, deep down, was utter garbage. I sent it, then stuffed my phone into my roommate’s laundry hamper and spent half an hour in the common room doing interpretive dance to relieve the anxiety. I knew the paper was trash, and sending it was basically giving him an aneurysm. His reaction was immediate and brutal: “Piper, try shaking your head and listen. Do you hear the faint sound of the ocean?” I obediently shook my head, then realized a moment too late that he was calling me brain-dead. “Next time, write more. I was only halfway through this comedic masterpiece.” Me: “…” “Well, at least my academic rivals are probably toasting my failure right now, knowing I have a student like you.” I managed a weak smile. At least my thesis had achieved a level of lethal impact. Then the phone calls started, a solid thirty minutes of me being verbally destroyed. He ended the call with a simple: “Piper Maxwell! Be ready for the seminar next week!” See? After being flayed alive yesterday, how was I supposed to demand money today? But pride is a small price to pay for survival. The Professor might hate me, but my bank account shouldn’t have to suffer. If the hard way failed, I’d try the soft way. If the direct route was closed, I’d take a detour. As I was stewing, my mom messaged me: “Sweetheart, when are you heading home?” A flash of inspiration. My fingers flew across the screen, typing out the perfect, melodramatic plea. Copy. Click on the Professor’s contact. Paste. Send. One smooth, flawless motion. I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. One minute later, the Professor sent that fatal question mark. I quickly tried to delete the message and play dumb: Oops! Sorry Professor! Hand slipped! Please pretend you didn’t see that! “I saw it.” Yes! My inner self was throwing a ticker-tape parade. The money was secured! Then he replied: Your boyfriend is dead? Understood. I’ll send the boyfriend this afternoon. 2 I was completely bewildered. Was that the point?! Of that entire rambling block of text, the only true parts were that I hadn’t been paid and the Professor had forgotten! The rest was pure fiction! He was sharp as a tack when it came to critiquing my work, but now he was taking this one bizarre detail literally? I wanted cash. Why was he sending me a boyfriend? Could I eat a boyfriend? I collapsed onto my bed, convinced that life was one gray, endless spiral. I texted back resignedly: Okay, thanks, Professor. A boyfriend was unnecessary baggage. I was too broke to feed myself, let alone another person. A massive plate of greasy Chinese takeout for lunch—a complete carb overload—had put me into a deep, food-induced coma. I slept through the early afternoon, only waking up as the sky darkened, jolted awake by my phone vibrating. It was the Professor. I assumed he’d invented some new, truly horrifying epithet for me, so I took a deep, steadying breath before answering. “Hello, Piper? What are you doing? Why aren’t you answering?” “Um… Professor, I was revising the thesis…” “Stop revising and get down to that trendy Sichuan Hot Pot place downtown.” I assumed he needed me to pick up a package or run an errand, yawning as I said, “Professor, Natalie has the external hard drive.” He sounded impatient. “I know! Just get down here. Someone’s offering a free meal, and you’re going to pass that up?” I froze. A free meal? I absolutely had to go! Professor Stanford always paid well when he hosted. I needed to eat back all the stipend he owed me. I rocketed off the bed, threw on a random puffy coat over my pajamas, didn’t bother fixing my rat’s nest of hair, grabbed my fuzzy Crocs, and pedaled a shared bike straight to the restaurant. I looked a little rough, but who cares when it’s hot pot? If my thesis was good, he’d be happy even if I wore a burlap sack. As soon as I walked in, I heard the Professor’s signature booming laugh. The steam from the bubbling chili oil immediately fogged up my glasses. I squinted, navigating my way toward the sound. I could vaguely make out that he wasn’t alone. The Professor spotted me and waved me over, telling me to sit across from him. As the fog cleared from my lenses, I saw Mrs. Stanford sitting next to him. I’d been to their house several times, so we were friendly. I squeezed out a sweet smile. “Mrs. Stanford! So good to see you.” She smiled back warmly. “June! Come on, sweetheart, sit down, sit down.” Looking at the couple, I couldn’t help but ask the question burning in my mind. “Professor, I thought this was a group dinner. Why did you just call me?” He huffed, took a sip of tea, and gave me a look that was needlessly cryptic, clearly too important to bother with an answer. He always had to be the mysterious one—just like my ex. I turned to Mrs. Stanford instead. Before she could speak, someone sat down next to me. A clean, expensive note of cedar and leather hit my nose—one of those high-end, bespoke scents. This guy was seriously dressed up. Wasn’t he worried about ruining his clothes in a hot pot joint? I hadn’t even turned my head yet. Mrs. Stanford pointed a chopstick at the person next to me, chuckling. “Well, here he is! The replacement boyfriend, delivered as promised. Go on, check the merchandise.” 3 I turned my head, curiosity instantly turning into whiplash. I looked, and then I snapped my head back, slamming my hands over my face and vigorously rubbing my eyes. No. No, no, no. I must have been groggy from my afternoon nap, or maybe I’d hit my head on the way over. It had to be a hallucination. How could my ex-boyfriend possibly be here?! “Dad. Mom.” That deep, low, magnetic voice—it was exactly the same as the one etched in my memory. Damn it. Not a hallucination. “Linc, quickly, introduce yourself to June. You two need to get acquainted.” Lincoln didn’t speak immediately. I just felt two intense gazes, like high beams, fixed on my face. Stiffening my neck, I slowly turned my head back. He was in a perfectly tailored black wool coat over a charcoal turtleneck—looking impossibly sharp, almost clinically clean. Two years had stripped away the last traces of boyishness, leaving a man who was undeniably sexier, but still utterly reserved. His hair looked carefully styled, every single strand immaculate. He had clearly dressed for a serious meeting. And me? Pajamas under a puffy coat, a rat’s nest for hair, and fuzzy Crocs. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Lincoln West stared at me, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth and spoke, his tone flat. “Lincoln West. Twenty-six. Six-foot-one. Just back from London.” I nodded rigidly, a pathetic sound escaping my throat: “Uh-huh.” Could you tell me something I don’t already know? Seeing me turn into a mute, Mrs. Stanford prompted me again: “Well, June? What do you think? Satisfied?” How could I possibly answer? If I had known this was a blind date, that the date was the ex-boyfriend I’d dumped, and that the ex-boyfriend was Professor Stanford’s own son… I would have starved to death in my dorm room before stepping foot outside the gates. This dinner was clearly a strategic ambush to couple us up. Lincoln was dressed so meticulously that he must have taken the introduction seriously. And now he looked up, saw me, and his emotional damage was probably large enough to eclipse the entire restaurant. I strained to keep my face muscles from spasming, trying to hold a polite, slightly awkward smile. The older couple, completely oblivious to the radioactive tension between us, were just happily watching the pot boil. I lowered my head, frantically picking at my fingernails, while Lincoln sat beside me, slowly sipping his tea. Though we were inches apart, the emotional distance between us was wide enough to fit another person. Mrs. Stanford suddenly piped up, “I was right there when you texted Harry this morning. You said your boyfriend starved to death, and oh, that sounded so sad… But the old must make way for the new, right? So we sent you a new, very much alive one!” I wished for immediate death. Professor Stanford sighed, joining in on the public shaming. “I remember you mentioning once that you had a first love back in sophomore year. But you haven’t dated anyone since, so I figured you broke up—I never imagined he’d passed away. You should have told me! I wouldn’t have been so hard on you.” Aaaah! Stop! Please! Lincoln was my first love! I had casually invented the “he died” story years ago to stop people from asking nosy questions about the breakup! Professor Stanford seemed to realize I hadn’t actually given an introduction and tapped the table. “Linc, stop being so aloof. Don’t you have anything to ask Piper? You young people should talk.” Lincoln set his teacup down. He turned his body toward me, those impossibly gorgeous eyes fixed on mine. Then, his thin lips parted, and he slowly, deliberately delivered the sentence that shattered my soul: “So… after we broke up, you’ve just been telling people I died?”

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After my divorce from Gideon Ford, my belly grew bigger by the day. My parents and the daughter they’d raised as their own were frantic, hounding me daily to get an abortion. In my last life, I did it. Furious at Gideon’s wandering eye, I went through with the procedure out of spite. He hated me for it, and any thought of reconciliation vanished. It wasn’t long before he married Serena, the girl who had taken my place. Then my family’s empire collapsed. Tainted by divorce and the abortion, I was an outcast. I drifted from place to place, my body wrecked by complications from the surgery, plagued by chronic illness. I died on a cold winter street, alone. Meanwhile, Gideon’s business flourished, expanding across the country. Serena jetted around the world, living a life of pampered ease. Everyone said I got what I deserved, that I was born to suffer. When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I did was call Gideon. This life, I’m keeping the baby. And I’m keeping the money. … “You’re divorced. Walking around with a baby bump is a disgrace. Listen to your mother and get rid of it.” “She’s right, Annalise,” Serena added, her voice syrupy sweet. “You already have a reputation for being rough around the edges, growing up in the countryside. Now, with this… people are saying you have no shame at all.” My mother and Serena took turns, their words like little barbs, desperate to push me into the clinic. Last time, their goading worked. I threw away my last bargaining chip. And Serena had seized her chance, becoming the next Mrs. Ford. After I died, she even forbade my parents from burying me in the family plot. A bitter, metallic taste filled my throat. Looking at Serena’s impatient eyes, I actually smiled. The next second, the front door burst open and Gideon stormed in. His breath came in ragged gasps. The man who was always the picture of calm control was pale with panic. “The baby… you didn’t… did you?” Before I could answer, Serena jumped in. “Gideon, don’t be mad at Annalise. It was a moment of weakness.” She spoke as if it were already a done deal, shooting me a warning glance while trying to comfort a suddenly rigid Gideon. “The baby is fine,” I said, cutting her off. The murderous look on Gideon’s face softened instantly. He rushed to my side, helping me to my feet and guiding me to his car. “Come home with me. We can talk this through properly.” In the rearview mirror, Serena’s face was a mask of livid, twisted rage. I let out a soft scoff. When I turned my head, my eyes fell on a tube of lipstick left on the passenger seat. It wasn’t mine. Gideon’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something. I calmly looked away. An awkward silence stretched between us before Gideon’s assessing gaze landed on my face. “You seem… different,” he said, his tone loaded with meaning. I just hummed in agreement. “Is that a bad thing?” Before, I was a live wire. I couldn’t tolerate a single speck of dust in my eye. If Serena so much as held his hand, I would raise hell. I’d scream at him, slap him, refuse his touch. I’d force him to write letters of apology, promising it would never happen again. In the beginning, he’d indulge me, coaxing and calming me down. But gradually, he grew tired of it. One day, in front of a house full of guests, he’d mocked me. “You were a stray they picked up out of guilt. Unloved by your mother or your father. Who do you think you are to act so high and mighty in front of me?” I had shattered like a clown in the spotlight, my heart splintering into a thousand pieces. He knew me too well; he knew exactly where to stick the knife to make it hurt the most. Humiliation and rage blinded me. Back then, I refused to believe I couldn’t live without him. So, at my furious insistence, we divorced. But after eighteen years in the countryside, my parents, though they’d brought me home, had never taught me how to stand on my own two feet. My life after the divorce was just as miserable as he’d predicted. Gideon watched me now, his expression unreadable. Suddenly, his phone rang. When he answered, my mother’s anxious voice crackled through the speaker. “Gideon, something’s wrong with Serena! She drove off in tears. I don’t know where she went. Can you please help me find her?” When it came to Serena, my mother always turned to Gideon, without a single thought for my feelings. It made sense, in a way. The two of them had practically grown up together, childhood sweethearts. Until I was found at eighteen and brought back into the family. Gideon had fallen for me at first sight. I remember standing in the grand foyer of the Ross mansion, wearing a threadbare coat and pants that were too short. A circle of impeccably dressed young men and women had surrounded me, laughing. My face burned with shame, but I held my back ramrod straight. It was Gideon who had silenced them, who had led me away to another room. After that, he started creating “accidental” encounters. He taught me the rules of high society, bought me elegant dresses and heels that fit. I was so insecure back then, convinced he was looking down on me. I acted like a hedgehog, bristling with spikes, lashing out at him with sarcasm. But Gideon never got angry. Instead, when others called me a “country bumpkin” or a “wild child,” he was the one who threw the punches to drive them away. So when we announced our engagement, it wasn’t just Serena who hated me. My own mother resented me for stealing the perfect husband she had picked for her darling daughter. “It’s okay,” I said now, my voice even. “If you need to go, go. I can take care of myself.” The reflection in the car window showed a face devoid of emotion. Gideon’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his expression darkening. As if to spite me, he dropped me at the house and sped away with a roar of the engine. I, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get inside. The staff, unsurprised by my sudden return, took my coat. “Ma’am, your bath is drawn. Would you like to wash up?” one of them asked gently. I shook my head. “Not yet.” I wandered slowly through the villa, admiring the elegant decor and the antique furniture I’d personally chosen. I ended up at my vanity, gazing at the collection of priceless jewelry. In my last life, after the divorce, all of this had gone to Serena. When the scandal of a man marrying his former sister-in-law broke, my mother had blamed me. “What’s the use in blaming others when you didn’t cherish what you had? It’s better to keep it in the family, right?” My father acted as if it had nothing to do with him, staying out all hours of the night. Even though I was their only biological child, I wasn’t worth a fraction of Serena. The family affection I craved had always been nothing more than a joke to the outside world. Shaking off the memories, I soaked in a hot bath and then fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. I was jolted awake by a sharp click. The chandelier overhead suddenly blazed to life. Blinking away the sleep, I saw Gideon’s dark, stormy face looming over me. “Is it morning already?” I asked, my voice hoarse. A humorless laugh escaped him. “Didn’t I say we needed to talk? You went to sleep without waiting for me?” Before I could respond, he started explaining, as if seeking praise. “I found Serena outside a bar. I took her home and came straight back here.” The air hung silent for a moment. I realized he was waiting for my reaction. I nodded slowly, forcing a dry laugh. “That’s good.” “‘That’s good’?” he repeated, his voice cracking. He grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight. “Why did you come back? For the baby, or…” His eyes turned red. “Or for me?” A sharp sting shot up my arm. I winced. Neither, I thought. I came back for myself. Seeing his insistent gaze, I lied. “For both. I’m going to be a mother. It’s time I grew up, don’t you think?” As for him, it didn’t matter. As long as the money was good, he could do whatever he wanted. Just like before, when sleeping with me never stopped him from running off to comfort Serena. Gideon’s expression tightened, a flicker of loss in his eyes. “Annalise,” he murmured, “why do I feel like something’s off with you?” He glanced at my bored face, then down at his empty phone screen. A sudden surge of anger flooded him. “Do you have to be like this? So passive-aggressive, so lifeless! Isn’t it enough that I give you whatever you want? What more do you want from me?” I looked at him, feeling a wave of exhaustion. “I don’t want anything. You’re overthinking it.” But his expression didn’t soften. He stared at me for two long seconds, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him. In the days that followed, I focused on my pregnancy. Gideon was buried in work. We didn’t speak for nearly three months. I stopped being frugal. I spent money as I pleased. I even went with friends to a high-end male revue. Caught up in the fun, I impulsively stuffed a wad of cash into a dancer’s waistband. The dancer grinned, took my hand, and pressed a brief, stinging kiss to my knuckles. For a fleeting moment, I felt a flicker of understanding for why people were so drawn to infidelity. The next second, my phone rang. It was Gideon’s number. When I answered, I heard shuffling noises, and then Serena’s unsteady voice. “Annalise, Gideon’s drunk. Can you come and get him?” The dancer was now guiding my hand over his chiseled abs. I answered distractedly, “Just send a driver.” “It’s settled then! You have to come!” she insisted, and hung up. I sighed in annoyance but ended up going to the Ross house anyway. When I pushed the door open, the sight that greeted me was Serena, lying underneath Gideon. Her face was flushed with satisfaction. They were tangled together like two snakes in a death grip. Now I understood why she’d insisted I come myself. “Ah! Annalise!” Serena gasped, clutching a sheet to her chest as tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry! Gideon and I… we were both so drunk.” Gideon seemed to snap out of a daze. He stared at me for a second, then shoved Serena away roughly. He lit a cigarette, his expression devoid of explanation, his eyes calm to the point of provocation. The scene threw me back in time. Ever since we’d married, Serena had been a ghost haunting our lives, seeping into every crack. My birthday, Valentine’s Day, our anniversary—she always found a way to interfere. And whenever I broke down, Gideon would lecture me. “Just be more understanding. I owe her this. It’ll stop once she comes to terms with it.” But Serena never came to terms with it. She spread rumors in our social circle, calling me a “homewrecker” and a “parasite.” She circulated old photos of me working as a waitress and handing out flyers. At my own birthday party, she played a recording of my abusive adoptive parents beating me. That day, I became the laughingstock of the city. But I had survived all of that. What was this, compared to everything else? So, to their utter astonishment, I walked over, picked up a jacket, and draped it over Serena’s bare shoulders. “I don’t blame you,” I said, my voice as gentle as an older sister’s. Then I turned to face Gideon, whose face was a thundercloud. “I saw a sapphire necklace I really like, darling,” I said earnestly. “Could you transfer ten million to my account?” “You’re not going to ask why?” Gideon’s eyes were a frightening shade of red. I kept the same understanding smile on my face. “You have your reasons. I get it.” Gideon’s tall frame seemed to rust over. His eyelashes trembled, and a bitter smile twisted his lips.

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Married to my husband, Mark, for six years, I’ve never been able to get pregnant. Turns out, he has a low sperm count. Luckily, Mark has an older brother, Lucas, who refuses to marry but can still carry on the family bloodline. One night while I was working late, Mark called me frantically. “Honey, come home! Lucas is dead!” I rushed home, only to have my phone confiscated by Mark and my mother-in-law, Susan. They locked me in the basement. Lucas was lying on the floor, covered only by a towel across his midsection, which tented up suspiciously. “Lucas is dead, and our family line will die with him. While he’s still warm, you need to get pregnant by him. Now.” “I’ll let you out when you’re done!” Susan blocked the door from the outside. “Sarah, this is your chance to give us a grandson. Lucas is Mark’s brother. If you get pregnant, we won’t hold it against you!” I pounded on the door in rage, but then I remembered what I saw. Looking at the handsome brother lying on the floor with his eight-pack abs, I agreed. 1 “Honey, come back! Lucas is dead!” I frowned at the thirty missed calls and hundreds of texts from Mark. After getting permission from my boss, I sped home. As soon as I opened the door, I saw Mark and Susan sitting on the couch, watching Netflix and cracking sunflower seeds. There was zero urgency. “Oh, Sarah, you’re back? You didn’t even say you were coming,” Mark said, dropping the seeds in panic. “You said Lucas is dead. What happened?” I dropped my bag and eyed them suspiciously. “Sarah, it’s terrible! Lucas and I got into an argument, he fell down the stairs and hit his head on the railing. He’s gone.” “Why was he so emotional?” Mark started crying, hugging me. Susan wiped fake tears. “My poor son! What a miserable life. Never married, died a virgin. He won’t rest in peace; our family’s feng shui is ruined!” I rolled my eyes at Susan’s superstitious nonsense. As a modern doctor, I didn’t believe in any of that, but Susan was obsessed. “Did you call the police?” Susan glared at me with venomous eyes. “Why call the police? This is a family matter, we solve it internally. Do you want people to laugh at us? Blame Lucas for having a short life!” Lucas and Mark. Night and day. I always knew Susan favored Mark, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. “Where’s the body? Why aren’t you at the funeral home? Why call me back?” Thinking of Lucas, I felt a pang of regret. I originally dated Mark because he was somewhat my type, but after marrying into the family and seeing Lucas, I learned what “breathtaking” meant. Compared to Lucas, Mark was like tap water. One night, I came home late and saw Lucas showering with the door open. Like I was possessed, I stood there staring. Lucas was not only handsome, but… let’s just say everything was bigger than Mark’s. “Well, honey, aren’t you a doctor?” Mark stammered. I was furious. “I’m a doctor, not a necromancer! What good am I?” “Wait, you didn’t call the cops OR send him to the funeral home?” 2 “Honey, we didn’t know what to do, so we put Lucas in the basement.” “You go check. He’s not stiff yet. Still warm!” I almost coughed up blood. I had gathered some evidence against Mark for other things, but I didn’t want to be known as the wife of a murder suspect. “Mark, are you crazy? Hiding a body? Do you want to go to jail?” Mark nodded meekly, but Susan shielded him. “Sarah, watch your mouth! Mark is your husband. Don’t you dare turn against family!” There wasn’t a trace of sadness on her face. Lucas was way more dutiful than lazy Mark. When Susan had lung surgery, Lucas did everything while Mark played video games. “Where is he? Take me to him!” I followed Mark to the basement. A wave of heat hit me; the heater was cranked up to ninety degrees. “Why won’t the lights turn on?” I flipped the switch multiple times. Nothing. The only light came from a dim nightlight deep in the room, illuminating a silhouette. “Honey, the bulb blew. Here, use my phone light. Give me yours too, two lights are better.” I didn’t think much of it and handed my phone to Mark. “Honey, Lucas is over there. Go check!” Mark and Susan stood at the doorway, refusing to enter. “Come in! How can I see without light?” “Please, babe, spare me. I’m scared of dead bodies, and Mom is old. Don’t torture her.” I rolled my eyes. You weren’t scared moving him down here. I squatted down, checking Lucas’s pulse and breathing. He had indeed been “dead” for a bit. There were hot water bottles around him, keeping the body warm and pliable. If I hadn’t checked his pulse, I’d think he was asleep. Just as I was considering whether to run or scream, the basement door slammed shut. I rushed over and pushed. Locked. “Mark! What are you doing?! Open the door!” “Honey, you know I have a low sperm count. Lucas was our only hope. Now that he’s dead, I can’t let our bloodline end!” Mark’s voice changed from meek to vicious. “That’s right, Sarah! Lucas just died, we have the heat on, he’s still warm! He’s still… capable. Hurry up and give me a grandson!” “If you wait too long, he’ll get cold and it won’t work!” I kicked the door. The dim yellow nightlight cast ambiguous shadows. Sleep with a corpse? Insane! “Sarah, don’t play games. Unless you finish the job, you aren’t coming out. You can rot in there for all I care!” After an hour of standoff, I examined Lucas’s wound. Mark wasn’t lying about the injury. But the blow to the back of the head looked intentional, not accidental. This was murder. If I didn’t do what they said, they’d kill me too. 3 “Sarah, don’t try anything. We can hear everything!” I “compromised.” I wanted kids, and since Mark was useless, getting Lucas’s genes wasn’t the worst outcome. I walked over to Lucas. His face was chiseled like a Greek statue. The towel barely covered him. Maybe it was the heat, but I felt flustered. I took off my outer clothes. Trembling, I pulled off the towel. Would this kill me? The warm light bathed Lucas in gold. Every muscle was defined. His legs were spread open, clearly positioned by someone. “Sarah! Start already! Do you want to come out or not? We have cameras!” I looked up and saw the infrared light blinking on the ceiling. I straddled Lucas carefully. I slipped. “Ah—” I gasped. Six years of marriage, and I’d never felt anything like this. Mark was… lacking. In every department. “Sarah, what’s taking so long? He’s getting cold.” I gritted my teeth and moved. Half an hour passed. He was still… ready. I was exhausted, collapsing onto his abs. Mark’s voice, filled with jealousy and mockery, came through the door. “Slut. You never acted like that with me. Dead fish. Turns out you have a kink. No wonder I couldn’t satisfy you!” I looked at Lucas’s side profile. Panic rose in my chest. What if he woke up as a zombie and ate me? I sat up and worked harder, using every trick I knew. Was it my imagination, or was Lucas moving his hips to meet me? At the critical moment, I felt like I was finally going to finish, but my body gave out first. I cried out. Suddenly, hands grabbed my waist and pulled me down hard. 4 “Ah—” I screamed. Lucas covered my mouth. “Sarah, what are you screaming for? Is it that good?!” Mark yelled from outside. I froze, forcing myself to calm down. “Mind your own business!” I lay on Lucas, whispering, “You’re not dead?” “You’re loud. But you…” Lucas looked me up and down, eyebrows raised. He was still… active inside me. I pulled away quickly, hovering over him to fake the motion. His pulse was weak earlier, almost nonexistent. He must have been in a deep state of unconsciousness until now. I moaned loudly to fool Mark while whispering the situation to Lucas. Lucas smiled. He had to play dead. “Since you’re alive, let’s burst out. Confront them.” I tried to get off, but Lucas pulled me back. “You think you’ll survive if we go out now?” “What do you mean?” “Mark tried to kill me. You figured that out, right?” “So? What does that have to do with me?” I had evidence of Mark’s affair and was planning to divorce him anyway. “Really? You don’t care about your life?” “Mark has tried to drug me before so I’d sleep with you for the ‘family line.’ Today, Mom tricked me into coming over, tried to drug me, and when I caught them, Mark bashed my head with a vase.” “Do you think he’ll let me live now that I’m awake? Do you think he’ll let you live knowing all this? You’re just an incubator to him!” I was terrified. Lucas was right. He was injured, and I was just a woman. We couldn’t take them both. “What’s the plan?” I whispered. I got dressed and banged on the door. “Let me out!” “Done? Don’t try to fool me. I’m checking if you have the seed!” Susan yelled. “Check all you want. But I’m hypoxic in here, which is bad for conception!” I used medical jargon to scare them. The door opened. Mark dragged me out. “Enjoyed yourself in there, huh? Am I worse than a corpse?” “Mark, are you crazy? YOU forced me! And yes, even dead, he’s better than you!” Mark raised his fist. Susan blocked him. “Son! The priority is the baby! Sarah, you better be pregnant. If you give us a son, we’ll treat you like a queen!” I nodded meekly, glancing at the basement. “Mom, I might be pregnant with the heir. I’m on your side now. But I don’t want to be involved in a murder. Bury Lucas now! I don’t want my child’s father to be a convict!”

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My sister and I both bound with a “Life Upgrade System” on the same day. She poured all her skill points into “Beauty,” becoming a stunning, brainless bombshell who dominated Hollywood. I, on the other hand, dumped all my points into “Intellect.” By twenty, I was recruited by the government for a top-secret research project, cutting off all contact with the outside world. When the project ended and I finally reconnected with civilization, I found my sister had become public enemy number one. She was blacklisted, slandered, and labeled a homewrecker. Meanwhile, her boyfriend, the billionaire heir of the Sterling family, posted a single tweet: [Don’t know her. Stop associating me with trash.] Me: “???” If you don’t know her, then who was the idiot standing under our balcony in high school, begging for just one look? 1 My sister, Bella, and I bound with the System on the same day. The System’s original intent was to make us compete. A classic sibling rivalry arc. But Bella and I looked at each other and silently agreed to pick different lanes. She loved makeup and fashion, so she exchanged all her hard-earned points for Beauty. She became the school’s unrivaled beauty queen—stunning, but academically average. I loved reading, so I maxed out Intellect. From then on, I absorbed knowledge like a sponge, becoming a legendary academic prodigy. The System wasn’t having it. It issued a joint mission: [Capture the heart of Campus King, Julian Sterling. Reward: Massive points + 10 attribute points from the loser.] I forfeited immediately. “Dating affects my GPA. I’m out. Good luck, sis!” To my surprise, Bella forfeited too. “I don’t like dating strangers. I’m out too.” The System crashed. [Are you two crazy?! That’s Julian Sterling! The heir to the Sterling Empire! Marry him and you’re set for life! I’m giving you a golden opportunity, and you refuse?!] It was furious. Bella and I just smiled. She went back to her acting classes; I went back to my calculus. If the System knew us at all, it would know we were inseparable since the womb. When Bella got the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, I kicked and punched until mom went to the hospital, saving her life. When I choked on a grape, Bella screamed and heimliched me until I coughed it up. When Bella was cornered by bullies, I sensed the danger from blocks away and led a rescue team to save her. And when I got a leg cramp in the deep end of the pool, Bella jumped in to save me, nearly drowning herself in the process. On the pool deck, I cried and called her an idiot. She laughed, “If we die, we die together. Same birthday, same death day. Romantic, right?” I laughed through my tears. “Romantic my ass. Living is better.” If the System knew this, it would know we’d never turn on each other. It wasted its time binding us. But we didn’t say that. Occasionally, to keep the System from unbinding us (and taking away our perks), we’d stage a little drama to feed its ego. But actually seducing a man? Forget it. I chase who I like. I won’t let a computer tell me who to love. Bella felt the same. So, the System just stewed in its anger. Since we had “Perfect Performance” immunity cards from previous tasks, it couldn’t punish us. However, Julian Sterling made a move. He took an interest in Bella. He started strutting in front of her with his entourage of rich kids, looking like a peacock. Julian was admittedly handsome—deep features, a gaze that looked affectionate even when he was bored. Very deceptive. But Bella took one look and walked away. She whispered to me, “Looks a bit dim. I’m not smart, so I need a guy with brains to balance the gene pool.” Understood. Supply and demand. Just like me—I like pretty people. I have infinite patience for beauty. I can explain a math problem five times to the handsome class monitor, but twice to anyone else makes me want to scream. Bella’s comment somehow reached Julian’s ears. He blocked Bella in the hallway. “Bella Vance, how smart do you want?” 2 Bella looked at him in surprise. Julian turned his head, but his ears were turning red. “Heard you like smart guys.” So that’s it. Bella smiled. “Yes.” “If I get first place in the grade, you date me.” “My sister is first place. You can’t beat her.” Julian froze, then scoffed arrogantly. “Watch me.” That night, Bella told me about it, laughing. “I didn’t know Julian could blush. He’s kind of pure.” According to the System’s data, the Sterling heir had a reputation as a playboy, but was actually inexperienced. But reputations aren’t baseless. I whispered, “The System’s recommendations are trash. Don’t take it seriously. Focus on getting into a good college.” Suddenly, the System, missing for days, came online. [Chloe Vance!!! Talking smack behind my back? That’s it. Punishment time!] It blocked my access to the System interface. Coincidentally, I went away for a math Olympiad camp where phones were banned. I was blind to what was happening with Bella. When I returned, monthly exams were over. Julian Sterling had broken into the top 100. A massive improvement. Bella said, “Wow, he actually has a brain.” I felt a twinge of unease. Things were going off-script. I pulled out a piece of paper and started drawing diagrams to deprogram Bella. “Julian looks okay, but compare him to who? Our school has 600 seniors. The city has 50,000. The country has millions. His rank is mediocre at best.” “Even if he’s smart, the fact that he could do well but didn’t until now shows a lack of discipline, goals, and self-management.” “He only tries for things he wants in the moment. He’s impulsive, arrogant, and doesn’t listen to advice.” “The saddest thing isn’t lacking talent; it’s wasting it. A person who doesn’t cherish themselves won’t cherish you.” “His family has immense resources. He could be leagues ahead, but he’s just average. That shows low IQ and EQ in utilizing resources.” “And you, Bella… you’re a solid 9/10 beauty nationwide. You worked hard for this. I want you to look long-term. Don’t get distracted by roadside flowers.” “Even if you date, aim for someone as excellent as you. Being beautiful is an asset, but it also attracts predators. If you aren’t strong enough, pick a safer path.” Bella started crying. “Chloe, your brain is so sexy. I regret putting all my points into beauty.” Aw, a crying beauty is still beautiful. I wiped her tears. I regretted not putting a few points into beauty myself. Now, the only way to get points was to steal them from each other, which we wouldn’t do. Bella went back to treating Julian like air. She focused on her acting and cramming for exams. After being ignored repeatedly, Julian got desperate. 3 On New Year’s Day, the school held a talent show. Bella shone on stage. Outside, Julian hijacked the massive LED screen on the skyscraper opposite the school. “BELLA VANCE, I LIKE YOU. WHETHER YOU LIKE ME OR NOT, I LIKE YOU.” The whole school cheered. People stopped to stare, envious of the grand gesture. Bella turned pale. She grabbed my hand tight. “Chloe, he’s crazy. I’m scared.” Fear is the correct response. Not every girl wants a public confession, especially from someone she barely knows. Using her photo without permission? Taking creepy candid shots? That’s illegal, you dog. I recorded evidence, called the police, and contacted the building’s property management to take it down. Then I called Julian’s homeroom teacher to report him, and dragged Bella to the Dean’s office to cry. Bella couldn’t cry, so I pinched her arm. Tears welled up instantly. “I don’t know him! He tried to pursue me, and I said no. We haven’t spoken ten sentences!” “He made everyone know! He’s obsessed! I’m scared he’ll stalk me or take revenge!” “I need to study for college! How can I focus when everyone is staring at me?” “I’m already dumb! I just made a little progress! What do I do now? Waaaaah!” She cried miserably. I wanted to knife that man. The Dean was heartbroken. He started making calls furiously. Soon, Julian arrived, along with his mother. The police, teachers, ad agency reps, and lawyers filled the room. My “Big Brother,” Arthur, arrived too. The adults argued. We were left on the sidelines. Julian, scolded by his mom, looked wilted. He glared at me, then looked at Bella with deep sorrow. “Bella, I just wanted to show you how much I like you. No malice. Do you hate me that much?” Bella had a belly full of words but lacked the vocabulary and logic to express them. She used the simplest words. “I don’t like you. And I don’t like being watched like this.” “But you want to be a star! Stars are watched.” “That’s different.” “It’s the same.” “It’s different!” Bella glared at him. Julian laughed. “Bella, you’re so cute.” Me: ??? This turned him on? I said coldly, “The two types of attention are different. If you can’t tell the difference, your brain really is broken.” “One is attention earned through hard work and talent—admiration, respect, becoming someone’s inspiration.” “The other is attention because she’s a woman, because she’s pretty, because she fits your male gaze. That’s objectification. That’s lust.” “How dare you think they are the same?” Brain damage confirmed. 4 “Chloe Vance!” Julian snapped. “Nobody thinks you’re mute if you don’t speak.” “If you didn’t do stupid things, I might treat you like a human.” Julian stood up, furious. “Chloe, you’re just jealous because you’re ugly and no one likes you! You don’t want your sister to be liked either! You’re vicious!” I raised an eyebrow, ready to retort. But Bella jumped up. “Don’t you dare slander my sister! Her IQ is ten times yours!” I felt warm. She protected me. But also… ouch. She didn’t deny I was ugly. I stood behind Bella, backing her up. “You lack brains and class. But you’ll learn the difference between the two types of attention soon enough.” I whispered to Arthur. He nodded deeply. The negotiation concluded. Julian had to apologize, pay damages, and write a public self-criticism. Julian didn’t care. To him, a public apology was just another chance to look cool on stage. However, when he realized the apology included putting his face and apology letter on the same giant LED screen… he exploded. “I refuse! Absolutely not! I won’t lose face like that!” The Dean said, “Then it’s expulsion.” Mrs. Sterling said coldly, “We accept.” Julian was shocked. “Mom…” Mrs. Sterling: “Shut up.” It was settled. Before leaving, Mrs. Sterling looked at me with a meaningful smile. “Little girl, thank you for teaching my son a lesson. I look forward to your future. If you come to the capital for college, look me up.” She left with Julian, looking every bit the queen. I watched her back. Bella said, “His mom seems nice.” I said, “That’s because Arthur is here. And she’s using us as a whetstone to sharpen Julian.” “Whetstone? Does his family have a throne to inherit…” Bella stopped. Because the Sterling family did have a throne. Arthur said, “Let’s go home.” Back home, Arthur sat us down. “Are you happy at this school? Should we transfer?” Six months to graduation. Transferring is bad. I asked, “Because of the Sterlings?” Arthur shook his head. “This isn’t the capital. Their reach is limited here.” This was the Sterling ancestral home. Julian was sent here because he was too wild in the city. I asked, “Then why?” Arthur looked at us sincerely. “Chloe, if you’re unhappy, tell me. I’ll help. Don’t worry about burdening me.” He was sincere. Arthur was a student my mom sponsored. After becoming a successful lawyer, he sought out his benefactor, only to find she had passed, leaving two orphan daughters. He took over our guardianship. He was good to us. But he knew we tried not to trouble him. I smiled. “Brother Arthur, we’re grown up. The school is fine. Don’t worry.” Arthur opened his mouth, then just said, “Good. Tell me if anything happens.” He cooked us a feast for New Year’s Eve. We watched the countdown together. He left after midnight. Lying in bed, Bella said, “Brother Arthur has something on his mind.” “He’s a lawyer. Heavy cases.” Bella nudged me. “You’re so dull. I mean personal stuff. I’m not smart, but I read people. He’s hiding something.” What could Arthur be hiding? His career was smooth. Except for us two burdens, his future was bright. I didn’t realize then that success brings opportunities. Arthur had received an offer from a top firm in the capital. He wanted to go, but refused because of us.

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1 I paid a fortune to buy Damian Vance at a private auction. He set three rules for me: an unlimited Amex black card, cleaning up every mess he made without question, and never asking about his personal life. He would only leave with me if I agreed. Everyone thought he was insane, but I simply nodded and said, “Just take good care of that face.” For three years, I spent over a hundred million dollars on him. People called me crazy for a pretty face, but I didn’t care. The day my father died, Damian crashed his race car. As I rushed to handle it, I overheard his friends joking at the door. “Damn, Damian, you’ve got the ice queen trained like a puppy. Marrying her should be easy.” Once her old man’s gone, you marry her and the family fortune is yours, right?” They laughed cruelly. Then Damian’s cool voice came from the center of the group: “Her? Marry me? As if.” The door swung open. Under their stunned stares, I walked calmly to Damian, ignoring the unease in his eyes. I carefully wiped a smudge of dirt from his forehead and sighed in relief. “As long as the face is okay.” … Damian jerked his head away, annoyed. “It was nothing. God, Seraphina, can you be any more annoying?” Sensing the tension, his friends tried to smooth things over, subtly trying to figure out if I’d heard their conversation. Damian watched me, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. Looking at that face, still so anxious, I couldn’t bring myself to be cruel. I shook my head. Just as he was breathing a sigh of relief, there was a commotion at the door. It was Isla, Damian’s childhood friend. He shot to his feet, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “What are you doing here? I told you it was nothing. You didn’t have to come all the way out here in this storm.” Isla clutched her umbrella, her eyes filling with tears the moment she saw the scrapes on Damian. “I was so worried about you. And the thunder is so loud, I was scared…” Damian’s heart melted. He gently wiped her tears away. “It’s getting late. I’ll take you home, tuck you in.” With that, they gathered their things to leave. I just watched silently, ignoring the awkward looks from the others. Just as he’d demanded when I bought him. I would not ask about his personal life. Before he left, Damian turned to me without a hint of shame. “My car’s wrecked. I’m taking yours. Figure out your own way home.” Then he carefully draped his jacket over Isla’s shoulders and walked out with his arm around her. It never once crossed his mind what I was supposed to do, alone, in the pouring rain. “Sera, Damian, he…” one of his friends started, stammering. “Don’t bother explaining,” I cut him off. In Damian’s heart, I would never measure up to Isla. What little patience and tenderness he possessed were all reserved for her. I had accepted it long ago. No matter how much this man’s face resembled his, he would never be him. But just to be able to see that face I longed for day and night, I was willing to endure it. I called my driver to pick me up and take me to the funeral home to handle my father’s arrangements. It was past midnight when I finally got home. The living room light was on, which was a surprise. Normally, he would have been asleep hours ago. Damian saw my exhausted face and frowned. “What took you so long?” “I had things to do,” I said flatly. He scoffed, clearly not believing me. “Do you ever get tired of this act?” “So I spent some time with Isla. She’s just a young woman, worried about me, and she came all the way out in a storm to check on me. She’s timid.” “What’s wrong with me taking her home?” He completely ignored the fact that I had also dropped everything, in the middle of the night, to rush to his side. I rubbed my temples, not wanting to argue. Seeing this, Damian stepped forward and tilted my chin up. He leaned in to kiss me, as if bestowing a great favor. I turned my head away. His face darkened. “That’s enough. What’s the attitude for?” “My father died. I’m not in the mood.” Damian froze. I didn’t wait for his reaction. I turned and went into the bedroom. Sometime later, Damian slipped into bed beside me, smelling of soap and steam from the shower. He gently took my hand. “I didn’t know.” I didn’t answer. He continued, as if talking to himself. “By the way, Isla’s birthday is coming up. I saw this emerald and diamond necklace in a magazine the other day, it was beautiful.” “I asked about it. It’s an antique, not for sale.” “I remember you have one just like it in your jewelry box. You never wear it anyway. Why not give it to Isla? It would make her happy.” My headache intensified. My voice was ice. “That was my mother’s wedding gift from my grandmother. I will not give it away.” The hand holding mine went rigid. It was the first time I had ever refused him. He clenched his jaw, let go of my hand, and got out of bed. He dressed and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I didn’t move. I just rolled over and fell into a heavy sleep. 2 I drove to my father’s funeral. The moment I got in the car, I saw them on the passenger seat: a pair of lace panties, stained and discarded. The only person who had driven this car recently was Damian, when he took Isla home. Time was short. I took another car. The guests were beginning to arrive when Damian finally showed up, with Isla on his arm. “Isla wasn’t feeling well this morning. Sorry we’re late.” I lowered my eyes. “Take your seats.” Perhaps the room was a bit warm, because Isla took off her trench coat. In an instant, she became the center of attention. Underneath, she was wearing a brilliant, fiery red dress. Noticing the stares, Isla shrank behind Damian. “What’s wrong?” she whimpered. “Why is everyone looking at me?” She clutched his sleeve, and he immediately wrapped her in a protective embrace, murmuring comforting words. That was it. My famous patience finally snapped. “Either take that dress off, or get the hell out,” I said, my eyes like chips of ice. “Wearing bright red to my father’s funeral. You have some nerve, Miss Pearce.” The guests fell silent, watching the scene unfold. Isla looked as though she’d been mortally wounded. She bit her lip, her eyes turning red. “Fine, I’ll go!” She turned and ran. Damian shot me a dark, furious glare, snatched Isla’s coat from her chair, and chased after her. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking several deep breaths. “My apologies. Please, let’s continue.” Everyone snapped back to reality, pretending nothing had happened. I sank into my seat, defeated. I could already imagine the gossip that would spread after this. A bitter sting filled my nose. If only he were here. After the funeral, Damian returned. His clothes were more disheveled than when he had left. He stormed up to me, his voice thick with anger. “Was it really necessary to humiliate Isla like that in front of everyone over something so small?” “She’s a young woman, she doesn’t know any better. Why did you have to attack her?” “Is this because I went to comfort her the other night? That was days ago! Are you still holding onto that?” His accusations were so relentless that a bitter laugh escaped me. Normally, I would have pretended not to see, not to care. But not today. “This is my father’s funeral,” I said with biting sarcasm. “Who exactly is causing the scene here?” He faltered, his gaze shifting away. After a moment, he offered a condescending compromise. “Fine. I’ll talk to her about it later. You have no right to lecture her.” “Isla fell when she ran out. You own that private hospital downtown. Get them to prepare the best suite for her.” “And arrange a full set of check-ups. Then we’ll consider this matter closed.” Without a second thought, I refused. “Impossible.” I might clean up his messes, but I wouldn’t indulge this. “You’re becoming more and more unreasonable.” Damian ripped off his tie and threw it on the ground before storming off. When I got home that night, I found Isla sitting at the dining table, in my seat. In front of her was a bowl of the nourishing soup my private chef prepared for me. Seeing me, Isla’s voice was sickly sweet. “Oh, Sera, you’re back! Damian said Wang’s soup is the best for recovery. It’s just what I need.” “You should have a bowl too.” I glanced at her and walked past without a word. Damian intercepted me, draping an arm over my shoulder. His tone was uncharacteristically gentle. “I’ve thought about it. If you don’t want her at the hospital, fine. We have a family doctor here anyway. Isla can just stay with us.” “She likes your master bedroom, the one that gets the morning sun. You should let her have it. It will be good for her recovery.” Damian was certain I wouldn’t refuse him again. After all, for years, whatever he wanted, he got. Even a limited-edition supercar worth tens of millions, I would buy for him without blinking, filling an entire garage. 3 Without waiting for my answer, Damian pulled me to the dining table. He pushed a small dish of shredded bamboo shoots in front of me. “That dish you like, from the little place across town. I bought it for you. Eat up.” I stared at the dish. It wasn’t me who liked it. It was him. After his accident, it became my favorite dish too. I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite. It still tasted the same. Seeing me cooperate, Damian’s expression softened. A flash of jealousy crossed Isla’s eyes. She placed a piece of braised pork heart in my bowl. Then she gasped in mock horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sera! I forgot your father’s heart condition…” “I’m always so clumsy. Please don’t be angry.” She shot a helpless look at Damian. He ruffled her hair, his expression doting. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Then he looked at me, his tone flat. “Isla is young. Don’t hold it against her.” With that, he rolled up his sleeves and began expertly peeling shrimp for her. On his wrist, I saw a small hair tie that belonged to Isla. Watching them, I lost my appetite completely. I put down my chopsticks. Seeing that I was “done,” Damian spoke again. “Isla’s lease is up. You should get her an apartment to tide her over.” “That large penthouse you have downtown would be perfect. It’s beautifully furnished, and it would be convenient for her to look for a job.” The penthouse he was talking about was the one I had prepared as our marital home. He had designed the interior himself, all in my favorite style. I found it almost funny. My lack of boundaries with him had spoiled him rotten. He thought I would keep bending for him, time and time again. But when it came to anything related to him, I couldn’t let it go. “Damian, are you asking me to support your mistress too?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Isla shot to her feet, her face a mask of humiliation. “Sera, I know you’ve always been bothered by my relationship with Damian, but we’re innocent!” She turned to Damian, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m the one causing trouble. I’m sorry, Damian. I’ll leave right now.” Damian grabbed her arm, his voice turning to ice as he looked at me. “Apologize to Isla.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Did I say something wrong?” “Or was that pair of panties in the passenger seat of my car not yours?” Isla gasped, her face flushing a deep red. She shook her head. “You’ve really misunderstood. I was ovulating that day, and it was so uncomfortable. Damian just… used his hand to help me.” “We’ve been close since we were kids. It’s not a big deal.” Damian pulled her into his arms, patting her back soothingly. “You don’t have to explain. She’s always suspicious about everything.” He looked at me, his eyes cold. “Do you really think acting like this will make me pay more attention to you?” “There’s a limit to these tantrums. I’ll spend more time with you later, isn’t that enough?” “Isla can’t handle being upset.” “If you keep this up, I’m moving out with Isla.” I heard the unspoken threat. He was blackmailing me. Usually, whenever Damian said that, I would immediately back down, no matter what the issue was. I would give in to his demands until he was satisfied. Only then would he magnanimously “forgive” me. But this time, my attention was completely captured by the phone that had just vibrated in my hand. It was a text message. From a number I knew by heart, a number I thought was lost to the world forever. 【Sera, wait for me.】 Four simple words. I just stared at my phone, frozen.

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My cousin was locked at home by her parents because she insisted on being with a blond-haired delinquent. I understood immediately: Liking a blondie is a legitimate excuse to be a NEET (Not in Education, Employment, or Training). So I went home and said to my stepbrother: “Brother, I’ve fallen for a blondie.” My stepbrother smiled and poured me a cup of hot water: “Is it cold today? Drink some water to warm up first.” I was a bit disappointed, took a sip of water, and continued my lines persistently: “You can’t look down on him, he’s different from other blondies…” The next second, I lost consciousness. When I woke up, there was a shiny silver chain on my ankle. Julian remained gentle, lightly stroking the chain: “Tori, you don’t know how bad men outside can be. Before you forget that person, I won’t let you out of this room.” I was stunned for a moment, then resolutely lay back on the bed: “I will never forget him even if I die!” 1 I turned my back to him and covered myself with the quilt. Julian didn’t make a sound for a long time, nor did he persuade me. Just when I was wondering if I had overacted, a sigh came from behind. Julian left, and the door was closed. I sat up, feeling a bit soft-hearted. He probably didn’t understand why his sister’s rebellious phase came so late. But the thing is, I don’t want to be the “Doctor Wen” (a character known for loyalty and suffering) working in the snow anymore. The snow was heavy this morning, my life as a worker is so bitter. My phone was taken away by him, and my tablet and laptop were not there either. I went to the closet to find the clothes I wore today, and found my spare phone in the lining. Julian would never have guessed that I bought a men’s jacket. The pockets are deeper than the sea, containing not only a spare phone but also a pack of cookies, a small bread, and three bars of chocolate almost as big as the phone. The spare phone was pressed at the very bottom by these snacks. I turned on the phone and found my cousin on WeChat. “What happens after being locked up? How did you manage to stay locked up?” 2 Cousin: “Sis, are you laughing at me?” Me: “No, I just admire your determination to fight for love. I want to learn from you.” Cousin: “There’s no technique. You don’t understand what love is. Everything I do comes from my heart. For him, what is a hunger strike?” Hunger strike… I looked at the chocolate in my hand. Silently put a piece back. These are rations for the future. 3 I didn’t eat a bite of the food Julian brought. He brought it in, and took it away as it was. When he left, I broke off a piece of chocolate and put it in my mouth, telling myself that the suffering now is for the days without work in the future. Anyway, our parents left a lot of inheritance. Julian insisted on forcing me to work and live a hard life. On the second day of the “hunger strike”, Julian brought in a bowl of seafood porridge. Just smelling it made me drool. He looked down at me: “Still don’t want to eat today?” I kept a straight face: “If you don’t let me out for a day, I won’t eat for a day.” After saying that, I was afraid Julian couldn’t stand the pressure and let me go, so I added: “I’ve decided on him. For love, what’s a little hunger?” He closed his eyes and suddenly laughed. His laughter sent a chill down my spine, and I looked at him in surprise. Please don’t be moved by my love! He silently put the seafood porridge on the bedside table and turned to leave the room. I breathed a sigh of relief, but before I could finish, he came back. Holding a rope in his hand. 4 “Why are you tying me up?” “Open your mouth.” “You are… mmm…” “Shut up, swallow.” I was forced to eat the seafood porridge he fed me spoon by spoon. He wasn’t skilled at first, spilling a lot, and had to stop to wipe my face. Later it became smoother, and the bowl of seafood porridge bottomed out. Only then did he let me go, untied the rope, and said gently to me holding the empty bowl: “If you like this way of eating, we can continue next time.” I looked humiliated: “For him, I will not give in.” But secretly delighted in my heart. It’s not that I don’t want to fast, Julian insisted on feeding me. Julian’s lips were pressed into a straight line, his dark eyes staring at me. I felt goosebumps all over my body, biting the bullet to look at him. “Do you like him that much?” “Brother, you haven’t been in love, you don’t understand what love is at all.” Julian lowered his head, his fingers rubbing the edge of the bowl. I tensed up inexplicably. But he turned back into the good brother, smiling at me: “Rest early. Only with a good body can you continue to resist me, right?” I watched him leave. After the door closed, I immediately collapsed on the bed, as if all my strength had been drained. Julian’s oppression just now was so strong. But nothing is more terrifying than going to work! I got out of bed, holding the ankle chain, tip-toed to the door to listen. After the sound of turning off the lights came from outside, I opened the closet door and took out my phone. “Hunger strike, and then? What to do next?” Cousin: “Then isolate everyone, let them see I’m very disappointed in them!” 6 I refused to talk to Julian. Julian didn’t seem to care much either. He came to deliver meals three times a day as usual. Sometimes I woke up late, opened my eyes and saw Julian sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me. After I woke up, he would unlock the silver chain and let me go to the bathroom in the bedroom to wash up. At this time, he would bring in the heated food. On the third night of my unilateral cold war, he suddenly came in. I hurriedly hid my phone and looked at him vigilantly. Julian’s hair was half wet, wearing only pajamas. The collar was soaked by water dripping from his hair, making a large patch of fabric translucent. My eyes were dazzled for a moment, and I subconsciously looked away. Hearing his helpless voice: “The shower head outside is broken, borrowing your bathroom.” My brain was a bit chaotic, the image of water droplets hanging from his hair still remaining. “Suit yourself.” I seemed to hear a light laugh. Looking over, Julian had already entered the bathroom. Soon the sound of water rang out inside. I pulled a book from the shelf, looking at it casually, ears filled with the sound of splashing water. Looking at the face in the manga, I suddenly thought. Julian went in empty-handed just now. Then! Sure enough, after the water stopped, an embarrassed voice came from inside, low: “Tori, I forgot to bring clothes, can you hand them to me?” 7 I looked down at the chain on my foot. It only allowed me to move within the room. I had to call him to unlock it even to go to the toilet. “I can’t go out, where can I get clothes for you?” Julian: “…Then how can I come out conveniently?” “Wear what you wore in.” He was troubled: “You know, I’m a clean freak.” Does he know he is a man… I opened the closet, rummaged around, and found a pair of Julian’s pants that had been put away by mistake at some point. And picked a bed sheet for him. “Although it will be drafty, it’s better than going out naked. Make do with it.” A hand reached out from inside, steaming hot, and took the bed sheet and pants in. I turned on the video recording on my phone, hid it behind the bedside table, and sat on the bed ready to watch the wonderful scene later. It was quiet inside for a while, the handle finally turned, and Julian came out. I was ready to laugh, but after seeing the person coming out, the laughter got stuck in my throat. Pants were worn properly, but the bed sheet was not wrapped well. The crossed collar was open, revealing a large area of collarbone, deep V downwards, faintly revealing the lines of abdominal muscles. Julian seemed a bit embarrassed. After noticing my gaze, he reached out to pull the bed sheet closer. “I’m leaving.” He said. I felt my consciousness seemed to be half a beat slow, nodding blankly: “Okay, be careful not to catch a cold.” He laughed once, turned and left. A while after the door was closed, I gasped and came back to my senses. Can you care if he is cold during a cold war? 8 I locked the door and urgently took out my phone for help: “What if the cold war doesn’t work? What else can I do?” I am really not a hard-hearted woman. With Julian half-naked in front of me, I couldn’t help but care if he was cold. My cousin became suspicious of me: “Sis, why do you keep asking about this? Do you want to hear my tricks from me and then tip off my parents?” Me: “Am I that kind of disloyal person?” Cousin: “Okay, I believe you. Hunger strike and cold war don’t work, tired of crying, I decided to run away.” Me: “Ah? Aren’t you afraid of really running away?” Cousin: “?” Me: “Oh no no, how do you plan to run?” Cousin: “Don’t mention it, failed already. I cut the bed sheets, wanted to climb down from the second floor, but was discovered by my parents very quickly. They watch me tighter now, but this won’t defeat me. Failed this time, there will be a next time. I love him!” I nodded thoughtfully. Running away will be watched more strictly. 9 The next day I purposely pretended to sleep until noon. Julian came in for about half an hour before I opened my eyes groggily. He unlocked my ankle chain and let me wash up. I went to the bathroom first. He indeed went to the kitchen. I wrapped myself in a jacket casually and tiptoed out of the room. Passed the living room, opened the door. Running slow afraid of acting too fake. Running fast afraid Julian discovered late and couldn’t catch up. I struggled for a while before stepping over the threshold. Hearing footsteps behind, I ran out decisively. “Tori Cole!” Wearing slippers, I considerately ran down the stairs. Afraid he couldn’t catch the elevator. I remember Julian was on the track team in high school, he runs very fast. When I ran down three floors, he grabbed my arm from behind. I gasped heavily, still acting: “Let… let me go.” There was no smile on Julian’s face: “You want to find him that much?” Haven’t exercised for too long, the sudden intense exercise made me feel dizzy. And a bit nauseous. I frowned, enduring the discomfort: “You caught me this time, I will run next time, because I love him!” Julian stared at me expressionlessly, suddenly sneered coldly: “You know s**t about love.” I was stunned, suspecting I had tinnitus just now. The next second, Julian bent down and put his arm around the back of my knees, carrying me over his shoulder. I held his waist upside down: “I’m an adult, what right do you have to say I don’t know what love is?” Julian took three steps at a time, his voice inexplicably hoarse: “If you know what love is, then why can’t you see…”

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Adrian Sterling suffers from severe insomnia. I was sent to his side when we were children to be his cure. I became his human pillow. Over the years, he dated one girlfriend after another. But no matter how wild the nights got, he always sent them away. He habitually held me to fall asleep. I had been by his side for so long that he arrogantly assumed I would never leave. Until the day my ten-year contract with the Sterling family expired. He had fallen completely for a new girl—one who kept him awake for three days straight with late-night joyrides. Mrs. Sterling coldly slid the renewal contract across the table, convinced I would sign it. That day, I remained silent for a long time. Finally, I smiled gently and said: “No. Let’s end it here.” 1 It was late when I arrived at the hotel suite. Adrian’s latest fling hadn’t left yet. The bedding had been changed, but the air still held a lingering, ambiguous scent—evidence of how intense things had been moments before. The girl, cheeks flushed, pouted playfully. “Do you really have to kick me out? Can’t I stay the night?” Before he could answer, she saw me enter. She frowned. “Excuse me? We didn’t order housekeeping.” Adrian let out a short, sharp laugh. “She’s not housekeeping. She’s my… sleep aid.” The girl froze for a second, then looked incredulous. “I wasn’t enough for you? You need a back-to-back shift?” Adrian leaned against the headboard, eyes still hazy with lingering desire. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow with a half-smile. “Any issues sleeping with my little pillow?” He pulled out two checks, scribbled his signature, and handed them to the girl. “Alright, you can go now.” I stood nearby, waiting for her to take the money and leave like all the others. Instead, she slapped the checks back onto the nightstand, chin held high. “I don’t want your dirty money. I was satisfied too. Let’s just call it a mutual transaction.” With that, she walked out without looking back. Adrian fingered the rejected checks, a rare look of surprise in his eyes. But his expression quickly returned to normal. He pulled me into his arms with practiced ease, one arm circling my waist, burying his face in the crook of my neck. The scent of her perfume still lingered in the air. I couldn’t ignore it. I looked down and saw a bright red lipstick mark on Adrian’s collar. It was glaring, like a territorial flag. He noticed my gaze. His voice was raspy. “Hm? What is it?” I pointed at his collar, expressionless. “Lipstick.” Adrian seemed to be in a good mood tonight. He spoke with unusual patience. “If you mind, I can go change?” I pressed my lips together and didn’t answer. Seeing this, he thought for a moment. “Then let’s sleep somewhere else. Let’s go to your place tonight, okay?” I was startled. I didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to go to my apartment, but we had shared a bed for ten years. Him coming to my place wasn’t a big deal. I nodded. At my apartment, Adrian changed into the men’s pajamas I kept for him and went straight to my bed. He liked to hold me face-to-face, one arm tight around my waist, the other across my back, locking me into his embrace. It was as if he truly treated me as nothing more than a body pillow. Because of this, I was particular about my bedding. Soft mattress, fluffy pillows, everything washed with lavender detergent. Plushies lined the wall—it wasn’t a large bed, but it felt safe. Adrian, in his dark silk pajamas, looked out of place squeezed onto my pastel pink sheets. He lowered his head, nose brushing the top of my hair. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Elara, why does your bed smell so good?” I was already drifting off. “Everything was just washed.” But Adrian didn’t stop. He wasn’t sleepy at all. He sniffed around until his nose touched the sensitive skin of my neck. He chuckled darkly. “Turns out, this is the best smelling spot.” His hot breath hit my skin, causing a shiver to run down my spine. My heart skipped a beat. I looked up to say something, but my lips accidentally brushed against his chin. We both froze. Nervous, I tried to scoot away, afraid he’d hear my pounding heart. But he yanked me back immediately. “What are you hiding from?” His large hand rested on my shoulder. “Relax. I have no interest in a flat board like you.” 2 I always knew Adrian didn’t like me. In fact, he found me boring. From age 13 to 23, I had been by his side for nearly a decade. When he was 13, he was kidnapped by a rival company. No one knows exactly what happened, but after he was rescued, he suffered severe trauma and chronic insomnia. The doctors suggested a companion to help him feel grounded. That’s how I ended up at the Sterling Estate. There was a long line of candidates. I stood there in my worn-out clothes, exhausted from working odd jobs the day before. While waiting, I crouched in a corner and fell asleep. Adrian, surrounded by staff, walked out looking miserable. He scanned the crowd, pointed at the sleeping girl, and said impatiently, “Her. She’ll do.” Since then, I became his human pillow. As I grew older, Mrs. Sterling’s frowns deepened. She constantly hinted that I shouldn’t get any “wrong ideas.” So, I hid my crush deep inside, letting no one see. Over the years, I watched him date girl after girl. Before he could spend the night with them, I would knock on the door and perform my duty: “Mr. Sterling, it’s time to sleep.” To him, I was no different from those girls—just another person there for the money. But they brought him pleasure; I brought him nothing but dull routine. He eventually grew tired of my existence and tried to sleep without me. But he angrily discovered that after ten years, his body was conditioned to needing me to fall asleep. Doctors said a good mood helped with insomnia, so for ten years, I walked on eggshells, agreeing with everything he said just to keep him content. When he was in a bad mood, he would snap at me: “Stop with the fake concern. You’re just here for the paycheck.” I buried my love deeper and replied numbly, “Yes, just for the paycheck.” I hid it well. Even in my diary, I referred to him distantly as “The Boss.” Until I was 19. He helped me deal with some debt collectors who were harassing me. That night, for the first time, I allowed myself to write his name, Adrian, in my diary. By the time I snapped out of it, the whole page was filled with “I like you” and his name. Panicked, I wanted to tear it out, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I locked the diary in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I thought it was safe. So, when I woke up the next morning and saw Adrian sitting in my chair, the drawer open, pointing at the diary, my world collapsed. He asked coolly, “What is this?” Five years of secret, humble love were stripped bare. “How… how did you open it?” I asked, voice trembling. “Tried all morning. Turns out the password is my birthday.” He held up the notebook, eyes narrowing. “Entries from four years ago… You hide things deep, sweetheart.” His tone was soft, but it terrified me. He tore the page out. Rip. Then he shredded it, piece by piece, tossing the confetti into the trash bin. “What are you fantasizing about?” he mocked. “Elara, did you think a piece of paper would make me settle down? They can do anything to please me. Can you?” 3 After that day, Adrian didn’t contact me for three days. On the fourth night, his assistant knocked on my door, supporting a very drunk Adrian. “Mr. Sterling drank too much tonight. Please take care of him, Miss Grey.” Usually, Adrian had a high tolerance. How much did he drink to get like this? I helped him into bed and went to the kitchen to make hangover soup. While the water boiled, I felt a hot body press against my back. Adrian wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Elara,” he rasped. I froze. He rarely used my name. Usually, it was “Hey,” or mockingly “Baby” when he wanted to tease me. “Are you feeling sick? The soup is almost ready…” Before I could finish, he kissed me. It was warm, gentle, landing on my cheek, the corner of my lips, my neck. The scenario I had dreamed of for years was happening, and it rendered me speechless. I tried to push him away, but he buried his face in my neck, whispering my name over and over with thick desire. “Elara… Elara…” I am not a saint. When he called my name like that, I couldn’t refuse. I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck. It wasn’t our first time. Four years ago, when he found out I was negotiating a raise with his mother, he had stormed into my room. “Just for the money, right? Fine. If I give you enough, will you sleep with me?” That night had been painful and devoid of affection. But tonight, he was gentle. He kissed me, held me, and whispered to me. When it was over, he held me in his arms, pecking my lips. “Your waist is so thin,” he teased softly. “How did you handle that?” I lay in his arms, thinking: Maybe, just maybe, Adrian feels something for me too? He slept deeply until noon. His phone rang. I picked it up to silence it so he wouldn’t wake, but I saw the Caller ID: Lyra. My blood ran cold. A ridiculous, terrible suspicion formed in my mind. Adrian woke up. He took the phone without a hint of his usual morning grumpiness. A familiar, charming female voice drifted from the speaker: “Adrian, I heard you haven’t slept in three days because you were racing cars all night to chase me?” “Hmm, since you’re so sincere, I’ll forgive you. Whatever you want to do tonight, I’m game.” It was the girl from the hotel. Adrian smiled and agreed. He hung up, the smile fading as he looked at me. He frowned. “Why was it you last night?” I dug my nails into my palms. So, the tenderness, the whispers of my name… it was all because he thought I was Lyra? The names sound similar when drunk. Elara… Lyra. “It was me,” I said, closing my eyes. “Who else would it be?” Adrian was silent. Finally, he sighed. “Baby, you really can’t leave me, can you?” He pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and patted it against my cheek. “You were obedient last night. This should cover it. But remember your place—you’re just a pillow. Don’t dream of anything else.” 4 That night, Mrs. Sterling called me to the main estate. She slid a contract across the table. “Adrian’s new girlfriend says she can help him sleep, too. Maybe we don’t need you anymore.” “The salary is cut in half. Sign it if you want.” She was certain I would sign. Five years ago, I had begged for this job to pay for grad school. I looked at the contract. Ten years of memories flashed by. I pushed the paper back and shook my head gently. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sterling. Let’s end the contract here.” The room went silent. “You’ve thought this through?” she asked slowly. I nodded. “Don’t think you can play hard to get,” she warned. “You’re just a sleep aid. He doesn’t need you.” I stood up and bowed. “Thank you for the Sterling family’s help over the last decade. I won’t regret this, and I won’t pester him.” She relaxed. “You have seven days left on the current contract. Pack your things. Once it expires, disappear. Don’t appear in front of him again.” “I promise.” Leaving the estate, I stood on the street feeling lost. For years, I had prioritized Adrian over everything. I even rejected a prestigious exchange program in New York because I didn’t want to leave him. I pulled out my phone and texted my professor. Is the spot for the New York program still open? She replied instantly: Yes. I’ll secure it for you. I realized then: No one should put their life on hold for someone else. 5 I spent the next few days packing. On the second night, Adrian came to my apartment. Since that night, he preferred my bed to his own luxury suite. He opened the closet. “Where are your pajamas? Two sets are missing.” “They were old. I threw them out,” I lied. He lay on the bed, hand resting on my waist. I flinched. My waist was still bruised from his grip the other night. “Why are you dodging?” he grumbled. He lifted my shirt and saw the bruises. He sighed. “You always say you’re fine when you’re hurt.” He went out, bought ointment, and applied it. The warm light softened his features. It was the most peaceful we’d been in a long time. “Is the contract up soon?” he asked casually. “Go renew it.” He didn’t know. “Adrian, I…” His phone rang. It was Lyra, crying about a paper cut she got while packing for their camping trip. Adrian stood up immediately. “I’m coming over.” He put his jacket on, tossing the ointment aside. At the door, he paused. “What were you going to say?” I looked at him standing in the dark hallway. “Nothing. It wasn’t important. Go.” The seventh night arrived. The Sterling butler called to verify my departure. I told him I was going abroad and would never return. I sat in the living room, waiting for the final “shift.” Midnight passed. Adrian didn’t come. At 1:00 AM, he called. “Mr. Sterling, it’s time to sleep,” I said robotically. On the other end, I heard a girl’s bright laughter. “Wow! The fireworks are beautiful! I love you, Adrian!” He laughed, then spoke into the phone. “Not coming back tonight. I’ll sleep with you tomorrow.” Lyra’s voice chimed in. “No way, you promised to stay! Let me try to lull you to sleep again.” Adrian chuckled. “Fine. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Elara.” I listened quietly. In that moment, the last shred of reluctance in my heart vanished. The next afternoon, I boarded a plane to New York. I took out my SIM card and snapped it in half. Elara, keep walking. Don’t look back.

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The day after I closed on my condo, it vanished. I’d spent ten years surviving on budget meals and packed lunches, squeezing onto overcrowded public transit every morning, all to save up the sixty thousand dollars for the down payment. Finally, I’d secured a small corner unit, 1801, on the top floor of the Sycamores complex, right near my office. But when I got home from work, the entire building was seventeen stories high. The eighteenth floor was simply gone. My condo was gone. I was completely unmoored. I chased down the seller, Mrs. Fion, and my realtor, Mark Jensen. They both swore they had never met me. I went to the County Recorder’s office, then the police. Everyone looked at me like I was insane. They showed me the building plans: all units in the Sycamores topped out at seventeen floors. The eighteenth floor had never existed. But I knew what I had bought! I had walked the unit! I searched. I argued. I caused a scene. The diagnosis was immediate: “She thinks she bought a house in a dream. What’s next, a house that sprouts legs and runs away?” My escalating public meltdowns resulted in multiple involuntary trips to the psychiatric ward. Each time, I managed to escape and went right back to raising hell. I couldn’t stop. That down payment represented a decade of my life, a decade of self-denial. To control me, the hospital staff started with medication, then moved to electroshock therapy—all to make me forget the condo. The last time they caught me, I was being transported back to the ward. I spotted a brief opening when the guard looked away, flung myself out of the moving van, and hit the pavement. I woke up back in the realtor’s office, the day I signed the contract. 1 I pressed my heel into the wooden floorboards, looking around the familiar space with a sense of confused dread. This was Unit 1801. This was where we had signed the papers in my past life. And yet, who could have foreseen that the entire eighteenth floor would inexplicably disappear the very next day? Mark Jensen, my realtor, started to prompt me. “Jenna, if everything looks good, we should wrap this up. I’ve got a couple of other clients waiting to tour this afternoon.” I tried to sound casual. “Sorry, I just need to check the exterior details and the common areas one last time.” I rushed out to the hallway and saw the large, clear number 18 plastered on the wall. It was here. This was the eighteenth floor. I hit the elevator button. It arrived quickly. The digital display above the doors clearly read 18. Ding. The doors opened. I stepped inside, frantically searching. Last time, after the floor vanished, I had ridden this same elevator repeatedly, and the ‘18’ button had been completely missing. But there it was now, clearly labeled. I pressed 1. I had to figure out what was happening before I lost everything again. As the doors started to slide shut, Mark rushed up, yelling, “Jenna, are you buying this place or not? You know that three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar deposit is non-refundable!” Three thousand, five hundred dollars! That was three months of rent and savings for me. I couldn’t just walk away. I had to find the glitch immediately. I made it to the first floor without incident. Then, I rode back up to 17. I got off at 17, found the emergency exit, and climbed the last flight of stairs to 18. Still nothing. The eighteenth floor was sitting right where it should be. Mark and Mrs. Charlotte Fion, the seller, were waiting for me by the elevator bank. Mrs. Fion smiled warmly when she saw me emerge from the fire escape. “A first-time buyer, you should absolutely check out the safety features and the amenities. But I promise you, dear, this building is top-notch.” I studied Mrs. Fion. She seemed kind. She’d even knocked ten thousand dollars off the price to make her moving deadline. She looked nothing like a fraudster. But when I went looking for her in my past life, she had looked me straight in the eye and said she’d never seen me. And she didn’t seem to be acting then, either. Mark Jensen was one of the firm’s top producers; he didn’t need my measly down payment. He also claimed not to know me after the disappearance. Could this be something supernatural? 2 “Jenna, if you back out, I return the fifty-six thousand five hundred, but the three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar deposit is lost.” Mark’s voice broke through my daze. Maybe the whole thing was a nightmare. A house can’t just up and leave. Mrs. Fion was desperate to move abroad to be with her daughter for the birth of her grandchild, which was why I was getting the deal of the century. The unit, the location, the fixtures—it was all perfect. I couldn’t throw away three thousand five hundred dollars over a bad dream. I bit the bullet, pulling out my phone. “This is a huge milestone for me. Do you mind if we take a quick video, just a couple of seconds, for my social media? For the memory?” If the condo vanished again, I needed ironclad proof that Mrs. Fion and Mark had sold it to me. If they were con artists, they’d panic. Mrs. Fion readily agreed. “Oh, I love that! My daughter is the same way. A pretty young woman like you should absolutely document this!” She smiled at the camera. Mark, too, cooperated patiently, showing no signs of guilt. This made no sense. Still, a video was indisputable evidence. If the condo disappeared, I’d have no problem getting my money back. I signed the contract with a flourish. After seeing Mrs. Fion and Mark off, I spent the next hour filming every inch of the condo. I refused to let history repeat itself. Ring. It was my current landlord. “Hello, Leah? Are you renewing the lease for the next quarter?” “Could I possibly rent for just one more month?” In my past life, I’d immediately given notice. When the condo disappeared, I was left homeless. A month would give me time to ensure the new place was solid. Plus, I only had enough cash left over for one extra month’s rent. “Absolutely not! I have people lined up to view it right now. Take the next quarter or get out!” I sighed. “Okay, then I’m out.” “Then get back here and pack your bags now!” the landlord roared, slamming down the phone. I took one last, lingering look at my dream condo before heading back to my rental to collect my belongings. As I opened the door to leave, I bumped into my next-door neighbor arriving home. Last time, I’d signed the contract and rushed off, so this was technically my first time seeing him. He was an older gentleman, wearing sharp glasses—he looked like a retired professor. I offered a friendly greeting. He nodded politely and opened his door. For a split second, I saw a large Golden Retriever inside. I walked down the stairs, counting the floors again. Eighteen. Definitely eighteen. My life was so sparse, ten years of saving meant I could fit all my possessions into a single suitcase. I pulled it behind me, walking toward my new home, bathed in the glow of the setting sun. Please, please, please, I prayed. Don’t vanish this time. But as I reached the complex, I froze. Every building was visibly shorter. My eighteenth floor was gone. 3 I immediately called Mark. “What? You said the condo you just bought disappeared?” “Ma’am, you’ve got to be joking. This is reinforced concrete and steel, not a pop-up tent! A whole floor ran off? Are you sure you’re at the right complex?” How could I be at the wrong complex? I had walked these grounds hundreds of times in my previous life, desperately searching for the missing floor. I could find this place blindfolded! “Look, I’m with a client right now. I’ll call you back after five.” Mark hung up. I was frantic. I had to confront Mrs. Fion. I stationed myself outside the local grocery store, knowing it was her usual route home. Soon enough, she appeared, carrying a bag of fresh produce. “Mrs. Fion, do you remember me?” She paused, looking closely. Then, a puzzled look crossed her face. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear. Are you one of my daughter’s friends?” I felt the blood drain from my face. We had just signed papers this morning! I grabbed her arm. “Stop playing games! Give me back my sixty thousand dollars!” Mrs. Fion’s eyes widened in terror. “Help! Somebody, please! I’m being robbed!” People rushed over from all directions. “Did you see that girl? She’s got some nerve, trying to mug an elderly woman in broad daylight!” “Call the police! Get her arrested!” First the house, then the robbery accusation. I was consumed by a blinding rage. I pulled out my phone and played the video for the crowd. “Look! This morning, she and her realtor sold me Unit 1801! Now the condo is gone, and she says she doesn’t know me!” Mrs. Fion was still shaking her head and denying everything, swearing she didn’t know me, calling me a thief. The crowd was utterly confused. The woman in the video was clearly Mrs. Fion. “Nobody leaves! We’ll wait for the police and let them sort this out!” I insisted. “Yeah, wait for the police!” I had the video. I had the contract. Let them try and dismiss me this time. A patrol car arrived shortly. The crowd explained the bizarre situation to the officers. “A condo bought in the morning that vanishes by afternoon?” The officers were dumbfounded. I handed over my phone: the video, the pictures of the interior. One officer looked back and forth between Mrs. Fion and the video. “Ma’am, this woman certainly looks identical to you. And the unit in the video appears to be real.” Mrs. Fion shook her head wildly. “I was playing Mahjong with friends all morning! They can vouch for me!” Unable to resolve the chaos, the police brought us all back to the station: me, Mrs. Fion, and even Mark Jensen, who was forced to come in for questioning. Seeing Mark, I exploded. “He’s the realtor! He sold me the unit!” Mark stared at me with an expression of shock and bewilderment. “Wait, you’re the crazy lady who called and said her apartment vanished? Who are you? I’ve never seen you before! Get this lunatic away from me!” 4 Two officers had to physically restrain me. “Jenna, please calm down,” the officer said. “You claim you bought a condo from them. Do you have proof?” I nodded, pulling the sales contract and the realtor’s agreement from my suitcase. I jabbed my finger at the unit number. “Here! Unit 1801! We signed this contract right there!” The officer slammed the contract down in front of Mark. “It’s a valid contract with your firm’s seal. Now tell me you don’t know her!” Mark scrutinized the papers. “The contract is legitimate, and that’s our company seal. But I absolutely did not sign this. I had several client meetings this morning, and they can confirm my schedule.” Mrs. Fion added, “The handwriting looks like mine, but I haven’t owned a condo at the Sycamores in years! My Mahjong group can swear I was nowhere near a contract signing today.” The officers who went out to investigate soon returned with their findings. “They’re not lying. Both have multiple alibis.” I felt the panic rise. “How? Then what about my condo? That’s sixty thousand dollars!” The police took my phone, saying they needed to verify the video’s source and reliability. Mark spoke up immediately. “Don’t just look at us! Look at her! What if her video is deepfaked or AI-generated? She’s clearly unstable—a condo running away? Please, Officer, she needs a psychiatric evaluation. The Sycamores only has seventeen floors. I’m telling you, she’s mentally ill!” Just then, the officer who visited the complex returned. “Jenna, we visited the Sycamores. The tallest building is seventeen stories. We pulled the original blueprints—they only show seventeen stories.” I shot up from my seat. “Impossible! I was in 1801 this morning! I climbed the stairs from the seventeenth floor! It was there!” The officer who had been sympathetic suddenly regarded me as a threat. He yelled, “Jenna! Get back in your seat! Calm down!” “We interviewed the residents! Everyone confirms the buildings only have seventeen stories. There is no eighteenth floor! We’ve called for a specialist from the psychiatric center. They’ll be here shortly to assess you.” Tears streamed down my face. My house was gone, and I was going to be locked up again. Had the universe doomed me to the same fate? “That sixty thousand dollars was ten years of my life! Ten years of eating canned soup and scraping by! I finally bought my home, and now I’m homeless again! How am I supposed to be calm?” At that moment, a tech specialist emerged with my phone. “The video and photos are authentic. They were shot on this device today at 10:20 AM. Zero evidence of editing or deepfaking.” I turned to the others. “See? I’m telling the truth! The condo exists, they sold it to me, and we signed the papers in 1801!” Mark frowned. “But the complex doesn’t have an eighteenth floor, and we don’t know you!” I shook my head, utterly confused. Just then, I saw the kind old man from this morning—my neighbor. Mr. Walter Stone was being escorted into the station. I felt a surge of hope. “Look! He was my neighbor! He lived right next door on the eighteenth floor! He’s here because his condo vanished too!” Mrs. Fion’s face lit up. “Oh, I know Walter! He was my daughter’s middle school teacher. Bring him over!” The officer addressed Mr. Stone. “Sir, do you live in Unit 1802 at the Sycamores?” Mr. Stone shook his head. “I do not.” I felt my heart plummet. “No! You’re right next door! I saw you just this morning!” Mr. Stone looked at me curiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Mrs. Fion, however, is my neighbor.” Mrs. Fion smiled knowingly. “That’s right. Walter and I have been neighbors for decades.” I refused to give up. We had seen each other! “Please, look at me! Mrs. Fion sold her condo to me this morning! I saw you when I left, and we exchanged greetings! Have you forgotten?” Mr. Stone looked genuinely terrified. “I have never seen you before in my life.” My peripheral vision caught the sight of a group of people in white coats walking towards me. The pure, visceral terror of electroshock therapy from my past life washed over me. I dropped to my knees. “Please, then why are you here? If you’re not looking for your condo, what are you doing at the police station?” “My dog is missing. I’m filing a missing pet report.” Despair set in. Why didn’t they know me? Why did the eighteenth floor disappear? Why was my home gone? Wait. The dog! I suddenly understood everything.

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1 The night of my graduation, the freshman who’d been chasing me for six months got me drunk and lured me to his bed. When I woke up, he was smiling. “You weren’t just with me last night,” he told me. Soon after, photos of me in bed with a group of strange, middle-aged men went viral online. The caption read: “Shared Sugar Baby: Now Taking Appointments.” When I confronted him, his voice was laced with ice. “Isn’t your mother a professional homewrecker? As her daughter, you naturally had to one-up her.” The night my mother saw the news, she had a stroke. When she woke up, her mind was forever trapped at the age of eight. To support her, I became the star attraction at a downtown nightclub, the queen of the midnight stage. Eight years later, as I writhed under the hazy lights, I looked up and saw a pair of familiar eyes in a VIP booth. … Sweat slicked my skin as I danced, the cold metal of the pole a searing line against my inner thigh with every spin. A raw, familiar pain. After eight years, my skin still hadn’t gotten used to the friction. But I couldn’t stop. Every cheer from the crowd was a potential bill paid, another dose of the medication my mother needed tomorrow. I spun, inverted, and split my legs. And then, in the middle of a difficult backbend, my eyes slammed into his. My body faltered. I lost my grip and plummeted from more than six feet up. I hit the stage hard. A sharp, drilling pain shot through my ankle. The crowd erupted in jeers and crude laughter. “What the hell was that?” “If you can’t dance, get off the stage!” The manager rushed forward, bowing and scraping apologies to the audience while grabbing my arm. He hissed through clenched teeth, “Stella! What the hell was that? You trying to get fired?!” “Do you have any idea how many people are watching? If you ruin the club’s reputation, can you afford to pay for it?!” I clutched my swelling ankle, my entire body trembling with pain. I looked back toward the VIP booth, but the familiar eyes were gone. Had I imagined it? “What are you gawking at? Get the hell backstage!” the manager barked, snapping me back to reality. I bit my lip and limped off the stage. Back in the cluttered dressing room, I had just sat down when a busboy shoved the door open. “Manager says because of your screw-up, you’re not getting paid for tonight,” he said flatly. “What?” I looked up, my heart sinking. “Nothing? But my mother has a physical therapy appointment the day after tomorrow.” I grabbed his arm, my voice pleading. “Can you please talk to him for me? I’ll be more careful next time. I swear it will never happen again!” He shook my hand off, his face a mask of disgust. “It’s no use begging. He’s furious. Besides, it was your own damn fault for not paying attention.” He spun around and left, slamming the door behind him. I sank back into the chair, the pain in my ankle mingling with the panic rising in my chest. Therapy bills, medication costs, rent… The numbers spun in my head, suffocating me. If I didn’t get paid tonight, my mother’s therapy would have to be postponed. Just as I was drowning in despair, the door opened again. It was the manager. His expression had softened slightly. “Stella, come with me. A client in a VIP room asked for you. A private performance. Double pay.” My stomach dropped. I knew exactly what a “private performance” meant. A closed room, expensive liquor, and hands that didn’t know boundaries. I had always avoided it. But then I thought of my mother’s therapy, of the bills piling up, and I hesitated. “What? You don’t want to?” The manager raised an eyebrow. “Fine. But if you refuse, you can forget about your base salary for the month, too.” “I’ll do it,” I said, my voice tight. I had already fallen this far. What right did I have to be picky? The manager’s smile was triumphant. “That’s more like it. You’re in this line of work. No need to pretend you’re a saint. Now hurry up and change. Don’t keep the client waiting.” I pulled a conservative black slip dress from the locker, threw a thin jacket over it, and followed him to the VIP section. When he opened the door to the private room, the manager’s face instantly transformed into a fawning grin. “Mr. Wallace, here she is. This is our star, Stella.” I followed his gaze, preparing to force a smile, but my expression froze. 2 Seated in the main armchair was the face I had seen from the stage. Caden. So I hadn’t been imagining things. It had been eight years. He was no longer the fresh-faced freshman who used to follow me around campus. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his eyes sharp and steady, exuding the unmistakable aura of a Hollywood star. And I… I was a nightclub dancer, selling my body for money. The shame lasted only a second. I quickly composed myself. I didn’t have the luxury of feelings anymore. As instructed, I walked to the small stage in the center of the room and began to move to the music. I plastered a seductive smile on my face, even as sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging them. When the song ended, there was a smattering of applause. Caden, who had been silent the whole time, finally spoke. His voice was laced with a chilling mockery. “Stella. Eight years, and this is what you’ve become. Impressive.” The room fell silent. The others, sensing the tension, chimed in. “Caden, you know her?” Caden picked up his wine glass, his eyes sweeping over me with disdain. “Not really. We went to the same university. I just had the misfortune of hearing about her… glorious achievements back then.” He drew out the words “glorious achievements,” and the men around him chuckled with knowing smirks. “Well, if she’s an old friend of yours, she should give us a proper show, right?” one of them jeered. “How about a striptease to liven things up?” My body went rigid, and the color drained from my face. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t do that.” “Don’t do that?” the man with the gold chain laughed. “We’re all here to have a good time, why the act? You dance well, and we’ll make it worth your while.” He pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet and slapped it on the glass table. The others followed suit, and soon a small mountain of money was piled on the table. The bills glittered under the dim lights, a tempting, filthy sheen. All I could see were hospital invoices, my mother’s childlike eyes, and the urgent voice of the nurse on the phone. The seconds ticked by. The mood in the room shifted from anticipation to impatience. “Are you gonna dance or not? If not, get the hell out!” someone shouted. Caden just sat there, sipping his wine, a king watching a spectacle from his throne. And I was the sacrifice on the altar. My nails dug into my palms, the pain the only thing keeping me grounded. I gave a slow, deliberate nod. The music started again, slower and more provocative this time. I reached up and untied my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders. Then, with trembling fingers, I reached for the zipper on the side of my dress. The sound of it sliding down was quiet but deafening. The dress slipped from my shoulders, revealing the thin, black lace bra underneath. The air conditioning was cold, raising goosebumps on my skin. I moved mechanically, trying to cover myself with my arms, which only earned me more excited whistles. Just as my shaking hand reached for the clasp of my bra— “That’s enough,” Caden said, his brow furrowed. Everything stopped. I stood frozen, the dress half-off, pooled around my elbows. He stood up and looked down at me, his disgust unconcealed. “A leopard never changes its spots. Just like your mother—you’ll do anything for a price.” He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. With Caden gone, the others lost interest and began to leave. I quickly pulled my jacket tight around me, hugging myself as I stood there, stunned. Just then, the producer, Mr. Wallace, walked over to me. He tucked a business card into the top of my dress, his voice greasy. “Stella, right? You’ve got a great body. And you can really move.” He leaned in close, his breath reeking of alcohol. “I’m working on a new project. Looking for actors who are… adventurous. Willing to get creative. Give me a call if you’re interested. The price is negotiable.”

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Everyone in the Upper East Side circle knew I’d been obsessed with Asher Sterling since we were kids. He went to Exeter; I went to Exeter. He learned eight languages; I learned eight languages. He studied finance at Wharton; I studied finance at Wharton. The Sterling and Vance families were destined to merge. Our business empires were too intertwined; one couldn’t survive without the other. But on our wedding day, Asher made a detour on his way to the altar. He flew straight to Paris to save his “one that got away”—the damsel in distress. We were childhood sweethearts, and now, we were the biggest joke in Manhattan. Wearing a custom Vera Wang gown worth eight figures, I walked down the aisle and completed the grand ceremony alone. That day, in the media frenzy that covered every tabloid, my name was placed before his for the first time. Idiot. Men are a dime a dozen in New York City. But a fully formed business empire? There’s only one of those. I didn’t just want his body. I wanted his money. 1 Asher’s private jet had already taken off. I locked myself in the bridal suite at The Plaza and shed exactly one tear. My short-tempered father was cursing up a storm outside. Mr. Sterling, Asher’s father, was furiously making calls, demanding Asher be dragged back the second he landed. My phone buzzed with two messages. Asher: [Summer, wait for me. I’ll explain everything when I get back.] The second message was a photo of Asher. He was walking toward the boarding gate, head down, on the phone. He was wearing the bespoke tuxedo I had spent months perfecting with the designers. The tie I hand-picked hung loosely around his neck. His expression was gentle, his eyes full of that sickeningly sweet indulgence, as if he were softly coaxing the person on the other end of the line. Anyone seeing it would sigh and say, “That lucky girl.” I zoomed in on the photo and stared at it for a long while. It was hard to let go. Truly. But I gave him a chance, and he made his choice. In chess, once you lift your finger from the piece, the move is final. I touched up my makeup, gathered the long train of my gown, opened the door, and flashed a perfect smile at the elders standing outside with their various expressions of horror. “The wedding proceeds as planned.” 2 Asher returned to New York three days later. For the past seventy-two hours, I was the undisputed queen of traffic. From the New York Times to TMZ, everyone was discussing Sloane Vance, the heiress who was abandoned by Asher Sterling on her wedding day but insisted on completing the ceremony solo. Some lamented the coldness of the rich, some fought for justice on my behalf, and naturally, some gloated. Regardless, in the overwhelming press coverage, my name—Sloane Vance—was ranked ahead of Asher Sterling’s for the first time. To apologize to the Vance family, my father-in-law, Chairman Sterling, hosted a private dinner at their Hamptons estate. After the wine flowed, the atmosphere softened. Chairman Sterling raised his glass to me. “Summer, this toast is to you. “You really are Robert’s daughter. Thank you for being decisive and protecting the reputation of both our families. “The Sterling family has wronged you. Rest assured, I will make this right.” I lowered my eyes demurely and raised my glass. Just as I was about to speak, the banquet hall doors swung open. Asher walked in, looking travel-worn and exhausted. My dad saw him and his face darkened. He slammed his glass down on the table. The massive hall went silent. Chairman Sterling glared at my dad, gritted his teeth, and barked at Asher: “On your knees!” Asher walked up to my father, step by step, and bowed slightly. “Dad, I was wrong.” My father scoffed coldly and didn’t respond. Asher straightened up and placed a document on the table. “I’m here to make amends. “While in the States, using my status as the Vance family son-in-law, I represented Vance Corp and signed the acquisition deal with the Bellamy Group.” 3 Vance Corp had been fighting for the Bellamy partnership for six months. All details were finalized, but Bellamy kept stalling the signature. My dad had gone gray worrying about this deal. I had to admit, Asher knew how to play psychological warfare. Presenting this contract was a massive offering to Vance Corp. My dad choked on his anger. Facing Asher now, he couldn’t stay mad, but he couldn’t exactly smile either. Asher stood there, hands clasped, eyes lowered, the picture of calm confidence. Chairman Sterling exhaled in relief and started a slow clap. “Robert, how about that? My son isn’t useless after all, is he? “Helping you secure Bellamy in one go… he deserves some credit.” With Chairman Sterling leading, the guests awkwardly joined in the applause. The atmosphere began to warm up. But, Asher… you humiliated my family on a global stage. Did you really think a contract would wipe the slate clean? I frowned, let my eyes redden, and walked up to him, looking him up and down. “Asher, why are you still wearing your wedding tux? “Was taking care of Miss Rose so exhausting that you didn’t even have time to change?” The hall fell dead silent. Asher’s smile froze. I forced a brave smile and pushed him gently toward the exit. “Go shower, change your clothes, and get some rest. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle things here.” Behind me, a hand slammed onto a table. I didn’t need to look; I knew it was my dad. Chairman Sterling’s voice boomed: “Freeze! You aren’t going anywhere!” In the standoff, a frail figure burst in from the entrance and threw herself between Asher and me. “Don’t make things hard for Asher. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” 4 The intruder was the culprit who made Asher abandon me at the altar—his “first love,” Serena Rose. It was late autumn, yet Serena was wearing a thin, white cotton dress, her slender body shivering. In front of everyone, Asher didn’t hesitate. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the car? Why did you come in? “Are you cold?” Serena’s face was ghostly pale. She leaned into Asher’s chest, eyes red. “Asher, don’t fight with your father over me. It’s not worth it. “I don’t have much time left to live. I can’t leave you with a mess.” Before she could finish, Serena began coughing violently. Asher’s brow furrowed deeply. Without a word, he scooped Serena up into his arms. “Rena, don’t be afraid. I’m taking you to Mount Sinai Hospital.” Ignoring everyone in the room, Asher lowered his head, whispering comforts to Serena as he walked out. “Asher Sterling! Stop right there!” Chairman Sterling was shaking with rage. “If you walk out that door, you are cut off from the Sterling family legacy! Everything!” Asher stopped. He turned, looking coldly at his father. “My biggest regret is letting you send Rena to Europe back then. “Do you think you can still control me like you did when I was a teenager?” Chairman Sterling’s face turned purple, but he couldn’t speak. My dad shook his head. “Arthur, it seems you can’t control the Sterling heir anymore.” Asher looked at my dad and smirked. “Dad, the first thing I did upon landing wasn’t checking Rena into the hospital—it was bringing you the Bellamy contract. “That is my sincerity for the future of our families. “Some things are better left unsaid.” He turned to me, his eyes icy. “Sloane, I promised to marry you, and I did. “You have the title of Mrs. Sterling. I guarantee you a life of luxury. “But love? I advise you not to ask for it.” With that, he carried Serena out without looking back. Curled in his arms, Serena glanced back over his shoulder, staring straight at me. The corner of her mouth lifted in a microscopic smirk.

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