Category: English

My sister, Chloe, was obsessed—no, “obsessed” doesn’t cover it. She was a cultist for a celebrity named Austin Vance. On Valentine’s Day, news broke that Austin had frozen his genetic samples for future use. While other fans bought posters, Chloe decided to drain her entire life savings to buy a sample on the black market. She wanted to undergo IVF to birth a “mini-Austin.” I was horrified. I begged her to consider her boyfriend’s feelings and just live a normal life. Eventually, she gave up, got married, and had a daughter, Maya. But the poison remained. Chloe pushed her dreams of fame onto Maya. Every time Maya looked in the mirror, Chloe would sneer: “You want to be a star? With that face? Look at yourself.” She told Maya it was my fault. If I hadn’t stopped her back then, Maya would have had “god-tier” genes and been a superstar. Maya grew to hate me with a passion that burned for years. After failing a reality show audition where the judges mocked her looks, she finally snapped. She burst into my house and drove a knife through my chest. “Mind your own business!” she screamed. “You ruined my life!” Chloe just watched from the doorway, her arms crossed, eyes cold. After I died, she took my inheritance and used it to travel the world following her idols. Then, I woke up. It was Valentine’s Day. 1 “It’s my life! I’m not asking for your permission, I’m telling you how it’s going to be!” Chloe was screaming in the living room, her voice echoing off the walls as she yelled at our mother. She threw herself onto the sofa in a fit of rage. As soon as she saw me walk in, she lunged at me. “Leo, tell Mom she’s being insane. You saw the news about Austin Vance freezing his samples. Everyone is talking about it!” “I’m going to buy a sample and have his baby. Mom is acting like it’s the end of the world!” “She has no idea how much money celebrities make! If I have his kid, that baby will have the ‘It Factor’ in their DNA. They’ll be a millionaire before they’re ten!” “It’s only a few hundred thousand dollars. We’d make it back in a year! But Mom won’t let me!” “It’s not about the money!” Mom shouted, her voice trembling with fury. “Who is going to marry you? Who is going to want a life with you after you do something so reckless?!” Chloe waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t care! Once I raise a superstar, men will be lining up around the block to marry me!” Watching Chloe “fight for her rights,” I felt a wave of dizziness. My fists clenched so hard my nails drew blood. Thank God. Thank the universe. I’m back. I’m back at the exact moment where the tragedy began. 2 Chloe didn’t just like music; she worshiped it. She would skip meals and sleep just to stream Austin Vance’s songs. Once, she skipped a final exam and waited in line for eighteen hours in the rain just for a concert ticket. Her room was a shrine. Posters covered every inch of the walls. She spent hours dusting them, whispering to them, even kissing the glossy paper. It was pathological. Mom was at her wit’s end and constantly begged me to talk sense into her. We were close in age, and while I liked music too, I couldn’t fathom this level of mindless zealotry. I tried heart-to-hearts. I told her it was okay to be a fan, but not at the expense of her life. She’d just plug her ears. One time, a poster fell down because the tape dried out; she blamed me, accused me of trying to “tear him down,” and didn’t speak to me for a week. I eventually gave up, hoping she’d outgrow it. But even after graduation, the fire didn’t die. She ditched work to follow his tour bus. She was a lost cause. The day Austin Vance announced the freezing of his samples, she crossed the point of no return. She came home demanding Mom give her the family’s emergency fund for the procedure. In my past life, I lost my cool. I slapped her. I called her a damn fool. I asked her: Who is going to raise someone else’s kid? How are you going to support yourself? Do you really think talent is just a gene you can buy like a luxury handbag? My threats, combined with Mom’s ultimatum to disown her, worked. She backed down. She eventually married a guy named Mark and had Maya. But even then, the obsession lingered. It bled into Maya. Maya grew up dreaming of the red carpet, convinced she was destined for greatness. And every time she failed, Chloe would point at her and laugh: “You’re a star? Look at your face. If your Uncle Leo hadn’t stopped me from getting Austin’s DNA, you’d be famous by now.” So, Maya grew up hating me. As her uncle, I bought her the best birthday gifts, only to have them thrown in the trash. I tried to stay away, but I stayed for Mark. Mark was a good man—honest, hardworking, and far too good for a family of obsessed fans. Ten years later, Mom passed away. Chloe and Maya didn’t even show up for the funeral; they were at a fan convention in Vegas. Three days after the funeral, Maya failed a major idol audition. The judges told her she lacked the “visuals” for the industry. She came to my house and stabbed me twelve times. Chloe leaned against the doorframe as I bled out. “You ruined her future, Leo. She was supposed to be a star.” I died with my eyes wide open, filled with a resentment that reached the heavens. I regretted ever helping her. I should have let her drown in her own choices. 3 “You’re going to be the death of me! If you go through with this ‘designer baby’ nonsense, don’t you dare come back to this house!” Mom issued the same ultimatum as before. This time, Chloe actually had a shred of conscience left; she burst into tears. She looked at me, eyes red and puffy. “Leo, will you support me? Please?” I looked at her with a face of stone. “It’s your life. Walk your own path.” In this life, I’m done being your guardian. Chloe saw that neither of us was budging. She gritted her teeth, gave Mom a stiff bow, and walked out the door. Mom nearly fainted. I went over to steady her. “She’s an adult, Mom. Let her hit the wall. She won’t learn until she feels the pain herself.” Mom sighed, a long, weary sound. For the next few days, Chloe vanished. She hired a moving crew to clear out every single one of her belongings—even the posters she had carefully peeled off the walls. I knew Austin Vance’s “legacy” wasn’t cheap. She was likely selling everything she owned on eBay to fund her delusion. But she had no real savings. Those posters wouldn’t cover a fraction of the cost. I turned to Mom. “Whatever you do, don’t give her a dime of the family savings.” “I’d burn the money before I gave her a cent!” Mom snapped. 4 “Leo, please… I need a loan.” Chloe called a few days later. I told her I was broke. “Leo, please! I know you care about me. I can’t afford to eat. It’s not for the procedure, I swear.” In my last life, she used this trick a dozen times. She’d spend her grocery money on VIP tickets and then cry about being hungry. I always sent her money, afraid she’d actually starve. “I don’t have it. Don’t ask again.” I hung up. A few days later, I went to check on Mom. I could hear the screaming from the hallway. “Where is it? Did you take the money from the safe?!” I opened the door to find Mom red-faced, screaming into her phone. “You’ve gone too far! Stealing from your own mother? That was fifteen thousand dollars! Bring it back right now, do you hear me?!” “I’m just borrowing it!” Chloe’s voice crackled through the speaker. “I’ll pay you back when the kid is famous!” “Chloe, are you insane?! You’re taking our life savings for a test tube? Chloe!” Click. The line went dead. Mom clutched her chest, her face turning a terrifying shade of purple, and collapsed on the floor. 5 She survived the initial stroke, but the brain hemorrhage was massive. The medical bills started piling up instantly. I was frantic. It was a nightmare—my mother was in the ICU, and I had no money left after paying the initial deposit. I called Chloe, my teeth bitting. “Mom had a stroke because of you. She’s in the hospital. Bring the money back now.” “A stroke? Is she okay? How bad is it?” Chloe sounded nervous. “She’s hanging by a thread. If we don’t pay the next five thousand, she’s dead. Bring the money, Chloe!” “Leo… are you lying to me?” The audacity of her words made me see red. “You piece of trash! Why would I lie about our mother dying?!” “I don’t have that much left. I can give you one thousand. That’s it.” “What? Say that again.” “I have my own expenses, Leo! This procedure is expensive. One thousand is my limit.” “Chloe, have you lost your mind? This is for Mom! It’s her money!” “I told you, I’ll pay her back a hundred times over later!” “What good is a hundred times later if she’s dead now?!” “Just… tell her I’m sorry.” Click. She hung up and blocked me. I wanted to kill her. In my last life, she didn’t show up for the funeral. Now, she wouldn’t even pay to save Mom’s life. A celebrity she’d never met was more important than the woman who gave her life. Fine. You want to play it this way? 6 I called the police and reported a grand larceny. The cops tracked her down within hours and brought her to the hospital. She wouldn’t even enter the room. She stood in the hallway, glaring at me. “You called the cops on me? She’s my mother! Half that money is legally mine anyway!” I slapped her across the face. “Shut up.” I dragged her into the ICU and pointed at the woman covered in tubes. “Tell her. Tell her to her face that her life-saving money belongs to you.” Chloe froze. For a moment, she looked like she might cry. But then, she looked up and said the words that made my blood run cold: “Everyone dies eventually, Leo. Even if she wakes up, she’ll be a vegetable. I have a future to build. My child is going to be a star. I’ll buy her a beautiful headstone when the time comes.” I grabbed her collar. “What did you just say?! How can you be so inhuman?!” The police had to pull us apart. I told them everything. I demanded she return the money. Even the officers were disgusted. They tried to talk sense into her, but Chloe snapped back: “This is a family matter! Stay out of it!” Since she refused to cooperate, the police were about to take her into custody. Chloe finally folded, promising to get the money and bring it back the next morning. The cops told her to listen to her family. After she left, I thanked them. I thought Mom was saved. But the next morning, Chloe was gone. She had vanished. I panicked and called the police, but they were still searching. I had a sickening feeling the money was gone for good. I spent the day frantically calling friends to borrow enough for the treatment. I managed to scrape the money together, but as I was driving to the hospital, the doctor called. Mom was gone.

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In the eighth month of my marriage to Spencer, I discovered I was pregnant. But I’m not his wife. I’m just a stand-in. The real heiress, Linnea Croft, pulled a runaway bride act, and I, her dead ringer, got drafted to take her place. Mr. Croft promised me five million dollars after a year. Now, there’s been a tiny, unexpected development. I frantically called him: “You found her, right? Switch us back! Now! Before it’s too late!” I didn’t even pack. I was shipped off overnight. Two weeks later, I was feeding pigeons on a Paris street, pondering what to do about the baby. Suddenly, I was pulled into a warm embrace. A man gently stroked my cheek, his voice low and smooth: “Honey, are you done playing? Time to come home.” Chapter 1 Getting drafted to marry Spencer Vance was an accident. I was buying street tacos, minding my own business, when I was grabbed. Burly bodyguards tossed me into a luxury car without a word. Thirty minutes later, I was dropped at a villa. In the grand living room, a middle-aged man sat ramrod straight. The second he saw me, he threw a teacup at me. His voice boomed, “Linnea Croft, do you know the consequences of running away? How did I raise such a daughter!” I dodged like a ninja. He got angrier. “You dare dodge? After what you did, you dare dodge me?” Me: “Huh?” He grabbed a cane to hit me. I ran around the living room, screaming, “Who is Linnea Croft? Don’t hit me! You got the wrong person!!” After showing him my photos, social media, and digital ID, he finally accepted I wasn’t his daughter. I was just a random person who looked suspiciously like her. He gave me ten grand as an apology. I happily took the money, ready to leave. But then he said, “Miss Liang, I see you need money. I have a deal for you. A big reward if you succeed.” That stopped me in my tracks. The wedding was in a month. Linnea Croft had run away. If she returned before the wedding, he’d give me fifty grand. If not, I’d pretend to be her and marry Spencer. The term was one year. Whether she was found or not, I’d get five million dollars. I was desperate for money. In a moment of madness, I agreed. Chapter 2 “Honey, spacing out at a time like this?” Spencer was displeased. He bit my lip. “Baby, if you’re not good tonight, you won’t be getting out of bed tomorrow.” Me: ! I snapped back from my messy memories and quickly said, “No, no, I’m super good! I have work tomorrow, please, please.” I blinked my eyes, begging pitifully. Spencer tucked my sweaty hair behind my ear and leaned down to kiss me. He whispered like a devil, “Too late.” Chapter 3 My eyes lost focus, staring into the void. Damn it. No one told me before the wedding that Linnea’s husband had such a high sex drive. Mr. Croft told me his daughter and Spencer were in a business marriage. They’d only seen photos of each other, never met. And I looked just like Linnea. So much like her that Mr. Croft got a DNA test just to be sure. Sadly, no blood relation. Just pure resemblance. I was heartbroken. My dream of being an heiress was shattered. But if I couldn’t be the heiress, I could be her stand-in. The money was just as good. Linnea couldn’t be found. The meetings, dates, marriage registration, and wedding—I took them all on. On the wedding night, I sat in the bridal suite in a seven-figure dress, waiting for him. He pushed the door open. The light cast a long shadow. Spencer’s voice was calm. “Miss Croft, are you nervous?” I swallowed hard, fingers twisting the fabric of my dress. “Um, what happens next…” He loosened his tie. “Let me be clear. I have normal physiological needs.” I was prepared for this. Newlyweds wouldn’t have a sexless marriage. Spencer was hot. Great body too. Six-foot-two, eight-pack abs, and… well… Ahem. Anyway, it wasn’t like I was losing out. The next morning, I hugged the quilt, contemplating life. Spencer wrapped his arms around me from behind. “What’s wrong, honey?” “I didn’t know I was like this.” His voice was husky with sleep. “Hmm?” I mumbled, “Sleeping with my husband on the first night… I’m so open…” He pulled me back. “We can do it the second night too.” Back then, I didn’t realize something was wrong. Maybe it was the novelty, but I was a bit addicted. After six months of being lovey-dovey with Spencer, I suddenly woke up one day. Wait. I’m not actually his wife. Chapter 4 It had been six months since the wedding. In the morning, I went to work at the Croft company. Before leaving, Spencer kissed me goodbye. “Honey, I’ll pick you up today. Don’t wander off.” I nodded. “Okay, okay.” The first time Spencer came to pick me up, I ran to a street food stall to buy tacos and chatted with the vendor, missing his calls. When I checked my phone, I saw tons of missed calls and texts. He stood out in his suit among the food stalls, hugging me tightly. He whispered in my ear, “Baby, if there’s a next time, I’ll punish you…” My ears turned red. “Shut up, shut up! No dirty talk in public!” He rubbed my head and pinched my ear. “Tell me next time. I worry when I can’t find you.” After that, Spencer picked me up regularly. I didn’t think anything of it. After work, I’d get in the car, hug him, and kiss him. We kissed for a while, but we weren’t home yet. I looked out the window. Wrong way. “Where are we going?” Spencer held the back of my head. “You’ll know soon.” Near the destination, Spencer put a blindfold on me. Five minutes later, we stopped. The blindfold was removed. The sunset bathed a garden full of red roses. It was magnificent. Behind me, someone pushed a birthday cake forward. Amidst the cheerful singing, Spencer lowered his head and kissed me. “Happy birthday, Linnea.” Ah. So that’s why he brought me here. It was Linnea Croft’s birthday. I had mixed feelings. Right. Spencer married Linnea, not me. I wasn’t his wife. Seeing I wasn’t happy, Spencer asked nervously, like a dog that did something wrong, “Don’t you like it?” I pushed down my messy thoughts and smiled at him. “I like it.” The stand-in agreement was for a year. Six months had passed. I thought I had six more months, until a month later, Mr. Croft texted me. [Found her.]

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I was mediocre, utterly tone-deaf, and entirely unqualified. I was only brought into the ensemble because they were short a body. Once inside, I discovered I was surrounded by masters. Rhett, the handsome cellist, was max level on cello, viola, and violin. Sasha, the runaway pianist, could sight-read sheet music backward. Celina, the flutist from a musical dynasty, had perfect aural recall for any composition. And me? I knew nothing. My palms were always damp with sweat. They tossed me a tuning fork and a sand shaker, telling me to just rattle it—just keep the volume down so I didn’t bother them. Before long, our little group exploded. Awards, concerts, commercial gigs—more than we could count. I happily shook my sand shaker, carefully basking in their reflected glory. Until one day, a genius musician, a recent Berklee grad, pointed at me and demanded my spot. He said my rhythm was non-existent, my timing was all wrong, and that he could actually elevate the group. He insisted he belonged on that stage. At last, the anxiety I’d been living with finally crystallized into dread. 01 The performance ended. The entire hall rose to its feet in a thunderous standing ovation. Another stellar performance. I flexed my aching hand—sore from shaking the sand shaker—and managed a wide, relieved smile. Fantastic. Another gig fee secured! My dream of saving up for a down payment was looking more and more real. I tucked the shaker away and stepped to the front of the stage as usual, joining the others for the final bow. In the front row, one young man stood out. He looked to be in his early twenties, about my age. He wore a crisp white suit, making him highly visible in the sea of dark-clad audience members. His eyes were burning, fixed on the stage. When his gaze swept over me, I suddenly shivered. I’d had that unsettling feeling all night—like someone was intensely scrutinizing me. After the final curtain, a small crowd lingered. Ever since a previous live stream showcased the band’s improvisational genius, we’d blown up online. Now, after every performance, people stayed to take photos. The guy in the white suit stood holding a piece of paper, looking agitated and waiting patiently. But the crowd kept pressing him to the back, preventing him from getting close. Mara, our band director and the oldest member, is a soft touch. With a three-year-old son at home, she can’t stand seeing a young guy getting pushed around. Without a word, she grabbed a pen and walked over to him. “I’ll sign for you first, kid. I’ll get the rest of them to come over in a minute.” Mara took the paper from him and scribbled her name. Then she waved the rest of us over. Rhett, the cellist, Sasha, the pianist, and Celina, the flutist, all peeled away from the photo-takers and added their signatures to the page. The young man’s eyes were wide with surprise, but as he watched them sign their names in bold flourishes, he seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stop them. When I stepped up, he was clutching the paper tightly, almost reluctant to let me sign. A sudden flash of curiosity hit me. I tugged the paper from his grip and saw there was writing on the back. The title was unmistakable. “A résumé?” I asked, startled. Mara came back over, scratching her head sheepishly. “Oh, shoot, sorry, kid. I thought you were here for autographs. Do you need this? I can run to the copy shop at the corner and print you a fresh one.” Anyone would be annoyed if their job application was mistaken for a blank autograph sheet, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. “No, no, it’s fine!” He quickly offered a bright, easy smile. “This was meant for you all to see, anyway!” “For us to see?” The rest of us looked confused. “A résumé? Aren’t those for looking for a job? I haven’t touched that dirty stuff in years.” Rhett, the cellist, spoke up flatly. Back in college, he’d worked as an HR assistant for a major firm, sorting personnel files until midnight. He’s hated paper ever since; all his sheet music is digital. “I think it’s tragic,” Celina chimed in, “that one piece of paper is supposed to summarize a human life.” Celina, who comes from a family of flutists, plays with a soaring tone, but her default setting is a sort of melancholy, which is why we sometimes call her our ‘Blue Sister.’ Her eyes looked suspiciously shiny, signaling a potential slide into an emotional spiral. Sasha, the pianist, quickly jumped in to cut her off. “Well, I think it’s fun. I’ve never signed a résumé before. Let me see it.” Sasha took the paper, eager to read what was written. But the thick, dark ink of everyone’s signatures had bled right through, making the text on the back illegible. Sasha gave up and started admiring the signatures. “My autograph looks great, though. If I just lift that little dot higher, it’ll be perfect!” She looked up. “Hey, kid, have you been secretly practicing your signature?” “That last stroke has definitely improved!” Sasha and Celina started playfully jabbing each other. Celina’s lips curved into a tiny smile at the compliment, the gloom instantly forgotten. The conversation had drifted completely off-topic. It seemed no one cared why the young man was there. Seeing his slightly awkward expression, I piped up, feeling sorry for him. “Excuse me, what did you bring your résumé here for?” His face brightened, finally asked the question he’d been waiting for. But his next words utterly shattered my calm. He pointed at me and said, “I want to join the group. And I want to replace him.” 02 Everyone was stunned. He introduced himself with confident urgency. “Hello, everyone. I’m Holden Vance. I just graduated from the Berklee College of Music.” His tone was earnest, as if he were mid-interview. “I was accepted early, in my junior year of high school. My résumé is full of international and domestic awards.” “I’ve been searching for a high-level ensemble to join. I found your videos online and I’m a huge admirer. Every member of this group is incredibly talented.” “Except for him!” His tone shifted violently, pointing straight at me. His righteous indignation made me flinch. The uncomfortable feeling from the stage rushed back. He had been staring at me the whole time. Holden continued, his voice rising. “I’ve watched him for a long time. His rhythm is a mess. He’s off-beat constantly.” “In the entire concert, he didn’t stick to an eight-count even once with that sand shaker.” “You are all performing seriously, and he’s the only one coasting!” Holden was getting angrier, as if I had personally defiled the sacred, beautiful image of his dream ensemble. He looked ready to swallow me whole. His words left me speechless. I instinctively shrunk back, pulling my head down a little. Because I couldn’t argue. He was completely right. I really don’t understand rhythm. On top of that, I’m tone-deaf and have zero coordination. I cowered, hiding a bit behind Sasha, afraid that if he observed me further, he’d come up with even more damning conclusions. Seeing my reaction only emboldened him. “You, all of you, are a popular and high-potential ensemble! You shouldn’t have someone like this in your ranks!” “For the future of this band, you need to replace him immediately!” Sasha frowned. “Jamie being off-beat all the time… is that really a problem?” Holden’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was an orchestra! How could a lack of rhythm not be a problem? Sasha elaborated, “We’ve known that forever. And we’ve been performing just fine, haven’t we?” Rhett, Celina, and Director Mara all nodded. They were all fully aware. They were the ones who had picked out my sand shaker in the first place. When I first joined, I knew nothing about instruments. The ensemble leader said, Don’t worry, the others are versatile. You can learn from them. I went to Rhett first. Rhett, the cellist, was Grade 10 on the violin, viola, cello, and bass. String instruments were his playthings. He handed me a three-quarter-sized violin, saying my hands were small, so I should start with the smaller one. But my fingers were too clumsy and rough. I couldn’t hit a note correctly—always a half-step too sharp or too flat. Eventually, I just snapped a string. Rhett tenderly stroked his cello and suggested I go see Sasha. Sasha had been playing the piano since she was three, had mastered thousands of pieces, and could play sheet music backward. The piano keys are fixed, so there’s no risk of going off-key. If I mastered it, Sasha and I could play a four-hand duet, which would be a great visual for the band. Sasha enthusiastically taught me piano theory. I practiced relentlessly. But I discovered I have terrible body coordination. I could only move one hand at a time. If my right hand played, my left hand would freeze. If my left hand played, my right hand would forget what to do. In the end, I warped the pedal, wore the white keys black, and still couldn’t perform a full piece. “You’re probably a piano gremlin, Jamie.” Sasha shook her head, resigned. “How about you try the flute?” Hearing I was going to try the flute, Celina actually cheered up. Her eyes lit up. She explained that she came from a flute dynasty—parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles all played the flute. She was destined to play it, too. If I could learn to play her flute, she’d have an excuse to take up a different instrument and stop being the flutist. I happily accepted the flute. It was easy to handle. The keys were fixed, the size was perfect, and I only needed to use my right hand, letting the left just steady it. But playing the flute requires long, steady breaths. Afraid of disappointing Celina with my weak lung capacity, I practiced holding my breath. Before playing, I took an enormous gasp of air. I blew into the flute with all my might. The flute shot right out of my hands and flew straight at Celina’s forehead. Thwack! Celina collapsed. When she sat up, a noticeable bump had appeared on her head. She hid her face and started to weep. “My mother always said to listen to the old ways, or you’ll have a bad end. I just didn’t think my bad end for not playing the flute would look like this…” After that, she refused to teach me anything else. She just practiced her flute quietly on the side, her melancholic aura thicker than ever. I was consumed by guilt. Finally, all hope rested on Director Mara. 03 Mara is the Big Sister of our group—the oldest and the most experienced. She’s gentle and meticulous. She keeps her long hair because her son likes to grip it when he sleeps. When she conducts, she’s so expressive her hair dramatically whips around, which is very eye-catching. She’s also a total maverick who loves to challenge conventions. She used to be into extreme sports and is always full of fresh ideas for the ensemble. When she learned the group had three certified geniuses, she was thrilled. And when she discovered that I, the fifth member, was completely useless? She was ecstatic. In her decades-long career, she’d never encountered such a unique combination, and it sparked her competitive drive. She spent a long time digging through the ensemble’s dusty prop closet and pulled out a tuning fork and a sand shaker. She tossed them to me. “You can definitely handle these two!” I caught them. The tuning fork was cool and rang with a single tap. The sand shaker was weighty and made a satisfying shhh shhh sound when I rattled it. I was overjoyed. These two instruments required almost zero brainpower—Mara knew best! I weighed my options and chose the sand shaker. “But… Jamie’s rhythm is off all the time. Will it bother you guys?” Mara asked the others. Rhett: “I have my own internal clock.” Sasha: “My score is already committed to memory.” Celina: “Don’t ask me. I’m in a state of despair. No opinion.” Mara smiled at me. “All right, Jamie. Just try to keep the sand shaker quiet so you don’t distract them.” I nodded, happily. From then on, I had my official instrument: the sand shaker. For every performance, the ensemble only brought three mics—one for the cello, one for the piano, and one for the flute. My sand shaker was never miked. That way, even if I shook it frantically, the sound wouldn’t carry far. And since they were all musical savants, my erratic noise never bothered them. I was safely established as a member of the ensemble, free to perform and bask in their glow. So, when Holden pointed out my flaws, their reaction was lukewarm. He clearly hadn’t expected this. He wouldn’t give up. “You are all so brilliant! You deserve a better musician.” “I have great rhythm and perfect pitch. I got straight A’s at Berklee. I can do more than just shake a sand shaker—I can play a dozen instruments. If I were in that spot, I promise I could bring so much more to the ensemble’s future.” “Hmm. Very impressive,” Rhett said, adjusting his glasses coolly. Then his tone changed. “But what does that have to do with me?” “My barber appointment is starting soon. I’m out.” With that, he walked off, his face expressionless, slinging his massive cello case over his shoulder. Rhett is always the ultimate cool, aloof type. He often says he never cares about anything two hours or two miles away. His motto: “Car headlights only need to illuminate fifty feet to get you through the whole journey. Why worry about all the unnecessary stuff?” Holden’s face went stiff with embarrassment. He quickly collected himself and turned to Celina. “Flutist Sister, I also play the Chinese zither and the bamboo flute. If I join the ensemble, we could perform traditional folk pieces.” Celina was still staring wistfully in the direction Rhett had left. “Every performance ends, and it’s always a separation. It’s so moving.” She turned her back and covered her face. Holden, at a complete loss, turned to Sasha. Sasha had been the most outwardly friendly to the audience. She seemed outgoing, the easiest to talk to—perhaps she was his last hope. Sasha looked at him sincerely. “Kid, you’re so talented, why don’t you start your own ensemble? Why do you have to replace Jamie?” Holden sighed. “I would, but finding a group of geniuses like you is impossible.” “Seeing someone occupy a spot when they’re clearly not qualified… it’s frustrating.” “I saw in the news that you’re planning to compete in that International Ensemble Award. They average the scores of every musician to get the final result. Having him will only drag you all down!” “I can’t bear to see your talent wasted. I’m good. If I replace him, I can guarantee you win that grand prize!” “Pianist Sister, please give me this chance?” Sasha looked conflicted. She checked her phone alarm, pretended to take a call, and quickly exited. Now, only Mara remained. Mara is our leader, the Big Sister, and the one who usually makes the final decision. My sand shaker gig was her idea, after all. If Holden got her approval, he would likely get his wish. He looked at Mara expectantly. Mara took her time. “Kid, you’re still too young.” “You could replace anyone of us, but not Jamie.” Holden looked utterly shattered. “Why?!” “You know he can’t play a note. Why are you all protecting him?” Mara paused, considering her words. “If Jamie isn’t here, then this ensemble ceases to exist.”

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I’m a simple person. A practical person. I could never be the “Vicious Second Lead” my system demanded. That’s why I was genuinely pleased when Grayson Pierce, the second male lead in this absurd little drama, asked me to marry him. It meant I would finally be free of the system’s ridiculous missions. Five years into our marriage, we were a portrait of polite domesticity. We were also roommates. Grayson had an allergy—not to me, specifically, but to women in general, or so I assumed, given he had never touched me. It was New Year’s Eve. I was busy prepping vegetables in the massive, sterile kitchen, when I overheard the staff talking. “I’d love to switch to the main house and look after her,” one maid whispered, her voice conspiratorial. “I heard the bonus is hundreds of thousands.” “That’s the heir’s golden girl, though,” the other replied. “They’ll only hire experienced baby nurses for her.” I chimed in, setting down the peeler. “Wait, seriously? That much? I’d apply for that job myself.” The two women froze, their faces draining of color as they stammered out, “Mrs. Pierce.” A long-dormant roar echoed in my mind. It was the System. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?! I am furious with you. Absolutely livid. I’m binding you to a new system.” In three days, I would activate the Heroine Power-Up System. 1 Grayson found an excuse to leave the moment dinner was served. “Emergency call with the London office,” he muttered, picking up his car keys. His father, Mr. Pierce, immediately challenged him. “I personally signed off on a company-wide holiday memo—no one is allowed to work tonight.” “Fine. A friend is having a crisis. Needs me to talk him off a ledge.” My mother-in-law, Mrs. Pierce, shot back, “Which friend? Give me the number. What kind of person doesn’t call their own mother on New Year’s Eve?” Grayson shot me a look of frantic, silent appeal. I knew the drill. “It’s my fault,” I interrupted smoothly. “I asked him to go.” My sister-in-law, Penelope, narrowed her eyes. “And what could you possibly need?” I pressed a hand to my stomach. Every eye at the table immediately swung to me. “Finally… is it true?” Five years of marriage and no pregnancy had been a constant source of anxiety for Mrs. Pierce. She secretly suspected her son had a congenital defect. “I’m starving,” I said, shattering the tension. “I want those little dumplings from the shop downtown, and they close early. I sent him to get them.” “Are you kidding me? This table is piled high with food! Sit down!” Mrs. Pierce was indignant. But Grayson didn’t sit down. He took advantage of the chaos, bolted out the door, and didn’t look back. The roar of his imported sports car outside was deafening. I let out a slow, quiet breath of relief. That was worth at least ten grand of my annual allowance. “He wouldn’t be going to see your sister, would he?” Penelope’s voice was laced with suspicion. The “sister” she referred to was Lila Vance, the girl my parents adopted, and the official heroine of this story. Lila was the ultimate package: the sweet-faced, well-educated darling, fluent in five languages, an accomplished artist, and blessed with the requisite, world-stopping beauty. The moment I, the biological daughter, was brought home, I knew I was just filler—a plot device. But the System insisted I bind to the Vicious Second Lead module. I’m a simple person. I couldn’t do it. The System ordered me to push Lila down the stairs. Before I could even raise a hand, I tripped over my own feet, tumbled down the staircase, and broke my leg. Before I could even cry, Lila was already weeping torrents of sympathetic tears. Everyone assumed I’d tried to push her and failed miserably. They blamed me. But the System was the only one who didn’t buy it. It would administer an electric shock every time I failed a “vicious” mission. The past was truly exhausting. I quietly stood up to wait on my mother-in-law, pouring her water. “Don’t get upset, Mom. Getting angry only hurts yourself.” Mrs. Pierce glared at me. “On a holiday, Cassidy, maybe just keep your mouth shut.” I obediently closed my lips. Suddenly, I heard a ping in my mind, a sound I hadn’t heard in five years. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Ping—System online!” “Host, five years, and you are still so stup—id. I can’t take it anymore!” I immediately apologized in my mind. “Please, I really don’t want to be the Vicious Second Lead.” The System went quiet for a long time. Long enough for me to sit down and finish a whole section of the New England lobster platter. “Fine. This time, I’m giving you the Heroine Power-Up System.” “Will it let me eat well, drink well, and play well?” “Yes. And sleep well, too.” 2 The System informed me it would need three days. The Main God system required multi-layer approval. “No problem,” I replied. “Take your time. You’re the professional.” The System flashed a hot red. “Can you please be a little more assertive?” I was lying down on my comfortable, three-meter bed. The slick silk sheets were perfectly smoothed by the maids, without a single wrinkle. “I’m quite comfortable with my life right now.” “Host! You are hopeless! Your husband ran off to see his golden girl on New Year’s Eve, the same girl who stole your parents and your fiancé. And you’re perfectly calm?” I padded barefoot across the plush carpet. Chewie, my little golden retriever, whined, rubbing against my leg, following me into what had once been a small reception room, now my personal study. I picked up a heavy tome and opened it randomly. “The life I have now is more than I ever dreamed of back then,” I said. “I’m perfectly satisfied.” And I truly was. Grayson didn’t love me, but the money was guaranteed. The Pierces didn’t like me, but the money was guaranteed. My ex-fiancé, now my brother-in-law, didn’t like me, but he paid me off. The money was guaranteed. My parents thought I was a bad seed who tormented their adopted daughter, but I still held stock shares and received dividends. The money was guaranteed. “System, I’m just a simple person.” “Unacceptable. You wait. Your power is coming soon.” 3 Grayson didn’t return all night. New Year’s Day was the family’s annual pilgrimage to the Ancestral Temple. At 5:00 AM, still dark out, Mrs. Pierce woke me and ordered me to find him immediately. “Otherwise, don’t think about showing your face at the Temple!” I didn’t bother to remind her that in five years, I had never once been invited to the Temple. By 6:00 AM, I was waiting outside Lila Vance’s house, having a thorough conversation with the security guards. Through my persistent efforts, Brendan Sterling, my ex-fiancé, finally stumbled out the front door, looking disheveled. “When Grayson married you, you promised you’d stop making trouble,” Brendan said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s the drama now? Lila was upset all night and just finally got to sleep.” Brendan’s gaze softened slightly. “It’s New Year’s Day. Why aren’t you with the Pierces? Are you… are you remembering our old promise?” I vaguely recalled him promising that if I didn’t want to spend New Year’s Day with the Vances, he would take me to see the ocean and the sunrise. But honestly, I’d never held onto that promise. I shook my head. “What promise? No idea. I’m just here to deliver a message to Grayson. His mother wants him home for a meal.” Brendan looked stunned. “That’s it? You waited at my gate for two hours just for that?” I put down the book I’d been reading, realizing the sky was fully bright now. “Yep. Brother-in-law, can you pass the message along? I won’t go inside. I wouldn’t want Lila to catch a whiff of my presence and have a respiratory episode.” Lila had a chronic condition: she claimed to be allergic to me. Since she refused to take allergy medication, there was little I could do. I rolled down the window and told the driver to pull out. I had completed the mother-in-law’s mission. The heat in the car was starting to feel oppressive. But the driver didn’t move. He never listened to me. Five minutes later, Grayson rushed out in a pair of sweatpants, yanking the car door open. “Let’s go. Don’t wake Lila.” I politely inquired about Lila’s health. He immediately tensed. “You said the System would be gone after we got married. What are you planning to do to Lila now?” They always saw me this way, and I found it exhausting. If Lila hit a wrong note on the piano, it was because I had sneezed. I got it. She was the destined heroine. I sighed and picked up my book again. “I told you, I’m a simple person. I’m not doing anything.” 4 Once they had all left for the Temple, I was home playing the “carrot and tissue” game with Chewie. My dog always ignored the carrot and tried to steal the beef jerky I held in my hand. As the sun began to set, a flurry of people rushed into the house. I offered to take their coats and fetch them hot tea and biscuits. “We’re taking your dog,” Grayson announced. “Lila wants him for a few days. She says her house feels dull.” I tensed, holding Chewie tighter. “No.” Grayson tried to pry my hands open. “Let go. It’s just for a few days. What are you afraid of? You think I’ll eat him?” “You can take me over to keep her company, but you cannot take my dog!” Lila had already stewed the turtle I’d raised, butchered the rabbit I’d bottle-fed, and killed my bird, Gugu. I said seriously, “You won’t eat him. But Lila will.” Grayson signaled someone to bind my hands while he forcefully took Chewie from my embrace. “You killed Lila’s turtle, let her parrot go, and cooked her rabbit. And she never said a single bad word about you. Now she asks to borrow your dog, and you throw a fit? You should be taking this up with your System. You’re the Vicious Second Lead, the bad seed.” “Why won’t you believe me? I am just a simple person.” Grayson glared at me with disgust. “Lila is pregnant. For the sake of her child, I’m letting this go. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be so easy on you. I thought these five years would have taught you a lesson.” I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around Grayson’s leg. “I’m begging you for one thing. Don’t take Chewie.” He pried my fingers apart. My hands had lost their strength, having been broken three separate times. The fight was over. I lowered my head. “My allowance for the month, and the fee for helping you run off on New Year’s Eve. Settle it now.” Grayson muttered a curse and transferred a check for a hundred thousand dollars to my account. “You will bring Chewie home, or I will not let this go.” Chewie whimpered at me as he was carried out. Once they left, Grayson locked me in the house. I immediately divided the money among several orphanages and remote education funds, a small New Year’s gift for the kids. Then I pulled out the dense book I hadn’t finished. “See, System?” I said to myself. “My life is actually quite comfortable.” 5 My childhood wasn’t comfortable. I grew up deep in the mountains. I had three older sisters and one younger brother. A classic, poor family structure. My sisters were married off young for dowry money. The chores all fell to me, and my parents’ only outlet for frustration was me. I desperately wanted to go to school, but I had neither the time nor the money. I barely scraped by until I was eighteen, covered in bruises and scars. Luckily, the Vances found me before I was married off. That was the first time I ever left the mountains. “So, System, they’ve at least given me money now. What could I possibly have to complain about?” I finished a compressed food bar and fell asleep in the rocking chair. When I woke up again, Grayson was lightly slapping my face. “Lila is here to see you.” I blinked sleepily and smelled the distinct aroma of cooked meat. I shot up, my forehead cracking against Grayson’s chin. He yelped in pain. “Chewie! Where is Chewie!” Grayson rubbed his jaw, annoyed. “The dog is with Lila. What’s wrong with you?” Lila approached, holding a steaming bowl of food. “Cassidy, I saw you hadn’t eaten all day. I brought you some late-night stew.” I lunged, grabbing the bowl and frantically sifting through the meat chunks with my bare hands. I didn’t stop until I saw a few unmistakable strands of golden fur. “You killed him! Give me back my Chewie!” Grayson wrapped his arms around my waist and restrained me. “Are you out of your mind? I personally watched the cook make that lamb stew! Lila was right—you’re still the same crazy person you were five years ago.” Lila stood at a distance, laughing softly. She mouthed a word at me: Idiot. I collapsed onto the floor. “Chewie is okay. That’s all that matters.” “It’s just a dog! If he was stewed, he was stewed. Don’t you dare glare at Lila! If you scare her, you don’t have enough lives to pay for the baby in her belly!” “Lila, let’s go. This crazy woman isn’t worth your time.” Lila hooked her arm through Grayson’s and they walked away. “System, now that I have the Heroine System, will Chewie come back to me?” “Absolutely!” 6 On New Year’s Day, the Pierces were waiting in the grand hall for distant relatives to visit. Mr. Pierce, in a traditional suit, was enthroned in the center, leaning on his elaborate cane. I was “rewarded” with a bright red dress and stood near the back, serving as background décor. Grayson sat dutifully next to his father, trying to sweet-talk him. “Dad, you promised me two condos in the downtown building. Why haven’t the deeds been transferred? Lila has been asking for a place to store her clothes.” Mr. Pierce threatened to strike him with his cane. “Once your wife gives me a grandchild, then you can go back to spoiling your mistress. Until then, I won’t interfere.” But his father still had a soft spot for Lila, the girl he’d watched grow up, and eventually agreed to transfer the properties. When all the guests had arrived, Mrs. Pierce pointed at me and ordered me to play the piano for entertainment. I looked at my hands, the fingers that had been broken three times, and silently sat down at the grand piano. “That’s awful,” a distant aunt whispered. “Isn’t she Lila’s sister? Lila plays so beautifully.” Mrs. Pierce shot me a disgusted look. “Exactly. And she can’t even hold a pregnancy.” At that moment, Grayson’s young cousin ran up to me, asking where Chewie was. Before I could answer, Lila appeared. She cupped her hands over her stomach and smiled sweetly. “He’s in her belly, silly.” The child screamed and burst into tears. The adults swarmed around, accusing me of terrifying the boy. I kept quiet; I knew that if I opened my mouth, they would only double down on their accusations. I quietly tried to sit down, but Mrs. Pierce pointed toward the kitchen, demanding I go help out. I sighed. The kitchen was fine. It was quiet. Grayson grabbed my arm. “With all these relatives here, where do you think you’re running off to be lazy?” Grayson’s younger male cousin darted out and started snapping photos of me on his phone. “I’m putting this online! Let everyone see this high-society wife, ha ha ha, who behaves like this.” Grayson snatched the phone and slammed it to the ground. “Stop taking pictures! That’s your sister-in-law!” The small child was crying, the older one was shouting, and the supposedly pregnant woman was clutching her stomach. The room descended into chaos. I bent down to pick up the expensive camera, thinking it was a shame to waste such a good item. The cousin stomped on it. At that moment, the System announced: “Host! Your system has been approved!” The front doors of the hall burst open, and bright winter sun streamed in. “My child! You’ve suffered so much. We finally found you!”

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When I was young, I met someone who took my breath away. He was the golden boy, the son of a major shareholder. I was the scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks. On Liam’s birthday, his limited-edition sneakers went missing. Everyone decided I stole them. Even Liam looked at me with disdain. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch things that aren’t yours?” He didn’t know I didn’t have a mother. My father was “invited” to the school and humiliated in front of everyone. I was forced to drop out. Years later, I heard… The high-and-mighty Mr. Liam Vance had been looking for me for eleven years. Chapter 1 Everyone was convinced I stole Liam’s sneakers. They tore through my backpack. They even pried open my locker. “You guys are going too far!” Josh pulled a gift box out of my locker. “Still denying it? What’s this if not Liam’s shoes?” “Thief! Disgusting!” Even Liam looked at me with pure disgust. They were certain the box contained the stolen shoes. “That’s not…” Josh had already ripped the box open. Inside was a modest, off-brand wallet. Amidst the pile of luxury gifts Liam had received, it looked pathetic. “Whoa, don’t tell me this is your gift for Liam?” The whole room erupted in laughter. They looked at me like I was a joke. “No… it’s not.” Josh acted like he’d found a smoking gun. He picked up the birthday card and read it aloud. “To Liam, Happy Birthday. A small gift, hope you don’t mind.” “Hahahaha!” Josh clutched his stomach, laughing. Liam’s face grew darker. The look in his eyes turned from suspicion to repulsion. “Tara, you have the nerve to give this trash to Liam? This piece of junk isn’t even fit to wipe his shoes. So cheap… why even bother?” They didn’t know. I had saved up my lunch money for months to buy that wallet. Liam looked at the wallet like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. He walked up to me, cool and detached. “You trashing it, or am I?” I snatched the wallet back, ran a few steps, and threw it into the trash can myself. Along with the torn card. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liam wiping his hand, the one that had touched the wallet, over and over again. I wanted to escape this farce. But Liam stopped me. “Tara, where are my sneakers?” “I really didn’t take them.” His gaze suddenly turned cold, filled with displeasure. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch things that aren’t yours?” My eyes instantly went red. They didn’t know. I really didn’t have a mother. But I didn’t take his stuff. “The thief is getting emotional? Liam, don’t waste your time. She really is motherless and uneducated. No one taught her the rules.” Liam’s cousin, Chloe, looked at me arrogantly. Her gaze mirrored Liam’s perfectly. “Selling those shoes would feed you and your dad for three years. If it wasn’t you, who else could it be?” “You searched everything. You looked everywhere. Why won’t you believe me?” Liam led his entourage out, carrying his gifts. On the last trip, he “accidentally” bumped into me. I expected an apology. Instead, he said, “How much is the word of a charity case worth, anyway?” Chapter 2 That’s when I knew. It wasn’t an accident. He bumped into me on purpose. None of them showed up for afternoon classes. The hallway was chaotic. People in the front row kept glancing back at me. I kept my head down, taking notes, until I heard my father’s voice from outside. “I’m… I’m sorry…” “Sorry…” “Dad…” I dropped my pen and ran out the back door. In the hallway, a group of them had surrounded my dad. Josh, specifically, tripped him. My dad just smiled apologetically, saying sorry over and over. “Dad!” Chloe grabbed me tight. She wouldn’t let me pass. The takeout box in Josh’s hand was dumped on the floor. It was the lunch my dad had brought for me. Sweet and sour pork. My favorite. Josh crouched down, feigning apology. “Oops, Uncle, my bad. Butterfingers!” “It’s… it’s okay…” “Hey, Uncle, is this food… good?” “Good, it’s good.” Josh smirked maliciously. “If it’s good, why aren’t you eating it?” My dad looked up. Liam was standing there, watching the show. The students around them jeered with fake enthusiasm. “Uncle, don’t tell me you’re picky?” “Uncle, we’re all Tara’s classmates. We’ve never seen anyone eat off the floor. Uncle, you wouldn’t deny us the show, right?” Under their aggressive taunts… My dad smiled and reached for the food on the ground. He laughed as he ate. Liam “accidentally” stepped on the food. But I knew. He did it on purpose. My dad grabbed the dirt-stained rice and put it in his mouth. I was sobbing uncontrollably. My arms were bruising from being held back. “Liam, I’m telling the Dean!” Liam paused slightly, but the others just laughed. “Hahaha! Don’t you know Liam’s dad is on the Board of Directors?” I knew. But I didn’t believe the school would cover for him like this. This was a prestigious state university, after all. I pulled my dad up. He couldn’t bear to leave the last two pieces of pork, stuffing them into his mouth. He smiled at me. “It’s okay. Food isn’t dirty just because it touched the ground.” “Dad…” We went to the Dean’s office. Liam sat in the Dean’s chair without a care in the world. He had his legs crossed, playing a game on his phone. The Dean smiled and offered Liam a blanket. But when he looked at me and my dad, his eyes were cold as ice. “Tara, apologize to Liam.” “Dean! You haven’t even heard what happened. Why should I apologize?” The Dean looked stern. “Don’t forget, you’re a scholarship student, a special admission. If you want to stay here, apologize to Liam.” “Dean, he falsely accused me of stealing and bullied my father, he…” The Dean’s voice rose sharply. “Did I stutter?” I wanted to argue. But my dad pulled my arm. “Apologize. We apologize.” “Dad, why should we apologize! They should be the ones apologizing!” Chloe stood there, arms crossed, sneering. “First, get one thing straight. This school might as well be named Vance! One word from my cousin, and you’re done here.” Chloe looked me up and down. “Someone as poor as you, getting a special spot here… you should learn to keep your head down.” Chapter 3 “But I didn’t do anything wrong.” I said it firmly. Liam, still playing his game, glanced at me. “Your mistake is having a useless father.” Slap! I rushed over and slapped Liam across the face. He was stunned. Everyone in the office was stunned. “Tara, do you know what you just did?!” “Tara, are you crazy!” Chloe moved to hit me, but my dad pulled me behind him. The slap landed squarely on my dad’s face. “No mother, no manners. Is this how you were raised?” “Dad!” My dad held my hand down, shaking his head frantically. Liam stood up from the chair. The Dean was panicking, looking at me helplessly. “You two… kneel and apologize to Liam!” I was shaking with rage, but my dad put on that ingratiating smile again. “Kneel. I’ll kneel.” I pulled at my dad, trying to get him up. “Dad, I’m quitting. I’m not staying here.” “Don’t talk nonsense.” I looked helplessly at Liam. He was unmoved. I knew he was tacitly accepting this. My dad had a bad leg. When he knelt, he fell awkwardly to the floor. Everyone laughed. My dad rubbed his leg, looking up with a smile. “Uncle, that kowtow wasn’t very loud, was it? Did you eat too much just now?” My dad looked back at me with tears in his eyes. He shook his head at me, pleading. Then, he steeled himself. The sound of his head hitting the floor got louder. Crack! The tile cracked. Small stone shards dug into my dad’s forehead. His forehead turned red, blood seeping out. But facing Liam, my dad kept that fawning smile. “Mr. Liam, it was my Tara’s fault.” Liam finally lifted his eyelids. His look seemed to say: See? You were wrong. Yes, I was wrong. From the beginning, I shouldn’t have messed with Liam. I should have stayed far away from him. I shouldn’t have tried so hard to get into the honors class. When I helped my dad out, he couldn’t even walk straight. We sat on the steps outside the building. I used half a pack of tissues to wipe the blood. “It’s okay. Just… study hard. Stay in school.” “My daughter is the best student of the year.” “There’s still some pork left at home. We’ll eat it tonight.” I nodded, choking back tears. “Okay…” As I helped my dad walk away, a commotion started behind us. “Liam! The… the sneakers…” Josh looked at me. He didn’t finish his sentence. I didn’t care to know. That night, my dad developed a fever. I carried him to several hospitals. Only one was willing to take him. But we faced a massive surgery bill. In that moment, I felt the sky collapse. The next day, I went to school and withdrew. I worked two jobs to pay for my dad’s treatment. The doctor said he had a brain tumor. The violent impact had worsened his condition. I worked for three years. My hands were covered in chilblains, but I kept going. But my dad couldn’t hold on. That year, I lost my father forever. I didn’t see Liam again until eight years later, at a company party. It was supposed to be a standard corporate dinner. But Liam and Chloe were there. Chapter 4 My boss was fawning over Liam, clinking glasses. Liam’s gaze drifted toward me occasionally. Colleagues around me whispered. “I heard those two are the main investors for the Carey Project. Didn’t expect them to be so young.” “The boss is obsessed with the Carey Project. If we don’t land this tonight, we’re all screwed.” “More than that. Whoever lands this gets a 30% commission!” I felt uncomfortable being there. Thinking about the past with Liam made me sick. But of course, they brought it up. “I didn’t expect Mr. Lee’s company to hire people with such low education. That person… didn’t even finish college, right?” Chloe didn’t speak loudly, but the people over there heard it clearly. Everyone turned to look at me. “Ms. Vance is right. She… was a good student, but unfortunately family issues…” “I know. She was classmates with me and Liam.” Everyone looked at me with envy. They assumed that 30% commission was mine. They didn’t know Liam and I disgusted each other. “Really! Tara, why didn’t you say anything? Go toast Mr. Vance!” Colleagues urged me on, jealous. “Tara, go! Don’t miss this chance.” “Yeah, if you land this, you’re rich!” The boss’s secretary even shoved a wine glass into my hand. “Tara, they’re calling you.” I gripped the glass but couldn’t take a step. Liam’s stare was making my skin crawl. I placed the glass on the table. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” Ignoring my boss’s glare, I rushed out. I stayed in the bathroom for twenty minutes to calm down. When I finally composed myself and walked out, I found Liam leaning against the wall outside. His dark eyes seemed to drill holes into me. “Long time no see.” “Mhm.” I tried to walk past him to the private room. His hand clamped onto my wrist. “I found the sneakers back then.” I looked at him, saying nothing. Trying to see the boy from eleven years ago through this man. “I was wrong. My bad.” I smiled bitterly and shook off his hand. “Mr. Vance, you still stand so high above everyone. My dad smashed his head open, and all it’s worth is a ‘my bad’? You can’t even say the words ‘I’m sorry’?” Liam fell silent. I washed my hands and went back to the room. The moment I entered, my boss started screaming. “Tara! Do you want this job or not! Is toasting Mr. Vance going to kill you? Out of everyone here, you’re the only one with a connection. What, you too good for it?” “I’m telling you, Tara, if the Carey Project falls through, it’s on you!” “You dare walk out on Mr. Vance? Did you see his face? Even I have to smile and beg! Who do you think you are?” In the room, no one dared to breathe. I sat down calmly. Accepting the criticism. He thought of something and raised his voice. “Don’t forget who paid for your dad’s treatment back then!”

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I was scrolling through Reddit late one night when I stumbled upon a disturbing thread on r/AskReddit. [Serious] What is the most effective way to drive someone legally insane? The top-voted comment was chilling in its simplicity: > “Repeat the exact same routine as the day before. Wear the same clothes, say the same lines. If they notice, gaslight them. Tell them they are remembering it wrong.” When I opened my eyes the next morning, my husband was buttoning his shirt. It was a charcoal pinstripe suit he rarely wore. “You’re up,” he said, checking his watch. “Big all-hands meeting today. I need to head in early.” My ears began to ring. He wore that exact suit yesterday. He said those exact words yesterday. 1 David finished dressing and walked out of the bedroom. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. Stop overthinking, Emily, I told myself. You were just doom-scrolling too late last night. I washed up and went to the kitchen. My mother-in-law, Barbara, placed breakfast on the island counter and waved at me with a bright smile. “Eat up, honey. Oatmeal with blueberries and scrambled eggs today.” It was the exact same breakfast as yesterday. Is this a coincidence? Suppresing my unease, I sat down and started eating. Barbara handed a packed lunch bag to David. “David, don’t forget to pick up my heating pad from CVS on your way home.” My head snapped up. “Didn’t he buy that yesterday?” Barbara turned around, looking confused. “No? You must be remembering it wrong, dear.” David muttered a quick agreement, grabbed our daughter, Lily, and rushed out the door for school drop-off. I put down my spoon. “Mom, I remember clearly. You asked David for the heating pad yesterday. The gray one with the auto-shutoff.” Barbara stared at me for a long moment, then shook her head with a pitying look. “Emily, you’re definitely confused.” “I’ll prove it.” I walked into Barbara’s room and threw open her closet. Nothing. No heating pad. Did he really not buy it yesterday? “Emily, I’m going for my morning walk. Clean up the kitchen when you’re done,” Barbara called out. The front door slammed shut. I was alone. I walked back to the dining table. At Barbara’s spot, a glass of water sat half-full. A fork lay on the floor. A spoon balanced precariously on the edge of her plate. Yesterday, I saw that spoon wobbling. I had reached out and moved it to stop it from falling. Clatter. The spoon fell to the floor. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pulled out my phone and tried to find that Reddit thread from last night. 2 The thread was still there. New comments had rolled in. > This isn’t realistic. You can’t replicate an entire day. > Yeah, people encounter too many random variables. They’d notice. > OP, can you give an example? I scrolled down. The original commenter had replied. > You don’t need to replicate everything. You just need specific ‘anchors.’ Unease and panic will do the rest of the work. Wear the same outfit. Say a specific phrase. Drop an object at the same time. Once the target recognizes the pattern, their brain will break trying to rationalize it. The events of the morning weren’t just coincidences. They were anchors. Did David see this post? Is he trying to break me? But… why? David and I have been together since college. We built a startup together, sold it, and started a new venture. We were successful. After Lily was born, I stepped back to manage the household while David ran the company. For six years, he had been the model husband and father. He always said, “A happy home is my shield.” What motive could he possibly have? An affair? We have a prenup; he could just ask for a divorce. Custody? Lily prefers him anyway; she’d likely choose him in court. The company? He’s the majority shareholder. I’m no threat. There was no logical reason to drive me insane. I must be losing it, I thought, laughing nervously. But that night, David came home with a new heating pad. They had the exact same conversation as the night before. Barbara watched the exact same episode of Wheel of Fortune. David played “Rock, Paper, Scissors” with Lily. Best two out of three. David won. Again. I felt sick, but I swallowed the fear. It’s just a routine. People have routines. The next morning, I opened my eyes. David was buttoning the charcoal pinstripe suit. “You’re up,” he said. “Big all-hands meeting today. I need to head in early.” I sat up, cold sweat drenching my back. David never wore the same suit three days in a row. “David,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’ve worn that suit for two days. You’re wearing it again?” 3 “You’re remembering it wrong, Em. This is the first time I’ve worn it this week.” He answered casually, not breaking his rhythm, and walked out. I jumped out of bed. Breakfast: Oatmeal with blueberries. Scrambled eggs. The request: “Don’t forget the heating pad.” It was a carbon copy of yesterday. And the day before. I swallowed hard. “Mom… can we have pancakes tomorrow?” Barbara frowned. “I make something different every day, Emily. Why are you so picky? Sit down and eat.” I stiffened, then turned and ran back to the bedroom. “I’m going for my walk,” Barbara yelled. The door slammed. One minute later… Clatter. The spoon hit the floor. With every predictable sound, my sanity fractured a little more. I grabbed my phone to check the Reddit user. I couldn’t find the post. It was deleted. But I followed the user. I clicked their profile. The account still existed. I forced myself to calm down. They were gaslighting me. I knew it. But why? I tore the house apart looking for clues. Lipstick on collars? Receipts? Burner phones? Nothing. I felt like the crazy wife in a Lifetime movie. I needed air. I put on my coat and stepped outside. My neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was walking his Golden Retriever. “Morning, Emily! Don’t worry, Buster doesn’t bite.” I nodded mutely and followed him into the elevator. In the reflection of the elevator doors, I saw him grip the leash tightly with both hands. Just like yesterday. Buzz. My blood turned to ice. For the next three days, every time I left the house, Mr. Henderson was there. “Buster doesn’t bite.” The grip on the leash. Was it a coincidence? Or did David pay him off? I spent the days wandering the city, lurking near David’s office. I found nothing. I took a deep breath before entering my house. Ignore it, I told myself. If you react, you lose. 4 Day four. Day five. Day six. For two weeks, David wore the pinstripe suit. We ate oatmeal and eggs. He bought a heating pad every single night. I tried screaming at them. I flipped the dining table. I threw the suit in the trash. The next morning, the table was upright, the suit was back, and the loop reset. Even Lily looked at me with wide, fearful eyes. “Mommy, you’re scaring me.” I tried staying awake all night to catch them resetting the stage. I couldn’t. Every night, a heavy drowsiness would take me, and I’d pass out. I was reaching my breaking point. I needed an anchor of my own. I called Sarah. Sarah used to be my assistant. Now she was the HR Director at our company. She was my closest friend. I was the one who promoted her. We met at a coffee shop near the office. Sarah looked polished and professional. But when she saw me, her brow furrowed. “Emily… you look… exhausted. Are you okay?” I grabbed her hand like a lifeline and spilled everything. The suit. The oatmeal. The spoon. Sarah listened, her expression shifting from concern to bewilderment. “Emily,” she said gently. “Is it possible… you’re under too much stress?” “What do you mean?” “I see David every day. He hasn’t worn the same suit for two weeks. That would be insane. Look.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the company’s Instagram feed. Photos from meetings over the last two weeks. David was wearing a navy suit. A grey blazer. A polo shirt. Never the pinstripe. My ears rang. I slumped back into my chair. Am I the problem? Maybe the Reddit thread never existed. Maybe I hallucinated it to justify my mental break. I felt small. Broken. A waiter brought our coffees. Sarah took a sip and frowned. “This is soy milk. I asked for oat. I’ll be right back.” She stood up and walked to the counter. I stared at her back. Sarah had beautiful, long wavy hair that cascaded down her back. It was distinctive. Wait. I pulled out my phone. I went to the Reddit user’s profile. The profile picture was a woman from behind. I held my phone up, comparing the photo to Sarah standing at the counter. My heart stopped. It was her. The pieces slammed into place. “Emily? You okay?” Sarah was back. She looked at me with deep concern. The concern you show a lunatic. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “How’s the family, Sarah?” A flash of panic darted through her eyes before she masked it with a smile. “Good! Just me and my cat. Single life, you know?” She was lying. I knew she was lying. And that lie was the key to everything. I left the coffee shop and drove straight to the one place that would confirm my theory. When I got home that night, the loop continued. Barbara watched TV. David played the game with Lily. But this time, I didn’t feel fear. I felt a cold, sharp rage. David looked at me. “Honey, you’re shaking. I’m making an appointment with a psychiatrist for tomorrow. For your own good.” So this was the endgame. I nodded. “Okay.”

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The Stone family fortune had finally imploded. I wore the soaked, silk dress as armor and bait, going to tempt Kellan Blackwood. I smiled like a fox, my foot hooking the cuff of his bespoke trousers. “Mr. Blackwood, do you need anything… tuned up?” He pushed his glasses up, but didn’t touch me. He simply pushed open a discreet door, pointing to a wall of tightly clustered photographs. “Vesper. My sweet, wild thing. You finally walked into the cage.” … The rain fell with a grim, finality, sounding like a death knell for the Stone legacy. I stood in the hushed reception room, completely drenched, the expensive silk clinging to my skin. I glanced at my reflection in the glass: battered, yes, but the figure underneath was still lethal. I knew I tasted better than the impeccably covered, perfectly respectable women who orbited Kellan Blackwood. Just three hours earlier, my family’s empire had collapsed. The only life raft I had was a crumpled business card bearing the name: Kellan Blackwood. The heir to the Blackwood dynasty—the man who fingered his Tibetan prayer beads and smiled while he devoured his enemies whole. The door clicked open with a soft, ominous ding. The lights were off in the high-end horology atelier, save for a single desk lamp. Kellan sat in the pool of light, his bespoke shirt buttoned tight against a throat you wanted to claw open. He wore glasses and held a pair of tweezers, repairing a watch. The look was so severely ascetic, so intensely forbidden, it made me want to tear his composure to shreds. He didn’t spare me a glance: “We’re closed.” I flipped the deadbolt. Click-clack. The sound, in the suffocating silence of the rainy night, felt like a private invitation. I walked toward him, deliberately allowing a trail of water from my skirt to drip onto his antique marble desk. “Mr. Blackwood.” I placed my slender, pale wrist right in his line of sight. “The watch is fine. But I’m broken. Can you fix me, Mr. Blackwood?” Kellan stopped. He slowly removed the jeweler’s loupe. His eyes, dark and frighteningly empty of any recognizable human emotion, fixed on me. He looked at me the way an engineer looks at a pile of salvaged scrap metal. His gaze traveled down my body, stopping at my wet ankles. The cold air conditioning was too much. I shivered, goosebumps rising. “Cold?” My eyes instantly welled up. I bit my lip. “Freezing.” I climbed onto the desk. Crash! The priceless gears and microscopic springs he’d been working on were swept into the trash bin by my thighs. I met his gaze, my damp foot hooking the fine fabric of his trousers, inching upward, leaving a slick, accusing watermark. “Kellan Blackwood, turn the AC off. I’m cold.” He didn’t move. He simply watched my rebellious foot, and I swore his dark eyes tightened slightly. The next second, he tossed the tweezers and his tailored suit jacket came flying, enveloping me completely. The scent of cedar and fine leather, underscored by the metallic tang of watch oil—pure, intoxicating masculine power. He called me by my full name, his voice guttural and low: “Vesper Stone.” “The Stones are dust. And you still have the audacity to be this feral?” I poked my head out of the jacket, my finger tracing slow, lazy circles on his palm. I smiled like the predator I was pretending to be. “If I don’t act feral, how will I scare off the queue of women desperate to crawl into your bed? You have high standards, Mr. Blackwood. The obedient ones bore you.” Kellan smiled—a chilling curve of the lips. His rough thumb rubbed against my lower lip, pressing hard, as if trying to scrub away the veneer of my composure. He leaned in close. “Fine.” “Since you’ve delivered yourself to the slaughterhouse, don’t expect to walk out clean.” Kellan kept me, but he didn’t touch me. He threw me into a guest room, treating me like a prized but disposable possession—fed, clothed, and utterly ignored. He never crossed the threshold of my door. I knew his game: he was trying to starve the hawk. He expected me to cave under the loneliness and crawl into his bed, begging for attention. Dream on. The Stone legacy was broken, but Vesper Stone’s spine was still intact. A week later, I was at the City Ballet, the principal dancer, the one and only Swan Queen. But there was always a common wren trying to steal the spotlight. Charlotte Holloway, Kellan’s supposed “Golden Girl”—the Legacy Circle’s ideal wife, the woman who perfected the art of demure performance—walked into the rehearsal hall. She was his patron saint, and inherently, my antithesis. She had come on Kellan’s behalf. She wore a pristine white Chanel suit, carrying a cup of designer coffee as she approached me, her face a mask of strained sympathy. “Vesper, I heard about your father. My deepest condolences.” I ignored her, continuing my stretches. “Are the security guards dead? What riff-raff are they letting in here?” Charlotte’s smile faltered, then snapped back into place. “I was just dropping off some documents for Kellan, and thought I’d check in.” She held out the coffee. “It’s a fresh brew, Vesper. You look exhausted.” I eyed the cup. “Is that… a drive-thru refill? Charlotte, the Stones may be broke, but my palate hasn’t filed for bankruptcy yet.” Charlotte’s hand froze mid-air, mortification written all over her face. “It’s artisanal, single-origin…” I waved my hand dismissively. “I don’t care if it was hand-ground by a monk in Tibet. I won’t drink it.” “And tell me, Charlotte, did you bathe in that? It smells like desperation mixed with duty. It’s cloying, Char. It’s loud.” The air solidified. Charlotte’s eyes instantly glassed over, and she bit her lip, looking utterly persecuted. “Vesper, I know you’re hurting. I don’t blame you for lashing out…” Just then, the sound of measured footsteps arrived at the doorway. Kellan Blackwood, surrounded by his executive entourage, had arrived. Charlotte looked saved. She rushed toward him. “Kellan.” Her voice was soft, laced with a wounded tremor. “I was only trying to be kind, offering Vesper coffee, but she…” Tears pooled in her eyes before she could finish the sentence. She looked so carefully victimized, as if I hadn’t just insulted her taste in caffeine and fragrance, but had physically struck her. The entire room went silent. Everyone was waiting for the show: Kellan punishing the reckless troublemaker (me) for his perfectly compliant childhood sweetheart (her). Kellan glanced at the coffee cup, his brow furrowing slightly. Charlotte thought he was about to erupt and rushed to cover for me, feigning generosity. “Kellan, don’t be hard on Vesper. She’s just…” “Who let you in?” Charlotte froze. Kellan took a slight step back, his expression pure disgust. “This room lacks proper ventilation. And the… scent… is indeed overwhelming.” Charlotte’s face went chalk white. Kellan walked past her without a glance and stopped in front of me. I was sitting on the floor and looked up at him, defiant. “Kellan, your toxic runoff is loud. Can you throw it out?” He looked down at me, then unexpectedly bent, lifting his hand to gently wipe the sweat from my forehead—a gesture so tender it seemed impossible. “Was it disturbing you?” I leaned into his leg, complaining softly. “Yes. My head hurts, my feet hurt. Everything hurts.” He scooped me up in one swift motion, carrying me bridal style. “Then practice is over.” “Clear the room.” As he passed Charlotte, he delivered a chilling epitaph: “From now on, no unauthorized personnel are allowed in here.” “Especially those bringing a strong odor.” Charlotte stood rooted to the spot. Her coffee cup slipped from her fingers, shattering on the ground, staining her white suit. She stood there, a ruined monument to propriety. I nestled into Kellan’s chest and gave her a slow, wicked smile. Charlotte, you lost. Being good and compliant gets you nowhere. Only the favored get to be tempestuous. Once in the car, Kellan didn’t take me back to the villa. He drove to his private archive, his forbidden sanctuary—the place that held his most valuable treasures and his deepest madness. I watched his profile. “Kellan.” “I want a tattoo.” His hand, which was flipping through a file, paused. “Of what?” I climbed onto his lap, my fingers tracing the hard line of his throat. “Your name.” “Tattooed… somewhere only you are allowed to see.” Kellan tossed the file, removing his glasses. His eyes were dark and deep as an abyss. “A name is too simple.” He gripped the back of my neck like a handler holding a cat’s scruff. “We’ll ink a sigil.” “A sigil for what?” “An anchor for a wild thing. A charm to bind a demon.” I laughed, a tremor running through me. “I’m a demon?” He lowered his head and bit my collarbone, a hard, possessive nip. “Yes.” “The ruinous little demon sent to destroy my perfect composure.” In the archive, there was no machine. Only a row of silver needles and a dish of vermillion ink—stark red, like freshly spilled blood. I was pressed onto the marble table, my skirt pushed high, revealing long stretches of cold, pale skin. The placement was cruelly intimate, starting at my hip bone and spiraling down, disappearing into the deepest part of my thigh. He used no anesthetic. The first needle pierced my skin, and I gasped, a cold sweat breaking out. “It hurts…” I tried to pull away, but his hand clamped down on my hip, unyielding as iron. His voice was a raw, frightening whisper. “Bear it.” The tip of the needle punctured the dermis, the red ink bleeding into the raw tissue. Each microscopic prick was a fresh incision, a deliberate act of flaying. Kellan was methodical, his expression as intent as a sculptor carving a holy icon. But what he was etching onto me was a madness. It was too much pain. I sank my teeth into his shoulder, refusing to let go, the metallic taste of blood spreading in my mouth. Kellan didn’t flinch. His needle plunged deeper. He leaned close to my ear, his voice a low, seductive evil. “Vesper Stone.” “Wear my mark. This skin, this soul, is Blackwood property. This life, even in death, you are my ghost.” In my delirium of pain, I thought it was a vow of love. Later, I would discover the truth. That Sanskrit sigil wasn’t a ward against a demon. It was “Oblation.” I was the sacrifice. He was the consuming god. The tattooing took three agonizing hours. When it was over, I felt like I’d been dredged up from the deepest water. The side of my body was swollen and throbbing, the scarlet scripture wrapped around my hip like a shackle, a curse. Kellan brought a mirror. “Beautiful?” I looked at my reflection: pallid skin, the demonic flash of red scripture—an unearthly, breathtaking image. I managed a weak smile. “Exquisite.” “Anything you leave on me, Mr. Blackwood, is.” Kellan kissed the raw wound, sending a violent shudder through me. He looked into my eyes. “Remember this pain.” “Dare to run, and I will have this piece of your skin framed.” Before the wound had fully healed, Kellan took me to a high-society charity gala, and I was his sole companion. The East Coast elite went into a frenzy. Kellan Blackwood, the untouchable titan, had finally been claimed. I deliberately chose a black silk gown with a dangerously high slit. With every step, a flash of that scarlet sigil on my thigh was revealed. It was a seductive promise, a brazen display. I wanted everyone in this city to know: Kellan Blackwood was mine. At the gala, several men approached me. When I was the Stone heiress, they kept a respectful distance. Now that the name was worthless, their eyes changed, treating me like a high-end call girl up for auction. A ghoul of a hedge-fund manager, Mr. Van der Veer, sidled up, his oily gaze drilling into my exposed thigh. He smiled a greasy smile, his hand reaching for my hip. “Miss Stone, short on cash?” “Stick with me, and you’ll forget what a budget is.” My stomach churned, but I returned his smile with pure, poisonous charm. “Mr. Van der Veer is offering to keep me?” I didn’t move, letting his hand get closer. Kellan sat across the table, a thin smile on his lips, his eyes regarding the man with the chilling detachment of a serial killer. Just as the dirty hand was about to make contact with my skin. Smash! A wine glass exploded on the marble floor right next to Van der Veer’s shoes. Red wine splashed everywhere. The room froze. Kellan slowly wiped his fingers on a linen napkin, not even looking up. “My apologies. My hand slipped.” Van der Veer’s face was bloodless. “M-Mr. Blackwood…” Kellan ignored him, simply crooking a finger at me. “Come here.” I walked over, sinking down obediently next to him. Under the tablecloth, Kellan’s hand found me, pressing directly onto the freshly scabbed scar tissue of my tattoo. The pain was a white-hot spear. “Ngh!” I couldn’t suppress the sound, my face instantly draining of color, cold sweat beading on my forehead. Charlotte, who was at our table, leaned forward with false concern. “Vesper, are you alright?” “I… I’m fine.” I gripped the tablecloth, biting back a scream. Kellan’s fingers twisted, tracing the painful swelling with malicious intent. It was agonizing, yet strangely thrilling. My legs were too weak to hold me, and I collapsed against him, outwardly looking like I was leaning in for a kiss. To outsiders, it was a display of passionate public foreplay. In reality, it was a subtle, brutal interrogation. He spoke close to my ear, his voice impossibly gentle. “Having a stimulating conversation, were we?” “N-no…” Tears finally welled up. “Kellan… let go… please…” His fingertip dug into my flesh. “This is exactly what you deserve for trying to leave my orbit.” “You are wearing my sigil. You are my haunting. Don’t let the feral dogs outside catch your scent.” “Next time, I will find a heavier, permanent chain for your throat.” I looked at his profile, a chill running down my spine. He meant it. This absolute madman was capable of anything. The final piece of the gala’s auction was a rare Patek Philippe antique, a piece Kellan had been searching for three years. Charlotte raised her paddle. “Thirty million dollars.” She bid an astronomical sum, then turned to Kellan, smiling the perfect, dutiful wife smile. “Kellan, I know how much you adore this one. I want to buy it for you.” The crowd murmured their approval of Charlotte’s generosity and deep devotion. Kellan said nothing. Charlotte took his silence as agreement, her smile widening. She even glanced at me, her eyes screaming: See? I can support his business. What can you offer? Only your body? The sight of her poised, triumphant face made me sick. Trying to show off her wealth? Comparing her devotion to mine? Fine. The gavel dropped. Sold. Charlotte walked toward Kellan, holding the watch like a sacred artifact. “Kellan, a little gift.” As Kellan reached for it, I stood up, snatching the watch from her hand. I weighed the antique in my palm, my smile wide and utterly innocent. “Oh, it’s truly gorgeous.” Charlotte gasped. “Vesper Stone, what are you doing? That’s Kellan’s!” I played with the priceless piece, my smile turning cruel. “His?” “But I don’t like it.” And then, I let go. Shatter! Thirty million dollars reduced to a pile of expensive dust. The silence was deafening. Charlotte shrieked. “Vesper Stone! That was a three-year search! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You chaotic, spoiled brat! What right do you have to be here?” I ignored the yapping dog, keeping my eyes locked on Kellan. I was gambling—betting whether I was his favorite possession or merely a disposable annoyance. Kellan looked down at the fragments on the floor. He slowly stood up, not even sparing Charlotte a glance. He grabbed my hand, his brow deeply furrowed, his voice tight with alarm. “Did you cut yourself?” I was stunned. He cared about my hand, not the thirty million dollars? “The mechanism is delicate. You could be sliced.” He gently inspected my fingers, sighing in relief when he found no injury. He massaged my fingertips. “Next time you want to hear glass break, tell me. I’ll hire someone to smash it for you.” “Don’t use your own hands. If you are hurt, I will be upset.” Charlotte stood there, pale and rigid. “Kellan… you…” Kellan looked at her as if she were a smudge on the wall. “Also,” he said. “I don’t accept donations. Especially not trash offered by women I have no use for.” I had won. But the victory tasted like ash. The way Kellan looked at me wasn’t like a lover. It was like a collector looking at a fragile, priceless artifact. This kind of affection felt like asphyxiation.

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1 After I was diagnosed with a severe bleeding disorder, I became our family’s “glass princess.” The doctors said I wouldn’t live past five. So my parents put me first in everything, even spending their life savings on my treatments. On my fifth birthday, for the first time in a long time, there was laughter in our house. Only my little sister, Poppy, asked with innocent confusion, “Willow, are you going to die tomorrow?” That was the first time Dad ever hit her. And Mom knelt beside her, praying to God, begging for just a few more years for me. But on the day of Poppy’s first day of kindergarten, all I said was that my chest hurt a little. Suddenly, my mother broke down, her hand cracking across my face. “Why are you so cruel? Do you have to ruin everything for your sister?” “Our entire world revolves around you! Can’t we have one single day to take your sister to school?” “If you want to die, then just die! Stop torturing us!” She hurled my pill bottles at me, grabbed Poppy’s hand, and slammed the door behind them. I didn’t say anything. I just stared at the cut on my arm, at the blood that wouldn’t stop, as my body grew colder and colder. … When the glass shattered, I’d instinctively raised my arm to shield my face. I stared at the gash for a couple of seconds before I remembered the doctor’s words: “Sweetheart, you can never, ever get a cut. If you do, the bleeding might not stop.” I rushed to find a Band-Aid and pressed it on. It was soaked through in less than thirty seconds. I turned to get a bandage, but blood was already dripping onto the floor. Mom loves a clean house. I couldn’t make another mess for her. I frantically used my sleeve to wipe it up, but the blood just smeared across the tiles, blooming like a terrible flower. I grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it tightly around my arm. A chill began to set in, starting in my fingertips and seeping deep into my bones. I went into the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water. Lying back in the warmth, I finally felt a little bit of relief. The blood was still flowing, staining the water a pale red. I suddenly missed my parents so much. I used my smartwatch to call my dad. It rang and rang. No answer. I tried my mom. It was loud on her end. Music, the laughter of children. A world of celebration that felt a million miles away from mine. “What is it? Hurry up, it’s almost Poppy’s turn to perform.” “Mom, I don’t feel so good. I’m bleeding…” Her voice, sharp with impatience, cut through the phone. “You don’t feel well again?” “Is it that you’re never well unless the entire world is revolving around you?” “Willow, you’re eight years old. You’re a big girl. Can’t you be a little more considerate for once?” The next second, the line went dead, the dial tone echoing in the empty bathroom. I watched the water slowly deepen to crimson and felt a sudden urge to cry. Mom was right. I was always causing trouble for everyone. My sickness was trouble, my sadness was trouble, and now my bleeding was trouble. Mom’s knitted cardigan was draped over the side of the tub. I gently pulled it over my face, inhaling her familiar jasmine scent. It was like when I was little, and she’d sat by my bed just like this when I had a fever. The water was growing cold. The bleeding seemed to be slowing down. It must be almost all gone. As my head started to feel fuzzy, I wondered, if all my blood runs out, will I finally be okay? Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to worry about their sick daughter anymore. My sister wouldn’t have to give up everything for me. And I wouldn’t have to pretend to be strong anymore, wouldn’t have to bite down on my own hand to keep from crying out in pain in the middle of the night. I curled up in the tub, feeling as safe as I must have in my mother’s womb before I was born. 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was looking down at my own small, pale body floating in the tub. So, I was dead. I heard the front door open, followed by my sister’s cheerful voice. “Willow, I’m home!” I rushed out to see them. Mom and Dad were back, holding Poppy’s hands. Dad was carrying a strawberry cake. He stopped short when he saw the mess in the living room. “What happened here?” Mom’s brow furrowed. “She threw a tantrum this morning. She lied about being sick because she was mad I was taking Poppy to school.” Dad’s face darkened. “She’s getting more and more inconsiderate.” I tried to explain, waving my hands frantically in front of them. “No, that’s not it! Willow wasn’t trying to make you mad!” But my hands passed right through my father’s shoulder. They didn’t notice a thing. Poppy pulled her hand free from Mom’s and ran to my bedroom door. She knocked softly. “Willow, come out and have some cake.” Silence. She looked up at them. “Is Willow asleep?” I floated over and hugged her. “Thank you, Poppy.” Mom’s voice was hard. “She’s not asleep. She’s ignoring us on purpose. Leave her. We’ll eat first.” Dad set the cake on the dining table. Poppy stared at it, her voice small. “But I want to wait for Willow…” Dad opened the box, exchanging a look with Mom. “If only Willow were half as thoughtful as her sister, our lives would be so much easier.” He stuck five candles in the cake and lit them. Poppy was lifted onto a chair, and as her parents watched, she blew them out. Today was also her fifth birthday. Mom asked gently, “Did you make a wish, Poppy?” Poppy’s eyes sparkled. “I did. I wished that Willow…” Dad smiled and stroked her hair. “Shh. If you say it out loud, it won’t come true.” I watched from the side, a silent observer. On my birthdays, the house always smelled of medicine. The number of candles on the cake felt more like a countdown. But Poppy’s birthday finally looked like a real birthday. When it was time to cut the cake, Poppy insisted on the biggest piece. “This one is for Willow!” She carried the plate to my bedroom door and knocked again. “Willow, come have some strawberry cake with me!” Still no response. The smile on Poppy’s face slowly faded. She carried the plate back to the table. “Willow won’t answer me,” she said quietly. Suddenly, Dad reached out and snatched the plate from her hands. He threw the whole thing, the perfectly frosted slice of strawberry cake, into the trash can. He slammed his hand on the table. “Fine, then she can have nothing! Nobody is to call for her again. A few missed meals will teach her a lesson.” Poppy was so startled, her eyes instantly filled with tears. Mom pulled her into her arms, glaring at Dad. “Why are you yelling at her?” Then she spoke softly to Poppy. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll eat first. When your sister realizes she was wrong, she’ll come out on her own.” I knelt by the trash can, looking at the discarded cake. The strawberry on top was still so fresh, now nestled among used tissues. What a waste. Strawberry was my favorite. Poppy ate her own small slice, her eyes darting toward my door every few seconds. My parents ate in a heavy silence. There were supposed to be four of us at the table. Now, one chair was empty. I sat down in it and whispered to my sister, “Happy birthday.” 3 That evening, Mom gave Poppy a bath. I stood in front of the shower curtain, my heart twisting into a knot, terrified she would pull it back and see me in the tub. Through the steam, Mom lathered soap on Poppy’s back. Poppy looked up, her wet hair stuck to her forehead. “Mommy, why hasn’t Willow come out yet?” Mom’s hands paused for a moment. “She’s probably sleeping.” “But I miss her,” Poppy said in a small voice. “I haven’t seen her all day.” Mom turned off the water, wrapped Poppy in a big towel, and hugged her close. “Poppy, do you ever get mad at Mommy and Daddy?” “Mad about what?” Mom held her a little tighter. “That we’re always focused on Willow. That we give her the best of everything. That sometimes… we don’t have enough time for you.” Poppy wrapped her small, damp arms around her mother’s neck. “No, of course not. Because Willow is sick.” Her voice was serious. “My teacher said today that sick people need the most care. Me and Mommy and Daddy have to love her together.” My mother’s shoulders trembled slightly. She buried her face in Poppy’s towel and didn’t speak for a long time. “You’re such a good girl, Poppy.” Her voice was muffled. “The truth is, your sister has had a very hard life.” I pressed myself against the cold tiles as my mother continued. “She was born very weak. The doctors said she might not grow up.” Mom sniffled. “So we were always scared she was in pain, scared she was sad. We just wanted to give her everything we could.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But sometimes… Mommy gets tired, too. Sometimes I wish she were healthier. I wish I had more time to spend with you.” Poppy listened, not quite understanding, and patted her mother’s back with her small hand. I crouched in the corner, transparent tears streaming down my face. I’m sorry, Mom. I was the one who wasn’t considerate. If I had never existed, how much better your lives would have been with just Poppy. But they couldn’t hear me. After the bath, Mom tucked Poppy into bed. Then, she walked to my bedroom door and stood there for a long time. Finally, she raised her hand and knocked softly. “Willow? Are you asleep?” I floated in front of her, wanting to reach out and touch her, but my fingertips passed through empty air. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you today, Willow. I was wrong. It was Poppy’s first day of school, and I was just so nervous. I didn’t mean to be harsh.” She paused, as if waiting for a reply that would never come. She sighed. “I left some cake for you in the living room. It’s your favorite, strawberry. Make sure you eat it.” She waited another few seconds before returning to her room and closing the door. I went to the living room. On the table was a small plate with a slice of cake. The strawberry on top was a little crooked. Late into the night, I watched my own small body in the tub. The water was cold now, my face as white as paper. My mother never opened the shower curtain. She didn’t know that I would never eat the cake she left for me. And that I would never hear her apology.

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After a car accident, my husband, Ethan, suffered temporary amnesia. He insisted I was the one driving the car that hit him, accusing me of attempted murder for his inheritance. Both our families knew the truth: the real culprit was his adopted sister, Chloe. Yet, they all silently permitted Ethan’s insane revenge. They pulled strings to have me extradited and locked up in a notorious overseas prison. While I was tortured and living in hell, he liquidated my company—the one I built from scratch—just to pay off the legal fees to clear his beloved childhood sweetheart’s name. In the end, Chloe walked free, while I died in a foreign land without a proper burial. When the embassy notified him to identify my body, he sneered: “Is she done yet? Does she think fabricating a silicone corpse will fool me?” “That murderous witch… even if her body washed up in a sewer, I wouldn’t spare it a glance!” Later, when he discovered I was truly dead, he went mad with joy. He held my bleached bones, laughing until he cried. 1 My body was repatriated to the States. My husband, Ethan Vance, was notified to identify the remains. Walking into the morgue, the stench of death hit him. He hesitated. His handsome face twisted in disgust as he cursed, “Does she think dying to ‘atone’ will make me forgive a murderer? Keep dreaming!” In the end, he had to be dragged in by Chloe, his adopted sister. My spirit floated behind them. I watched Ethan playfully bite Chloe’s neck, then lick the spot tenderly as if afraid he’d hurt her, chuckling low in his throat. My heart felt like it was being crushed. Ethan was flirting with his mistress in front of my corpse. The embassy official couldn’t stand it and cleared his throat. Ethan let go of Chloe, spat on the floor in disgust, and finally lifted the white sheet covering me. Just one look. My breath would have stopped if I were alive. There was no other way to put it—my death had been ugly. “Emily, you think you’re so smart, don’t you? Creating a rotting silicone doll to fool everyone?” “You must be hiding somewhere right now, laughing at the Vance family’s shame and at me, the victim you almost killed. You make me sick!” “You might fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me, Ethan Vance!” “I wish you were actually dead! Dead and buried so deep your soul couldn’t even crawl back to American soil!” No! I’m not lying to you! I tried to rush toward Ethan, to scream the truth. But my transparent body passed right through him. He turned and hugged Chloe, kissing her neck. “It’s better if she fakes her death. Now we can finally be together openly.” Chloe was carried in by Ethan and carried out by him. All the way to the administration desk, he touched her face and neck, kissing her repeatedly as if claiming compensation for his ‘suffering.’ At the desk, they collected the forensic report and DNA test results. A thick stack of data. If he had flipped even two pages, he would have known the body wasn’t a fake. But Ethan swept the file into a trash bag without looking. Chloe snuggled into his chest, sighing wistfully. “Three years ago, I was almost dragged to prison because of Emily. If you hadn’t worked so hard for me, my reputation would have been ruined. I owe you so much.” Ethan shook his head. “No, it wasn’t that hard. Just spent a little money… sold a few companies. Emily’s companies. It was no loss to the Vance estate.” The company I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for three years… gone overnight? Sold by my husband to save another woman. The dead shouldn’t feel pain. But why did it hurt so much? Even breathing felt like swallowing glass. Whatever. I built that company to pay for his medical bills anyway. I guess it served its purpose… Ethan gritted his teeth. “It’s what Emily owed me. Selling her companies was letting her off easy!” Chloe looked back toward the morgue. “One last look? Once you sign the release form, Emily’s body will be cremated. Are you sure you don’t want to see her?” “Even if she made a huge mistake, she was your wife. She was good to you once.” “We’re both women. I can understand her.” Ethan spat again, his face full of loathing. “Chloe, you are too kind. How can you speak for someone who hurt us both?” “She tried to kill me to inherit my money! She staged that car accident!” “You were the one who saved me, risking jail time for reckless driving!” “Her name doesn’t even deserve to be spoken!” The heavy metal doors of the morgue began to close. The official reminded him to sign the papers. Ethan raised the pen, then suddenly stopped. His face darkened, and he turned to leave. “I don’t want any connection to that woman!” “Fake death or real death, the line for ‘Husband’…” “Will not have Ethan Vance’s name on it!” The official, confused, chased after him. “Mr. Vance, you are legally married. Mrs. Vance has passed away; it is the husband’s duty to claim the remains.” Ethan paused. He sneered. “I don’t have such an embarrassing wife! Let her rot there. Let the rats eat her. Suits me fine!” He slammed the door of his Maserati, revved the engine, and sped off. On the way, Chloe’s phone rang frantically. He answered it, then shook his head. “Don’t mention her. That woman just makes me nauseous!” “Every time I think about that dark road, how she ignored my begging and tried to run me over… I want to kill her myself!” My spirit trembled uncontrollably. Seeing the intense hatred in Ethan’s eyes, hearing him rewrite history… It was bitter. Ethan was my husband, but he was convinced I was a murderer. But I wasn’t! Shortly after our wedding, we were in Europe. Carjackers attacked us. Ethan was dragged onto the road. The gang laughed, planning to run over his hands, then his legs. When I found him, he was delirious, his hands mangled. The doctor said his hands were shattered. Even if they healed, he would never do fine motor work again. I was devastated. I wished I could trade my life for his hands! When Ethan woke up, he went berserk, screaming that I should die to atone for my sins. He had replaced the carjackers with me in his memory. I closed my eyes. As he wished, I was sent to a hellhole prison in a third-world country by him and his family. It was filled with the worst criminals. Murderers were at the bottom of the food chain. For three years, I suffered inhumane torture. The night before my release, I was finally set free. By death. I died in excruciating pain. My body didn’t even look human anymore. … Chloe chased him all the way to the villa. When Ethan got out of the car, she threw herself into his arms, kissing him deeply. “It’s okay. It’s all over…” They held each other in the pouring rain. I remembered my last moments. I had used my one phone call to dial him. “Please… please pick up! I’m dying. This is my last chance, the very last time…” If he had just picked up. Even if he cursed me. Even if he called me disgusting trash. I might have found the will to survive. But no one answered. I died in despair. I died the day before I was supposed to be free. I became a wandering ghost. Lost overseas, unable to return home… 2 My ghost followed Ethan home. I watched him live with Chloe as if they were a married couple. Feeding each other breakfast, tangling together at night. Once, Chloe brought a drunk Ethan home. I was jealous and glared at them. Ethan slapped me. “Chloe and I are just friends!” “Only people with dirty minds see dirt everywhere!” But— Do friends sleep in each other’s arms? Do friends kiss like that? Under the warm living room lights, Ethan folded the dress Chloe would wear tomorrow. Just like a devoted wife. That used to be my job. Before every event, I picked his suits, matched his ties. Ethan used to scoff at it. “Only country bumpkins like you know these servant tricks! Some ‘heiress’ you are. Just a glorified maid!” But now he was doing ‘servant work’ for Chloe. That’s the difference between loving and not loving. Chloe held his hand, kissing his fingers. Ethan closed his eyes, humming in satisfaction. “Chloe, tomorrow I’ll go with you to the Vance family estate!” “You are the true daughter of the Vance family!” “No one can hurt you. I support you taking back everything that belongs to you!” Listening to Ethan, Chloe had an expression I couldn’t read. I suddenly remembered. For twenty years, the pampered princess of the Vance family was Chloe. The day I, the biological daughter raised in the countryside, was brought back… My parents looked at my cheap clothes with disappointment. They couldn’t believe I was theirs. That day, Chloe dragged her suitcase out, looking pitiful. “Even though we aren’t blood-related, I’ve always considered myself a Vance.” “I wish Mom and Dad happiness forever!” We were switched at birth. The poor family I grew up in was actually Chloe’s biological family. That was where she belonged. But when my parents looked at me with that hesitant hope… I blurted out, “If you miss her, let her stay! Another daughter to be filial, I’m happy with that!” I meant it then. But I regretted it quickly. Chloe became a ghost haunting my life with Ethan. No matter the event, if Chloe appeared, Ethan’s eyes were glued to her. Standing next to him, I—the real heiress—looked like a joke. Ethan opened his eyes, love overflowing. “The one who grew up with me was always you!” “The one I was supposed to marry was you!” “If she hadn’t come back, we would be married with kids by now!” “She ruined my life!” “It’s not too late. No matter what, I will divorce Emily and be with you!” They gazed at each other deeply. The air grew hot. Soon, panting sounds filled the room. Watching them entangled on the sofa… I closed my eyes in self-mockery. I always knew Ethan didn’t love me. His engagement was to the “Vance daughter.” It just so happened that I was brought back then. I was the real daughter. The engagement fell to me. Ethan was proud, aristocratic. How could a country girl hope for his love? I never dared to hope. I naively thought if I was good enough, loyal enough… maybe he would like me a little. I was wrong. After the “accident,” Ethan’s parents knelt before me. “Please! Ethan is so proud. He can’t handle the truth. If he knows what really happened, he’ll kill himself! His mind is broken, he doesn’t remember who the attackers were!” “Just admit it was you. If he thinks you hurt him, he can handle it… he can survive!” Selfishness is human nature. If I confessed, my life was over. I refused. But when I returned to the Vance home, my father locked himself in his study. My mother swallowed sleeping pills in front of me. In the hospital, my mother told me the truth. The attack on the road… it was linked to Chloe. Chloe had shady dealings with the gang, provoking the attack. My mother wept. “I raised Chloe. She’s closer to me than blood! If she goes to jail, I’d rather die!” Under pressure from both families, I “confessed.” In the end, I died to “atone.” I tried to comfort myself. I died, so the truth is buried forever. Ethan will never know. He will never be in pain. But my heart still felt like it was being carved out. After the accident, Ethan developed a strange psychological condition. The doctor called it self-gaslighting. Subconsciously, he turned me into the villain. My parents allowed it. His parents allowed it. I did nothing wrong. But sacrificing me saved everyone else. In court, Ethan hired a dream team of lawyers to prosecute me for attempted murder. But the judge wasn’t an idiot. Lack of evidence led to dismissal. So, the families used their connections. They had me sent to a hellhole prison abroad. Rats, malaria, violence. My parents sent me off personally. “Just endure it,” Mom said, touching my face. “Three years max. We’ll bring you back. You’ll still be a rich heiress.” “I suffered plenty when I was young,” Dad added. “A little hardship builds character.” The prison gates closed. I saw Chloe walking away with them, boarding a private jet. She looked back. Arrogance. Contempt. Mockery. She had everyone’s love. And I was thrown into the dark to be eaten alive. It was a good ending. Everyone wanted me to be the sacrifice. 3 These days, I followed Ethan. I watched him live in our marital home with another woman. Every decoration, even the candle stand in the corner, was chosen by me. Chloe walked out of the bathroom and kicked the candle stand over. “What happened?” Ethan asked. “Oh, this is Emily’s stuff, right? Kinda tacky. Sorry, I kicked it.” Ethan glanced at the broken ceramic. “Emily was like that. Always wasting time on useless, flashy garbage to make herself feel special.” “She only ever moved herself. She never thought about what I needed.” I clutched my chest. Only moved myself? Ethan forgot his severe allergic rhinitis. Every spring, he could barely breathe. I spent months finding an old herbal remedy and had it made into a balm. Every night, I burned it in that candle stand to fumigate the room. Once, he had a high fever from allergies. I lit the candle. He thrashed around in delirium, cursing me. Afraid he’d knock it over and burn himself, I held the hot ceramic against my own arm all night. My arm blistered and scarred. A wife should care for her husband. I never bragged about it. But hearing him dismiss it… it hurt. Ethan kicked the pieces into the trash. He pulled Chloe close. “Emily is trash. Her stuff is trash.” “That bitch doesn’t even have the courage to face me! She made a fake corpse to hide!” “She knows my parents hate her. Her status depends on our marriage!” “If I dump her, she loses everything!” “But… does she think hiding will save her?” “Naive! I’ll find her even if she’s in a rat hole, and I will divorce her!” I smiled bitterly. In his eyes, I was a leech. A coward. An obstacle. Chloe’s eyes flashed. “Ethan… have your people found anything?” “Is it possible… Emily is actually dead?” “Impossible!” Ethan shouted. “If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have suffered! Death is too easy for her!” “That body in the morgue was a cheap trick. She’s hiding somewhere laughing at me!” “I wish she did die in some foreign ditch! It’s disgusting that they called me to ID her!” He kissed Chloe aggressively. “Chloe, comfort me. I feel sick just thinking about her!” “Hahaha!” Chloe laughed and ‘comforted’ him. They rolled onto the bed. I covered my chest. It felt like being sliced by a thousand knives. I couldn’t cry anymore. But why was the pain still there? 4 Ethan’s men found nothing. My body was still in the morgue. The police and judges called him repeatedly. But Ethan only believed his own delusion. My parents visited. They didn’t know I was dead. They thought I would come crawling back to Ethan after prison. After all, I loved him so much I “took the blame” for him. But Chloe served them tea, reminiscing about her childhood with them. My parents were swayed. They decided having only Chloe as a daughter wasn’t so bad. “Kids grow up, they have their own ideas,” Dad said. “Emily got wild overseas. Let her party for a few more years. She’ll come back when she’s broke.” I was stunned. I was tortured for three years. But in their mouths, I was “partying with foreigners.” Mom nodded. “We’re old. Chloe is enough. She’s filial and traditional.” They left. They never asked about me again. Ethan got more erratic. During the day, his search yielded nothing. At night, he drained Chloe dry in bed. He even posted a bounty on social media for my location. After one session, Chloe lay in his arms. “Ethan… maybe she’s not hiding on purpose. Maybe she’s in trouble?” “Maybe she owes money?” “Impossible!” Ethan pushed her away. “If she needed money, she’d come back! The Vance family has money!” “She loves me too much to hide!” “She’s just scared I’ll divorce her!” “If she doesn’t show up, I’ll destroy everything she cares about!” “Doesn’t she have foster parents in the countryside? I’ll drag them here, lock them up, starve them! See if she regrets it then!” Chloe looked at him. “Ethan, did you fall for her? Do you have feelings for Emily?” Undeniably, a spark of hope—and fear—rose in me. “No way!” Ethan denied it instantly. “I just can’t divorce her if she doesn’t show up! I need to cut ties with that trash!” Chloe cupped his face. “Ethan, you’re acting strange. If you love her, tell me. I’ll leave.” “Who the hell loves her?! Who would love a hillbilly like her?!” 5 Ethan screamed, then composed himself. He kissed Chloe’s forehead. “I’ll prove it to you.” I found out how he planned to prove it that night. My foster parents were kidnapped. They were thrown on the floor, heads covered in black bags. “S… Sir…” My foster mom was a simple woman. She trembled before Ethan. “Who’s your sir?!” Ethan threw a teacup. It smashed against her head. My foster dad threw himself over her to protect her. Ethan looked at my dad’s rough, blackened fingernails with disgust. “Your unfilial daughter Emily is hiding because she doesn’t want a divorce.” “I’m putting it out there. The sins of the child are the sins of the father! Until she shows up, you don’t leave!” My dad raised his head. “Emily is a good girl! She worked in the fields since she was little to help us! Don’t talk about her like that!” Ethan stood up. “Emily is a murderer! She tried to kill me! I spent a fortune to send her to prison to reform!” “Three years later, she should be kneeling for forgiveness! But she’s hiding like a rat!” “No! You’re lying! My daughter isn’t like that!” My dad, honest to a fault his whole life, lunged at Ethan. Ethan was startled. But the bodyguards were faster. They pinned my dad to the floor. Chloe arrived then. “Beat the trash,” Ethan ordered. “Break every bone.” Chloe looked shocked. “They’re old…” “They raised Emily. They’re garbage too! Killing them is a public service!” NO! DON’T HURT THEM!! Rage and regret exploded in me. I rushed to stop them, but passed through. I watched them break my dad’s legs. White bone pierced through skin. My mom screamed until she vomited blood and passed out. Ethan watched without emotion. He ordered his assistant to record it. My anger consumed me. How could I ever have hoped for love from this monster? Suddenly, footsteps rushed in. “Mr. Vance! Trouble!” The villa doors burst open. Police with guns swarmed in. “Ethan Vance! Neighbors reported illegal detention and assault! You’re under arrest!” My parents were rescued. My dad was sent to the ICU. My mom woke up, grabbing a policeman’s hand. “My daughter Emily! Please… please bring my daughter back!” My parents didn’t know I was in prison. The Vance family lied to them, saying I was missing. For three years, they lived in despair. The policeman looked at her with pity. “Ma’am… your daughter, Emily… she’s dead.” Ethan’s face went white. “What bullshit are you spouting?!”

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Everyone in Manhattan high society knows that Adrian Sterling, the billionaire CEO, has a “little princess” he spoils rotten. She’s his adopted daughter. Sheltered, bratty, and utterly entitled. Even at our wedding. She showed up in a white dress that looked suspiciously like a bridal gown. Standing there, she made me, the actual bride, look like a joke. I played the part of the gracious wife until my family and I dismantled Adrian’s empire piece by piece. When he was ruined, that little princess finally knelt before me, begging for forgiveness. I just laughed coldly. “Didn’t you want to be Adrian’s bride so badly?” “I hope you two enjoy your happily ever after—in prison.” 1 As I walked down the aisle in my custom Vera Wang gown, my eyes drifted up. There she was. Standing on the mezzanine balcony. A girl in a white dress that was basically a wedding gown, minus the veil. Her eyes were filled with tears as she stared down at my fiancé, Adrian Sterling. And Adrian? He was looking right back up at her. It made me, the woman walking toward him, look like a total clown. My father, walking me down the aisle, clenched his fist in anger. I squeezed his arm, silently telling him to calm down. The whispers from the guests were loud enough to hear: “Who is that girl? Wearing white to a wedding? Tacky much?” “Shh! That’s Adrian’s ward. He’s raised her since she was a baby. They’re… close.” “Everyone knows she’s obsessed with him. But Old Lady Sterling hates her guts. That’s why she forced Adrian to marry the Sinclair heiress.” Finally, under the withered glare of Adrian’s mother, Old Mrs. Sterling, Adrian reluctantly tore his eyes away. The girl on the balcony was dragged away by staff. Forced to change before being allowed near Adrian again. I smiled perfectly, the picture of a dignified socialite. I took my place beside Adrian. I let him slide the diamond ring onto my finger. I said my vows in front of the priest, all while staring him in the eye. I could see the girl in the front row, her eyes getting redder by the second. Adrian looked like he was at a funeral. I watched coldly, a smirk hiding behind my veil. Heartbroken for her, are you? Good. Let me make it worse. Just before the girl could storm off in tears, I grabbed her hand. I beamed at her with the warmth of a loving stepmother. “You must be Seraphina. From today on, I’m your new mom.” The crowd froze. Then, they erupted into laughter. I kept my smile plastered on, looking at her “lovingly.” “They say a daughter is a father’s lover from a past life. Looking at you two, I’d say that’s spot on!” The girl looked like she’d been stripped naked in public. Her darkest, most shameful secret had just been laid bare. She turned beet red and ran out of the hall, humiliated. Adrian tried to go after her. But I gripped his arm with a strength he didn’t expect. I smiled, my voice low and dangerous. “Honey, for the sake of the Sterling-Sinclair merger, I suggest you stay right here and finish the toasts.” Adrian glared at me. His eyes burned with rage. But he swallowed it. He forced a smile and walked with me to greet the guests. 2 The wedding was perfect. It signaled that the alliance between the Sterling and Sinclair empires was stronger than ever. After the wedding, Adrian was busy dealing with my family’s overseas expansion. He didn’t have time to mediate between his new wife and his little princess. So, I had to handle it myself. When my car pulled up to Adrian’s private estate in the Hamptons, I saw my luggage scattered across the lawn. Seraphina stood on the porch. Chin high. Acting like she owned the place. I grew up a Sinclair. I wasn’t exactly known for my patience. My personal bodyguard cracked his knuckles, ready to teach her a lesson. I stopped him. I walked over and picked up a diamond necklace lying in the dirt. Straightening up, I looked at Seraphina with a mocking smile. “Do you have any idea how much this costs?” She tossed her hair. “Only poor people care about price tags. I don’t want your trash!” “I have a drawer full of jewelry Adrian bought me! Want me to toss you a few scraps?” I didn’t say a word. I just nodded at my bodyguard. He stepped forward and slapped her across the face. Hard. Seraphina clutched her cheek, staring at me in shock. “Who do you think you are?!” she shrieked. My bodyguard sneered. “Watch your mouth when you speak to Mrs. Sterling.” On my signal, he pinned her arms behind her back and forced her to kneel at my feet. I lifted her chin with one hand, examining her delicate, pampered face. Then I slapped her. Twice. Smack! Smack! The sound echoed across the manicured lawn. Neighbors were starting to peek out from their hedges. I laughed. I’m a Sinclair. We hold grudges. You make me unhappy, I make your life hell. I stepped on her hand with my stiletto heel, grinding it into her manicured fingers. “Seraphina, I know Adrian raised you for eighteen years.” “But let me be clear. Know your place.” “There is only one Mrs. Sterling. If you have the skills to make him marry you, go ahead. If not, shut up and stay out of my way.” “Keep your little fantasies to yourself. Or I’ll beat you until you learn.” She opened her mouth to scream insults. I slapped her again. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She finally shut up. Suddenly, a young man vaulted over the hedge from the neighboring estate. He grabbed my raised hand. “Victoria! That’s enough! She’s just a kid!” I looked at him. Tyler Vance. The neighbor’s son. Without missing a beat, I slapped him too. He stumbled back, clutching his face in disbelief. I sneered. “Tyler, stay out of this.” “Seraphina is eighteen. She’s an adult. If you want to play house with her, fine.” “But I am the mistress of this house. Disciplining an unruly daughter is family business. It’s none of yours.” Tyler’s face turned red with anger. I silenced him with one sentence. “My family just acquired 30% of Vance Industries. We’re your biggest shareholder.” “If you don’t want to explain to your daddy why his stock tanked, get lost.” He froze. Then he turned and walked away without a word. I signaled my bodyguard. He grabbed Seraphina by the hair and dragged her into the house like a sack of trash. 3 There was no blood relation between Adrian and Seraphina. But he truly treated her like a treasure. Her bedroom was right next to his. According to the maids, she had “nightmares,” so being close made it easier for Adrian to comfort her. I laughed out loud when I heard that. The staff, knowing my reputation, shrank away. “So,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I guess I’m the third wheel in this house?” “Am I interrupting their little roleplay?” The butler understood immediately. He ordered the staff to move Seraphina’s things to the guest room on the first floor. I watched her belongings being carried downstairs, my expression cold. I didn’t care what Adrian and Seraphina did in the past. But if she thought she could disrespect me in my own house, she was wrong. With the Sinclair merger on the line, no one dared to cross me. Hearing his precious princess was being bullied, Adrian came home that night. At dinner, I wore a pale green qipao-style dress, looking every bit the elegant wife. I ladled soup into his bowl with a smile. Adrian looked at me, sneered, and swept the bowl off the table. Scalding soup splashed onto my hand. The skin turned red instantly. Seraphina, sitting opposite us, hid a smirk behind a mask of pity. Adrian laughed coldly. “Now you know how it feels?” “Did you think about Seraphina’s pain when you hit her this morning?” “Victoria, did I give you too much freedom?” Seraphina stood up, playing the peacemaker. “Uncle Adrian, it’s my fault. Please don’t fight.” I slowly stood up. The elegant wife mask dropped. I looked Adrian dead in the eye. Then I slapped him across the face with everything I had. “Adrian Sterling, right back at you.” “Did I give YOU too much freedom to speak to me like that?” The imprint of my hand bloomed on his face. My diamond ring had cut his cheek. Seraphina screamed. She rushed to him, touching his face with trembling fingers. “Uncle Adrian! Are you okay?” I watched them clinging to each other. Then I picked up a porcelain plate and smashed it on the floor. Shards flew everywhere. One piece nicked Seraphina’s eyelid. She shrieked and covered her eye. Adrian lunged at me, but my bodyguard stepped in, blocking him like a wall. I picked up a sharp shard of porcelain. And walked toward Seraphina. 4 “Victoria! Don’t you dare!” Adrian roared, struggling against my bodyguard. I ignored him. I nodded to my bodyguard. He grabbed Seraphina’s wrist with an iron grip. I took the shard and slashed it across her cheek. Twice. Her flawless face was now a ruin. Seraphina screamed and scrambled backward. I stood there, arms crossed. I picked up my wine glass and raised it to Adrian in a mock toast. Looking at his twisted, furious face, I smiled. “Adrian, if you had the guts, you shouldn’t have married me.” “You needed the Sinclairs. You brought me into this house. That means I make the rules.” “Who is Seraphina to give me attitude?” I smoothed my dress and stood up gracefully. “Consider this the price for her disrespect.” “Next time, I won’t stop at a scratch. I’ll make her blind or deaf.” I nodded politely at him and walked out with my entourage. While we were arguing, my maid had already called Old Mrs. Sterling. She reported that Seraphina had disrespected me and that Adrian was siding with her against the Sinclair heiress. The merger was in its early stages. Mrs. Sterling was terrified I would blow it up. She sent a car immediately. By the time I finished threatening Adrian, the Sterling limousine was waiting. I left without looking back. That night, Mrs. Sterling spent hours comforting me. She wanted to storm over and discipline Seraphina herself. But I played the “magnanimous wife.” I told her Seraphina was just a child and not to worry. Mrs. Sterling was moved by my “generosity.” She gave me a set of vintage emeralds on the spot.

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