Category: English

In my past life, I secretly adored Liam for four years. Then, I dated him for four more. Eight years. Eight years of my life, utterly erased the moment his childhood sweetheart, Valerie, returned. He ended things with me, no argument, no hesitation. I accepted it with a quiet, hollow resignation. No tears, no pleas. But days later, he was outside my apartment, live-streaming, kneeling, begging me to take him back. He claimed that even if we were truly over, he just wanted one last chance to celebrate my birthday, to hold me one more time. Swayed by the flood of online comments urging me to reconsider, my heart, foolishly, softened. I went downstairs. But the moment we met, he ended the live stream. And then, he produced an axe. He hacked at me, blow after brutal blow, his voice a frantic mantra. “You wanted to be separated? Fine. I’ll separate you.” I fought, thrashed, desperate to escape, but he stuffed my body into two canvas bags. Until my last breath, I couldn’t understand it. He was the one who wanted to break up. When he loved me, he wanted us to be inseparable. When he didn’t, he scattered me, piece by piece. I opened my eyes again. I was back. Back to the day of his live stream. The insistent ringing of my phone jolted me fully awake. My familiar bedroom, the pulsating name on the screen—I was certain. I had been reborn. The ringing grew more frantic, each chime like a relentless death knell, sending a sickening chill through me. Cold sweat beaded on my back and palms. Last time, it was this very day that Liam called, asking to meet. I had initially refused. He was the one who had discarded me. But then I saw him, live-streaming his public plea for my return, and my heart, pathetically, had softened. When I saw him in the underground garage at 11 PM, he strode towards me, clutching a massive bouquet of flowers. I thought he was genuinely remorseful, coming to apologize. I couldn’t have known it was just the beginning of a nightmare. “Liam, if you promise me you won’t see Valerie again, I’ll…” My words died in my throat as a hand clamped over my mouth and nose. A noxious, chemical scent filled my lungs, and darkness swallowed me whole. I woke again in a derelict slaughterhouse. Liam stood over me, an axe in his hand. I was tied to a cold, stone slab, utterly helpless, able to emit only a weak, whimpering sound. “Wh-what are you… doing?” Liam’s expression was a horrifying blend of agony and a twisted smile, making him look like a demon clawing its way out of hell. He didn’t answer. Instead, he blindfolded himself. His axe rose and fell, hacking at my body, indiscriminately, blow after blow. “Separated. This is true separation.” Soon, my flesh was torn, my bones splintered. The excruciating pain made me writhe and scream, but it was useless. “Why?” That was the last word I uttered. “Elara, don’t be scared. It’ll stop hurting soon. Then, we’ll both be free.” My disembodied spirit hovered, watching the stone slab turn crimson with my blood. My body, cut into pieces, was stuffed into two canvas bags. Only then did Liam collapse onto the ground, exhausted. Even as a ghost, I felt the phantom agony of my flesh being ripped from my bones. I wanted to hurl myself at him, to demand an answer, but my hands passed through his body like smoke. Liam didn’t even spare my shattered remains. He poured gasoline over them and set them alight, then buried the ashes. His eyes, though, were gleaming with a chilling excitement. “Now,” he whispered, “Valerie and I can truly be together.” Even in death, the question echoed: Why? Why couldn’t he let me rest in peace? I didn’t understand. He broke up with me. I didn’t beg, didn’t cling. Why did I have to die for them to be together? And on my birthday, no less. Four years ago, on this very day, he had blushed and declared his feelings for me. This was the man I had loved for eight years. How could he be so cruel? The phone’s ringing shattered my thoughts, dragging me back to the present, reminding me of the bone-deep agony I had endured. I couldn’t bring myself to answer, couldn’t bring myself to hang up. I just flipped the phone over, silencing it. Once my racing heart began to calm, I opened my laptop. Logging into the video site as a guest, I searched the keywords burned into my memory. Sure enough, Liam’s live stream appeared. My hands clenched and unclenched, again and again, before I finally clicked. Just like last time, Liam was on screen, recounting our relationship. He didn’t mention Valerie at all, only that he hoped I’d give him a chance to end things amicably. “I just want to see her one last time. Our journey began on her birthday, and if it’s truly over, I want to see it through, to spend one last birthday with her.” The comments section exploded. Strangers were moved by his words, typing furiously. “I don’t know why you broke up, but love is worth fighting for!” “The chances of two people in the world truly loving each other are lower than winning the lottery. Go get her, man!” “If you’re begging for a second chance, you need to show some serious commitment. How about you ‘tip’ her five grand, just to show your sincerity?” Just like last time, my phone chimed with a bank transfer notification. Simultaneously, Liam displayed his own transfer of fifty thousand dollars on screen. “If she’ll just see me, I’ll give her anything.” He looked into the camera, his voice full of feigned desperation. “But she’s not answering my calls. Does anyone have other suggestions? I’m willing to try anything.” In my past life, it wasn’t his money that moved me. It was the sight of this normally aloof and proud man, looking so helpless, so desperate for strangers to offer advice. I had never seen him like that. Combined with the abruptness of our breakup, I decided to meet him, to hear his explanation. So I answered the call and went downstairs. My moment of weakness had cost me my life, torn limb from limb. Now, I knew the outcome. But seeing Liam’s face on the screen, a insidious voice still whispered in my mind, urging me to meet him. It even tried to convince me that maybe, just maybe, he had a good reason for what he did last time. The thought horrified me. My breath hitched, panic rising in my chest. I rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face for several minutes until I finally calmed down. I stared at my reflection. “My love-struck brain is beyond saving, isn’t it? I know exactly how this ends, and I still want to see him.” Calmer now, I looked back at the screen. Liam’s head was bowed, as if in sorrow. A comment caught my eye. “Maybe she didn’t see her phone, or she’s asleep. Just go to her place directly, man! That’ll show real sincerity!” Then, another comment appeared, chilling me to the bone. “I urge you all, don’t meddle in other people’s fates. This guy, he looks sad, but there’s a cold glint in his eyes. He might be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Haven’t you heard about those dismemberment cases? When they love you, they want to be with you every second. When they don’t, they want to cut you into pieces. Don’t encourage him to go looking for her in the dead of night.” I hadn’t seen that comment in my past life. By then, I was already downstairs. And the outcome was exactly as that stranger had predicted: I was cut into pieces. As I stared, frozen, Liam suddenly lifted his head. “Then I’ll go to her place,” he said, a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope I don’t scare her. I’ll stop the live stream now, since it involves her address and other private information. Wish me luck, everyone.” He was smiling as he said it, but his gaze seemed to pierce through the screen, looking directly at me, as if to say, “I found you.” With that, he ended the live stream. A chill went down my spine. I didn’t even bother exiting the site; I just slammed the laptop shut, grabbed my phone and keys, and bolted out the door. Two elevators were ascending simultaneously. I had no idea which one he was in. As I left my apartment, I checked the lobby surveillance feed on my phone. I saw him step into an elevator. To avoid him, I decided to take the stairs. But as I hurried down to the tenth floor, a sudden, inexplicable dread seized me. I didn’t know if it was just my nerves, or if it was the intuitive warning of danger. I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. I peered down the stairwell. The emergency lights below weren’t on, meaning no one was coming up. But the inky blackness below felt like a bottomless abyss. Each passing minute felt like an eternity. Amidst the fear, a twisted sense of anticipation flickered within me. I must be insane. Had dying once left my brain damaged, my cells rewired? The stairwell was silent, amplifying the sound of my ragged breathing. As I hesitated, I heard footsteps from below. They were soft, too soft to trigger the emergency lights, but each step echoed like a hammer blow against my chest. I tried to reassure myself—my apartment was on the eighteenth floor; Liam wouldn’t take the stairs. But I couldn’t bring myself to move. Just then, the magnetic lock on the stairwell’s security door clicked open with a soft thwack. The sudden noise made me jump, almost screaming. I stared, wide-eyed, at the person who stepped through. Ethan, my colleague, looked equally startled. He was about to speak when I clapped a hand over his mouth, pulling him into his apartment. Only when the door was shut behind us did I slide down the frame, collapsing in a heap on the floor, utterly drained. He saw my sweat-soaked face and offered me a glass of water. “Professor Elara, what’s wrong?” My throat was parched. I snatched the water and gulped it down, too frantic to explain. “Do you have a security camera outside your door? Can you check the footage for me?” I had noticed a small camera above his door, pointed squarely at the hallway. My hands trembled as I watched the footage from a minute ago. A few seconds after Ethan and I closed his door, a hand pushed open the security door to the stairwell. Liam appeared, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his arms. He glanced around, then his eyes settled, dark and menacing, on Ethan’s door. He had taken the stairs after all. But why? I recoiled, pulling Ethan further away from the door. “It’s impossible. How did this happen?” He had taken the elevator! And there was no one on the stairs before. How could he have appeared on the stairs after entering the elevator? During our four years together, Liam and I had often shared this strange, almost telepathic connection. Before I even spoke, he would know what I wanted to eat that day, even if the thought had just occurred to me. Or he would give me gifts I desperately wanted, things he, a self-proclaimed ‘man’s man,’ would never have heard of otherwise. Even during arguments, he always knew exactly what triggered my anger, allowing him to apologize precisely. Back then, I thought it was sweet. It was chemistry, the deep understanding of two people in love. But now, it felt bizarre, terrifying. The sensation of being unable to escape him, no matter what I did, was suffocating. “Professor Elara, what are you talking about?” Ethan asked. Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door, followed by Liam’s voice. “Elara? Is that you?” I sank onto the sofa as Ethan took his phone, checking the security feed. “Did you run into some creep? Is he stalking you?” My body tensed. I couldn’t answer. He finished watching the footage and started for the door. His movement sent a fresh wave of terror through me. “No, don’t… don’t open it!” I clung to his arm, shaking my head frantically. Ethan was a new computer science teacher at our school, and we shared an office. We hadn’t really spoken much beyond work, so I was surprised to learn he lived just below me. Right now, he was my only lifeline. I had no idea what Liam might be carrying. Were the flowers hiding only a sedative, or was the axe there too? Seeing my entire body tremble, Ethan knelt down, his voice soft and reassuring. “It’s okay. Just relax. Take a deep breath.” As he gently pried my hands from his arm, I realized I had dug my nails into his skin, drawing blood. “I’m sorr…” My words caught in my throat as my phone screen lit up again. Seeing Liam’s name, I almost burst into tears. Even though it was on silent, my body reacted. I wanted to throw the phone, but I couldn’t risk making a sound. I just curled into a ball in the corner, clutching my head, unsure how much time had passed. Finally, Ethan’s voice broke through the haze. “It’s okay. He’s gone. Do you want me to call the police?” A thought struck me. I held out my phone. “Professor Ethan, can you check if my phone has any tracking software installed?” Half an hour later, Ethan confirmed there were no tracking apps or plugins on my phone. I also checked myself thoroughly in the bathroom—my clothes, hairpins, nothing seemed out of place. This only deepened my confusion. Could love really create a psychic connection? But he didn’t love me. If he loved me, why would he kill me? Finally, I gave Ethan a simplified version of what was happening with Liam. “He’s my ex-boyfriend. He broke up with me, but now he’s trying to get back together. I’m scared he’s unstable, so I’m trying to avoid him.” I only told Ethan that I’d seen too many news stories about spousal murders, and combined with the online comments, Liam’s late-night appearance had terrified me. Ethan didn’t press for details. He simply comforted me. “It’s always best to avoid meeting alone when there’s an emotional dispute. It’s smart for a woman to be cautious. You did the right thing. He doesn’t seem emotionally stable.” “I think you should call the police anyway, just to have a record.” I shook my head. It was useless. Liam didn’t leave the complex until an hour later. Ethan accompanied me home to pack a few things. I couldn’t stay there. But I was also scared to be alone in a hotel. Ethan took me in. I slept in his room, and he took the sofa. Last night, I had thought it through. I really couldn’t call the police. Liam hadn’t actually harmed me yet. Aside from coming to my home, he hadn’t done anything extreme. So all I could do was stay away. Thankfully, school was out for summer break. I remembered seeing a travel guide on Ethan’s bedside table and, brazenly, asked him, “Professor Ethan, are you planning to travel? Could… could I come with you?” He paused for a few seconds, then gave a resigned, slightly amused nod. “Yes.” On the way, I learned Ethan was going back to his grandmother’s in a quiet mountain village. I also agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend to help him avoid incessant questions about marriage. Ethan’s grandmother lived in a charming, old two-story house with a sunny rooftop terrace. The slow pace of life there calmed me. I couldn’t help but sigh. “I wish I could stay here forever!” “Then stay.” I was startled when Ethan’s grandmother appeared, carrying a stack of blankets. I guessed she was going to sun them. “Grandma, let me help you.” She sighed, pulling me down to sit beside her. “My grandson has no luck,” she lamented. “Such a wonderful girl, and she’s not even his.” My eyes widened. “Grandma, I…” She held my hand, her gaze piercing. She said she knew from the moment she saw me that I wasn’t Ethan’s girlfriend. As I wondered if Ethan and I had given ourselves away, her next words stunned me into silence. “There’s something inside you, child…” She paused, drawing a deep breath. “It seems to be part of a pair. It means you have a beloved, a soulmate.” “Grandma, stop scaring her with your nonsense! We believe in science. Elara, don’t listen to her. She used to tell me these crazy stories when I was a kid to scare me.” Ethan’s voice rang out, but I had a chilling feeling his grandmother was telling the truth. “Grandma, what did you see? What’s inside me? Is it a tracker?” Grandma looked more shocked than I was. “You didn’t know?” I shook my head blankly. Grandma grew visibly angry, muttering about “despicable villains” and “disgraceful acts.” She asked if anything strange had happened to me recently, and I told her about Liam.

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1 Life with Joey Buckingham was a struggle. Our pantry stayed empty, so Blake and I worked weekends as street clowns. I earned 100/day;hemade50, but beamed, “One more weekend, and we’ll buy Dad that suit!” Then I saw Joey—in a custom suit, shopping lavishly with his first love. A salesman locked the boutique, bragging, “Six-figure commission today!” I clutched our $75 earnings as Blake gasped, “That rich man looks like Dad!” The manager sneered, “That’s the Mr. Buckingham. You think billionaires have clown relatives?” Heart shredded, I dragged Blake past a restaurant. Glancing at the menu and our $75, I gritted my teeth and walked in. A waiter greeted us with a professional, plastic smile. “Ma’am, this is a fine dining establishment. The fast-food places are to your right, just outside.” I swallowed the anger rising in my throat and pointed to the cheapest option on the menu, the $888 prix fixe tasting menu. “We’ll have one of these.” This was the money Blake and I had worked weeks to save. The money for Joey’s suit. The waiter just waved a dismissive hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m sorry, but Chairman Buckingham has booked the entire restaurant for a private event tonight. Perhaps you could try somewhere else?” I followed his gaze and saw it. In the main hall, a ridiculously long, French-style table was laden with dishes I couldn’t even name. A team of six model-esque servers catered to their every need. Even the little boy, who looked about Blake’s age, was confidently directing the staff, telling them what to do. “Is that… Dad?” Blake’s voice was barely a whisper. I grabbed him and fled, running as if our lives depended on it, not stopping until we were back in our cramped apartment. My eyes fell on the sewing machine in the corner, where a pair of shorts I’d made for Blake from a pair of his old pants—pants he’d already worn for three years—lay waiting. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. The truth is, I always knew I was just his backup plan. Years ago, when his first love, Vivian, left him for some handsome French artist and moved abroad, he fell apart. One night, he showed up at my small apartment, blind drunk. He crossed a line, and in his drunken haze, he took what he wanted, ignoring my protests. Soon after, I found out I was pregnant with Blake. After we married, he never bothered to find a job, content to let me work three of my own to barely keep us afloat. But I never imagined it was all an act. A lie. Blake padded over to me, holding a small towel, and gently wiped my tears. “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t really like fancy food anyway. My favorite food is the stuff you make.” I pulled him into my arms and held him tight, my sobs growing stronger. This couldn’t go on. I couldn’t do this anymore. Wiping my eyes, I sat down and began to write, drafting a document word by painstaking word. Just as I finished the last sentence, Joey stumbled home, reeking of alcohol. Like always, Blake ran to greet him, holding out his slippers with a cheerful smile. But Joey’s face was a cold mask of displeasure. “Why weren’t you out working tonight?” Blake froze. “Do we… do we still have to go out and work?” He had seen it all today. I hadn’t said it out loud, but he knew. He knew the man in the fancy store, the man buying all those bags and perfumes Mom was too scared to even touch, was his father. A man so rich he could eat at a table filled with food so expensive Blake couldn’t even count that high. Did Mom really need to keep working a third job? She was already so, so tired. Joey’s temper flared. “If you don’t work, what are you going to do? Sit at home and freeload until you die?” Blake burst into tears, terrified. That only made Joey angrier. He grabbed Blake by the ear and kicked him, sending him sprawling across the floor. Something inside me shattered. I flew at him, grabbing the first thing I could find—a dinner plate—and hurled it at his chest. It wasn’t enough. I seized the old-fashioned kettle, full of scalding water, and threw it at his feet. Hot water soaked his trousers, but he didn’t flinch. He just stared at me, his voice dangerously low. “Jenica, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea how much these things cost?” His words were the final match on the gasoline. “Lost my mind? Yes, I’ve lost my mind! Joey, after all these years of marriage, what have you ever given us? What did Blake do to deserve this? Why would you scream at him? Why would you hit him?” My voice cracked with years of suppressed pain. “For his birthday, all he wanted was a piece of cake! He begged you for a whole month, and you finally agreed, but only if he washed your feet every night for that month! And he did it! But what happened on his birthday? You came home empty-handed! Joey, when you saw the disappointment in your own son’s eyes, didn’t your heart break, even a little?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar, weary annoyance. “It was just a cake. What’s the big deal? I’ll buy him one tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Joey, how many tomorrows have you promised us? Does your tomorrow ever actually come?” “Jenica, can you not dredge up the past every time we have a fight?” he snapped, before turning and slamming the bedroom door behind him. I stared at the closed door, my hands trembling with rage at his indifference. This was the first time we had ever fought like this. And it would be the last. I went to Blake and gently helped him up. His face was streaked with tears. “Mommy,” he whispered, his small body trembling, “are you and Daddy going to get a divorce? If you do… does that mean I’ll be an orphan?” He handed me a piece of paper. It was the divorce agreement I had just drafted. I fought back a fresh wave of tears, pressing a long, deep kiss to his forehead before pulling him into a hug. “Mommy will never, ever leave you, Blake.” The truth was, I once had a promising career ahead of me. But the contract I signed at my first real job had a clause: no pregnancies within the first three years. Joey’s drunken mistake cost me that job. After that, pregnant and desperate, I couldn’t find any decent work. I took odd jobs, telling myself I’d find something better after the baby was born. But with a newborn to care for around the clock, it only got harder. My only saving grace came from the hospital director where Blake was born. He saw our struggle and offered me a job as a cleaner at the hospital. It was a steady day shift, Monday to Friday, which meant I could still breastfeed and care for Blake. The pay was low, but it was reliable, so I’d kept the job ever since. The day after my explosive fight with Joey, I dropped Blake at school and went to work as usual. Around noon, I was cleaning a hallway when I saw a familiar figure hurry past. It was Joey. This was the obstetrics and gynecology wing. What was he doing here? Out of a morbid curiosity, I followed him. I watched as he paid a bill at an automated kiosk and then walked straight into an ultrasound room. A few minutes later, he emerged, tenderly supporting his first love, Vivian. She was leaning against him, his hand placed gently on the small of her back. “You have to be more careful in the first trimester,” Joey chided softly. “How did you manage to throw out your back?” “It’s all your fault,” Vivian pouted, playfully swatting his shoulder. “You bought me so many bags and perfumes to celebrate the pregnancy. I had to put them all away, and I just… twisted wrong.” She looked up, and her eyes met mine across the hall. A flicker of recognition, then a sly smile spread across her face as she leaned in and whispered in Joey’s ear. 2 “But don’t you worry,” she said, her voice just loud enough for me to hear. “The doctor said the baby is strong, just like its father.” She knew exactly who I was. Suddenly, I felt the sharp, humiliating sting of being caught snooping. I spun around in a panic, forgetting I was standing in front of a solid wall. My body slammed into it, hard. A starburst of pain exploded in my head, and I couldn’t help but let out a small cry. Joey heard the sound and turned. His eyes widened in shock when he saw me, and he started to walk in my direction. But then Vivian cried out, “Oh! Ouch!” and clutched her stomach, sinking to the floor. Joey hesitated for only a second before turning back to her. He scooped her up in his arms and rushed back into the clinic. I stood there, fighting to keep the tears from falling, but the pain in my heart was a physical, crushing weight. The gash on my head from the wall was deep. When the nurse cleaned it, it stung so badly that the tears finally came, and once they started, I couldn’t stop them. Seeing my state, the kind hospital director let me go home early. I pulled myself together and walked to the bakery. Earlier that morning, I had ordered a cake for Blake. I knew Joey would never remember his promise. I would make up for his failure this one last time, and then I would never expect anything from him again. But when I got there, the baker told me they were sold out of that particular cake. My eyes widened in disbelief. “But I ordered one this morning. How can it be gone?” The owner squinted at me. “Did you pay a deposit?” I shook my head. “No.” “Well, there you have it,” he said, his voice rising as if he’d won a great victory. “Without a deposit, it’s not an order, is it?” I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out. A young clerk leaned over and whispered, “A man came in a few minutes ago and bought it for ten times the price.” I followed her gaze out the window. It was Joey. He was carrying the cake, my son’s cake, and walking toward the parking lot. A small, foolish flicker of relief went through me. At least he remembered his promise to Blake. I decided not to argue with the baker and got on my old e-scooter to pick up Blake, ready to share the good news. But as I rounded the street corner, I saw the truth. It wasn’t what I thought at all. Joey was giving the cake to Vivian’s son, Daniel. And the boy, after taking it, immediately opened the box, placed the entire cake on the sidewalk, and started feeding it to a stray dog. Vivian stood by, recording the whole thing with her phone, while Joey praised him. “Daniel, you have such a big heart! You’re going to be such a compassionate man when you grow up.” A white-hot rage erupted inside me. I stormed over to them. “Joey! Have you lost your damn mind?” I screamed. “Your son begs you for a birthday cake you never buy, and when I finally order one for him, you steal it just to feed it to a dog?” He looked at me, a flash of surprise in his eyes, before it was replaced by his usual condescending glare. “It’s just a cake, Jenica. Stop making a scene in public. It’s embarrassing.” He had the nerve to talk about being embarrassed? Blake was his own flesh and blood, and in his eyes, he was worth less than a stray dog. Who was the real embarrassment here? Vivian stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Oh, dear, we had no idea this cake was for you. Daniel saw the poor stray and just wanted to feed it. He’s always had such a kind heart.” She picked up the half-eaten, dirt-smeared cake from the ground. “The dog barely had any before you scared it off. Here, you can still take it.” She tried to shove the filthy cake into my hands. I was about to slap it away in disgust when Daniel snatched it from her. He threw it hard onto the pavement. “Shameless! Fighting with a dog over its food! I’d rather throw it away than let you have it!” I was so furious I couldn’t speak. “Arguing with a child,” Joey muttered, shaking his head. “How pathetic.” Then he turned and walked away with Vivian and her son, leaving me standing there in the wreckage of my son’s stolen dream. I took a deep breath, went to another bakery, and bought a new cake.

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1 The third day my son was missing was the day my rival’s daughter got her new heart. Bianca flaunted it, beaming at me, so sure her daughter was destined for a long and happy life. But all I could see was the memory of her eyes, a venomous glint as she once stared at my son’s chest. I had to know. I had to know who the donor was. I became a woman possessed. My husband, a man who valued his public image above all else, was furious. He thought my frantic questions in the hospital hallway were a public disgrace, hissing that I was a lunatic. But I saw it. Through a crack in the operating room door, I saw the body of the child on the table. And on that small body, I saw the birthmark that belonged only to my son. “I need to see the body! That child is my son!” My hair was a wild mess, my voice a desperate, crazed shout in the sterile hospital corridor. A nurse blocked my path, her tone sharp with impatience. “I’ve already told you, the deceased is a boy named Aiden King. He is not your son.” Her hand was firm on my arm. “And without the family’s consent, you have no right to view the remains. Claire, please, stop making a scene and wasting our time.” Other nurses glared at me, their faces a mixture of anger and pity. “I don’t believe you. That has to be my Leo.” My eyes were locked on the operating room door, every muscle in my body coiled to burst through it. But a large hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back so hard I slammed against the wall. Dr. Hugo Grant, my husband, stared down at me with pure disgust. “Claire,” he seethed, “what’s the difference between you and a lunatic right now? Leo has only been missing for three days. Stop trying to curse him to death!” “And in those three days, have you, his father, even once asked for an update on his case?” I shot back, my eyes burning. A flicker of annoyance crossed his perfect face. “I’m not a detective. What good would asking do? Are my questions going to bring him back?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a contemptuous whisper. “This is just another one of your pathetic attempts to get my attention, isn’t it? Fine. You’ve succeeded. I’ll take tomorrow off to be with you.” One of his colleagues chimed in with a sycophantic murmur, “But Dr. Grant, you have a major surgery scheduled for tomorrow! What terrible luck, being married to a woman with no sense of propriety.” The small crowd of doctors and nurses nodded in agreement, their whispers like tiny daggers. My lips twisted into a sorrowful smile. My heart felt like a dead weight in my chest. We were in love once, Hugo and I. He pursued me our senior year of college. We married right after graduation. He told me his work was demanding, that he needed me to manage our home. So I gave up my career and dedicated myself to him. For six years, he climbed the ladder, becoming the youngest Chief of Surgery in the hospital’s history. And then, after a business trip, he came back with them. His childhood sweetheart, Bianca, and her daughter. Bianca’s daughter had a congenital heart defect. I’ll never forget the day she’d “joked” that since my Leo was so frail anyway, why not just donate his heart to her little girl? The look in her eyes that day wasn’t a joke. It was a promise. “Hugo, I’m begging you,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please, just let me see the body. He’s my son.” I knew Hugo’s greatest weakness was his reputation. So I did the one thing I knew would horrify him. I fell to my knees and wept. His face paled. “Fine,” he snapped. “One look.” “Absolutely not!” a frail voice cried out. Bianca was there, supporting a weeping old man. “My dear girl,” the man sobbed, looking at me. “My grandson… his face was the thing he was most proud of. The accident… it ruined him. We don’t want anyone to see him looking so… so broken in death.” Hugo’s expression turned to ice. “This is the donor’s grandfather, Claire. That should be proof enough that the boy inside is not our son. This is all in your head.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. In my head? No. I refused to believe it. I trusted the invisible thread that connected me to my son. I knew he was in that room. Bianca’s face was a mask of tragic tears. “Claire, I know you’re upset. Hugo is my oldest friend, and I know it’s uncomfortable for you that he’s the one performing my daughter’s surgery. I can handle you taking it out on me, I always have.” Her voice rose, filled with manufactured desperation. “But this is a life! A real, living child! The window for a heart transplant is four hours, the sooner the better! You’ve already delayed this for so long! Please, don’t hold this up any longer. Let Hugo do the surgery. I’ll get on my knees and beg you.” And with that, she dropped to the floor before me. The whispers from the staff grew louder, their scorn for me thickening the air. A shrew. A harpy. No wonder Dr. Grant preferred the gentle, understanding Bianca. A year ago, those words would have shattered me. Now, they were meaningless. I’d stopped loving Hugo the day he brought Bianca into our lives. I only stayed for our son. “Let me see the body,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Have you lost your mind? I never knew you could be so petty, so cold-blooded!” Hugo’s patience finally snapped. “When I met you, you were the kindest person I knew. When did you become this… this monster? I’ve told you a thousand times, there is nothing between Bianca and me! She saved my life when we were kids, and I am repaying a debt. She is ten times the woman you are! If I truly loved her, do you think you would have had any place in my life these past few years?” His anger escalated into a full-blown rage. With a guttural roar, he swung, his open palm cracking against my cheek with all his strength. I crumpled to the floor, my face exploding with pain. He didn’t even glance at me. He rushed to Bianca, pulling her tenderly to her feet. “She’s been a housewife for too long,” he murmured to her. “It’s made her paranoid.” Then he looked up and saw my swollen face, the trickle of blood at the corner of my mouth. He froze. A flicker of regret crossed his eyes—not for hitting me, but for being caught. For doing it in public. His pristine image was tarnished. Almost automatically, his expression shifted to one of guilt. He reached for me. “I’m sorry, Claire. I didn’t mean to… I was just so angry. Let’s get you some ice for that.” I stared at him with dead eyes. As he drew near, I lunged, grabbing his right hand and pressing the tip of a fruit knife I’d grabbed from a nearby gift basket against his wrist. “You’re going to sign the divorce papers,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “But first, you’re going to take me to see that body. If you don’t, I’ll ruin that right hand of yours, and you’ll never be a surgeon again.” My face was a mask of desperate ferocity. Today, no one was going to stop me. “Divorce? You want a divorce? Over this?” He looked genuinely stunned. Then he saw the absolute emptiness in my eyes and finally seemed to realize that any love I once had for him was long, long gone. I saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes and almost laughed. He asked when I had become a monster? Perhaps it was during the years of silent, single-handed parenting. Or maybe it was the slow erosion of my soul from his daily neglect and the endless, thankless chores. I hadn’t become a monster. I’d become a ghost. A madwoman. I remembered when we were first married. He was busy, but he insisted on making me oatmeal every morning, saying my stomach was weak and needed care. He did it for six months, until I was better. The first year of our marriage, I was in a car accident. He cried at my bedside, wishing it was his leg that was broken, not mine. “I swore in our vows to be with you until we were old and gray,” he’d said. “I will never abandon you.” I thought I had married for love. When did it all change? It wasn’t until I found his journal that I understood. I was never his first choice. He loved someone else. When I was about to give birth, I saw him carefully picking out baby supplies online. My heart swelled with hope, thinking he was finally embracing fatherhood. Then I saw the shipping address. He sent everything to Bianca. From the very beginning, he was never on our side. Letting him go was the most natural thing in the world. “Dr. Grant, it’s been nearly three hours,” a nurse interrupted, her voice urgent. “If we don’t start the procedure now, the heart’s viability will drop significantly. Even if the surgery is a success, the patient’s recovery will be compromised.” Bianca fell to her knees again, slamming her forehead against the linoleum floor until it was bruised and bloody. “Claire, I’m begging you! Please, let Hugo do the surgery first! My daughter is my life, I can’t lose her! You’re a mother, too. How can you not understand how I feel?” Her pathetic display won the sympathy of the onlookers. The head nurse’s face hardened. “Claire, if you continue this, we will call security!” Even Hugo, still under the threat of my knife, frowned. “Claire, can we please discuss this after the surgery? I know I’ve neglected you. I’ll do better. I promise I’ll spend more time with you.” “No need to call security,” I said, my voice ringing with cold clarity. I looked straight at Bianca, my gaze boring into her as if to expose the darkness in her soul. “I’ve already called the police.” “It only takes a moment to look at a body,” I announced to the room. “So who, exactly, is the one wasting time here? You’re doing everything in your power to stop me from seeing those remains. What unspeakable secret are you trying to hide?” My words seemed to finally penetrate the fog of prejudice. The nurses and doctors exchanged uncertain glances. It was true. Why would Bianca and the old man protest so violently against something that would take only a minute, especially if a child’s life was on the line? Panic flickered in Bianca’s eyes. Just then, two police officers arrived. “Who called in a suspected homicide?” At the word “homicide,” the atmosphere in the hallway shifted. “I did,” I said, turning to the officers. “I believe the child in that operating room is my son, who has been missing for three days. I request a DNA test.” “Officers, that’s my grandson in there!” the old man cried pitifully. A quick check of their system confirmed that the man did, in fact, have a grandson. “Officers, please, you have to help me,” Bianca wept. “Because of her, my daughter’s life-saving surgery can’t begin.” “Ma’am,” one of the officers said sternly to me, “that’s enough. Let the doctor go so he can do his job.” Seizing the opportunity, Hugo wrenched his arm free. He looked at me with an expression of profound disappointment. “Claire, I never imagined you were this far gone. Bianca has done nothing to you, yet you’re willing to let her daughter die. I must have been blind to ever fall for you.” A lunatic? Yes. I smiled a thin, sharp smile. I had been a lunatic since the moment I knew my son was gone. I turned the fruit knife around and pressed it against my own throat. “I am going to see that body,” I told the officers. “Or I will die right here, right now.” I pushed the blade harder. A thin line of blood welled up, tracing a path down my pale skin. Seeing that I was serious, the police finally relented and escorted me into the operating room. 2 I finally stepped inside. There, on the surgical table, was a small, cold body. My heart seized with a pain so sharp it stole my breath. It was him. It was my son. With a trembling hand, I lifted the white sheet. A small, unfamiliar face, half of it destroyed, stared up at me. It wasn’t Leo’s face. Hugo let out a sigh of relief. He turned on me, his voice glacial. “There. You’ve seen him. Are you satisfied? It’s not our son. Now get out so I can do my job!” I shoved his hand away and carefully pulled back the surgical gown. There, on the pale skin of his abdomen, was the distinct, puckered mark of a burn. And next to it, a small, heart-shaped birthmark. A guttural sob ripped from my throat. I looked at Hugo, my voice a broken rasp. “Look at this scar. Look at this birthmark. Now tell me again that this is not our son.” Hugo’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. The color drained from his face as his trembling fingers traced the outline of the burn. He knew that scar. He had been the one to accidentally cause it while taking care of Leo. The body on the table was his son. And moments ago, he had personally harvested his heart.

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In my last life, my best friend Jenna bought me a stack of scratch-off lottery tickets for my birthday. When I scratched the first one, my childhood sweetheart, the man I was about to marry, died. When I scratched the second, my adoring younger brother became Jenna’s loyal puppy, utterly devoted to her. When I scratched the third, my relationship with my parents shattered, and Jenna became the precious daughter they couldn’t bear to be without. By the time I was beaten to death by muggers on the streets of a foreign city, she had completely taken over my life, my family, my fortune—everything. She was living my happily ever after. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back at the exact moment Jenna handed me those cursed scratch-offs. … “Claire, are you ready yet? I’m right outside your building. When are we heading out for your birthday party?” Jenna’s voice crackled through the phone, and the cold reality hit me: I had been reborn. In my previous life, she’d insisted on throwing me a massive birthday bash. The stack of scratch-offs was her “gift.” But the moment I scraped the silver foil off the first ticket, my world collapsed. I got the call that my fiancé, Jim, was dead. I’d rushed to the hospital in a daze, but I was too late. I never even got to see him. His parents, in a strange and grief-stricken hurry, had already had him cremated. I was drowning in sorrow, but Jenna was there, pushing another ticket into my hand. “Scratch another one,” she’d urged, “it’ll cheer you up.” Like a fool, I listened. I scratched the second ticket. And just like that, my little brother, Leon—ten years my junior and always my shadow—announced he was in love with Jenna and wanted to marry her. Before I could even process his betrayal, Jenna made me scratch the third ticket. That was the final blow. My parents decided to formally adopt Jenna, making her their legal daughter, while they shipped me off to Europe with just the clothes on my back, leaving me to fend for myself. It all happened so fast I couldn’t even scream. One moment I was the heiress to my family’s fortune, the next I was destitute on a foreign street. A group of vagrants targeted me, stole what little I had, and beat me until my heart stopped. Meanwhile, Jenna slipped seamlessly into my life. She became the apple of my parents’ eye, she and Leon lived in blissful romance, and she ascended to the pinnacle of a life that was supposed to have been mine. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand how my perfect world had been so thoroughly dismantled, while Jenna, who came from nothing, had everything fall into her lap so perfectly. Now, hearing her voice on the phone was like listening to a death knell. She spoke again, her voice syrupy sweet. “Claire? You’re not saying anything. I’m already at your front door. Why don’t you just buzz me in?” Her words snapped me out of my trance. Whatever dark magic she’d used to steal my life, I knew one thing for certain: I had to get away from her. Now. I forced a lie through my lips, my voice trembling slightly. “Oh, sorry, Jenna. I’m not home.” “Not home?” Through the video doorbell, I saw her eyes narrow with suspicion as they flickered to my signature pink Porsche Panamera parked in the driveway. “That’s weird. Your car is right here.” Her tone shifted, becoming playful and cajoling. “Oh, I get it. You’re still in bed and don’t want to see anyone, right? Come on, it’s me! Just let me in, I’ll wait in the living room. It’s boiling out here, I’m practically melting…” She was insistent. At the same time, I heard my mom, drawn by the doorbell, heading for the door. I lunged forward and grabbed her arm, stopping her just in time. “Jenna, seriously, we’re not home,” I said into my phone, my voice firm. “My parents aren’t here either. The whole family went on a little road trip to the next state over.” I improvised, desperate. “Look, I’ll wire you some cash. Go hang out at the mall nearby for a bit.” Without waiting for a reply, I sent a thousand dollars to her account. Jenna was about to argue, but the notification of the transfer popped up on her screen. Her face instantly changed. “Oh, wow, thanks, Claire! Okay, I’ll just go to the mall closest to your place and wait for you. By the way, what time will you be back?” She was prying, trying to pin me down, but I wasn’t giving her anything else. “Gotta go, I get carsick,” I mumbled, hanging up before she could ask more. The second the call ended, the mask on the video feed dropped. Jenna’s sweet smile curdled into a look of pure, venomous disgust, laced with a familiar, burning jealousy. A chill snaked down my spine. The thought that I had once called this monster my best friend made me physically ill. But I was back. And this time, I still had a chance to fix everything. I sprinted back to my bedroom and started throwing things into a suitcase. My mom, utterly bewildered, followed me in. “Claire, honey, what are you doing? I thought you were going out with your friends for your birthday.” “I’m canceling the party, Mom. I have to go away for a while. And you and Dad need to leave, too.” “And Leon,” I added, my mind racing. “Book him a flight to Europe. He’s always wanted to see the World Cup, right? I’ll pay for his tickets.” I was a whirlwind of activity, booking flights and arranging transport before my mom could even form a question. She opened her mouth to protest, but I had already packed her a bag and was ushering her to the front door. “I’ve already called a car for you, Mom. It’ll pick you up and then get Dad from the office.” I sent a quick text to Leon. “I’ve let Leon know. Have a wonderful time in Europe, and call me when you land, okay?” I watched until the car carrying my mother disappeared down the street, but the knot of tension in my chest didn’t loosen. Mom, Dad, and Leon were safe, for now. If I was lucky, Jenna wouldn’t be able to get her claws into them. That left one person. My fiancé. Jim. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I dialed his number. “Claire! I was just about to call you,” his warm, familiar voice filled my ear. “So, what’s the plan for tonight? I’ve chartered a yacht. We can invite all your friends and have a real celebration.” Hearing him, so alive and happy, a sob caught in my throat, and I almost broke down right there. In my last life, this was how it happened. He’d gone to the yacht alone to set up a surprise fireworks display for me. That’s when the “accident” occurred. I never even saw him one last time before his greedy, degenerate brother rushed his body to the crematorium to get his hands on the inheritance. The next time I saw the love of my life, he was a jar of ash. Hearing his voice again, I could barely control the storm of emotions inside me, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Jim,” I said, my voice thick with unshed tears, “can we put the party on hold? Can I… can I just see you? Right now?” He immediately picked up on the distress in my voice. “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “Meet me at our usual spot? The coffee shop. I’ll be waiting.” I rushed out of the house, too paranoid to take my own car, terrified that Jenna might be watching. I hailed a cab instead. When I arrived, Jim was already there, a concerned look on his face. The moment I saw him, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my cheeks. He was startled, fumbling to wipe them away with his thumb. “Claire, what is it? What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” “No, Jim, no,” I choked out, grabbing his hand. “I’m just… I’m so happy to see you. Let’s go inside.” I wiped my face and pulled him toward the most secluded corner booth in the cafe. The warmth of his hand in mine was the only thing that felt real, the only proof I needed that he was still alive, still here. Looking at his face, so full of love and concern for me, I swore an oath to myself. This time, I would protect him, no matter what it took. Clutching his hand, I pleaded, “Jim, please, can we just cancel the party tonight?” “Cancel it? Why?” he asked, confused. “You were the one who said you wanted to do something big, since it’s your last birthday before we get married. I pulled a lot of strings to get the best yacht in the harbor…” “I just… I don’t want to anymore,” I said, knowing how weak it sounded. My flimsy excuse wasn’t enough to convince him. Left with no other choice, I had to tell him the unbelievable truth. “Jim, whether you believe me or not, I know that you’ll die because of this party tonight. You are too important to me. I can’t lose you.” My voice was nearly a sob, choked with fear, but he just saw it as pre-wedding jitters. He squeezed my hand reassuringly, his smile gentle. “Claire, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress with the wedding planning. That’s why I wanted to do something special for you. It’s going to be fine, I promise. Just relax and let me take care of everything.” Seeing that he wouldn’t believe me, that he was walking straight into the same trap, I took a ragged breath, my heart pounding with desperation. I had to make him understand. “You’ve arranged a fireworks show on the yacht, haven’t you?” He looked surprised. “Ninety-nine shells in total,” I continued, my voice gaining momentum. “One of them is a custom design, one you made yourself. You call it the ‘Lover’s Gift.’ It’s all in shades of blue, and at the end, it’s supposed to explode into the shape of a giant, shimmering rose-cut diamond ring.” Jim’s jaw dropped. “Did my assistant tell you?” he stammered. “No, that’s impossible. I haven’t shown the design schematics to anyone. How… how could you possibly know that?” Tears of frustration welled in my eyes. I gripped his hand tighter. “Jim, nobody told me! Please, just trust me. Let’s not do the party. Let’s just go somewhere else, you and me. We can just be together, quietly, until the night is over. Please?” The raw terror on my face must have gotten through to him, because for a moment, I saw his resolve waver. He was about to nod, about to agree, when a sickly sweet voice cut through the air. “Claire! So you were already here! Why didn’t you tell me?” Jenna. She was standing over our table, a triumphant glint in her eyes as she took in the scene. “Here,” she said, pushing a familiar object into my hands. “This is your birthday present. May you have a lifetime of luck.” It was a stack of scratch-off tickets. My body went rigid. The horrifying memories of my past life flooded my mind, vivid and suffocating. In a single, convulsive movement, I swept my arm across the table, knocking the tickets to the floor. Everyone in the near vicinity froze, startled by my sudden outburst. Jim bent down to pick them up, but a strangled scream tore from my throat. “DON’T TOUCH THEM!” He stopped, his hand hovering in mid-air. With a feigned gasp of clumsiness, I “accidentally” knocked my full cup of coffee over, sending the dark liquid cascading off the table and all over the scattered tickets on the floor. They were ruined. Soaked through. A wave of profound relief washed over me. “Oh, Jenna, I’m so sorry,” I said, forcing a tone of sincere apology. “I’m such a klutz today. I’ll get someone to clean this up right away.” A moment later, the soggy, useless paper was swept into a garbage can. I saw the flash of bitter disappointment in Jenna’s eyes. I thought it was over. I grabbed Jim’s hand, ready to flee, but Jenna’s fingers clamped around my arm. “Claire, I can’t believe my special gift for you ended up in the trash like that.” Her voice was tight. “Anyway, I bet Jim has a big surprise planned for you tonight, right? Why don’t we all head over to the yacht he rented?” She gestured to a large shopping bag at her feet. “I even brought you an evening gown. It’s gorgeous!” She held the bag out to me. Inside, there was indeed a beautiful dress. Even though this detail was new, not part of my memories from the last life, my entire being recoiled from anything she offered. “That’s okay,” I said, pushing the bag away. “The party’s canceled. I won’t need it.” I tried to pull away, to leave this nightmare, but she held on tight, refusing to let me go. Every excuse I made, she batted away with a saccharine-sweet counter-argument. Finally, her voice took on a sharp, accusatory edge. “Claire, you’ve been avoiding me ever since I called you this morning. I took three days off work just to come celebrate with you. Or is it that you… you don’t want to be my friend anymore?” Of course I don’t, I wanted to scream. The memory of what she did to me made me want to tear her limb from limb. But I couldn’t say that. Not here. Not now. Thankfully, Jim saw the corner I was in and stepped in smoothly. “You’ve misunderstood,” he said, his tone calm and firm. “I’m not feeling well. Claire was just about to take me to the hospital, so we had to cancel the party.” He glanced at his watch. “Our appointment is in a few minutes. If you’ll excuse us.” He guided me out of the coffee shop with a steady hand on my back. I saw a flash of pure hatred in Jenna’s eyes, but I didn’t care. I had escaped her, and I had escaped those cursed scratch-offs. We were standing on the street corner. I turned to thank him, to explain, but the words never came. Out of nowhere, a massive truck came barreling towards us, its horn blaring. I didn’t even have time to scream before Jim shoved me hard, pushing me out of its path. Then, the sickening crunch of metal against flesh. His body was thrown through the air like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap on the asphalt. He lay in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood. The truck, realizing what it had done, screeched to a halt before speeding away. In the fading evening light, I saw the words stenciled on its side: FLAMMABLE – KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE. It was a fireworks truck.

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At our ring exchange, the ballroom screen flickered to life—showing me bound and violated, not our smiling faces. Julian dropped my hand like poison, sliding the ring onto my best friend’s finger instead. As I stumbled from the red carpet, Dante—her brother, the syndicate boss—caught me. A gunshot silenced the hall. Then, ten chests of gold arrived as his bride price, and he proposed on the spot. Three years later, IVF succeeded. But overhearing Dante’s conversation shattered me: “Leaking Anya’s video let Peaches marry into the Sterling family. Her womb was just a vessel for Peaches’ heir.” I dialed his rival, voice steel-cold: “A billion-dollar deal. Interested?” 1 The vile banter inside the room continued. “You’re a clever one, Boss. Swapping her prenatal vitamins with abortion pills so she couldn’t conceive naturally… forcing her into IVF. She’d probably die of rage if she knew you’d already switched the embryo with one from Peaches and Julian.” “Whether she lives or dies is none of my concern,” Dante’s voice was casual. “After the birth, I’ll just make up some excuse, say the baby didn’t make it. She’ll just blame herself for not being able to carry it to term. It’s her honor to pave the way for Peaches’ happiness.” He tossed the lighter onto the table and stood up, his voice a low warning to everyone in the room. “Not a single word of what was said today leaves this room. I need her to deliver this baby without any complications.” I heard his man, a brute named Marco, slap his chest and laugh. “Don’t worry, Boss. That woman is dumb as a rock. We call her ‘Mrs. Dante’ and she actually thinks she’s the queen of this castle. She brings us food and drinks every day, completely clueless that I was the one who hand-picked the guys for that video.” Someone else roared with laughter. “Marco, you’re too much! Why didn’t you pick me back then? I would’ve loved a taste…” A fruit knife flew through the air, embedding itself in the floorboards right between the man’s legs. He went pale with terror. “Have I not made myself clear?” Dante’s voice was a low growl. “Anya is my wife now. Anyone who dares to bring that up again, I will personally end him.” A younger subordinate mumbled, “Boss, it seems like you’re not entirely indifferent to her. She’s head over heels in love with you. Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave you when she finds out the truth?” Dante scoffed. “So what? I’ll just knock her up again. Support her for the rest of her life. She’s a tainted, love-sick fool. A few sweet words and she’ll be licking my hand like a dog.” The room erupted in laughter again. I stood frozen in the hallway, feeling as if I’d been struck by lightning. I clamped my hand over my mouth, choking back sobs that threatened to escape. Footsteps approached the door. I spun around and fled downstairs, pouring myself a glass of the strongest whiskey and downing it in one go. The burn was searing, a fire racing to my head, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I clutched my chest, the poison of their words echoing in my mind. A week before my original wedding, I was kidnapped and endured a living hell for a day and a night. My then-fiancé, Julian, had held my hand, swearing he still loved me and wanted to marry me. But at the altar, he’d watched that video play and abandoned me, leaving me to be branded a whore by the world. It was Dante who had stormed in, shooting the screen to pieces, pulling me into his arms, and fiercely shielding me from the jeers and insults. He’d presented me with ten chests of gold, telling me he had loved me for years and would die without regret if he could not have me as his wife. His unwavering gaze had conquered me. And now, he was telling me it was all for Peaches. No wonder Peaches had looked at me with that strange, knowing smile on my wedding day to Dante. I was kidnapped because she had called me, claiming her car broke down and asking me to pick her up. She knew all along. It was all a setup. She was mocking my stupidity, reveling in the fact that she had a man who would do anything for her. And the three years of care and affection from Dante? A charade. A performance to squeeze every last bit of usefulness out of me. I had mistaken my executioner for my savior. How utterly laughable. My nails dug into my palms. I bit down, hard, the pain and hatred churning in my chest, the tears unstoppable. A familiar scent enveloped me. Dante was kissing the corner of my eye, his brow furrowed in what looked like concern. He roared at the room, “Which one of you sons of bitches made my wife cry? I’ll fucking kill him.” The hall fell silent, everyone holding their breath. He pulled a gun from his waistband and pressed it into my hand, wrapping his arms around me and guiding my hand to aim at the crowd. “Baby, you see anyone you don’t like, you just pull the trigger. I’ve got your back.” The men he aimed at trembled like leaves, but none dared to move. In this country, Dante was the king of one of the two largest syndicates. No one crossed him. I stopped when the barrel was pointed at Marco. Marco’s eyes widened, his face white with fear. The words ‘I was the one who hand-picked the guys for that video’ screamed in my ears like a curse. My chest heaved. My eyes were red with fury. I was about to squeeze the trigger when Dante pushed the gun down. 2 “Sweetheart, the doctor said the IVF was a success. Let’s not see any blood. We don’t want to scare the baby.” His voice was a gentle coax, his eyes filled with a concern so convincing I almost applauded his performance. Sensing my mood, Dante noticed the empty glass in front of me. He took my hand. “Honey, how long have you been here? Why didn’t you come upstairs to find me?” His words were laced with a careful, probing caution. I looked down. “You men were talking business upstairs. It was all smoke and noise. I didn’t feel like it.” He let out a breath of relief and stroked my head, ordering a maid to bring me a sobering tea. The moment she handed it over, he raised his gun and shot her in the head. I didn’t even have time to react. Thick, warm blood splattered across my face. The maid’s hand was still outstretched, her eyes wide in disbelief as she collapsed. My lips trembled. My stomach seized violently. Dante acted as if nothing had happened. He holstered his gun, carefully wiped my face with his sleeve, and then held the cup of tea to my lips, feeding me sip by sip. I swallowed mechanically, my entire body shaking. In my peripheral vision, I saw Marco’s men drag the maid’s body away, leaving a long, winding trail of blood on the polished floor. “Couldn’t even watch my wife to make sure she didn’t drink,” Dante muttered, his voice cold. “That’s a threat to my son. She didn’t deserve to live.” I stared at his ruthless face, my stomach churning. He touched my cheek, his voice softening again. “It’s all my fault, baby. I’ve made you suffer so much. Now that we finally have our baby, you can’t touch alcohol again, understand?” He added, “No matter what, this child has to be born healthy. You know that, right?” I took several deep breaths before managing a dry, brittle, “Okay.” My heart was frozen solid. In three years of marriage, I had been pregnant six times. Each time, I miscarried for no apparent reason, eventually leading to recurrent pregnancy loss. Six months ago, the doctors told me I could never conceive again. Dante had held me, heartbroken, telling me he didn’t care about children, that all he wanted was my happiness and health. The guilt of not being able to give him a child had eaten away at me. After extensive research, I chose the arduous path of IVF. My stomach became a pincushion, and I swallowed handfuls of hormone pills. All that suffering, only to be a surrogate for Peaches. Because she was afraid of pain, I was to be stripped of my right to be a mother, reduced to a breeding machine. “What’s wrong? You look so pale. Are you not feeling well? I’ll get the doctor right now.” “I’m fine. Just some morning sickness.” Dante’s eyes reddened with feigned sympathy. He stroked my face. “My poor wife, you’re going through so much. I wish I could bear this for you. We rushed our wedding… I’ve ordered you a custom-made wedding gown, your favorite designer. Let’s go try it on tomorrow before your belly gets too big.” I stared at him, at his deeply affectionate eyes, playing me for a fool, time and time again. If he knew I had no intention of carrying this child to term, my fate would be the same as that maid’s. I forced a smile. “I’m going to go rest. You guys carry on.” The moment I was back in our room, I ran to the bathroom and retched until my stomach was a knot of pure agony. Tears streamed down my face, the physical pain a fraction of the agony in my heart. After a long while, I pulled myself together. That’s when I saw it—Dante’s phone, left forgotten on the coffee table. On impulse, I picked it up. I only had to try once. Peaches’ birthday. It unlocked. The screen lit up with a photo of Peaches, leaning against his shoulder, her smile radiant. I scrolled through his photo gallery. Over five thousand photos, and Peaches was in every single one. He had them organized into four folders, chronicling different periods of her life. Each folder was labeled with a single word. Together, they spelled out: My Only Love. In their chat history, I saw that Dante had once risked his life to steal a royal crown for her. I suddenly remembered that night. He’d come back with two bullet wounds, barely clinging to life. It was I who had traded my mother’s only heirloom, a priceless antique amulet, to the royal family to get him back. And why? Because Peaches had casually mentioned she wanted to feel like a queen for her 25th birthday party. A tear fell onto the screen. My heart felt like it was being shredded. It wasn’t the pain of years of deception. It was that for this monster who had destroyed me, I had given away the only thing my mother had left me. Through blurry eyes, my gaze fell on the crescent-moon-shaped birthmark on Peaches’ right shoulder. My own eyes widened in shock. I have the exact same birthmark, in the exact same spot. I remembered when I first met Peaches, she didn’t have it. It was only after I told her about the time I’d saved a man covered in blood while working as a doctor without borders in a war-torn country that she started to distance herself from me. Soon after, she became Dante’s “adopted sister,” and he began telling everyone that Peaches had saved his life. But Peaches was a coward, terrified of hardship. She had never set foot in that country; in fact, she openly despised it. My cold fingers curled into fists. A wild, horrifying suspicion began to form in my mind. So that’s how it was. I collapsed to the floor, caught between hysterical sobs and bitter laughter. 3 A long time later, I wiped my tears, composed myself, and found the number I was looking for. “I have a business proposition for you,” I said. “Worth a billion dollars. Interested?” “What kind of business?” “In three days, I need you to kidnap me.” I gently stroked my stomach. “It’s a ransom Dante will be more than willing to pay.” Just as I hung up, Dante walked in. He was drunk, stumbling slightly, but his senses were still sharp enough to grab my hand. “What am I willing to pay for?” Without batting an eye, I replied, “I saw a necklace I liked. They said I need to put down a deposit.” He laughed, his head slumping onto my shoulder. “Fine, I’ll pay. I’ll pay for everything, Peaches. Whatever you want, big brother will get it for you. I’m yours too.” My face remained a mask. I helped him to bed, covered him up, and lay beside him, wide awake, for the rest of the night. The next day, on our way to the bridal salon, Dante took a call. His expression turned frantic. “Honey, a shipment got held up. I have to go deal with it.” He squeezed my hand, his voice full of apology. “I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll take you to try on the dress tomorrow. I also ordered us a set of matching rings, ‘One Life, One Love.’ We can try them on together tomorrow, okay?” I pulled my hand away. “I understand. Go on. I’ll be a good girl and wait for you at home.” He squeezed my hand again, and the moment I stepped out of the car, he sped off. Less than ten minutes later, Marco’s car pulled up. As soon as I got in, a photo popped up on my phone. It was Peaches, wearing a stunning diamond ring and the very custom-made gown I had picked out, kneeling on a man’s lap. The man’s hand was on her thigh, visible through the sheer fabric. His lips were kissing the crescent birthmark on her right shoulder, his eyes smoldering with lust. A voice message followed. “I can only get it up at night if I close my eyes and pretend she’s you, Peaches. My sweet Peaches. Big brother misses you so much. Take care of your big brother, won’t you?” The husky voice was followed by a ragged, suppressed gasp. In the silent car, Marco’s sneer broke the quiet. I was startled, only then realizing the scenery outside wasn’t the way home. “Marco, I’m Dante’s wife! What do you think you’re doing?” The car screeched to a halt. I immediately tried to open the door on the other side, but he was faster. He lunged across the seat, grabbed my ankle, and dragged me out of the car. Pain exploded behind my eyes. I gritted my teeth and glared at him. “I’m carrying Dante’s child. If anything happens to me, you won’t live to see another day.” “You idiot,” a shrill laugh came from behind me. I realized we were in a deserted alley not far from the bridal shop. Peaches was standing there, her heel grinding into my face, her eyes filled with triumphant glee. “Did you really think my brother would let a filthy woman like you carry his child?” Marco came over, wrapped his arm around her waist, and squeezed. To my utter shock, they kissed passionately. After a long moment, Marco slowly spoke, “You overheard us at the club the other day, didn’t you? Too bad for you, the embryo in your belly isn’t Peaches’ either. I just grabbed a random one from some homeless beggar in the slums and had it swapped.” I snapped my head up, my pupils trembling. Peaches laughed until she was breathless. “Oh, look at you now. Filthy inside and out. A bastard’s baby and a whore for a mother. Anya, what’s the difference between you and a prostitute? At least they get paid. You’re actually paying to carry a bastard.” She cackled. “Is one enough? Or should we stuff a whole litter in you? Like a pig, hahaha.” My mind roared. A thick, metallic taste filled my throat. I screamed, grabbing a rock from the ground, wanting nothing more than to smash their faces in. Marco kicked me in the stomach. I fell forward, vomiting a mouthful of blood, my face pale with agony. But just then, Peaches suddenly stumbled backward in mock terror, theatrically falling to the ground. She didn’t even have a scratch on her, but Dante, who came running at that exact moment, stepped right over my hand to rush to her side. He pulled her into his arms, his eyes filled with raw panic. “Peaches, what happened? Are you hurt?”

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On the eve of my coronation, my mother erased me from the royal bloodline, declaring Rose—my lowly scullery maid—the true heir of Beaumont. My once-doting father met me with contempt: “How could I share blood with a slave’s spawn?” At the palace gates, my childhood love, the king, turned me away—only to welcome Rose moments later, his voice dripping with affection: “Nothing stops you from being my queen now.” To ensure Rose’s unblemished debut, Mother ordered the guards to break my legs and discard me like trash. As I lay dying in the storm, fever ravaging my broken body, the face in the rain puddle stared back—undeniable proof of my mother’s features. Then I awoke—reborn on the day of my disownment. I woke to the day it all went wrong. Caskets of jewels and silks, gifts from the palace, were being carried into the Beaumont estate like a river of treasure. Yet, as I stood there, a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air settled deep in my bones. I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning, unable to muster even a flicker of joy. The maids in the courtyard buzzed around the lavish gifts, their chatter a meaningless drone. My eyes, however, found her instantly. Rose. Huddled in a corner with a broom, she didn’t join the others. She just swept silently, her gaze darting towards the treasure, a poison of envy and resentment clouding her eyes. A girl like Rose, a mere drudge, was someone even my personal handmaidens wouldn’t deign to speak to. And yet, this insignificant, overlooked girl… My legs trembled, a ghost of that agony, sharp as shattered bone, shooting through me. Because I knew. This very evening, the mother who had cherished me would storm into my chambers with the elders of our house. Her face, usually a mask of serene grace, would be twisted with a venom I’d never seen. She would point a trembling finger at my face and scream: “Behold! The slave’s whelp who has stolen my daughter’s place for more than a decade!” “Honored elders! Today, I cleanse the name of House Beaumont!” In my memory, my mother wielded a thin, cruel cane, bringing it down on me again and again. The places it struck blossomed into ugly, purple bruises, a testament to her newfound cruelty. I had been raised like a delicate flower, sheltered from the slightest harm. Seeing this stranger who wore my mother’s face, I choked back the pain. “Mother! What are you saying? I am to be crowned tomorrow! How can I not be your daughter?” She paused at my words, and for a fleeting second, relief washed over me. I thought I could reason with her, understand this madness. But her eyes were chips of ice. She turned to the elders, her voice ringing with cold conviction. “You all see it! This pretender still dreams of a crown. If she were to succeed, she would bring shame not only upon our house, but upon the entire kingdom!” “Today, as the Duchess of Beaumont, I declare that Catherine is no longer a daughter of this house! Her name will be struck from our family records!” I was trapped in a vortex of gazes—pity, shock, scorn, and a sickening flicker of triumph from the servants. But what broke me was my mother’s eyes. The love that had once warmed me was gone, replaced by a raw, undisguised hatred. She spat the word “slave” at me, her noble bearing, her years of practiced grace, all forgotten. It was as if I was her most reviled enemy. How? How could the woman who had treasured me for sixteen years, who had held me as the jewel of her life, suddenly despise me? A sob tore from my throat, and I fell at her feet, trying to clutch at her gown as I had done so many times as a child seeking comfort. “Mother, I am your daughter… I am…” She recoiled, kicking me squarely in the chest. “Silence! You are the daughter of a slave!” Her gaze, now filled with a tearful, tender light, found Rose cowering in the corner. “The true lady of this house… forced to serve this impostor for sixteen years!” “Rose,” I whispered the name, the memory sharp as glass. The girl who was still just a cleaner, her face hidden behind a thick fringe of hair, stepped forward, trembling. “Yes, my lady? What do you require?” Though my courtyard was full of servants, I remembered her. She’d started in the kitchens, a small, clumsy girl, always bullied by the others. One day, she’d let a pot burn, nearly starting a fire, and the head cook had beaten her mercilessly. I’d taken pity on her—a girl my own age—and had her moved to the courtyard to do simple sweeping. I never imagined my act of kindness would be seen as an insult. That night, cradled in my mother’s arms, Rose had spoken in a pitiful whisper. “Me? Your daughter? A lady of the house? How can that be…? I’m just a cleaner here. Anyone can spit on me.” My mother’s heart had broken for her. “You are not a cleaner! You are the jewel of this house! From this day on, we’ll see who dares to harm you!” Watching the tender scene replay in my mind, I couldn’t help but speak my past words aloud in a bitter murmur. “If you were unhappy with your duties, you could have said something…” In the memory, my mother’s hand had cracked across my face. “Silence! How dare you, a slave’s child, speak to Rose like that? Do you still think you are a lady?” My cheek had swelled instantly. One of the elders, a man who had watched me grow, spoke with hesitation. “My lady Duchess, how can you be so certain? That Catherine is not your child?” “Because I have proof!” my mother had declared, her voice ringing with triumph. “My true daughter was born with a small, crescent-shaped birthmark on her temple.” She had swept aside Rose’s hair, and there it was, for all to see. A small, faint blue mark. The room was empty now, save for me and Rose. “My lady, I’m not assigned to your personal chambers…” she began, her voice meek. I cut her off. Closing the distance between us, I ripped the heavy fringe of hair from her forehead. There it was. The birthmark I didn’t have. Seeing her flinch and cower, I didn’t mince words. “You already know what’s going to happen today, don’t you?” A flicker of confusion—or perhaps, practiced innocence—crossed her face. “My lady? I… I don’t understand what you mean.” I didn’t miss the glint of something else beneath the fear. I leaned in, my voice a low, deliberate whisper. “Rose. Beaumont.” Her eyes darted away, but not before I saw it: a flash of triumph mixed with her feigned confusion. A cold smile touched my lips. “A rat from the gutter,” I murmured, my voice dripping with scorn. “You’ve certainly schemed hard to reach the palace floors, haven’t you?” Her mask shattered. Her face darkened, the meekness vanishing like smoke. “Catherine,” she sneered, “are you introducing yourself?” Just as I suspected. She knew everything. With her victory so close, she saw no more reason to pretend. She strode to the center of the room, to the magnificent gown displayed on a mannequin. The Queen’s Gown. It had taken a hundred weavers half a year to create, a breathtaking masterpiece of silk and gold thread. Rose caressed the exquisite fabric, her eyes burning with an ambition she no longer bothered to hide. “The title of Lady Beaumont is mine. And the throne of the Queen will be mine, too.” She turned to me, her face alight with petty victory. “This gown should be under royal guard until the coronation. Do you know why it’s here, in your room?” She leaned closer, her voice a triumphant hiss. “It’s because Arthur wanted me to see it first. A private viewing, for his true queen.” She had admitted it. She and King Arthur were already lovers. He knew what was coming today. He was in on it all. And the me of my past life had been blissfully, stupidly, waiting to marry him. I had walked straight into their trap, a lamb to the slaughter, and never suspected a thing. In the years of his ascension, every prince had vied for the support of House Beaumont. But only Arthur, being closest to my age, had gotten near me. He was the one who would ride for hours just to pick the first spring blossoms for me. The one who would recklessly scale the walls of our estate, all for a single glimpse. “To others, you are Lady Catherine Beaumont,” he would whisper, his breath warm against my ear. “But to me, you are just Catherine. It has nothing to do with titles or status. Even if you were a commoner, you would be the queen of my heart.” A young man’s promises. So earnest. So easy to believe. So easy to break. The moment I lost my title and my name, the very gates of the palace were barred to me. The boy who was my last hope for salvation simply turned his back. Then, he emerged from the gates to welcome Rose. “Rose, my love,” he’d said, his voice carrying on the wind. “Nothing can stop you from being my queen now.” From her sedan chair, Rose had shot me a look of pure, mocking triumph. “Did you really think he scaled those walls for you? He was climbing for the quiet maid who tended your gardens. He brought you all those flowers because he knew you’d share them with the staff, and that I would get one, too.” Her smile was a slash of red. “What good were your sixteen years as a duchess’s daughter? The truth is, Catherine, you never even stood a chance.” Listening to her taunts, seeing the guilt flicker in Arthur’s averted eyes, I finally understood the words his chamberlain had spoken to me just moments before, a gentle but firm refusal. “The late king decreed that the eldest daughter of House Beaumont would be the future queen. Even if His Majesty holds some affection for you, my lady, he cannot defy his father’s final command.” Arthur. His charming eyes, so full of practiced devotion, could make anyone feel like they were the center of his world. My gaze fell upon the wedding gown before me. With a swift, deliberate motion, I pulled a long, sharp pin from my hair. Rose gasped and scrambled back. “Are you mad?! If you dare to harm me…” The pin sliced through the priceless silk, a clean, vicious tear. I tossed it aside. “You’re new to this world, Rose,” I said, my voice dangerously calm as she stared in horror at the ruined gown. “You’ll learn that the more beautiful something is, the more easily it can be destroyed.” She rushed forward, cradling the torn fabric as if it were a dying bird. “Do you have any idea how precious this is? What am I supposed to wear tomorrow?!” I shoved her aside, snatching the gown back. “This is my gown. You needn’t worry about it.” Her eyes were daggers of pure hatred. “He doesn’t love you!” she shrieked. “And after today, you’ll be nothing but a slave’s daughter! You dare to still dream of being queen?” I raised an eyebrow and pushed open the doors to the antechamber, where my handmaidens were already gathered, drawn by the commotion. “What are you waiting for?” I commanded, my voice ringing with authority. “This woman has lost her mind. Drag her out.” My maids, loyal and unhesitating, seized a stunned Rose, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Fifty slaps to the face,” I added coolly. “Then lock her in the stables. Let her cool her head.” Rose, with a sudden burst of strength, bit down hard on a maid’s hand and screamed, “We’ll see how long your arrogance lasts!” Another maid immediately struck her across the face, and a rough cloth was stuffed into her mouth. I heard one of them mutter, “What was she thinking? A mere cleaner, insulting her lady.” I looked down at the struggling, muffled form of Rose on the floor. “I’d be quiet if I were you. Don’t tempt me to change my mind and have you dealt with right here, right now.” My voice dropped to a glacial whisper. “You wonder how long I can be arrogant? For now, I am the mistress, and you are the servant. Have sixteen years as a slave taught you nothing?” Fear warred with rage in her eyes, but before she could react, she was dragged away. Watching the sun begin its descent, I clutched the ruined gown. “Prepare the carriage,” I ordered. The Gilded Needle was the most renowned tailor in the capital. Its proprietor was a master artisan, sought after only by the highest echelons of nobility. But when I presented the gown and my request, he shook his head, his face etched with worry. “Lady Catherine, this gown is a masterpiece. You know the work that went into it. It is impossible to repair it in a single night.” “If you can’t, someone else can. I wish to see your master.” “You jest, my lady. My master knows nothing of needlework. How could he possibly fix this?” “Oh, he can fix it,” I said, my voice serene. “And if he can’t, he can replace it.” That night, in the pouring rain of my past life, someone had offered me a hand. But with my legs broken on my own mother’s orders, my spirit had already died. This time, I would not allow myself to be trampled into the dust. The sky was bleeding into shades of twilight when the door finally opened. The man who entered surveyed the room, his eyes finally landing on me. “Do you have any idea what you are doing?” he asked, his voice a low baritone. My gaze fell to the intricate chessboard he kept in the room. “Even the most flawless strategy has a weakness,” I replied, meeting his eyes. “And even if I must become a pawn in my own game, I will still win this wager against fate.” Returning from The Gilded Needle, I was met not by a storm, but a hurricane. My parents stood there, their faces contorted with rage, protectively cradling a weeping Rose, her cheeks swollen and red. The accusations were harsher this time, the curses more vile. One of the elders, the same man from my memory, spoke up. “My lady Duchess, how can you be so certain? That Catherine is not your child?” My mother’s voice was laced with venom. “When Rose was born, the labor was difficult. I never saw her face. That was when some treacherous soul saw their chance to switch the infants.” I seized on the flaw in her story. “If you never saw the newborn’s face, Mother, how can you be so sure your true daughter has a birthmark on her temple?” I expected hesitation, a moment of doubt. Instead, she strode forward and slapped me, hard, all remnants of our shared history incinerated in her fury. “It seems you won’t accept the truth until it’s shoved down your throat! Guards! Bring in the slave!” Her voice was a shriek. “Let’s reunite you with your wretched mother. Consider it my final act of charity after sixteen years of raising you.” Even though I had lived this before, the pain was a fresh wound. Tears welled in my eyes. Sixteen years. From a stumbling toddler to the most celebrated lady in the capital. Even if we shared no blood, had she not raised me? Did she not know the core of my being? My mother was frail, prone to terrible headaches every winter. It was I who sat by her bed through every snowfall, tending to her personally, never entrusting the task to a servant. How could she cast aside sixteen years of love and devotion so easily? A woman in rough-spun clothes, her body covered in bruises, was dragged before us. She screamed, her voice cracking with terror. “Stop hitting me! I confess! I did it! I switched my daughter for the Duchess’s baby! Rose is the true lady of the house! Please, stop… I’ll pay with my life! Is that not enough?!” Before anyone could react, the woman launched herself headfirst at a nearby stone pillar. A sickening crack. And then, silence. The key witness was dead. Case closed.

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His first love, the woman my husband called his “moonlight,” suffered from severe depression. The mere sight of me would send her into a self-harming spiral. So, to keep his precious moonlight safe, he sent me away. He didn’t care that I was nine months pregnant. He dumped me in his family’s dilapidated ancestral home in the countryside and forgot I existed. Five years after I was defiled and left for dead, his moonlight was diagnosed with kidney failure. The doctors said a blood relative would be the best match. Only then did he remember me—her older sister. He called, his voice a cold command, ordering me to come back at once. My five-year-old daughter answered the phone. Her small voice trembled. “Uncle…? My… my mommy… she’s been dead for a very long time.” 1 “Who is this?” Wayne Heins’s voice was sharp with impatience. “Where’s Beth? Put Beth on the phone!” My daughter, Jenifer, stammered, “You… you wait a minute.” She put down the receiver and ran to find the village elder. “Grandpa, someone’s on the phone for Mommy.” The old man, his back bent with age, shuffled to the phone. “Mr. Heins?” he asked. “You finally…” Hearing an old man’s voice, Wayne’s face darkened. He pressed his temples, taking a deep, calming breath, but his eyes, when they opened, were filled with a barely contained rage. “Where is Beth?” he snapped. “What, is she too scared to take my call? First she has some kid tell me she’s dead, now an old man? Is she going to try that line again?” His voice dripped with condescending fury. “She just wants me to come get her myself, doesn’t she? Fine. For Claire’s sake, I’ll drag her back myself.” He slammed the phone down without waiting for a reply. The next day, a sleek, black car wound its way through the forgotten country roads and pulled up in the village. Wayne stepped out, his expensive suit a stark contrast to the poverty surrounding him. He stared at the half-collapsed old house, his brow furrowed in disgust. The door hung open on one hinge. The inside was gutted, stripped of all furniture. Broken floorboards lay scattered amidst a thick carpet of dust and cobwebs. The windows were shattered. He shot an irritated glance at the young man who had guided him here. “Where is Beth? Tell her to get out here. If she agrees to donate a kidney to Claire, I’ll take her back.” The young man looked pained. “Mr. Heins, I… well, you see… maybe you should wait for the village elder?” Wayne’s eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Just then, the elder arrived, leaning heavily on a cane. “Mr. Heins.” Wayne gave him a dismissive glance. “Beth. Where is she?” The elder tucked one hand behind his back. “Beth… she can’t come out to meet you.” A cold, mirthless laugh escaped Wayne’s lips. “What, are you going to tell me she’s dead? Tell her to stop with the petty games. I’m not in the mood. I came all this way to get her. What more does she want?” What more did I want? Nothing. I just wanted to live. I wanted to watch my daughter grow up. But I couldn’t even have that. My soul hovered nearby, watching him, a hollow ache where my heart used to be. Five years ago, on the very night I was sent here, I gave birth to Jenifer. A few weeks later, Claire found me. She was consumed with jealousy—that I had married Wayne, that I was carrying his child. First, she sent thugs to destroy the old house. Then, she sent them to harass me, day after day. Finally, she sent them to rape me and kill me. They left my broken body in the mountains for the wild dogs to devour. It was the village elder who noticed I was gone. He organized a search party. They found what was left of me and gave me a proper burial. 2 The elder stroked his thin beard, his eyes clouded with a deep sadness. “Beth,” he said with a heavy sigh, “has been dead for five years.” A mocking smile twisted Wayne’s lips. His expression grew colder, harder. “Do you take me for a child, old man? A woman like her? She’d never have the guts to die.” His hawk-like gaze swept over the villagers who had gathered. He barked an order at his bodyguards. “Find her. I don’t care if you have to tear this entire village apart.” I floated in the air, a silent phantom, as his men went from door to door, pounding on them violently. They shoved aside anyone who answered, storming into their homes, searching for me. The terrified villagers spilled out into the dirt road. The entire village was there, but I was nowhere to be seen. Wayne’s face grew uglier with every passing minute. He stalked over to the elder, his patience gone. He grabbed the old man by the collar. “Tell me. Where have you hidden her? You tell me now, and I might be merciful. Otherwise…” The elder just repeated what he’d said. Wayne’s temper snapped. With a sharp twist, he broke the old man’s wrist. The elder cried out in pain. A small figure darted from the crowd. A little girl in a clean, simple dress, her hair in two neat braids. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she ran to the elder’s side. “Grandpa, are you okay?” she cried. Wayne froze. He looked the little girl up and down, a strange sense of familiarity prickling at him. Jenifer, my brave little Jenifer, launched herself at Wayne, biting his leg with all her might. He kicked her away on instinct. She tumbled to the ground but scrambled back up, her eyes blazing with fury. “You’re a bad man! Grandpa told you, my mommy is dead! Why are you hurting him?” Wayne’s face changed. A dark, terrifying look entered his eyes as he stared at Jenifer. I panicked, instinctively drifting in front of my daughter to shield her, but I was just a ghost. He walked right through me. He snatched Jenifer up by her shirt, his eyes scrutinizing her face. Jenifer kicked and struggled, suspended in the air. Wayne stared at her face, so much like my own, and his voice was a low snarl. “You’re that bastard child.” His hand moved from her shirt to her throat. “Get Beth out here now,” he roared, “or I’ll snap this little bastard’s neck!” I screamed as I watched my daughter struggle for breath. “Wayne, I’m here! I’m right here! Let her go! Let Jenifer go!” But no one could hear me. Jenifer’s face was turning a deep red. I forgot I was dead. I lunged at Wayne, trying to bite the hand that was choking my daughter, but my teeth closed on empty air. The elder, seeing Jenifer begin to go limp, cried out through his pain, “Mr. Heins, wait! Jenifer is your…” Before he could finish, a bodyguard kicked him to the ground. He lay there, groaning in agony. Suddenly, Wayne let Jenifer go. She dropped to the ground, gasping. He swept his cold gaze over the crowd. “Beth,” he announced, his voice a venomous threat, “if you don’t show yourself in three days, I will kill that bastard child.” I looked at the elder, crumpled and broken, and at my daughter’s neck, bruised and purple. A tremor of pure, undiluted hatred ran through me. In that moment, I regretted ever loving him more than I had ever regretted anything in my life. 3 Three days passed in the blink of an eye. This time, Wayne brought Claire with him. The woman who had been so arrogant and triumphant five years ago was now a fragile, withered husk. Wayne lifted her from the car with infinite tenderness, placing her gently in a wheelchair. He tucked a blanket around her, his eyes filled with a pained adoration. All his gentleness was for her. For me, there was only ever impatience and contempt. The elder and I were waiting for them at the edge of the village. Of course, no one could see me. Wayne saw the elder standing alone, and his fury began to simmer. “Seeing Claire so weak… is Beth really so heartless? Refusing to help her own sister?” “Old man, if you hand Beth over, if she agrees to be tested as a donor, I’ll have this road paved. I’ll improve the living conditions for everyone in this village. I’ll even take Beth back as Mrs. Heins. And that bastard child… I will treat her as if she were my own.” He thought he was being generous. A magnanimous king making an offer to a peasant. But the elder gave him the same answer. “Mr. Heins, when Beth came back five years ago, she was constantly harassed by local thugs. I don’t know the exact circumstances of her death. I only know that when I realized she was missing, the whole village searched for her. We found her body in the mountains. It was… badly mauled. I gave her a burial, up on the back hill. You can see for yourself if you don’t believe me.” Wayne laughed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Are you kidding me? If she was dead, how was that little bastard born? How did she survive all these years?” The elder sighed. “Jenifer was born the night Beth arrived. After Beth died so suddenly… we couldn’t just abandon the child, could we?” At this, a flicker of something dark and surprised crossed Claire’s face. She knew exactly how I died. The memory was seared into my soul. I had just finished the traditional month of postpartum confinement. Claire showed up with three men. Before I could react, they seized me. She slapped me, again and again. Not satisfied, she ground her heel into my hand, crushing the bones in my fingers. I screamed. “You bitch, Beth!” she’d shrieked. “Why? Why were you born first? Why did you get to marry Wayne? He was supposed to love me!” I tried to speak, but she unleashed a torrent of kicks and punches, a storm of pure hatred. Her men held me down. Finally, I lay broken and dying on the floor. She leaned down, whispering in my ear. “The thought of you sleeping with him, having his child… it makes me sick, my dear sister. You dared to steal my man. For that, even if you are my sister, you have to die.” Then she gestured to the men. They tore at my clothes. They violated me. I don’t know how many times. At some point, I just… stopped breathing. And my soul watched as she ordered them to dump my body in the mountains. The universe has a way of balancing its books. Five years later, Claire’s karma had arrived. The one person who could save her, she had killed with her own hands. She knew, better than anyone, that Wayne’s efforts were futile. I was never coming back.

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1 I beat my wife, the woman who once loved me more than life itself, and sent her to the hospital. Then I walked into the police station and turned myself in. I did it because I remember my last life. I remember when her old flame, the one that got away, came back to town after his divorce. It started when he lost his mind in a Tiffany & Co., smashing display cases to pieces. It ended with him behind the wheel of a car, a blur of metal and fury, causing a catastrophic multi-car pile-up on the freeway. But it was the Tiffany’s manager and the victims of the crash who came for me. They pointed their fingers, their voices unwavering, and swore it was me. I fought to prove my innocence, but every security camera feed they produced showed my face. My own wife, Katie, insisted it was true, telling everyone my depression had finally pushed me over the edge. They didn’t wait for a trial. The family of a victim cornered me, and a blade in my gut was the final verdict. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. The day before he, Ethan, was set to destroy everything. … This time, I was the one who left Katie, battered and bruised, at the doors of the emergency room. My cold, impatient demeanor, coupled with the constellation of injuries covering her body, screamed a story far more violent than a simple fall. Two officers walked in. “Who called this in?” I immediately held my hands out to them, wrists together. “I did, Officer. I’m here to turn myself in. The woman I assaulted is in the ER right now.” The officer shot me a bewildered look. After a quick confirmation with a nurse, they cuffed me and led me away. The first thing Katie did after being discharged from the emergency room was try to post my bail. “I really just fell,” she pleaded with the police. “It has nothing to do with my husband.” I squared my jaw. “It wasn’t me? Then how did you ‘fall’ into a pattern of whip marks across your back?” Katie’s eyes blazed with a desperate, furious light. “Steve, you’re insane! I’m trying to save you!” But I was a stone wall. “I did something wrong. I deserve to be punished. It’s that simple.” She was trembling with rage, but no matter how she argued or begged, I stuck to my story: it was a deliberate, vicious assault. Given that I’d turned myself in and was so cooperative, the police decided to hold me for five days. Katie had no choice but to be wheeled back to her hospital room. And there, in the sterile silence of a holding cell, a profound peace washed over me. This time, I thought, none of it can touch me. In my last life, the moment Ethan returned to this city, he didn’t just reappear; he ripped the heart right out of my marriage. Katie was gone, pulled back into his orbit, leaving me to face my nights alone. I remember lying in a seedy clinic, enduring some quack’s electroshock “treatment” for a depression I never had. The pain was excruciating. Then my phone rang. It was Katie. “Ethan’s been drinking,” she’d said, her voice rushed. “I have to go get him. I’ll be back for you in a bit.” She left without even bothering to turn off the machine. She was gone for the entire day. I was left there, strapped down, convulsing, my screams echoing in an empty room. It took two full days at home just to regain enough strength to stand. I was about to confront her, to demand an explanation, when the news broke. Ethan had trashed the Tiffany’s downtown. Then, he’d taken his car onto the freeway, hitting 120 mph, and slammed into a chain of twenty cars. I had tried to be the good guy. I’d urged him to turn himself in, told him we could sell our assets, the car, the house, to compensate the victims. Ethan had just sneered at me. “Steve, you’re the one who caused a hit-and-run. You’re the one who smashed up a jewelry store. Why should I sell my things for your mess?” Then Katie had produced the divorce papers I’d been tricked into signing weeks before. “We’re already divorced, Steve,” she’d said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “You’re on your own. The house, the cars, they were always mine. Don’t even think about touching them.” I was lost. It was Ethan who had committed the crimes, so why was I the one being forced to pay? But then the store manager, the accident victims—they all descended on me, demanding blood. They even had the surveillance footage. And on every screen, clear as day, was my face. 2 “The evidence is right here, Steve. Are you still going to deny it? Pay up!” “A twenty-car pile-up! You couldn’t pay for this with your life!” I stared at the screen, at my own face, a phantom committing crimes I never did. My mind was a tangled mess. How could this be? But this life would be different. I would not walk that path again. Five days later, I was released. I hadn’t even taken my first breath of fresh air when a hand clamped down on my arm, hard. “You’re the bastard who put my wife in the hospital!” a man roared, his face contorted with rage. “I’m going to kill you!” He lunged, grabbing for my collar. I sidestepped, my reflexes sharp. Suddenly, I was surrounded. A crowd had materialized out of nowhere, their faces twisted with malice, their eyes hungry for a scapegoat. “Steve, you goddamn murderer!” “He’s faking it! The depression, all of it! He smashes up stores, drives like a maniac—he’s a menace!” The mention of “120 mph” caught the attention of passersby. Phones came out, screens lit up. Someone was live-streaming. Faced with the snarling mob, I clenched my fists. Even after locking myself away, they still wouldn’t let me go. I took a breath and steadied myself. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I projected, my voice loud and clear. “These are baseless accusations.” The guy with the live-stream sneered and held out another phone, a video playing on its screen. “Who’s accusing you? See for yourself.” The video showed me walking into Tiffany’s with my mother. After a brief, tense argument, my face twisted into a mask of rage. I hurled my phone, shattering a glass counter. My mother was there, grabbing at my arm, her voice shrill. “Steve, stop! Stop it! We can’t afford this!” But the me on the screen was unmoved. I shoved her away, sending her sprawling to the floor. My mother, lying on the polished marble, clutched her chest and screamed to the onlookers, “That’s my son, Steve! He has depression! He can’t control himself!” A cold dread washed over me, heavier than any I’d felt before. In my last life, it was Katie who stood outside Tiffany’s, screaming that I was mentally ill. But this time, the very first thing I did was put Katie in the hospital and myself in a jail cell for five days. And the person screaming my name, branding me with the scarlet letter of insanity, was my own mother. How? How could this be happening again? “Nothing to say now, huh?” the man spat. The Tiffany’s story was already a viral sensation. Now, with the “culprit” found, the live-stream exploded, rocketing to the top of the trending charts. I stood there, my expression frozen, my eyes locked on the face in the video—my face. The store manager shoved a crumpled receipt into my chest, his own chest heaving with fury. “You smashed three of my counters! The jewelry inside is all damaged to some degree. The total is five million dollars.” He was almost choking on his words. “Some of those pieces were one-of-a-kind. And now they’re gone. Because of you.” A man whose car was part of the pile-up stepped forward, his face a mask of fury. “My wife is three months pregnant! Your little joyride scared her so badly she’s in the hospital right now, fighting to keep our baby. And you had the nerve to flee the scene. You’re coming with me to the station, right now.” He grabbed my arm, trying to drag me away. “Yeah! People like you should get the death penalty!” someone yelled. The cry was taken up by the crowd, their anger a single, unified roar. I fought to break free, shouting over the noise, “Everyone, just calm down! It wasn’t me who did these things!” The manager scoffed. “Your own mother was shouting your name in my store. How could it not be you?” “The person who did this was Ethan!” I explained desperately. “He’s my wife’s old flame. Go ask her! He’s the one who trashed the jewelry store and drove like a maniac!” Just as I was trying to make them understand, a sharp, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. Katie. She had appeared from nowhere, and her hand had connected with my face in a vicious slap. 3 “You’re still trying to frame Ethan?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “You’ll never change.” She grabbed the back of my head, trying to force me to my knees. “You’ve done enough damage. Now apologize to them!” I wrenched myself free. “It wasn’t me! Why should I apologize for something I didn’t do?” From behind her, Ethan peeked out, his face a perfect picture of wounded innocence. “Steve, how could you become like this?” he murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. “Katie is so good to you, and you put her in the hospital. Even now, she’s just worried about you, trying to get you a lighter sentence by having you apologize.” Ethan’s words were like gasoline on the fire of the crowd’s anger. Their glares intensified, thick with contempt. The live-stream chat filled with a torrent of abuse, and within minutes, someone had doxxed me, posting my home address for the world to see. I stared at Ethan. “I said it wasn’t me. Why are you so defensive?” Katie raised her hand to slap me again, but this time I caught her wrist. “I told you,” I said, my voice low and cold, “Ethan did this. What are you trying to do? Beat a confession out of me?” Seeing the attention shift back to him, Ethan cried out, “Steve, how can you accuse me like this? Yes, I know Katie and I were close once, but that was just a childhood friendship! To avoid any misunderstanding, I even moved to another city! I’ve put up with your paranoia for years, not because I’m afraid of you, but because I didn’t want to make your condition worse. Steve… it’s time to face reality.” His saccharine-sweet, manipulative performance was a masterpiece. The crowd ate it up. 【This guy’s sickness is his own damn fault. Paranoid, sees rivals everywhere.】 【The dude tries to help him and he just attacks him. What a psycho.】 【I bet his kid won’t be a child model lmao.】 The chat was a cesspool of mockery. Katie’s face flushed with anger. She kicked the back of my knee. “Apologize. Now.” Just then, my mother pushed her way through the crowd. She looked at me, her eyes filled not with maternal love, but with profound disappointment. “Steve,” she said, her voice heavy. “Go turn yourself in.” “We went to Tiffany’s together yesterday. The others might not know, but I’m your mother. How could I not know what you did?” Katie held my leg down. The crowd spat insults. Someone threw a rotten egg. It shattered against my skull, cold, stinking yolk slithering down my forehead. The commotion finally drew the attention of the police. “Stop! Everybody back off!” An officer pushed through, creating a barrier between me and the mob. He saw me and froze for a second, then his expression hardened. “Steve? You’re not even home yet and you’re already causing trouble?” Seeing him was like finding a life raft in a storm. I grabbed his arm. “Officer, thank God you’re here. You have to help me.” The man whose wife was in the hospital snorted. “Why would a cop help a piece of trash like you?” Katie sighed dramatically. “Steve, just confess. You might get a lighter sentence.” The officer looked at the chaotic scene, a frown creasing his brow as he finally pieced things together. “You’ve been out for ten minutes. What could you have possibly done now?” Ignoring the shocked faces around me, I began to speak, my voice steady. “They’re all saying I smashed up Tiffany’s yesterday. A luxury store I can’t even afford to walk into. They’re saying I was doing 120 on the freeway. And they all came straight here, demanding justice from me.” The officer’s face went blank. “How is that possible?” As the crowd exchanged confused glances, Katie shrieked, “Steve! What did you do to get the police on your side too? You caused millions in damages, you wrecked all those cars, people were hurt! How dare this officer cover for you!” 4 Her accusation was all it took. The live-streamer’s phone was instantly shoved in the officer’s face. The comments section flooded with theories of bribery and corruption. The officer’s face darkened as he saw the screen. “What the hell are you people talking about? Steve has been in police custody, in a holding cell, for the past five days. How could he possibly be the one who did all this?” A stunned silence fell over the crowd. The live-stream chat froze for a beat before erupting with even more frantic energy. 【Wait, so Steve was in jail for 5 days… but the guy who trashed Tiffany’s and caused the pile-up YESTERDAY… was also Steve?】 【Impossible. Unless Steve can teleport.】 The victims who had come for my blood now looked hesitant. I stood up straight, my voice ringing with sincerity. “Everyone, I don’t know why my face is on that surveillance video, but I can promise you, at the time of these incidents, I was in a cell, trying to be a better person. I never left.” A user in the live-stream chat suggested the video might be a deepfake. The Tiffany’s manager was the first to shoot that down. “No way. That’s from my store’s internal security system.” To get to the bottom of it, the officer called in a forensics team to analyze the footage. The result was baffling: the videos were authentic, unaltered. And the face in them was undeniably mine. The crowd erupted in confused chatter. Katie, her face a mask of feigned concern, her eyes darting nervously, suddenly had a flash of inspiration. “That is Steve. I’ve slept next to him for years, I know his face. He must have snuck out!” she declared. “He has depression! He probably faked being sick in jail so they’d take him to the hospital, and then he escaped from there!” Ethan gasped, playing his part perfectly. “That must be it! Steve used to do that all the time, use his ‘depression’ as an excuse to get to the hospital and then just sneak out!” He turned to the police. “Officer, the evidence is overwhelming! You have to arrest him!” His words were the spark that reignited the mob’s fury. They surged forward, their voices a unified chant: “Arrest him! Arrest him!” The officer’s face was grim. “During his time in custody, Steve was never taken to the hospital.” But just as he said it, another officer approached, his expression troubled. “Actually, sir… Steve did complain of feeling unwell yesterday. We were worried about his condition, so we did take him to the hospital for a check-up.” The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Ethan’s face lit up with triumph. “You see, Officer? I was right! Arrest him! He deserves life in prison for this!” Now, even the cops were looking at me with suspicion. I turned to them, my voice pleading. “Officers, you have to clear my name. I was brought in five days ago. Even when I was at the hospital yesterday, you were with me the whole time.” The second officer looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “For the urology exam… I didn’t go in with you.” Ethan seized on it instantly. “That’s it! He slipped out during the exam! That hospital isn’t far from Tiffany’s!” he shouted. “Confess, Steve, and maybe they’ll show you some mercy!” He put on a show of heartfelt concern, a performance that had the live-stream viewers praising his magnanimity. How could he be so forgiving to the man who had wronged him so? The crowd grew louder, more aggressive. They closed in, shoving, pushing. Hands grabbed at my clothes, my arms. I was a ship tossed in a storm, my face stinging from a fresh scratch. But as I was buffeted back and forth, a slow smile spread across my lips. Not because I had lost my mind. But because I knew Ethan would never let this go easily. And this time, I had come prepared. “STOP! I can prove Steve didn’t do any of this!” The voice cut through the chaos like a razor. My smile widened. The person I was waiting for had finally arrived.

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At the wedding I had meticulously planned myself, my stoic fiancé, my childhood friend, ran off with his assistant, who was also wearing a wedding gown. His younger brother, however, abruptly got into the wedding car with me, dragged me into the city hall despite my panic, and said we were getting married. The elaborate stage set suddenly collapsed, revealing a room full of guests all laughing at me. To make the little assistant smile, the two brothers I’d grown up with, the ones who’d sworn to protect me for life, tore up our fake marriage certificate and showered me with the pieces. The three of them stood on stage, interlocking arms to drink champagne. “The wedding you planned was so tacky. We changed it to a bachelorette party for Mia. You should be grateful.” “The real wedding is on Sunday! Isn’t Mia’s idea such a fun surprise?” They were so sure I couldn’t live without them. But I just calmly picked up my phone. “Let’s schedule the wedding with the heir of the Lucian family for this Sunday.” … An ecstatic reply instantly flooded my screen: “We’ll arrange the wedding design schedule immediately!” Mia pouted, leaning against Philip. “I’m not really the marrying type, you guys. I just wanted to experience what it feels like, and the Song brothers made it happen for me right away!” I didn’t answer. My phone was violently knocked out of my hand by Philip. “Are you deaf? Where are the manners the Song family taught you? Mia is pure-hearted. Do you have to be so petty that you can’t even answer her?” My fiancé, Nathan, stepped in front of me, shielding Mia. He glanced at my phone. “…What schedule? Are you going on a business trip?” I quickly picked up my phone and turned off the screen. “A company project.” The three of them looked like a perfect trio, making my wedding dress, now littered with shredded paper, look utterly ridiculous. Whispers filled the room. “Look at her. Does she still think she’s the bride? This is a party the two young masters of the Song family threw for Miss Mia.” “The moment one brother runs off, she tries to marry the other. Young Master Philip really has her number… so desperate for a man.” The guests were all wealthy socialites we’d grown up with, and their words were laced with malicious contempt. And the two childhood friends who had sworn to protect me for life were now orbiting Mia, their eyes full of adoration. I looked around. The romantic setting I had so carefully designed was completely destroyed. White balloons and roses were splattered with bright red paint reading “Happy Single Life!” This whole humiliating spectacle, with me as the punchline, had been orchestrated by them to showcase their devotion to Mia. I reached up and plucked a piece of paper from my hair, my hand trembling uncontrollably. Mia faltered, her eyes instantly turning red. “Sienna, it’s my fault. I suggested they surprise you with a bachelorette party. I’m so sorry…” Nathan patted her head, his face cold as he admonished me. “Can you stop playing the victim? You’re a wedding planner. You’ve seen every kind of scene there is.” Philip exploded at his brother’s words, grabbing my wrist and yanking me in front of Mia. “Sienna! Mia’s just a naive young girl! How can you pressure her like this? She’s the only one who’d be fooled by your pathetic act! Apologize. Now!” Pain shot up my arm. I steadied myself and calmly removed the ring I had designed. Nathan’s expression changed. He subconsciously covered his own hand. The custom wedding band I’d spent three months creating for him was gone, replaced by one that matched Mia’s. I answered quickly. “You’re right. Let’s all enjoy the bachelorette party today.” They stared at me, shocked. This was the first time I had ever yielded so easily when it came to Mia. I had always fought with them over her. Like the time Mia threw away all my stomach medication, and they commandeered every available ambulance in the area, leaving me to suffer. Before they left, they had looked at me with cold indifference. “Can you stop throwing tantrums and faking illnesses? You target Mia the second she shows up!” Now, I wouldn’t throw any more tantrums. “Let’s break up.” I tossed the ring. Nathan froze, his face darkening. I smiled. “Happy single life, isn’t it?” Philip was the first to lose his composure. “Are you insane? It’s one thing not to accept the surprise Mia planned for you, but marriage is a once-in-a-lifetime event! If you don’t marry into our Song family, who else would want you?!” The heart I thought could no longer feel pain grew another inch colder. I smiled and calmly tossed the shredded paper at Philip. He grabbed my wrist in disbelief, roaring, “How dare you—?!” The pain was sharp and clear. I remembered how, whenever I used to get hurt, they would fuss over me, applying medicine with grave concern, protecting me like a precious treasure. Now, I was no longer the one they wanted to protect. “This was Miss Mia’s idea,” I said flatly. “You should experience it.” Philip was speechless, his face flushing red and pale by turns. He disgustedly threw the paper scraps back at me. “Have you made enough of a scene? Sienna!” Nathan strode over, his brow furrowed. “Our wedding is next week. If you embarrass us in front of this many people again, I’ll cancel it!” The old me would have begged for their forgiveness. My parents had died protecting me, a fact that made my grandmother resent me so much she refused to raise me. So, I was taken in by the Song family, who were close friends of my parents. The insecurity of being an outsider meant that in our childhood friendship, no matter who was angry, I was always the one to bow my head and apologize first. They felt sorry for me and swore to spoil me rotten, to never let me feel upset again. After seventeen years together, the more stable Nathan and I made our relationship official. Philip threw a fit but eventually accepted it, continuing to treat me like a sister. But things had changed. Mrs. Song had gone abroad for long-term medical treatment, and like an old, forgotten toy, I was cast aside, unloved. The wedding I had looked forward to with all my heart had become a joke, just like me. The jeers from the guests grew louder. Someone started chanting. “Dump her! Teach her to know her place!” The two brothers looked down at me, waiting for my apology, for me to beg. There was no warmth in their eyes. I curled my lips into a smile. “Well then, I wish the three of you a hundred years of happiness. Congratulations on your marriage!” The room fell silent. Philip, enraged, raised his hand to strike me. “What’s that supposed to mean? You know how important a girl’s reputation is! Why are you spreading rumors about Mia?! You’re ruining everything!” He knew. He knew this was the wedding I had designed with all my hopes and dreams. Yet, he still humiliated me for someone else. When his eyes met my tear-filled ones, he suddenly froze. I turned and walked away. Philip, flustered, started to follow, but Nathan’s calm voice stopped him. “Let her go! She’s an orphan with no home. Where else could she possibly go without us?” The footsteps paused for a second, but then Philip bolted after me, shouting into the empty hallway. “You really dare to leave?! We would’ve been better off raising a dog!” Tears streamed silently down my face. I heard him curse a few more times before he returned to the party. The noise behind me gradually faded. I walked toward a car waiting by the street. “Let’s go get the marriage certificate now.” After receiving the certificate, I felt a little dazed. I had met Javone at work, rejected his advances, and now, after all this, we were married through a family arrangement. Since we were married, I decided to use the remaining five days to make a clean break with the past. I went home to pack, but my life was too deeply entangled with the Songs. The financial ties were more than I could ever repay. I nervously called Javone. He transferred the money without a second thought. He had only one condition. “Help me plan a grand wedding. The kind that gets broadcast nationwide.” Javone’s laughter was a low, pleasant rumble. As I looked at the dreamy wedding sketches, a tickle of excitement sparked in my heart. He gave me access to top-tier planners I’d never had before, and the venue decorations could be changed at a moment’s notice to match my vision. It felt like he was determined to lift me up. Meanwhile, the Song Corporation had given all their best resources to Mia. I was left with scraps. And my designs were being passed off as hers. Thinking of this, my smile faded. Nathan was right. There was a time I couldn’t have survived without them. But things were different now. Love, I was learning, wasn’t about controlling someone. It was about giving them the freedom and support to be themselves. On the fourth night before the wedding, drifting in a state of exhaustion, I heard a faint rustling outside my door. “I told you she couldn’t leave us. She talked so tough, but she still came crawling back like a dog.” I forced myself to sit up, but Nathan snatched the sketches from my hands. “Our wedding is just around the corner. What’s the point of planning now?” He didn’t know this was the plan for my wedding to Javone. I silently took the sketches back. He frowned, his tone softening. “Mia just wanted to surprise you. We’re getting officially married next week anyway. Don’t be mad, okay?” I knew this whole charade was Mia’s design. Whether it was our three-person anniversary or my birthday, they always brought Mia along to wreck my plans and make her the shining star of the event, while I was left to shrink in a corner, eating a ruined piece of cake. Just like now. They had abandoned me for two days for Mia’s sake, not a single message to check in. I was exhausted. I mumbled a noncommittal reply without looking up. Nathan finally relaxed. Philip, who had been lurking at the door, reluctantly came in. “Sienna, we were too harsh today. The Song family will always welcome you. We’re sorry.” I nodded. Nathan, relieved, produced a gift box. When he opened it, it revealed a pair of worn high heels. The two of them looked at the box like it was a hot potato, their faces panicked. I watched them with a faint, mocking smile. Philip guiltily put the shoes away, muttering, “One of the guests must have left them by mistake. The boxes look so similar, I must have mixed them up.” Nathan, who had sworn never to lie to me, chimed in. “Yeah, you know how some guests like to be comfortable…” I certainly didn’t know any guests who were allowed to ride in their private car. In fact, since Mia’s arrival, the front passenger seat had become her exclusive territory, her bare feet propped up on the cushion where my back used to rest. But I didn’t care anymore. My placid acceptance made them vaguely uneasy. “Sienna, you don’t seem happy. Are you really not angry anymore?” The next second, their expressions turned wary. “If something’s wrong, you tell us. Don’t take it out on Mia.” I shook my head. “I just think I shouldn’t throw tantrums anymore.” They exchanged a look, surprised by this unfamiliar obedience. Just then, their phones rang in unison. They glanced at each other, a flash of excitement in their eyes, and immediately prepared to leave. I lowered my gaze. “Aren’t you going to give me my gift?” They froze. The excitement on their faces curdled into disgust. They threw the box at my face. “Don’t you understand what’s important? How did we never realize what a materialistic woman you are!” When they saw the blood, they panicked for a second but didn’t stop leaving. “Just open it yourself! The first aid kit is in the usual place!” The door slammed shut. The clock struck midnight. Three days left. I spoke softly to the empty room. “Did you know? Today was my birthday.” Finally, they had reached the point where they didn’t even remember my birthday. But that was fine. At least I wouldn’t be a joke to anyone anymore. I booked a flight for the day after tomorrow, Sunday. Early in the morning, under a gloomy, drizzling sky, I went to the cemetery. When I was a child, I had insisted on going to the mountains for my birthday. My parents were buried in a landslide that day. I could never accept that I had been the cause of their deaths. I grew up consumed by guilt and grief. Javone had been the one to comfort me. “They loved you. That’s why they held you above their heads when the landslide came. They wanted you to be happy.” Tears streamed down my face. No one had ever said that to me before. They all said I was the one who killed my parents. Even the two Song brothers avoided the topic. I wanted to speak to my parents alone first, so Javone waited for me outside the cemetery. To my surprise, I saw Nathan and Philip standing in front of their graves. I froze. They hadn’t been to pay their respects in three years, not since Mia arrived. I took a dazed step forward. But the next second, they picked up shovels and started digging up my parents’ graves. I screamed, rushing forward to stop them. “What are you doing?! Those are my parents!” They looked guilty for a moment, but quickly became defiant. “Mia’s pet spider died. A fortune teller said this was an auspicious spot for it. We found a better place for your parents.” “But they are my parents!” Tears streamed down my face as I shrieked in despair. Mia appeared from nowhere, pushing me aside to protect Philip. “You crazy woman! You’re not allowed to hurt Brother Philip!” In the chaos, the urn was knocked over. Both brothers instinctively rushed to Mia, cradling her ankle where a shard had cut her. I scrambled to the broken urn, tears blurring my vision. As children, they had been showered with my parents’ love. And now, for a spider, they were desecrating their graves. Mia let out a cry of pain, but this time, neither of them immediately turned their attention to her. Philip looked at my tear-streaked, devastated face and seemed momentarily flustered. Nathan was the first to kneel, trying to comfort me. “Sienna, what’s done is done…” I raised my hand to slap him.

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On my wedding day, my fiancé left me at the altar, announcing he had already married Stella. As the crowd’s laughter echoed around me, my childhood friend, Oscar, knelt with a diamond ring, his voice thick with emotion as he begged me to marry him instead. Moved to my core, I nodded. Seven months into my pregnancy, I was in a car accident. Oscar, a surgeon, operated on me himself. When I woke up, he told me the baby didn’t make it. And that I could never have children again. I was shattered. Oscar held me, his own tears streaming down his face, blaming himself for not protecting me and vowing to love me forever. But six years later, I accidentally received a recording of a phone call between him and a colleague: “Oscar, you did all that for Stella… faked her pregnancy certificate, staged a car crash just to make Mia go into early labor, and then gave her your own child. Do you have any regrets?” “Stella can’t have children. You expect me to just stand by and watch her future in-laws torment her? My only regret is that the baby was a girl. If it had been a boy, her position in that family would be unshakable.” All this time, I thought I had found true love. It was nothing but a meticulously crafted lie. … The sound of the shower was a steady hum from the bathroom. Oscar was washing away the day. In my ears, the recording played on. “But that was a huge risk. What if the crash hadn’t just induced labor? What if it had killed them both?” “It wouldn’t have. Stella and I spent months testing it. We ran simulations, hired people to stage crashes on junker cars, over and over.” The colleague’s voice was tinged with a strange sort of pity. “But Mia… they had to remove her uterus because of the accident. She can never have a child now. She wanted a baby so badly, and she loves you so much… Couldn’t you have just adopted one for Stella?” “No. It had to be my own. I wouldn’t trust a stranger’s child to love Stella properly.” “Have you ever thought about what you’ll do if Mia finds out?” A long pause from Oscar. Then, a heavy sigh. “She won’t. I’ll make sure of it. But if that day ever comes…I’m prepared to spend the rest of my life making it up to her.” The recording clicked off, plunging the room into silence. I clamped a hand over my mouth, a choked sob escaping my lips. Tears streamed, hot and uncontrolled, down my face as a chill that had nothing to do with the night air seeped into my bones, starting at my scalp and freezing me all the way to my toes. I never could have dreamed it. While I was cherishing the new life growing inside me, the husband I adored was plotting with another woman to steal her away. The profound love I thought he felt for me was just a calculated move to protect the woman he truly loved. He only proposed to me to stop me from going after my ex-fiancé, Julian, and disrupting Stella’s newfound happiness. I remember him placing the tiny, shrouded body of an infant in my arms, his voice breaking as he apologized, telling me our child was gone. I thought his heart was breaking with mine. But all along, he had already given our daughter to Stella, a pawn to secure her status in Julian’s wealthy family. What, then, was all my guilt? All my years of silent, gnawing pain? “Mia?” Oscar’s startled voice came from behind me. He saw the tear tracks on my face and rushed toward me, his knee catching the sharp corner of the bedframe. Blood instantly welled, but he ignored it, scrambling to pull me into his arms. “Mia, what’s wrong? What did I do? Did I upset you?” I carefully, deliberately, extracted myself from his embrace. “It’s nothing. I was just watching a movie. The ending was really sad.” Oscar pulled me back against him, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. A light chuckle followed. “You scared me to death. You really need to stop watching those tragedies. We’re not like them. I’m going to make you happy for the rest of your life.” His words used to feel like the sweetest honey. Now, they were just bitter poison. “Your knee is bleeding. I’ll get the first-aid kit and some milk.” Oscar never slept well. I’d read somewhere that warm milk helps, so no matter how late he worked, I always got up to heat a glass for him. “Okay. You’re the best, Mia. From now on, only comedies, alright? Hearing you laugh is the only thing that makes my life feel meaningful.” As I stood, another tear escaped and traced a cold path down my cheek. So, love could be faked. It could be a performance. And I was the fool who had been applauding in the front row for six years, never once seeing through the act. I quietly dissolved a small piece of a sleeping pill into his milk. After he drank it, Oscar fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. As I began searching for any other evidence, his phone, left on the nightstand, began to vibrate violently, the screen flashing with an insistent light. I’d always known he had special, high-priority alerts set up. He’d always said they were for his colleagues at the hospital, that he couldn’t risk missing an emergency call, a patient in need. But now, a cold certainty settled in my heart. I used his thumb to unlock the phone. Just as I suspected, a new voice message from Stella. I pressed play. It wasn’t her voice, but the high, lilting lisp of a little girl. “Daddy, Mommy wanted me to tell you that she loves the dove’s-egg diamond necklace you gave her!” My hand clenched around the phone, my entire body trembling. That voice… was that my daughter? Forcing myself to remain calm, I started scrolling through their chat history. The more I read, the colder I became. After Stella and Julian humiliated me at my own wedding, I cut off all contact with them. I’d only heard vaguely that after Stella discovered she was pregnant, Julian had sent her to the States to rest and be cared for. He was too busy with work to be with her constantly, but they’d filled social media with their long-distance romance until she returned home after the baby was born. During those same months, while I was wasting away from grief, so thin I looked like a skeleton, so lost in my pain I didn’t want to be a burden on Oscar, he was using “business trips” as an excuse to fly to America. To visit Stella. Oscar was a surgeon. I always believed his hands were for holding scalpels, for healing, for saving lives. I never let him touch a dish or a piece of laundry. But in the photos on his phone, there he was, wearing an apron, clumsily but earnestly simmering soup for Stella, not even flinching when he burned his fingers. He cooked for her. Did her laundry. Walked with her and the baby under the warm glow of a setting sun. In one photo, Stella’s head rested on his shoulder. They looked like a perfect, happy family. There were countless photos and videos like this, an unbroken chain of conversation stretching back six years. Not a single day was missed. And Oscar always, always replied instantly. No wonder he never let his phone out of his sight, even taking it into the shower. It wasn’t just to hide it from me. It was so he’d never miss a message from her. I had dreamed a thousand times of watching my child grow, step by step. I just never imagined I’d be watching as an outsider, a ghost in her life. And then I saw it. The message from Oscar that shattered what was left of my world. “Stella, Mia just delivered the baby. I’ll bring her to you soon. You can be a mother now.” Then what about me? I can never be a mother again. Wiping the tears from my face, I called my friend, a lawyer. “I need a divorce agreement. Get it ready for me by tomorrow.” “And that translator job you mentioned to me a while back? I’ll take it. I’ll be in France in five days to start.” Oscar, since you love Stella so much, I’ll grant you your wish. The next morning, Oscar woke up, mumbling about how quickly he’d fallen asleep. He nuzzled my neck affectionately. “Mia, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so tired lately. I didn’t mean to pass out on you.” “I’m heading to work,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Tonight, we’ll go to Mom’s birthday dinner, and when we get back, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He used to say things like that, and I’d blush and playfully call him shameless. Now, after seeing the torrent of affection and sweet nothings he poured out for Stella, his words just made me feel sick. After Oscar left, I went to the law firm. As I walked out with the divorce papers in my hand, my friend’s words echoed in my mind. “Getting your daughter back won’t be easy, Mia. She’s legally registered as Julian and Stella’s child. They’re her legal guardians.” “You’ll need a DNA test, either from you or Oscar. And even then, it will come down to whether the child wants to go with you.” I never even saw my baby after the accident. I had nothing of hers to use for a DNA test. My only option was Oscar. When I arrived at the hospital, the nurse at the front desk gave me a dismissive look. “Dr. Chen isn’t here. He’s downstairs on the playground with his wife and daughter.” “His… wife?” “Yeah. We’ve all seen her. She’s gorgeous, and her figure is incredible. They make a perfect couple.” A few other young nurses overheard and swarmed around, their faces alight with gossip. “Totally! His wife is always decked out in designer clothes, the limited-edition stuff. I heard Dr. Chen buys it all for her. The other day, I saw him give her a pink diamond the size of a dove’s egg. He spoils her rotten. I’m so jealous.” “The wife is stunning, and their daughter is adorable, like a little porcelain doll. How is anyone else supposed to compete with a family that perfect?” One of them finally turned to me, her eyes sweeping over my simple clothes with disdain. “And who are you, anyway? Don’t tell me you’ve got ideas about our Dr. Chen. I’ve seen plenty of delusional female patients like you. Do yourself a favor and take a good look in the mirror. He and his wife are deeply in love.” Their contemptuous stares made me feel small. I nervously tugged at the hem of my shirt, a bitter taste rising in my throat. Oscar rarely let me come to his hospital. And when I did, he never introduced me as his wife. He said the nurses were gossips who loved to stir up trouble, and he didn’t want me to be the subject of their talk. He never bought me designer labels or massive diamonds either. He said such things were too flashy, that they didn’t suit the pure, simple image I held in his heart. All excuses. I saw that now. I found him on the ground floor. Stella was standing beside him, her arm linked through his, as they watched the children playing in the hospital’s private playground. “Oscar,” Stella murmured, “are you sure Julian doesn’t suspect anything?” “He doesn’t. Ever since we had Lily, he’s been even more devoted to me. He treats me like a queen, buys me anything I want. He holds me tight when we sleep and calls me his treasure. He kisses me when he leaves for work and when he comes home… He’s nothing like the ruthless CEO everyone thinks he is. Oscar… thank you. For everything.” Oscar was silent for a moment, then a sour, pained smile touched his lips. “As long as you’re happy, I’d do anything.” Just then, a little girl in a frilly princess dress came running toward them, launching herself into Oscar’s arms. “Daddy! Mommy! I’m hungry!” She tilted her head, her bright, curious eyes landing on me. “Huh? Who’s this lady?” Only then did Oscar notice I was there. He quickly handed Lily to Stella, his expression a mask of awkwardness. “Mia! What are you doing here?” “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he stammered. “This is Stella’s daughter. I… I just thought she was so cute, I became her godfather.” Stella offered me a saccharine smile, her eyes gleaming with unconcealed triumph. “That’s right, Mia. Lily’s still little, she doesn’t quite understand the ‘godfather’ thing, so she just calls him Daddy. Please don’t be upset.” It was the same condescending expression, the same false sweetness she’d used at my wedding, all those years ago. She had stood there, clinging to Julian’s arm, saying the exact same thing: “Mia, Julian just loves me so much. Please don’t be upset.” Rage boiled up inside me. I raised my hand to slap her, but two hands shot out and grabbed my wrist. Oscar’s and Julian’s. Both of them, shielding Stella. That was the day Oscar had proposed to me in front of everyone, turning my day of humiliation into a wedding. But he didn’t love me. He just couldn’t stand the thought of me causing a scene and embarrassing Stella. Oscar pulled me away, making sure there was a safe distance between me and Stella and Lily. “Mia, is something wrong?” I tore my gaze away from Lily, my heart aching. “No… I just wanted to ask you what we should get your mom for her birthday tonight.” “Oh, is that all?” He sounded relieved. “Whatever you think is best, Mia. You always have the best taste.” He noticed the folder in my hand. “What’s that?” I took a breath. “Oscar, I need to talk to you. I want to… Can you give me L—” “Oscar, my stomach hurts,” Stella called out, cutting me off. “Can you come hold Lily for me?” Oscar didn’t hesitate. He rushed back to her side. “I told you not to drink that iced tea. It’s your time of the month, why can’t you listen, you big baby?” He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “Mia, you head home first. I’ll take care of Stella, it’s not easy for her with the kid. We’ll see you at the hotel tonight.” Of course. He remembered everything about Stella. That evening, I had just arrived at the hotel when Oscar walked in with Stella and Lily in tow.

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