Category: English

Determined to study hard for my grad school entrance exams, I posted: [I’m dying. Quitting the game. Don’t look for me.] A few days later, I heard that a famous actor went crazy, mistaking a netizen for the love of his life. Later, by some twist of fate, I ended up in the entertainment industry. To steal resources, a two-faced actress intentionally set me up on a live reality show to disrespect the actor’s “dead” love. But it seems that “dead” love is… me? I’m still alive. What do I do now… 01 It was exam prep season again, and once more, I was screaming in frustration at my own laziness. My best friend, Chloe, rolled her eyes at me. “Audrey, if you don’t quit that game, you can forget about grad school. Keep dreaming.” I threw my phone down and started sulking. “What, still waiting for your gaming buddy?” Chloe patted my back. I stayed silent, just being stubborn. Even though my gaming buddy hadn’t been online for days, I wasn’t going to admit it. “Let it go. You’re just a random netizen to him. Focusing on your exams is what’s important,” she said. Ouch… This girl’s ability to stab me right in the heart is as strong as ever. Stabbing me right where it hurts the most. But I’m known for being stubborn to the bitter end. So I said, “It’s not because of him. I’m just addicted to the game.” “Fine, I’ll help you quit,” she said with an eye roll. I laughed. “Alright, if you can make it so I never log into that game again, I’ll admit you’re the boss.” “You said it, Audrey,” she said, grabbing my phone and frantically tapping away. A moment later, she tossed the phone back to me. “Done. I guarantee you’ll never dare log into this account again.” I had a bad feeling about this. I looked at the screen. My gaming profile had a new status update: AudreyA: [I’m dying. Quitting the game. Don’t look for me.] Then, all my cosmetic items—except for one limited-edition skin and the ones bound to my gaming buddy that couldn’t be gifted—were given away (mostly to Chloe herself, of course). My virtual pet, the cute little thing I always called my “daughter,” was transferred to my gaming buddy. She even left a message: [Take good care of our daughter.] Watching the DMs popping up one after another, my vision went dark, and I immediately logged off. She was right. I’d never dare log into this account again. Just pretend I’m dead. Socially dead. Later, I heard a rumor that a rising star, an actor who was quickly becoming an A-lister, suddenly went crazy. He completely abandoned his “single and available” image, risking his entire career, to search the world for the love of his life. And that love was a netizen he had never even met. Of course, I only heard passing mentions of this and didn’t know the details. At that time, I had already moved back to my hometown. A family member had fallen seriously ill. I was overwhelmed and had no time for anything else. Eventually, my family member recovered. I didn’t end up taking the grad school exams. Instead, through a bizarre twist of fate, I entered the entertainment industry, becoming an absolute nobody. Right now, I’m on my way to a live reality show. The famous actor, Liam Hayes, will also be there. A couple of days ago, a talented fan editor created a romantic montage of Liam and me, and a lot of netizens thought it was amazing. Liam’s team even reached out to my agency to discuss a potential collaboration. This reality show is basically a warm-up and a test run. Liam Hayes is that same rising star who went “crazy” before. He successfully became an A-lister. 02 “Audrey, remember, Liam is easy to talk to, but he has one absolute taboo: his dead first love.” In the car, my manager, Sarah, twisted my ear and lectured me. Liam’s “first love” stayed with him through his darkest times before he became famous. Back then, Liam had offended someone and was suppressed at every turn. He had no acting jobs; it was the darkest period of his life. But just when he finally achieved success, she died. Over the past year or so, countless women have tried to capitalize on his “first love” story, and they all met terrible ends. “This is your chance to make it big. Don’t screw it up,” Sarah said, poking my forehead. I nodded like a woodpecker and said, “Mission understood!” “Oh, and that two-faced Mia is also going to be there. Be careful,” Sarah added as I was getting out of the car. That woman, Mia, has been targeting me ever since I entered the industry. She’s stolen countless opportunities from me, pretended to be my best friend only to “accidentally” say things that got me tons of hate, and even paid for smear campaigns against me. She’s like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe—annoying and impossible to get rid of. Thinking about her, I made a gagging face and got out of the car. … What I didn’t know was that a few hours ago… Mia was clinging to someone’s arm, saying, “David, you promised me. You have to make this happen.” “David” kissed her and said, “Don’t worry, it’s a done deal. Tonight, there will be an after-dinner game segment. I’ve arranged for Liam to draw the prompt to play ‘Elysium,’ the game he used to play with his dead first love.” “I’ve checked, and Audrey said she’s never played Elysium. Since her name is Audrey, I’ll have someone subtly suggest she use the username ‘Audrey.’ We’ll manipulate her into doing something that looks like she’s copying his first love’s old username, ‘AudreyA.’ I guarantee Liam will have her blacklisted from the industry by tomorrow.” “Also, you’ll play Elysium too. Remember, your persona in Elysium is the ‘skilled gamer.’ You need to criticize Audrey at the right moment. That way, both Liam and his fans will like you, and you can step over Audrey to get the collaboration opportunity.” Mia beamed with joy and sweetly said, “David~ You’re the best~” And then… … Of course, I knew none of this. Right now, I had just stepped out of the car, and the first person I saw was Liam. He is incredibly handsome. Perhaps because I knew about his tragic love story, he seemed to carry a unique, melancholic beauty. He stood there, casually waving hello. His dark eyes seemed filled with an impenetrable mist. For some reason, I suddenly felt a sense of familiarity. I shook my head. Am I crazy? I’ve only been in the industry for six months, and this is the first time I’ve met him. What familiarity? Audrey, you can’t just look at a handsome guy and think you knew him in a past life. With that thought, I adjusted my attitude and walked up to him with a bright smile. I said, “Hello, Liam. I’m Audrey Miller. You can just call me Audrey.” For some reason, he seemed to think of something and paused for a moment. I looked at him curiously. After about a second, he slightly lowered his eyes, his gaze focusing on me. He nodded, his voice clean and clear: “Hello.” 03 His voice also felt very familiar, but I figured I must have heard it on TV before. Totally normal. Audrey, keep it together. Just as I was thinking this, Mia’s voice called out from behind, “Liam, Audrey, wait for me!” I immediately rolled my eyes. What a buzzkill. Whatever, focus on the mission first. Today’s main objective: successfully cling to Liam’s coattails! So, during the live reality show, I worked incredibly hard. When Liam needed water, I was the first to pour it— “Water for you, Liam. If you need anything, just call for Audrey. I’m at your beck and call, guaranteed~” When it was time for tasks, I took the lead, rushing forward to grab all the chores— “I got this, Liam. My specialty is being physically fit. I’ve hardly ever been sick since I was a kid!” When we failed a mini-game and had to face a penalty, I stepped right up— “Don’t panic, I’m Liam’s designated stunt double. I’ll take the penalty. Our goal is: protect Liam from any harm!” … Sucking up, that’s what I do! Kissing ass, that’s my game! Kiss enough ass, and eventually, you’ll have it all! Slurp~ Let’s go, let’s go! Mia was also trying hard, but she cared too much about her image to compete with me. So, she resorted to passive-aggressive remarks from the sidelines: “Audrey, aren’t you afraid Liam’s fans will hate you for clinging to him like this?” I replied nonchalantly, “It’s fine, right? I’m not trying to push a romantic angle.” She’s the one trying to force a romantic narrative with Liam. When her first plan failed, she tried another: “But the way you’re acting, it looks like you’re just kissing his ass…” I chuckled: “No need to doubt it, I am kissing his ass. I want to be Liam’s right-hand man!” Saying this, I even looked directly at the camera: “Main quest: cling to Liam’s coattails, strive to be his most loyal sidekick, and pledge unwavering loyalty to Liam!” I finished with a fist pump. Then, ignoring Mia’s almost broken expression, I walked away with swagger. Netizens clipped this segment together with all my other kiss-ass moments from the day, and paired it with Mia’s almost broken expression. It instantly skyrocketed to the top of the trending list. [Hahaha, Mia’s expression, I’m dying of laughter.] [I don’t care, I want to be Liam’s most loyal sidekick too!] [Pledge unwavering loyalty to Liam!] … [Don’t laugh too soon. Audrey isn’t innocent. I actually think Mia is right, Audrey is clinging to Liam. There have been other female celebrities who played the ‘bro/sidekick’ card before, and they all ended up trying to leech off Liam’s fame later. Disgusting.] [+1 to the comment above.] [+My bank account number.] … My phone had been confiscated, so I didn’t know about the heated debates online. I only knew that this busy day was finally coming to an end. While shoveling food into my mouth, I sneaked glances at Liam. When his water glass was empty, I refilled it. Whatever he needed, I provided. Seeing him smile from time to time, I figured he must be pretty satisfied. Of course he is. Even I’m impressed by my level of service. Audrey, you’re the best! But when I suddenly looked up, I caught Mia’s sinister glare. It startled me so much I almost choked. Too scary. Just eat, ignore her. After dinner came the final activity before bed: drawing lots for a mini-game. I glanced at the crumpled pieces of paper. Singing, hide-and-seek, things like that were all there. I didn’t see all of them before a staff member put them into a box. “Liam, why don’t you draw?” the staff member said. “Whatever you pick, everyone will definitely be happy with.” Liam nodded modestly, reached in, and pulled out a piece of paper. The moment he opened it, he froze, his lips pressed tightly together. Little Qin, standing next to him, leaned over while talking: “What did you get? Liam, your expression is haha…” But before he could finish his “haha,” his expression changed drastically. He went completely silent. His eyes wide as saucers. Everyone was very curious, and so was I, but I didn’t dare look. Finally, Little Qin said, “Why don’t you draw another one?” But Liam said, “No need, this one is fine.” Then he flattened the piece of paper on the table. I took a look— “Elysium Map Race.” 04 The corners of my mouth twitched slightly. Dead memories suddenly attacked me. Oh no, this feels like heartburn. I was reminded of what my best friend did over a year ago. From that day until now, I haven’t played Elysium once. For some reason, besides my awkwardness, no one else spoke either. The atmosphere was incredibly weird. And everyone kept stealing glances at Liam. I was the least famous person there, so I didn’t dare make a sound. Right then, Mia suddenly spoke up: “Audrey, you’ve never played Elysium, right? Whoever teams up with you this time is going to suffer, haha.” She paused slightly, then looked at Liam and said, “Liam, I’m super good at Elysium. Let’s team up.” I instantly went on high alert. This two-faced Mia was waiting for this! She wants to show off her gaming skills to win Liam over and steal my opportunities again? Impossible! Absolutely impossible! I’ve been kissing up to Liam all day; I refuse to let someone else steal the fruit of my labor! Thinking this, I patted my chest and looked at Liam: “No, I’m super good. Liam, let’s team up!” I am a recognized pro at Elysium. Back in the day, I carried my gaming buddy across the map, flying through the skies and exploring every corner. Before Liam could say anything, Mia’s mocking voice came again— “Audrey, if you don’t know how to play, just admit it. You can’t lie just to team up with Liam. It wouldn’t be good if you dragged him down.” What I didn’t know was that online, someone had dug up an interview video of me from a month ago. In that video, the host asked me— “Audrey, have you played the popular game Elysium recently?” And the me on screen shook my head frantically: “No, absolutely not. I don’t know how to play that game at all.” The live chat had already exploded— [A month ago she said she’s never played, doesn’t know how, absolutely not. Now she dares to say she’s a pro? Is this a joke!] [Yeah, she probably hasn’t even leveled up much in a month. So funny. I used to think she was genuine, but now it seems she’s no different from the other women.] [Disgusting. Audrey, stay away from our Liam! Audrey get out of the entertainment industry!] … While the internet was blowing up, back at the reality show set. I’m someone who can’t stand a challenge, especially when Mia is being specifically malicious. Combining old grudges with new resentment, I had to win. “The game hasn’t even started, why are you already talking trash?” I said, instantly changing my expression and looking at Liam with a flattering smile. “Liam, pick me, pick me! Your loyal sidekick is your most reliable teammate! If you like this game, we can play it together all the time! I’m super good!” I even impressed myself with how fast I could change my tune. After all, with my skills, I could definitely carry Liam and make the game a breeze for him. Liam looked at my eager expression and, for some reason, seemed a bit stunned. He looked at me, but his dark eyes lacked focus. It was as if he was looking at something through me. Is there a problem? I used to act like this in the game when begging high-level players to carry me. Back then, I had another “sidekick” with me, and the high-level players were always happy to carry us. “Audrey, look, Liam hasn’t even said anything. He…” “Okay.” Before Mia could finish her mocking sentence, Liam agreed. Everyone around us was stunned. The internet exploded even more, because for the past year or so, Liam hadn’t teamed up with any female players. On the islands of Elysium, people often saw Liam taking a cute, pink virtual pet to travel across mountains, rivers, and oceans. Rumor had it that the virtual pet was the “daughter” previously raised by “AudreyA.” More and more people were hating on me online, but I didn’t know. I was happily taking a phone from a staff member. Create a new account or log into my old one? Definitely the old one. A new account wouldn’t have any levels; how could I beat anyone? If I want to carry the boss, I need to bring my absolute peak skills! Clenching fists.jpg Besides, that happened a year and a half ago. Surely no one remembers it anymore… Surely… Thinking this, I expertly entered my ID and password. After logging in, the familiar colorful interface washed over me. Long time no see.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440982”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I am a ghost from ten years ago, anchored to this timeline by a single, desperate mission: save Alexander West. If I can win him back—if I can make him love me again—his younger self will be spared the tragedy that broke him. The accident that left the man before me paralyzed in a wheelchair will be erased from history. But if I fail, he vanishes. In every timeline, in every memory, Alexander West will simply cease to exist. This is my final shot. It’s why I’ve endured his venom, his public humiliations, and the way he sneers at me as if I’m something he found on the bottom of his shoe. To everyone else, I’m the toxic ex who doesn’t know when to quit. A social climber trying to claw her way back into the life of the man she once threw away. They don’t understand that I’m fighting for his life. Last night, the cruelty hit a new peak. During a high-stakes “Truth or Dare” at a charity gala, we were locked in a “Pulse Room”—a sensory-deprivation chamber where the door only unlocks if you whisper the name of the person you love and your heart rate hits a specific, undeniable frequency. Alexander didn’t hesitate. Without a glance in my direction, he breathed a single name: “Lydia.” Lydia. The bright, bubbly pharmaceutical rep who treats him like a wounded bird. His “Little Sunshine.” The door buzzed open. I stared at him, my chest aching as if he’d physically struck me. He just leaned back in his wheelchair, a mocking glint in his dark eyes. “It’s just a game, Iris,” he’d said. “Don’t tell me you actually took it to heart.” Then, his voice dropped, turning into a low, dangerous velvet. He told me that if I stayed in that dark room alone all night as a ‘penalty,’ he’d grant me one minute of being his girlfriend again. A sixty-second consolation prize. I just looked at him, feeling the last fraying thread of my hope snap. “Don’t bother, Alexander,” I whispered. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” 1 “Think carefully, Iris. This might be the only chance you have left to—” Alexander cut himself off, his jaw tightening as he processed my words. For a fleeting second, a crack appeared in his icy mask. “What did you just say? You’re turning it down?” He narrowed his eyes, searching my face for the lie. “What’s the angle this time? Playing hard to get? Trying to make me chase you?” I met his gaze, forcing down the acidic burn in my throat. I kept my voice flat, devoid of the desperation that usually defined us. “I’ll take the penalty. I’ll stay the night.” I took a breath, the air in the room feeling thin. “But the rest of it? The ‘getting back together’ thing? There’s no point.” The smirk he’d been wearing froze. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, his frame tense with a sudden, inexplicable fury. “Fine,” he spat, his voice trembling with a dark, suppressed emotion. “What’s the catch? What’s the new price?” “Do you want me to take you back to that trailer park in Haven Cove? Or do you have some new, pathetic excuse for why you vanished ten years ago?” He leaned forward, his eyes burning. “I don’t get it, Iris. You’re the one who walked out. You’re the one who left me bleeding out in the rain. Why do you always act like the goddamn martyr?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, staring at the ceiling to force back the tears. This was my third life. My third attempt to fix this. In the first life, I tried to prove my devotion by literally throwing myself into the line of fire for him. When he stood over my hospital bed, he didn’t weep. He just said, “You always were dramatic.” In the second life, I brought him to my old professors, showed him the records, tried to explain that I never went to Europe for a better life—that I left to protect him. He didn’t believe me. Instead, he used his influence to ruin the people who tried to speak for me. In this life, I told him the truth from day one. I told him that our reconciliation was the only thing that could heal his legs, the only thing that could save his soul. He just laughed. He pointed to the miracle drugs Lydia was developing for him. “I’m not the naive kid from the docks anymore, Iris. You think your ‘love’ is going to make me walk? Listen to yourself. It’s pathetic.” Looking at the sheer loathing in his eyes now, I felt a bone-deep exhaustion settle over me. But then I looked at his legs, and the memory of him at eighteen flashed through my mind—how he’d worked three jobs to pay for my tuition, how he’d taken a lead pipe to the knees from a debt collector just so I wouldn’t have to worry. My eyes drifted to the EKG monitor on the wall of the Pulse Room. Even though he claimed to find Lydia annoying, his heart rate had spiked the moment her name left his lips. I gave a small, bitter laugh. “I don’t want anything from you anymore, Alexander,” I said. “For the last time: I never abandoned you. I never wanted the money. I was trying to save you. Truly.” I wiped a stray tear away before it could fall. Alexander looked stunned, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. The tension was shattered when the door was flung open. A figure blurred through the light, throwing herself into Alexander’s lap. “Are you okay?” Lydia asked, her voice trembling with manufactured concern. She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “You know you hate the dark. Why did you let her drag you into this stupid game?” “Let’s go home,” she whispered, then threw a sharp, territorial glare in my direction. She looked exactly the way I used to—standing as a shield between Alexander and the world. When the wheelchair didn’t move immediately, Lydia followed Alexander’s gaze to the EKG monitor. Seeing the recorded spike in his heart rate from earlier, she beamed. “She’ll be fine, Alexander,” Lydia said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “She’s not that scared little girl who used to hide in your arms anymore. She’s tougher than she looks.” The cold aura around Alexander seemed to soften slightly at her touch. He looked at me one last time, as if trying to convince himself of something. “One night, Iris,” he muttered. “Survive the night, and maybe I’ll give you one more chance to explain yourself tomorrow.” I watched Lydia wheel him away, the heavy steel door groaning shut behind them. The darkness rushed in, thick and suffocating. The old, familiar terror began to claw at my throat. He’d forgotten. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. He was the one who pulled me out of the darkness all those years ago when my parents locked me away. He knew the dark was my cage. I curled into a ball on the cold floor, burying my face in my knees. The tears came then, hot and heavy. My mind drifted back to the eighteen-year-old Alexander—the boy who was still waiting for me to come home in the past. Then, the cold, mechanical chime of the Directive echoed in my mind. [Warning: Host’s will to continue is critically low. Abandonment detected. Calculating failure parameters.] 2 [Confirmation required: Does the Host wish to forfeit the mission?] I bit my lip until the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. I was ready to nod. I was ready to let the void take me. Suddenly, the last dim light in the room died with a sharp pop. Total darkness. The air felt like wet wool. I could hear the echoes of my father’s drunken shouting from my childhood, the sound of the cellar door locking. I tried to cover my ears, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. I opened my mouth to scream the word Yes to the Directive, to end it all— BANG. The door was kicked off its hinges. A silhouette stood framed in the blinding light of the hallway. For a second, the outline of the man matched the lean, hungry shape of the boy I loved. A smile broke through my terror. He came back. He still cares. The Directive’s question faded into the back of my mind. I must have fainted, because when I opened my eyes, I was dreaming. In the dream, I was back in Haven Cove. We were kids. Alexander was the town’s stray, the orphan everyone whispered about. The first time I ever spoke to him was after a group of local bullies had cracked his forehead open with a rock. I’d saved my lunch money for weeks. I used it to take him to the small clinic in town. I remembered him sitting on the exam table, his ribs showing through his skin, looking away from me. “I’ll pay you back,” he’d said, his voice a gravelly rasp. I’d just shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. Just… next time you go to the city, can you take me with you?” I wanted to learn. I wanted to see the world. My parents wouldn’t pay for school, so I had to be smart. I had to find a way out. We became inseparable. By the time I was eighteen, I held an acceptance letter to a university in the city, but my parents tore it into confetti. They wanted to marry me off to a man three times my age to settle a gambling debt. I tried to run, but Haven Cove was a trap. They caught me. They locked me in the shed behind the house for three months. No light. Barely any food. Alexander was the one who found me. He nearly died pulling me out of there, taking a beating that should have killed him. After we escaped, he worked two shifts at the docks to put me through school. When I tried to tell him no, he just pinched my cheek and laughed. “Just graduate, Iris. Then we’ll get married. You’re the only reason I want a better life.” That Alexander loved me with every fiber of his being. So when the Directive appeared to me ten years ago, offering a deal—go to the future, save the man he becomes, and fix the tragedy of his accident—I didn’t hesitate. Even the eighteen-year-old Alexander had encouraged me. “The future me won’t need a mission to love you,” he’d joked. But as I left, he’d gripped my hand, his eyes serious. “Iris, if the man I become ever breaks your heart… just walk away. I’m promising you right now, I’d rather die than be the reason you cry.” The dream started to dissolve. I reached out for his hand, screaming his name as I lurched awake. But I wasn’t in Alexander’s arms. I was in a hospital bed, and Lydia was standing over me with a smirk that made my skin crawl. “You really thought it was him, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. She pulled out her phone and played a video. It was security footage of the Pulse Room. It wasn’t Alexander who had kicked the door in; it was a panicked security guard. “The staff didn’t want a lawsuit,” Lydia laughed. “Did you really think a little ‘damsel in distress’ act would work on him? Alexander has spent ten years hating you. You think a dark room changes that?” She leaned in closer, her voice a sharp whisper. “I’m the leading lady of this story now, Iris. Why did you have to come back? You’re a ghost. Stay dead.” Before I could respond, she let out a piercing scream and threw herself onto the floor. The tray of hot soup she’d brought—supposedly as a peace offering—shattered, the scalding liquid splashing over her arms. Right on cue, Alexander rolled into the room. Lydia looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. “Iris, I only came here to check on you! Why would you do this?” She sobbed, clutching Alexander’s hand. “It’s my fault, really. I just told her that the new treatment was working, that you were going to walk again… and she snapped. She kept saying that only she could save you.” I watched her performance with a cold, hollow feeling in my chest. I looked past her, straight into Alexander’s eyes. “You were standing right outside the door,” I said quietly. “You saw what happened. Didn’t you?” 3 Lydia’s eyes widened in fake terror. “Alexander, no, she’s lying…” I waited. I waited for the man who used to know my soul to look at the physics of the spill, to see the calculation in Lydia’s eyes. I waited for him to protect me. Instead, his voice was like dry ice. “I could call the police, Iris. I could have you charged with assault.” He looked at me as if I were a stranger—a nuisance to be cleared away. Lydia pressed closer to his side, her face glowing with triumph. “Can’t take it?” Alexander sneered, his lip curling. “This is a fraction of the pain I’ve lived with for a decade. I was building a life for us in Everglade City. I was finally making it. And then you vanished without a word.” “Now I’m the man everyone wants to know. I’m the ‘New Money’ king of the coast. And suddenly, you’re back, crawling around, trying to get a piece of it.” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling with a decade of fermented rage. “What makes you think I’d wait for you? What makes you think your ‘devotion’ means anything to me now?” The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating. The dam finally broke. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to!” I screamed, the words tearing out of me. “Then why?” Alexander yelled back. “Give me one reason! Tell me why you let me think you were dead!” I opened my mouth, but the Directive’s invisible weight clamped down on my vocal cords. I couldn’t speak the truth of the system. I couldn’t explain the time-slip. I closed my eyes, my shoulders slumping. “I can’t tell you the ‘why.’ But Alexander, I never stopped trying to get back to you. Everything I’ve done was to make sure you’d walk again.” I saw the flicker of “Here we go again” in his eyes. He didn’t believe a word. He pulled out his phone to dial the police. Suddenly, the door swung open again. A young woman with a round, friendly face froze at the sight of the chaos. “Iris? Oh my god, Iris! It is you!” She rushed in, ignoring Alexander. “Where have you been? When you turned down the Fulbright scholarship and disappeared from campus, the Dean was devastated! We all thought something terrible happened. You left everything behind—your clothes, your books… it was like you just evaporated.” The room went silent. Alexander’s hand froze on his phone. He turned his chair toward the girl, his voice a low growl. “She didn’t go to Europe?” The girl frowned. “Europe? No. She never even picked up her plane tickets. She vanished the night before the flight.” Lydia tried to cut in, her voice frantic. “Alexander, this is obviously an actress. Iris is just trying to manipulate you—” Alexander ignored her. He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “Is she telling the truth? You never left the country?” I pulled my arm back, my heart feeling like lead. I looked at Lydia, then back at Alexander. “I’ll look into this,” Alexander muttered, his voice shaken. He turned to Lydia, his tone turning sharp. “Get out, Lydia. You’ve overstepped.” “But Alexander—” “Go,” he barked. Lydia scrambled to grab her bag and fled, her face pale. I didn’t say a word. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a strange numbness. I looked down at my hands and gasped. My fingertips were becoming translucent. I was starting to fade. I looked up, wanting to call out to him, but Alexander was already rolling out the door, his mind clearly miles away. I let out a long, shaky sigh. “Whatever,” I whispered to the empty room. Three days later, Alexander appeared at my door. He looked exhausted. He rolled to my bedside and pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a ring—a simple gold band, worn and slightly tarnished. “I bought this ten years ago,” he said, his voice raw. “I carried it every day for a year. Iris… if I asked you now, would it be too late?” I looked at the ring, then at him. “What about Lydia?” He didn’t answer. He just took my hand and slid the ring onto my finger. 4 After that day, Lydia’s name was never mentioned. It was as if she’d been erased from our lives. But the “proposal” didn’t lead to a wedding. It didn’t lead to anything. We just fell back into a hollow version of our old rhythm. He would kiss my forehead, he would bring me flowers, he would act like the man I used to know. One afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are we actually together, Alexander? Does this mean I succeeded?” He didn’t look at me. “Just focus on getting better, Iris. We’ll talk about the rest later.” That evening, he brought me a vanilla cone—my favorite treat from Haven Cove. I reached out to take it, but my hand passed right through the wafer. The cone hit the floor, splattering across the tiles. I stared at my hand in horror. It was almost completely see-through now. Alexander didn’t say a word. He just quietly leaned down, cleaning the mess with a paper towel. “It’s okay,” he whispered. He looked so sad, so devoted. If I hadn’t seen the photos Lydia had DM’d me an hour earlier—photos of him and her at a bridal boutique, picking out her gown—I might have believed him. “I guess people’s tastes change over ten years,” Alexander said, his voice laced with a strange, hidden meaning. The anger finally surged, hot and blinding. “Stop it!” I grabbed my phone and shoved the wedding photos in his face. “Enough with the mind games, Alexander! Why the ring? Why the fake affection? Why pretend we’re okay while you’re planning a wedding with her?” Alexander went still. Then, he began to laugh. A cold, dry sound that had no joy in it. He looked at me, his eyes twin pits of ice. “You finally caught on. I was wondering how long you’d let me play with you.” Then, to my absolute shock, he gripped the arms of his wheelchair and stood up. He rose slowly, towering over me, his legs steady and strong. “That ‘actress’ you hired? The one who said you never went to Europe? Nice touch, Iris. But it wasn’t enough.” “You said only you could save me. But look at me. I’m standing. I’m fine.” He sneered, looking down at me. “Are you disappointed? Is your little ‘mission’ ruined because I didn’t need you to be whole?” I couldn’t breathe. “I did it on purpose,” he whispered. “Lydia’s company developed the treatment that put me back on my feet. I’m marrying her because she actually gave me a future, while you just gave me a decade of ghosts.” He sat back down, checking his watch. His phone buzzed—a call from Lydia. “If you want to come to the wedding and make a scene, go for it,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Maybe I’ll give you a severance check for your time.” He looked at his legs with pride. “I’m going to my engagement party now. To start my real life.” “Alexander, wait!” I cried as he reached the door. “If you marry her, you’ll die! The mission—if it fails, you disappear!” He didn’t even turn around. The door clicked shut. Then, the Directive’s voice boomed in my skull. [Mission Failure Confirmed. Commencing Host Extraction. Returning to Year Zero.] [Host will remain in this timeline until physical transparency reaches 100%.] Across town, in the middle of a grand ballroom, Alexander West stood up from his wheelchair to the roar of applause. He held Lydia in his arms, his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for a face he claimed to hate. But I wasn’t there. As the music swelled, a sudden, violent jolt racked his body. His legs buckled. He collapsed, the world spinning into a blur of screams and camera flashes. As he lay on the floor, he felt his heart stutter, his very life force being pulled out of him like water through a sieve. In the darkness of his closing eyes, a single line of crimson text burned: [WARNING: TARGET TERMINATION IN PROGRESS. MISSION FORFEITED BY IRIS.]

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I am a 911 dispatcher. Eight years ago, I took a frantic call from a little girl begging for help. She said she was being kidnapped, but over the phone, an adult took the receiver and explained it was just a prank. I believed them and hung up the phone. The very next day, the little girl’s body was found. Eight years later, my headset chimed, and I heard that exact same plea for help: “Help me… I’ve been kidnapped.” 01 On my very first day on the job, I received a strange call. There was nothing but faint, shallow panting on the other end of the line. I repeatedly asked if there was a medical emergency, if they needed an ambulance. After a long silence, a tiny, breathless voice finally whispered through the static. “Help me. I’ve been kidnapped.” I panicked, scrambling to pull up the trace, but my senior colleague next to me brushed it off. “Just another kid playing with a cell phone. We’ve been getting a ton of these lately. Clear it quick, don’t tie up the lines.” The little girl said her name was Ducky, and she was seven years old. When I pressed for details, she stammered, her words disjointed and nonsensical. “Ducky really wants to go home, but I don’t know which way to swim.” “Miss, please help me!” It sounded exactly like a kid making up a story. My tone turned stern. “Sweetheart, faking a 911 call is wrong. It stops us from helping people who are in real danger. Do you understand?” That night, a massive blackout had hit the Eastside District. Police units were stretched incredibly thin, and emergency calls were flooding the switchboard. In the last ten seconds of the call, the person on the other end changed. An adult took the phone, immediately lowering their voice in apology. “I am so, so sorry, officer! The kid was just messing around. I’ll make sure to teach her a lesson.” At the dispatch center, over 60% of our daily calls are accidental dials or pranks. After a brief reprimand, I hung up the phone and threw myself back into the overwhelming workload. But the next day, a body floated to the surface of the Eastside Reservoir. The victim was a seven-year-old girl. Her waterlogged face was swollen beyond recognition. On the strap of her little red overalls, a name was faintly embroidered. Darcy. 02 Ducky. Darcy. The little girl hadn’t been lying. It really was a desperate cry for help. The call connected at 11:43 PM. The coroner estimated the time of death around 1:00 AM. Shortly after I hung up that phone, she was brutally murdered. And I was the only person who had heard the killer’s voice. In the missing person flyers, the girl had big, bright eyes and cute braided pigtails. Now, lying on the cold autopsy table, her face was disfigured, her joints shattered into pieces. The horrific sight made even hardened veteran detectives tear up. “That absolute monster. They shattered her bones so she couldn’t swim, then tossed her in the water!” If I had made the right judgment call. If I had initiated a GPS ping in time. If… But death doesn’t care about “ifs.” Regret and guilt swallowed me whole. A million “ifs” shredded my conscience. I attended the little girl’s funeral. The moment she saw me, the mother—who had lost so much weight she looked like a skeleton—lunged at me, screaming with a shattered voice. “Why didn’t you send a squad car?! Why?! You heard her begging for help!” Every single word slammed into my heart like a sledgehammer. “You killed my daughter!” “Darcy had a congenital cognitive disability. She went to a special education school,” my captain comforted me later. “She couldn’t even go to the bathroom without a teacher reminding her. She couldn’t articulate sentences properly. Danielle, this is not your fault.” “It is,” I shook my head in agony. “Even though the killer disguised their voice, if you listen closely, their accent doesn’t match the child’s.” Darcy and her parents had a thick, distinct Southern drawl. But the killer spoke in perfectly neutral, standard American English. “If Darcy had sneaked a phone to call 911 and was caught, the killer rushing over to snatch the phone would have experienced an adrenaline spike. Their heart rate would have skyrocketed, and their speech would be rushed and panicked.” But this killer wasn’t. [Don’t worry, officer. I’ll make sure to teach her a lesson.] The voice was calm. Controlled. Exactly as if everything was going according to plan. While Darcy was on the phone, hidden in the static background noise, there were faint metallic clinks. After consulting audio experts, I confirmed it was the sound of heavy pliers being loaded and adjusted. Which meant, while the child was begging for her life on the phone, the killer was standing right next to her, preparing their weapon. “They enjoyed it. Giving the child a sliver of hope, just to personally crush it.” I looked up at the photo of the smiling girl on the wall, my eyes brimming with tears. “The killer deliberately forced Darcy to make that 911 call.” 03 The case went cold. The police poured massive resources into the investigation, but turned up almost nothing. There were security cameras outside her school, but because of the blackout and the torrential rain, the footage was completely useless. We never saw who took Darcy. Two months later, Darcy’s mother committed suicide. The rumor mill had been vicious. People started suspecting the parents had done it. Neighbors claimed they heard them arguing about the crushing medical debt from Darcy’s special needs treatments the day she went missing. Teachers at the school testified that although Darcy was cognitively impaired, she was fiercely resistant to strangers. She wouldn’t have gone with someone she didn’t know. When Darcy died, her life insurance paid out a massive settlement. “They bought all those policies this year, right when she got pregnant with her second child.” “Tsk. Cashing out their daughter’s life to pay for their brand-new baby boy.” Unable to bear the horrific gossip, Darcy’s mother jumped from a building. I didn’t understand. Why is it always the innocent, kind-hearted people who have to bleed to prove their innocence? Where was the real monster hiding? Every night I closed my eyes, that tiny, desperate voice echoed in my head. “Ducky wants to go home.” And I had answered so gently: “Sweetheart, is there a grown-up with you?” “Yes! Right here!” The girl had giggled through her stammer. That was the exact sentence that made me assume it was a prank. If this was a kidnapping for ransom or revenge, why not call the parents? Why would the killer risk getting caught just to force Darcy to call 911? That single phone call completely altered the trajectory of my life. I enrolled in the police academy, specializing in audio forensics and voice biometrics. After graduation, I requested to be stationed right back at the 911 dispatch center. Over the years, I insisted on taking the night shifts. I relentlessly studied new audio technologies and helped crack multiple major cases. State bureaus tried to recruit me multiple times, but I turned them all down. My captain tried to talk sense into me. “Danielle, you have to learn to let it go. You were a rookie on your first day. We can’t judge our past selves with the hindsight we have today.” I just smiled faintly. “But that monster will strike again.” I told myself that my only job was to wait. And I waited for eight long years. On the exact night of the eighth anniversary of Darcy’s death, the emergency hotline on my console lit up. Same date. Same time. My heart slammed violently against my ribs. A profound, terrifying premonition washed over me. It felt like all my grueling effort, all my sleepless nights, had been preparing me for this exact second. I grabbed my headset. “911, what is your emergency?” 04 On the other end, a trembling teenage girl’s voice answered— “Help me… I’ve been kidnapped.” 05 “I’ve been kidnapped, please help me…” The girl’s name was Chloe. She had been abducted walking home after a late-night study hall. She had been ambushed from behind, completely overpowered, and dragged into a van. When she woke up, her wrists and ankles were bound with heavy industrial wire. She managed to blindly dig her phone out of her pocket and immediately dialed 911. “Don’t panic. I am right here with you.” “Where did the person who took you go? Did you see their face?” My voice was gentle but steady, carrying an authoritative calm. Chloe’s hyperventilating breath instinctively slowed to match my rhythm, and her memory began to sharpen. “I couldn’t see. He grabbed me from behind. He had a mask and a hat on. He… he was really strong. He just threw me over his shoulder and tossed me into a van.” The girl’s voice cracked with tears. “When are you getting here? I’m so scared… Can’t you just track my phone’s GPS?” “The kidnapper installed an anti-tracking blocker on your phone. It takes time for our tech team to crack it.” I softened my tone. “Chloe, can you see any landmarks nearby? Describe everything around you. The smell, the colors, the temperature, the sounds—anything helps.” Chloe knew that every second, every detail, was a matter of life and death. Enduring the excruciating pain of the steel wire cutting into her flesh, she dragged herself toward a small, grimy window. Her vision was blurry. The trees outside thrashed in the heavy rain. She strained her eyes. “It smells like mold in here. The air is really damp, and it’s raining outside… but I can’t see the color of the walls…” Suddenly, a streak of light flashed in the distant, dark hills. Her breathing hitched. “A train just went by! But it wasn’t a long one—it felt like a freight train!” “You’re doing incredible, Chloe.” My fingers flew across the keyboard, cross-referencing data. “You went missing from Lincoln High on Elm Street. You were taken in a van. Based on standard driving speeds and tonight’s traffic and weather, you’re still within city limits. It’s currently raining in four districts. “Based on the acoustics echoing around your voice, you’re in a room with fully tiled walls. Those are typically used in meatpacking or food processing plants. “Combined with the freight train tracks, I have pinpointed your location to one of the abandoned factories in the Kingspoint Industrial Park. “The fastest squad car will be there in 17 minutes. “Until then, I am going to stay on the line with you. Okay?” It might have just been comfort, but Chloe felt a genuine surge of hope. She wasn’t fighting alone in the dark anymore. The silence around her was deafening. Her teeth chattered. “But… where did the kidnapper go?” “If he was smart enough to install a tracking blocker, why would he leave my phone in my pocket to let me call 911?” The line went silent for a fraction of a second. Me: “From now on, I need you to only answer my questions with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. You cannot react visibly to anything I say. Can you do that?” “…Yes.” I spoke clearly, emphasizing every single word. “The killer hasn’t gone anywhere.” “He is currently inside that exact same room with you.” 06 How is that possible? Chloe’s entire body shook like a leaf in a hurricane. Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest. There was nowhere to hide in this room… No, wait. There was. She held her breath, every hair on her body standing on end, desperately fighting the urge to turn around. Right behind her, leaning against the wall, was a large, rotting metal cabinet. Not too big. Not too small. Just big enough to fit a person inside. 07 The killer had never left the room. I strained my ears, hyper-focusing on every single frequency beneath the static on the call. Hidden in the white noise, I caught the distinct, metallic clink of heavy tools scraping together. The monster who murdered Darcy was standing right there. I told Chloe: “He deliberately left your phone so he could play a sick game with you. Right now, you need to pretend you don’t know he’s there. Find a way to slip out of the wire, walk out the door, and look for a way out.” “Delay him as long as physically possible. Keep yourself alive until my officers breach that building.” “Chloe, I will stay with you until you are safe. Trust me.” I wasn’t the terrified, helpless rookie from eight years ago. Tonight, I was putting everything on the line to bring this girl home. Chloe pushed every ounce of her strength into her ankles, trying to slide them out of the wire loops. Every inch she pulled scraped off a layer of skin. Gasping through the agonizing pain, she bit down hard on her lip and violently yanked her bloody feet free. Limping heavily, she twisted the doorknob. Outside was a pitch-black corridor. It looked endless, like a pathway straight into hell. Chloe’s nerves were pulled to the absolute snapping point. Her heart was in her throat. Just as she stood in the hallway clutching her phone, unsure of where to go, the metal cabinet inside the room behind her let out a faint creak. Thud. Someone stepped out. Through the earpiece, I dropped a single, heavy command: “Run!” 08 She ran. Pushing her legs harder than she ever had in her entire life. It felt like her lungs were going to rupture. Her body went completely numb, operating purely on survival instinct as she blindly stumbled through the dark corridors. The attacker followed her leisurely, like a hunter enjoying a casual stroll behind wounded prey. He paused to pick up a blood-stained sneaker she had lost in the scramble. He let out a dark, amused chuckle. “Fast little thing, aren’t you?” Chloe hid behind the door of a utility closet, pressing her back flat against the concrete wall. Her chest heaved violently. She clamped both hands over her mouth, waiting until the heavy footsteps slowly faded down the hall before finally daring to inhale. “He thinks I went downstairs. What do I do now?” Before she could turn the knob to leave, I instructed her: “You need to create a diversion. Is your other shoe still on? Take it off. Throw it down the stairs or at the end of the hallway to make him think you went in that direction.” Chloe hurled her shoe as far as she could and immediately sprinted back in the opposite direction. Exhausting every last drop of her adrenaline, tripping and falling over debris, she kept crawling forward. I praised her over the radio. In the dark, Chloe bit her lip and whispered softly, “My mom used to be a 911 dispatcher too… She taught me some of these tricks… If I don’t make it out. Officer, can you tell her… I really tried my best?” Wait, her mother was a dispatcher? A massive, terrifying wave of confusion crashed through my brain. But before I could ask for details… The phone signal cut out.

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My daughter’s body is a minefield. She was born with a hyper-sensitive system—allergies to everything from certain proteins to common pollen. It’s a constant state of high alert. Because of an emergency business trip, I had no choice but to leave her with my mother. During my lunch break, I did what I always do: I opened the nursery cam app on my phone. On the screen, my daughter was clutching a massive, vibrant bouquet of lilies. My mother was standing right there, hovering over her with a beaming smile, snapping photos. “Rosie, honey, smell the flowers. Aren’t they pretty?” my mother’s voice crackled through the tiny speaker. She knew. She knew exactly how severe Rosie’s reactions were. This wasn’t just a mistake. This was a death sentence. 1 The second I saw the monitor, my world tilted. Rosie was holding a spray of blooming lilies, their yellow pollen dusting her tiny hands. She was smiling, that sweet, innocent toddler grin. My mother, Martha, was crouched on the floor, waving her phone around like a frantic director. “Rosie is prettier than any flower. Just a little closer, sweetie. Let Nana get one more shot.” My heart stopped as Rosie buried her face into the petals. She took a deep, lung-filling breath of the very thing that could kill her. Black spots danced in my vision. Before I left, I had spent hours—literal hours—going over the protocols. I’d warned Martha about the spring bloom. I told her the neighborhood was a danger zone right now. I told her Rosie needed a mask if she went near the garden. I told her to stay inside. Martha had nodded. She’d promised. And then, the moment my back was turned, she’d gone out and brought the poison inside. Rosie isn’t “sensitive.” She’s anaphylactic. She’s been hospitalized before for accidentally eating a trace of peanut. This wasn’t a game. I fumbled with my phone, dialing my mother’s cell. In the corner of the monitor, I saw her phone light up. She looked at it, saw my name, and with a cold, practiced flick of her thumb, she declined the call. Then, as if nothing had happened, she went back to the camera app. “So pretty, Rosie. Give Nana a different pose.” I screamed at the monitor, my voice raw. “Mom! Get those flowers away from her! Rosie’s going to stop breathing!” Nothing. The audio only went one way unless I hit the intercom button. I slammed my thumb onto the “talk” icon. “Mom! I said get the flowers out! Now!” “Open the windows! Wash her hands! Wash her face! She’s going to have a reaction!” Martha didn’t flinch. The camera was brand new; I knew the speakers were loud. There was only one explanation for the silence. She was ignoring me on purpose. But Rosie’s face was already starting to flush. The skin around her eyes was puffing up. My chest tightened. I was hundreds of miles away, trapped in a glass office building, watching my child’s throat close in real-time. “Mom! I know you can hear me! Throw those flowers out! You’re going to kill her!” “Please! Look at her face! She’s turning red!” My words were pebbles thrown into a canyon. Martha just kept snapping photos, lost in her own little world of “perfect” memories. Rosie’s skin was becoming a blotchy, angry crimson. My hands were shaking so hard I nearly dropped the phone. I pressed my pen into my palm, the metal tip digging deep into my skin, but I couldn’t feel the pain. The panic was a physical weight, crushing the air out of me. In a final, desperate act, I softened my voice, trying to reach my daughter directly. “Rosie. Rosie, baby, listen to Mommy. Drop the flowers, okay? Drop them right now.” Rosie looked toward the camera, her expression confused and dazed. “Mommy… flowers.” She’s only two. She barely has the vocabulary to describe a stomachache, let alone understand the concept of a fatal allergen. I lost my temper. I used my “scary” voice, the one I hated using. “Rosie! Drop the flowers! Now!” Rosie flinched. The bouquet hit the floor with a soft thud. I exhaled, a ragged, shaky sound. “Rosie, get away from the flowers. Go to your room. Right now!” The moment the lilies hit the hardwood, the smile vanished from Martha’s face. She shot a look of pure venom toward the camera lens. “Nag, nag, nag. You’re so loud, Joyce.” She grabbed Rosie’s tiny wrist, pulling her back before she could run to her room. “Pick them up, Rosie. Nana wants to get a few more of you looking like a little princess.” 2 I felt like I was losing my mind. “Mom, you can hear me! I’ve been screaming for five minutes and you didn’t say a word!” “I’m not deaf, Joyce. Of course I heard you.” The breath left my lungs. It was like punching a cloud. This was my mother’s specialty: selective hearing. If she didn’t like what you were saying, it simply didn’t exist. She would steamroll over anyone’s life just to prove she was right. I’d spent my entire childhood being flattened by that steamroller. The only reason she was even in my house was because Dan was working double shifts, his mother had just broken her hip, and my firm had forced this trip on me. I thought I had accounted for every variable. I’d thrown out every suspicious item in the pantry. I’d stocked the fridge. I’d begged her to stay indoors. I had planned for everything except my mother’s ego. Martha saw Rosie hesitating. She picked up the lilies and thrust them back into the toddler’s arms. “Come on, sweetie. Just one more. You look so beautiful with the flowers. Other little girls would be so jealous.” Children thrive on praise. Rosie looked at the camera, then at the bright yellow centers of the lilies, and reached out her hand. A flicker of triumph crossed Martha’s face. Just as Rosie’s fingers were about to brush the pollen, I took a gamble. “Rosie! If you touch those, Mommy won’t come home! Mommy won’t love you anymore!” It was a horrible, manipulative thing to say. But it worked. Rosie burst into tears, her face crumbling. She wailed, backing away from the flowers as if they were made of fire. I slumped in my office chair, the adrenaline leaving me hollow. As long as she stayed away, she might be okay. I immediately switched from the monitor to a FaceTime call. Martha answered, her face a mask of annoyance. Before I could get a word out, she went on the offensive. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Scaring the poor thing like that. Ruining a perfectly good photo. You’re a mean mommy, aren’t you, Rosie?” She took Rosie’s hand and used it to playfully “smack” the phone screen. I gritted my teeth. I hated the way she used my daughter as a pawn in her petty emotional games. Rosie was still sobbing, her chest heaving. My heart broke for her. “Mom, it’s not about being mean,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “She is allergic. Deeply, dangerously allergic.” “Oh, stop with that nonsense. Children need to be exposed to nature. That’s how they build an immune system. You’re raising her in a bubble.” “It’s not a bubble, Mom! It’s a medical fact!” Martha rolled her eyes. She practically tossed Rosie onto the sofa. “Fine. Whatever. Your daughter is made of glass. I was just trying to give her a nice childhood, but I guess I’m just a villain. If I’m such a terrible grandmother, find someone else. I’m done.” She turned toward the door. 3 My heart plummeted. Was she seriously going to leave a two-year-old alone in the house? Rosie’s cries grew louder, her little voice calling out for “Nana.” Just as Martha’s hand touched the doorknob, I broke. “I’m sorry, Mom… I shouldn’t have yelled. Please, just stay. Just take care of her, okay?” I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she was smirking. “That’s more like it. You kids think you know everything because you read a few books. Allergies… in my day, we just called it being a picky eater. She just needs to get used to things.” “But she really is—” I started, then stopped myself. It was useless. “Just… please. Keep her safe.” “Fine, fine. I’m staying. I’m not a monster.” She closed the door and, to my immense relief, she picked up the lilies and threw them onto the porch. I leaned back, realizing my shirt was soaked with cold sweat. My palm was bleeding where the pen had punctured it. I went to the breakroom, grabbed some antiseptic, and went back to my desk. I kept the monitor app open in a small window. I watched Martha feed Rosie lunch. They were sitting at the kitchen island. Martha was playing “airplane” with a spoon, and Rosie seemed to be calming down. My pulse finally started to slow. Then, Rosie started to cough. It wasn’t a normal cough. It was a harsh, barking sound. “Mom? What’s going on? Is she okay?” Silence. One second. Five seconds. My skin began to crawl. “Mom! Talk to me! What happened?” Finally, Martha’s voice came through the app. Just two words. “She just choked.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Okay. Just a swallow of water down the wrong pipe. Martha was patting Rosie’s back, her body blocking the camera’s view of the toddler. The coughing stopped. But a cold dread began to pool in my stomach. Why was it so quiet? Rosie was a chatterbox. If she was okay, she’d be whining or talking about her juice. “Rosie? Baby, can you hear Mommy?” Nothing. “Rosie? Say something for me, sweetie.” The silence was deafening. This wasn’t right. Rosie always responded to my voice. She’d usually run to the camera and press her nose against the lens. “Mom! Move! I need to see her face!” Martha didn’t move. She held Rosie tightly, her back to the camera, as still as a statue. I stood up so fast my chair flipped over. I ripped my badge off my lanyard and threw it on the desk. “Call the partners,” I told my startled cubicle neighbor. “My daughter. Something’s wrong. I have to go.” The moment I mentioned leaving work, I heard Martha “tsk” over the monitor. She slowly turned around. “Honestly, Joyce, you’re so dramatic. You’ll get fired if you keep walking out like this.” “Let me see her!” I screamed. “Look, she’s fine. She just fell asleep.” Martha tilted Rosie toward the camera. Rosie’s face was still flushed, but her eyes were shut tight. Her mouth was slightly open. Martha rolled her eyes. “Always looking for a reason to panic…” But something was wrong. Very wrong. Rosie had been full of energy two minutes ago. Kids don’t just “fall asleep” in the middle of a meal while they’re crying. Before I could get a better look, Martha carried her out of the camera’s frame. I ran for the elevator, my fingers fumbling to call an Uber. My brain was a mess of jagged thoughts. Why would she just go to sleep? Then, a memory hit me like a physical blow. Last year. Rosie was barely one. We were trying out new foods. I’d given her a tiny bit of almond butter. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t coughed. She had simply gone limp in my arms. The realization shattered me. Rosie hadn’t “fallen asleep.” She was in anaphylactic shock. 4 The memory of that hospital room—the machines, the needles, the way the doctor looked at me—sent a surge of nausea through me. I was in the back of the Uber, my legs shaking so hard I couldn’t keep my feet flat on the floor. I messaged Dan, my thumbs tripping over the screen. Get home now. Rosie. I think she’s having a reaction. Hurry. He replied instantly. Just leaving the site. I’m ten minutes away. I’m going. But ten minutes is an eternity when someone isn’t breathing. On my phone, Martha reappeared in the living room. She was rocking Rosie, humming a soft, cheerful lullaby. She looked so peaceful. It was horrifying. I felt like I was watching a horror movie where I was the only one who knew the killer was in the house. “Mom,” I said, my voice trembling, forced into a whisper. “Rosie is in shock. You need to get her out of the house. Dan is coming to take you to the ER. Get her shoes. Now.” Martha actually laughed. “The ER? For a nap? You’re losing your mind, Joyce.” She shifted her position, and for a split second, Rosie’s face came into clear view. Her lips weren’t pink anymore. They were a terrifying shade of bruised purple. And her arms—the skin that was visible was covered in angry, raised red welts. My blood turned to ice. “Martha! What did you give her?” My mother stiffened. “Is that how you address me? I’m your mother. Where is your respect?” I didn’t care about respect. I didn’t care about anything but the ticking clock. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? Just tell me! What did she eat?” “Nothing special… just a little bit of peanut butter on her crackers. She liked it.” The world went black for a second. “Wake her up! Mom! There’s an EpiPen in the fridge! The red case! Stab her in the thigh and call 911! Do it now!” I was hysterical, sobbing into the phone. But Martha just kept rocking. “I’m not doing that. You’re being cruel. Let the child sleep.” “She isn’t sleeping! She’s dying! That medicine is the only thing that will save her!” I tried to explain the science, the constriction of the airway, but she just tuned me out. “She’s fine. Look at how peaceful she is…” I clawed at my hair. I was drowning in regret. Why did I take this job? Why did I trust her? On the screen, Rosie’s little body gave a sudden, violent jerk. A seizure. I screamed Dan’s name into the phone as I called him again. “Dan! Please! Faster!”

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I married my murderer. After the wedding, I played the perfect, subservient wife. I always took off my makeup after he fell asleep and put it back on before he woke up. My husband bragged about it on his livestream, saying this is the self-awareness every woman should have. A viewer warned him in the chat: [Run. Only skinwalkers put on makeup in the middle of the night. The more their stolen skin rots, the thicker the makeup. It won’t be long before she changes skins and eats you!] I covered my face and smirked. Oops, forgot the concealer. The livor mortis is showing. 01 My husband is my murderer, but I don’t care. I was ten minutes late getting home from the grocery store. In front of tens of thousands of viewers on his livestream, Caleb roared at me, “Where the hell have you been? Go kneel in the corner!” As I obediently knelt, the viewers who used to be outraged had become numb. [A gorgeous girl with an abusive guy, and she even paid him a massive dowry just to marry him. What is wrong with the world!] [Making his wife dance in the snow in a swimsuit just for views. He’s the king of scumbags.] [Give up trying to save her. Lawyers have contacted her, but she won’t listen. She said she’s committed to this man for life. They’re locked in.] Caleb’s livestream was dedicated to filming me serving his entire family, finding new ways to humiliate me to farm views. By the time he allowed me to stand up, the foundation on my knees had rubbed off, exposing the terrifying, purplish-red livor mortis. Oops. I quickly covered it with my purse. Foundation meant for the living just doesn’t have the staying power. It rubs off easily, especially in the summer. Luckily, the camera didn’t catch it, and I calmly changed into a maxi skirt. On camera, my makeup was flawless, rivaling any influencer. Combined with my tireless, uncomplaining demeanor, the male viewers were bursting with envy, begging Caleb to share his “wife-taming” secrets. My husband shamelessly bragged, “Dealing with women, the key is to never give them an inch.” “I told her I like pretty women, and she’s never dared to be bare-faced in front of me! She always takes her makeup off after I’m asleep and puts it on before I wake up.” “As a wife, satisfying your husband’s visual needs is the most basic virtue!” Amidst the viewers’ praise and condemnation. A conspicuous message scrolled across the chat. [Your wife is a skinwalker. Only the dead put on makeup in the middle of the night.] [Does she only do her makeup at 3 AM? Because that’s when the yin energy is heaviest, making the makeup hold best!] 02 Caleb laughed uproariously. What kind of nonsense was this? The account was named “Mystic Fish,” and the bio said he was a novice occultist. The guy was persistent, continuing to type despite being mocked. [You’ve been married for three years, right? That’s a skinwalker’s limit. She’s been taking longer and longer to do her makeup lately, hasn’t she?] [Skinwalkers need human vitality to sustain themselves. Is she clinging to you 24/7, refusing to leave your side? Every time you’re intimate, you get sick right after.] This made Caleb pause. It was true. He was strong and healthy before the wedding, but since getting married, he’s been constantly dealing with minor illnesses. His wife was obsessed with his skin; once, when he burned himself with a cigarette, she almost cried in distress. [Almost cried, but no tears fell. Corpses can’t produce tears. Have you ever actually seen her cry?] No, he hadn’t. Caleb suddenly panicked a little. “Why should I believe you?” [Put a few drops of mugwort extract into her makeup remover tonight. Mugwort has strong yang energy. If a skinwalker uses it, their face will rot.] [Whether she’s human or a corpse, one test will tell.] 03 I gratefully accepted the makeup remover my husband gave me. Caleb stared at me for a long time before letting out a sigh of relief. “Look at this pathetic, desperate look. A skinwalker?” The young occultist remained dead serious. [The three of you—you, your wife, and your father—all have birthdays in the same month. That’s a rare aligned fate. If a skinwalker consumes you, it’s a massive power boost.] [In three days, on your birthday, that’s when the skinwalker will start the slaughter.] Caleb was an only child. After we married, we lived in his family’s custom-built house on the outskirts of town. My mother-in-law was famously cheap in the surrounding area. Any takeout Caleb couldn’t finish, she’d let it sit until it smelled sour before giving it to me. Every day, she’d “thoughtfully” leave me two small dishes: one plain boiled cabbage, one pickled radishes. “This is for your own good. Too much grease and you’ll get fat, and my son will definitely cheat on you!” I thanked her. After all, skinwalkers don’t have metabolisms, and our stomachs don’t digest. Eating too much meat makes the stench of death stronger. On Caleb’s last birthday, he surprisingly gave me a small piece of BBQ pork. I suppressed my disgust and ate it, then spent half the day throwing up, losing six months of my cultivation. While gnawing on the pickled radishes, I personally served the delicious food and drinks to my mother-in-law. Watching her increasingly plump figure, I felt a deep satisfaction. Fantasizing about the texture of her skin and flesh when harvest time comes, I swallowed hard to hold back my drool. “As long as you eat well, drink well, and are happy, that’s my greatest wish.” Mood directly affects the pH level of the meat, after all. In the middle of the night, after my husband fell asleep and started snoring, I tiptoed to the bathroom to remove my makeup. Girls, even dead ones, care about their appearance. My makeup routine takes a long time. After removing the patchy, caked-on foundation, fake eyelashes, and colored contacts, I have to do basic moisturizing to make the makeup last longer. After concealing the livor mortis, I use the “sandwich method” to set it. The moment the makeup wipe touched my face, a burning sensation hit me. Right then, I felt a chilling gaze staring at my back. I jerked my head around. The door, which I had locked, had been pushed open at some point. Caleb stood in the doorway, his face dark and menacing. “Audrey, turn around. Let me see your face.” 04 Skinwalkers lack the five senses. But I felt a faint sweat seeping from my pores all over my body. Before coming in, the occultist had DM’d Caleb. [Rub ox tears on your phone’s camera lens. It will let everyone see ghosts and monsters, forcing her to reveal her true form so she can’t hide!] Caleb didn’t really believe the occultist, but seeing the viewer count skyrocketing on his livestream… And the constant stream of digital gifts being thrown at him, he immediately stepped toward me, raising his voice: “Making a fuss every night! Is your bare face really that hideous?” Wearing my pajamas, I covered my face and sobbed, looking so wronged I might pass out. Many people in the chat told him to let it go, saying the occultist was definitely just making things up for clout. Caleb grabbed my cold wrist and roughly yanked my chin up. “The viewers paid! Even if I tell you to strip naked, you have to strip! Disobey me, and I’ll beat you to death right now!” Helpless, I slowly poured out the makeup remover. The moment I wiped it off, Caleb, and everyone in the livestream, held their breath. But the skin under the foundation remained flawlessly smooth and supple. Caleb’s tense expression instantly relaxed, and he started cursing the occultist for being a fraud. The chat joined in. [Tormenting people in the middle of the night, hasn’t the poor girl suffered enough!] [I bet the three of them are in on it together. Traffic is higher at 3 AM than during the day!] The young occultist pondered for three seconds, then realization struck. [I get it! Today is February 29th, a leap day! It’s hard to distinguish between yin and yang energies today. The skinwalker’s body will become no different from a normal human’s!] I was actually quite surprised. I didn’t know who this occultist’s master was, but he had some skills. He actually figured out my origins. [She’s not an ordinary skinwalker. She’s a vengeful corpse fueled by extreme resentment, so ordinary mugwort is useless against her.] His tone became deadly serious. [What exactly did you do to her to create such immense resentment?!] 05 Furious and embarrassed, Caleb blocked the occultist. To give himself an out, he feigned disgust at my bare face and warned me not to go out without makeup and scare people. I smiled and said, “Of course.” See, he had long forgotten this face. Forgotten the girl he strangled with his own hands four years ago. Well, it makes sense. That night was pitch black, it was raining in the woods, and I was beaten bloody and bruised during my struggle. My face was ruined. All four of my limbs were broken. When he was finally satisfied with his assault and locked his hands tightly around my neck… I was still begging pathetically: “Don’t kill me. I swear I won’t tell anyone… Please, my grandma is waiting for me…” Please, I’m a senior in college, and I just got accepted into a top grad program. I haven’t even told my grandma the good news yet. That little old lady scrimped and saved to put me through school. She ruined her eyes working but wouldn’t spend a dime to see a doctor. She hasn’t enjoyed a single day of comfort from her granddaughter. She really can’t afford to lose me. But Caleb just smirked lewdly and tightened his grip on my throat. My body convulsed uncontrollably, tears streamed down my face, and a sharp crack echoed from my cervical vertebrae. And just like that, I died. Right before I died, I thought I saw my grandma. Wearing her faded, washed-out thin coat, sitting eagerly at the yard gate, while my favorite beef and vermicelli buns steamed in the kitchen. She’d reheat them endlessly, always wanting her good granddaughter to have a hot meal the moment she got home. She didn’t know I had been discarded deep in the woods. Stripped of my dignity, my future, and my life. In the rotting stench, my resentment refused to dissipate, turning me into a monster that was neither human nor ghost—a skinwalker. When I used a new face to ask the matchmaker to arrange a marriage, she asked me what I was after. I smiled gently, acting shy, and said I just wanted him. I wanted him for this unending— Blood debt. 06 The Caleb family’s death day… no, birthdays were approaching. When I presented the family of three with clothes I tailored myself, Caleb’s face fell slightly. Because before the occultist was blocked, he had warned him. [If the skinwalker gives you clothes, do absolutely NOT wear them. They do that to make skinning you easier!] I didn’t move my eyes, just slowly turned my head, a smile forming on my lips: “Honey, why aren’t you trying it on?” Caleb secretly unblocked the occultist. [She’s giving you burial clothes! The cranes embroidered on clothes for the living have their wings folded down. Only burial clothes have cranes with open wings, symbolizing the soul flying to heaven!] The fans in the livestream were rolling their eyes: [Please, it’s called ‘modern vintage’. It’s super trendy right now.] Seeing that no one believed him, the young occultist got anxious: [Count the buttons! Burial clothes use an odd number of buttons. The satin material symbolizes the end of the bloodline. Burial clothes require the hands to be covered, and every single piece of clothing she gave you has sleeves longer than your hands. No, the skinwalker is about to become a demon. I’m taking a bus to save you right now!] Caleb compared the clothes, and it was true. He was originally only half-believing, but seeing the massive influx of viewers, an idea sparked. He deliberately acted as if he believed completely and immediately sent a deposit to the occultist. He even hyped it up: “Fam, if you want to see an occultist battle a beautiful skinwalker, remember to tip and subscribe!” Who knew that on Caleb’s birthday, a murder would actually happen in the house. Only, the person who died was my father-in-law. 07 My father-in-law’s body was torn to pieces, a gruesome sight. On his way home from sneaking around with his old flame, he got drunk and tumbled down a slope, where wild wolves ate more than half his body. But strangely, his lower half was completely gone, and most of the skin and flesh on his head had been gnawed off. Yet, the clothes I had sewn for him remained perfectly intact on his body. Now, the new clothes really had become burial clothes. Caleb knelt before his father’s corpse, bewildered: “Why him first… Wait, didn’t you say it would go in order of our birthdays? Damn it, that occultist lied to me again!” As I wailed and cried alongside my mother-in-law, I couldn’t help but curl my lips into an eerie smile. Yes, my father-in-law could have lived a few more days. But who told him to discover my secret. That day, I had secretly gone to see my grandma. The little old lady’s legs had gone bad again. Ever since I disappeared, she had been running around with my photo every day for the past four years, looking for me. When someone mocked her, saying the college student she raised didn’t respect herself and must have run off with a rich guy, my grandma went crazy, grabbed a hoe, and almost fought them to the death. “You goddamn filthy scumbag! Say one more word about my granddaughter, and I’ll show you what this old woman is capable of!” The police found my missing backpack and bloodstains in the woods, concluding that I had been murdered. But my grandma stubbornly believed that without a body, her granddaughter was fine. “The fortune teller said my granddaughter is destined to live to a hundred!” For four years, she went to the county police station every single week without fail to ask for updates. Even the police didn’t know what to do with this stubborn old woman. The mountain roads were tough; a round trip took four hours. How could her legs hold up? I stood outside the yard, watching her burn up with a fever, her mouth still murmuring my childhood nickname. She was so weak she couldn’t even lift her hand, couldn’t even get a sip of hot water. A corpse shouldn’t have a heart, but pain rooted itself in my chest. A dense, inescapable ache. I chopped wood, boiled water, and while she slept, refilled her cup, placing it right where she could reach it. I didn’t dare stay long. Skinwalkers can’t stay around the living for too long. Corpse energy is toxic. I lived day and night with the Caleb family of three, and the corpse poison had long invaded their organs. I was just waiting for the perfect, auspicious day to gut them and feast. But as soon as I got home, my father-in-law cornered me at the door, giving me a creepy smile. “I finally figured out where you sneak off to every afternoon before grocery shopping!” Seeing me play dumb, he dragged me in front of a mirror, looking triumphant. “Keep playing dumb. Look at what’s on your neck!” That’s when I realized the steam from boiling the water had melted the foundation on my neck. The dark red livor mortis underneath was fully exposed. My chest stopped moving, and my eyes narrowed dangerously. That was the sign a skinwalker was about to feast. But my father-in-law didn’t notice. He grabbed my waist, a lecherous smile on his face. “Cheating on my son, huh? Tell me, which bastard left those hickeys on your neck?” 08 My father-in-law was a creep. He had stolen my underwear several times. He would also quickly grab my waist when walking past me. My mother-in-law knew all this. She played blind and even encouraged it: “It’s nice having free eye candy at home. Don’t go wasting money on hussies outside!” That night, I was taking a shower when the bathroom light suddenly went out. Accompanied by heavy panting, my father-in-law slipped in and roughly pinned me to the floor. I faked a cry for help. “Stop pretending. I got rid of Caleb and his mother earlier. Now it’s just the two of us!” He grinned maliciously, lowering his voice: “What’s so great about my son? He yells at you all the time. Be with me, and I guarantee I’ll treat you right…” He couldn’t wait and grabbed my shoulders. As he rubbed, a whole patch of skin on my shoulder peeled off like soft tofu skin. My father-in-law realized something was wrong. The light flickered back on. He instinctively raised his hand and finally saw that he was holding a wet, wrinkled piece of human skin. Then, with a crack, my head twisted ninety degrees. The moment our eyes met, his gaze trembled, and he was so terrified he forgot to breathe. I smiled, my voice stiff and slow. “Just the two of us? Then I guess it’s time to dig in.”

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Late at night, my husband Ethan once again snuck into the bedroom of his deceased brother’s wife. Shameful moans spilled through the crack in the door. My heart twisted as if a knife was being driven through it. I once thought I’d married into happiness. Three years ago, I was kidnapped and nearly violated by a dozen men. It was Ethan who risked his life to save me. In that moment, I was moved to tears, and I chose to marry him. It wasn’t until two days ago that I learned the truth. The kidnapping was orchestrated by him. The knife wound he received while saving me was all calculated. Marrying me, doting on me, getting me pregnant. It was all to protect his beloved Lydia. It was all because his forbidden love with Lydia wasn’t supported by the family. Our three years of love was nothing but a lie. If that’s how it is, don’t blame me for what comes next. Sophia’s POV I am San Diego’s most well-behaved socialite, a recognized model lady in high society circles. I was so obedient growing up that I’d never even held a man’s hand. But my family insisted I marry the most infamous bad boy, Ethan. Rumors said he could go through three different women in a week, racing cars and yachts every night, living a life of complete debauchery. This man was definitely not husband material. So I made the only rebellious decision of my twenty-three-year life. The night before our engagement, I ran away. But fate played a cruel joke on me. I fled the arranged marriage, only to be kidnapped halfway by my family’s enemies. Just as my clothes were being torn off and I was about to be violated by a dozen men, the warehouse door was smashed open from outside. Ethan drove a black sports car straight in. He got out and fought over a dozen burly men. Eventually he drove them all away, but he was also severely injured. A blade pierced his left chest. He collapsed in a pool of blood, struggling to crawl to my side and untie the ropes binding me. I tore off the hem of my shirt and pressed it trembling against the wound on his chest. “Why did you come to save me?” “Because you’re my fiancée.” He coughed up blood, his devastatingly handsome face pale from blood loss. “Even though… you didn’t seem too willing.” My tears surged out, falling one by one. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t tried to run away from the marriage, you wouldn’t have been dragged into this and injured…” Ethan reached out and wiped away my tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry.” He said, “It was my fault before, too many scandals, too bad a reputation… and you’re so good, so pure. No wonder you wanted to run.” “But don’t be afraid… from now on, they won’t force you anymore, won’t pressure you into this marriage… you’re free now, you can go anywhere, marry whoever you want…” In that moment, my heart was like a lake struck by a massive stone, rippling with countless waves. My heart was moved. “I won’t run anymore.” I held him tightly, tears rolling uncontrollably. “Ethan, I won’t run anymore. As long as you’re okay, I’m willing to marry you!” Fortunately, the ambulance arrived in time. The doctor said he was lucky: the blade missed his heart by two centimeters. He was saved. After he recovered and was discharged, I followed my heart and married him. After marriage, Ethan reined in his wild ways. No more women around him. He spoiled me endlessly. He was so good to me. So good that if I scraped my skin even a little, he’d hold it tenderly and blow on it for ages. So good that to avoid making me angry, he replaced all his secretaries and drivers with men. So good that he’d always come home by ten o’clock at night, earning teasing from his friends about being “henpecked.” And Ethan would always respond happily, with pride and affection, “My Sophia is a treasure that countless men would beg for and never get. That she’s willing to marry me is my blessing.” Every time I heard him say this to others, I felt that marrying him was the most correct decision I’d ever made. Until this prenatal checkup, seven weeks into my pregnancy. Ethan had an important client he couldn’t reschedule. I went to the checkup alone, and seeing it was still early, I stopped by his company wanting to wait for him to get off work so we could go home together. Learning he was meeting a client in the conference room, I didn’t have the secretary notify him. I went into his office and found a magazine to read in the private rest room. Ever since getting pregnant, I’d become especially drowsy. Without realizing it, I fell asleep on the single bed in the rest room. I woke to the sound of loud conversation from the office. “Tsk, aren’t you the gold standard for good husbands in our circle now? Your wife had such an important prenatal checkup today, yet you dared make up an excuse to hang out with us here? Aren’t you afraid she’ll make you sleep in the study when she finds out?” A burst of knowing laughter followed. It was Ethan and his group of friends chatting. I smiled slightly. Knowing this group made boundless jokes in private, I didn’t mind. I got up, about to open the rest room door and go out, when I heard Ethan laugh shortly, his voice carrying a cold mockery I’d never heard before. “A good husband?” Ethan scoffed. “Marrying Sophia, getting her pregnant with this child. None of it was ever my choice. I was forced into all of it.” My hand froze on the doorknob, my fingertips trembling imperceptibly. What did he mean by that? What did he mean, he was forced? Another friend said incredulously, “What are you talking about? Who in San Diego could force you?” “Who else?” One friend who knew the inside story said, “His grandfather! Have you all forgotten that punishment three years ago that left him bedridden for half a month?” The others exchanged glances, their expressions changing. “All these years, I acted like a jerk: racing cars, changing girlfriends, constant scandals. I thought if I did that, Grandfather wouldn’t think I still had feelings for Lydia.” Ethan laughed at himself bitterly, then his tone grew heavy. “But three years ago, he still caught me and Lydia together.” Lydia… Lydia Hayes? How could it be her? My breath caught. I could barely stand. Lydia Hayes, his deceased brother’s wife. He was actually with his own brother’s wife? A massive sense of absurdity crashed over me. I suddenly felt my stomach churning with nausea. “When grandfather saw me with Lydia, he thought we were disgraceful. He said she was disgusting, that I’d betrayed my brother. But Lydia and I were together first. It was my brother who tore us apart.” In the office, Ethan’s words continued. “But Grandfather wouldn’t listen to explanations. He was furious and severely punished Lydia. I got beaten too, but that wasn’t the worst of it.” He paused, then his tone turned ice cold. “The problem was, Grandfather used Lydia to threaten me. He said if I didn’t marry Sophia, Lydia’s days in the Quinn family would only get worse.” “So you married Sophia for Lydia’s sake?” Someone said with a sigh. “We all thought you’d long since moved on from her and fallen for Sophia. Otherwise, why would you have stepped up three years ago to save her, nearly dying from your injuries?” The friend who knew the inside story laughed knowingly. “You don’t know the whole story. The kidnapping Sophia went through three years ago, he orchestrated the entire thing.” “No way! That kidnapping was your setup?” Ethan was silent for a moment, his voice low. “Yes.” Hearing that affirmative word, my fingers dug sharply into my palm, nails piercing flesh, but I didn’t care.

Sophia’s POV Ethan continued slowly, “You all know how stubborn my grandfather is. He valued Sophia’s family background, appreciated how well-behaved she was. He said she was pure and innocent, the perfect choice for my wife.” He paused, flicking cigarette ash, that red glow flickering at his fingertips. “But she didn’t want to marry a notorious bad boy like me, and Grandfather was pressuring me hard. I had no other options.” “So you arranged that whole scene?” Someone asked. “Yeah.” Ethan admitted it readily. “I knew she was going to run from the marriage, so I contacted her family’s enemies and set up that situation. The knife was angled to miss by two centimeters, the ambulance was already waiting outside. Everything was calculated.” He laughed shortly, the sound devoid of warmth. “I didn’t expect her to actually cry like that when I collapsed, holding me and saying she’d marry me.” Everyone exchanged glances, momentarily speechless. “Brilliant!” Someone was the first to react. “That plan not only satisfied your grandfather but made Sophia completely devoted to you. Two birds with one stone!” Ethan crushed out his cigarette, his voice heavy. “This stays between us. She’s carrying my child now. If word gets to her…” “Don’t worry, which of us would tell?” “Exactly. This secret dies with us.” “But,” someone hesitated, “Do you really have no feelings for Sophia at all now? She’s carrying your child…” Ethan didn’t answer immediately. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his tone as calm as if discussing something unrelated to himself. “Lydia lives every day walking on eggshells. I promised to protect her, that I wouldn’t fall for another woman.” Inside the rest room, I felt completely frozen, like I’d been cast into hell. I covered my mouth tightly with one hand to keep from making a sound, the other clenched into a fist, knuckles white. So that was it. He conspired with the Hayes family’s enemies to kidnap me, nearly having me violated, then appeared at the crucial moment to stage that dramatic rescue. All his tenderness, consideration, and doting on me, including his supposed reformation, was fake. Those moments that moved my heart, those times I thought were sweet and happy, were all just an elaborate act he performed. And the purpose was to protect the woman he truly loved from being mistreated. He never loved me from the beginning, yet I was foolish enough to be deceived for three years, only discovering today just how many lies he’d woven for me. Countless emotions surged like a tide, nearly drowning me. When I came back to my senses, the office outside had gone quiet. Ethan and his friends had left. I wiped away my tears forcefully, took a deep breath, and pushed down all the anger, resentment, and the dull, knife-like pain in my chest before pulling open the rest room door. Outside was completely empty. I left Quinn Corporation and hailed a car to a law firm. “Hello, I want a divorce.” I found a divorce attorney and said directly, “Please draft a divorce agreement for me.” I was going to divorce Ethan. I would no longer be his tool to protect another woman. Just then, my phone rang. It was a call from Ethan.

Sophia’s POV Looking at the caller ID “My Love” on the screen, I zoned out for a moment. If Ethan knew I’d discovered everything and was even considering divorce, he would definitely try every means to stop me. So before successfully divorcing, I absolutely couldn’t let him notice anything. In the last second before the call would automatically disconnect, I slid to answer. “Sophia?” Ethan’s voice came through the receiver, carrying his usual warm concern. “Did you finish the checkup? How did it go?” If this were yesterday, I would have felt sweet about this thoughtful concern. But now, I only felt my stomach churning with nausea. I tried to keep my voice steady and normal. “Yes, it’s done. The doctor said the baby is very healthy. Don’t worry.” “That’s good.” Ethan’s tone relaxed a bit. “By the way, I have to make a sudden business trip to the next city. Important project. I’ll be gone two or three days. Take care of yourself and the baby. Have the kitchen make whatever you want to eat. I’ll bring you a gift when I get back.” “Okay.” I only replied with one word, afraid saying more would betray my emotions. After hanging up, I stood in the law firm’s air-conditioned hallway, feeling my blood run completely cold. I raised my other hand and gently touched my still-flat belly. Just yesterday, I’d been filled with joy about this child’s arrival, imagining who the baby would look like. But now… With such a calculating father whose heart belonged elsewhere, if this child were born, it would surely have an unhappy life. After getting the divorce agreement from the lawyer, the next day as I went downstairs in a distracted state, my foot slipped and I fell. When I woke up, my lower abdomen throbbed with pain. The doctor told me the baby was gone. I returned weakly to the villa and lay in bed to rest. My phone vibrated. I picked it up to see Lydia had just posted on Ins. There were six photos. A selfie of Lydia with a gentle smile, an elaborately decorated birthday cake, brilliant fireworks in the night sky, two plates of exquisite Western cuisine, and two wine glasses clinking together. The last one was a close-up of two hands with fingers interlaced. On the man’s wrist was a Patek Philippe starry sky watch I knew all too well. The caption read, “This year’s birthday, still with my favorite person by my side.” Location tagged: Grand Hyatt Hotel in the neighboring city. My whole body went ice cold, chilled to the bone. So Ethan’s so-called business trip was to celebrate Lydia’s birthday, enjoying their undisturbed time together. With trembling fingers, I clicked into Lydia’s Ins and scrolled up through her posts. Three years ago in autumn, Lydia posted a photo of maple leaves with the caption, “Maple leaves are red again. Remember that year you said you’d take me to see all the red leaves in the world.” Two years ago on Valentine’s Day, Lydia posted a starry sky image. “Even if we can’t always be together, our hearts in one place is enough.” One year ago, on mine and Ethan’s wedding anniversary, Lydia posted, “Some people, some things, are destined to remain only in the heart. But being able to silently protect is already fortunate.” Looking through these, I suddenly realized Lydia had posted quite a bit of ambiguous content over the past three years. It’s just that before, I’d genuinely treated Lydia as family and never connected that content with Ethan. Now, suddenly awakened to the truth, I felt like a complete fool. I had been thoroughly deceived for three years. I thought I had love and happiness, not knowing that my sweet happiness was just a joke to others. I closed my eyes. Tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes.

Sophia’s POV Two days later, Ethan returned. But it was the Quinn family estate’s butler who told me. The butler spoke urgently, with rare panic. “Please come to the estate quickly. Something’s happened to him!” I frowned. “What happened?” “You’ll know when you get here. The old master is furious. No one can calm him down.” I was confused but still rushed to the Quinn estate. The whole way, I’d imagined various possibilities, but I never expected to see this scene. Lydia’s long hair was disheveled, tears on her face, her whole body trembling. And Ethan was tightly shielding her in his arms. His entire back had numerous vicious bloody marks, skin split open, blood soaking through his white shirt. “You disgusting creature! How dare you do such a shameful thing!” Grandfather stood to the side leaning on his cane, chest heaving violently. “Did you think that just because you weren’t in San Diego, I wouldn’t know what you two have been doing these past few days?” Lydia shook her head crying. “It’s not like that, Grandfather…” “If Grandfather must punish someone,” Ethan said hoarsely, “Then punish me. This is all my fault. It has nothing to do with Lydia.” “You bastard! How can you face your deceased brother? How can you face Sophia? How can you face the child in her belly!” “Lydia and I truly loved each other from the start!” Ethan suddenly raised his voice, eyes reddening. “As for Sophia and the child in her belly, you forced me into that, grandfather.” The words fell, and the room went deathly silent. Grandfather trembled with rage, nearly fainting from anger. “I thought after three years of marriage to Sophia, you’d have some feelings for her. I never imagined you were still so bewitched by this woman that you’ve lost all reason!” Just then, the butler hurried in from outside. “She’s here…” Ethan’s body stiffened. He slowly turned his head. At the doorway, I stood quietly. Our eyes met. Ethan’s eyes flashed with momentary panic and guilt. His lips moved as if wanting to say something, but ultimately he just looked away and said nothing. Grandfather saw me too. His expression changed slightly as he urgently signaled to the butler. “Quick, take her to the front hall to rest!” The butler stepped forward respectfully. “This way, please.” I pressed my lips together and had no choice but to follow the butler away. Behind me came Grandfather’s voice, suppressing fury with his command. “Continue! Beat them severely!” The sound of the rod striking flesh resumed. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed that every strike the servant swung at Lydia landed heavily on Ethan’s back instead. He gritted his teeth, not making a sound, protecting Lydia in his arms completely. And Lydia remained completely unharmed. Late that night, a private doctor came to the villa to treat Ethan’s wounds. After nearly two hours of cleaning, medicating, and bandaging, the doctor finally left. Ethan lay on his stomach on the bed, looking toward me. After a moment of silence, he spoke. “Today at the estate… what did you hear?” I raised my eyes to meet his. “What should I have heard?” I asked back. Ethan studied me. “Nothing. She angered Grandfather. He wanted to punish her, but she’s too delicate to withstand it. With my brother gone, I have to protect her for him.” He reached out to hold my hand, his thumb gently rubbing the back of my hand, his habitual intimate gesture. “Sophia, don’t let it bother you.” I looked at his hand holding mine. Long fingers, well-defined and strong. Once, this hand had wiped my tears, stroked my hair, countless times gently held me, embraced me. Now, I only felt disgusted. “I know.” I calmly pulled my hand away. “I understand.” I took out a document from the nightstand drawer and placed it in front of him. “By the way, sign this for me.” “What is it?” He asked casually. “I saw a necklace I really like. It’s quite expensive. I want you to buy it for me.” I was gambling. Gambling that having just been punished for Lydia’s sake and having lied to me, he wouldn’t carefully read the document’s contents at a time like this. Sure enough, Ethan barely hesitated before taking the document and pen. He signed his name smoothly on the signature line of the last page I’d turned to. “What else do you want?” He handed the document back to me with an indulgent smile. “I’ll buy it all for you.” “That’s not necessary.” I smiled. “This one thing is enough.”

Sophia’s POV The next day, I delivered the signed divorce agreement to my lawyer, asking them to process it as quickly as possible, then returned to the villa. Stepping into the entrance, the housekeeper who was wiping a vase saw me. Her expression was somewhat strange, hesitant to speak. “What is it?” I asked while changing shoes. “Ma’am.” The housekeeper gestured toward upstairs. “Someone’s here. Upstairs.” My movements paused briefly, then returned to normal. “I see.” I went straight upstairs. The closer I got to the master bedroom, the clearer the sobbing from inside became. “…It’s all my fault. If not for me, you wouldn’t have been hurt so badly…” Lydia was draped over Ethan, crying with a face full of tears. Ethan turned his face slightly, seemingly about to raise his hand to wipe her tears, but his gaze inadvertently caught sight of me at the door. His movement froze instantly. “Sophia?” Ethan called out, with a trace of barely perceptible tension. Lydia startled like she’d been frightened, hurriedly moving away from him and straightening up, turning to look toward the door. Her face was pale, eyes red and swollen, looking pitiful. “Sophia, you… you’re back…” Lydia’s fingers twisted at her clothes anxiously. “Ethan was hurt because of me. I felt so guilty, I just wanted to come see him… We… we didn’t do anything else…” “She was just emotionally overwhelmed for a moment. Nothing more.” Ethan picked up the conversation. “Don’t misunderstand.” One with red-rimmed eyes looking pitiful, one with a soothing tone and evasive gaze. I suddenly wanted to laugh. Their panic wasn’t about me misunderstanding, was it? They were just afraid I’d tell Grandfather, afraid this marriage would fall apart, afraid Lydia’s days in the Quinn family would become even worse. “I understand.” I nodded. “I get it.” Lydia bit her lower lip, those wet eyes looking at me with careful pleading. “Sophia, Ethan was hurt because of me. I feel terrible about it. I want to stay and take care of him for a few days, even if it’s just bringing him water.” Before I could respond, Ethan spoke first from the bed. “Grandfather is furious right now. Her days at the estate aren’t easy. Let her stay here temporarily for a few days. When Grandfather calms down, she can go back.” He seemed to be asking, but his tone brooked no refusal. I smiled. “As long as you two think it’s fine, I have no objections.” “I knew it! Sophia, you’re so magnanimous and understanding!” Lydia beamed with joy and just like that, moved into our villa. That night. In the dead of night, my phone suddenly vibrated with a message notification. Ethan picked up his phone to look, then glanced sideways at me. After confirming I was asleep, he slowly got up and left the room. In the darkness, I opened my eyes, got up as well, and walked to the guest room door. Light leaked through the door crack, casting the shadows of two intertwined figures. “Does it still hurt?” Lydia’s voice was full of heartache. “Seeing those wounds, my heart is breaking…” Ethan cupped her face and lowered his head, kissing her wet eyes. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” His voice carried a tenderness I’d never heard before. “Don’t worry. I can move around now. I’ll be fine soon.” Lydia tilted her face up, tears streaming. “Don’t protect me like that next time. Seeing you hurt makes me suffer a thousand, ten thousand times more than if I were hurt myself…” Ethan’s thumb caressed her cheek. “Silly girl. I told you I’d protect you. No matter how badly I’m hurt, it’s my willing choice.” Lydia’s eyes grew hazy. Suddenly she stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips. Ethan seemed ignited. The next second, he bent down and swept Lydia up in his arms. Walking to the bed in a few steps, he laid her down and pressed himself on top of her, kissing her lips as his hands began to roam restlessly. “Mmm… Ethan…” Lydia’s breathing was unsteady. “Isn’t this bad, doing this here? What if we wake Sophia?” Ethan’s kisses traveled down her neck, his voice muffled but certain. “She won’t wake up. She sleeps deeply since getting pregnant. Not even thunder would wake her.” I stood outside the door, watching that nauseating entanglement. They were actually so desperate they couldn’t control themselves, having an affair right under my nose. This was the good man I once believed in. My good husband. This was the woman I’d sincerely treated as family, whom I’d pitied as a young widow.

Sophia’s POV Just before dawn, the master bedroom door was gently pushed open. Ethan returned to the bedside silently like a ghost. He softly called my name once. After confirming I was still asleep, he lifted the covers and lay down. I had my back to him. In the faint light of dawn seeping through the curtains, I opened my eyes. In the days that followed, a bizarre calm settled over the villa. Lydia, under the pretense of caring for the injured, had practically become half the lady of the house. In the mornings, she’d wear silk robes while making coffee for Ethan, her fingertips “accidentally” brushing his hand. In the afternoon garden, she’d stand on tiptoe to straighten Ethan’s collar, her lips nearly touching his chin. Every time, I carefully took note but continued pretending not to know, as if I’d seen nothing. “Next week is Grandfather’s seventy-fifth birthday.” That evening at dinner, Ethan cut his steak and said casually, “We’re celebrating at the estate this year. We’ll need to stay overnight.” Lydia’s knife and fork paused in mid-air. “Got it.” I scooped up a spoonful of soup and agreed. On the birthday, the Quinn estate was filled with guests. Nearly every prominent figure in the city attended. Ethan held my hand, playing the loving couple in front of others. Lydia wore an elegant moonlight-white dress, sitting quietly in a corner. Occasionally when her gaze met Ethan’s, tender affection that only they understood flowed between them. When the banquet ended and guests dispersed, it was already evening. I’d been standing in high heels all day. My calves ached terribly. I was about to go upstairs to rest when a young maid hurried over carrying a fruit plate. The maid’s face was pale as she pleaded, “I suddenly have terrible stomach pain… This fruit plate is supposed to go to your grandfather. Could you… help me deliver it?” Thinking it was just a small favor, I nodded and took it. “Give it to me.” “Thank you!” The maid looked relieved, clutching her stomach as she hurried away. Grandfather’s bedroom was at the end of the hallway. The door was ajar, light spilling from inside. I approached, about to raise my hand to knock. A dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor suddenly came from inside. My heart jumped. Without thinking further, I pushed the door open with my elbow. The scene before me made my blood freeze instantly. Grandfather lay face-up on the carpet beside the bed, while Lydia gripped a down pillow with both hands, pressing it firmly over his nose and mouth. Her profile in the lamplight appeared twisted and vicious, her eyes full of malice. Completely different from her usual weak and pitiful appearance. “Grandpa!” The fruit plate slipped from my hands. I gasped in disbelief and lunged forward, shoving Lydia away. “Lydia! What are you doing?!” Caught off guard, Lydia was pushed to the floor. She screamed, hurriedly dropping the pillow, her face drained of all color, trembling violently. I was about to reach out to check Grandfather’s breathing when Ethan and other Quinn family members burst in after hearing the commotion. Ethan saw Grandfather collapsed on the floor. His pupils constricted sharply. “What happened?!” “Grandfather! Grandfather, what’s wrong?” Other Quinn family members crowded in, crying out in shock at the scene. “Quick! Call an ambulance! Now!” After Ethan shouted, he rushed over like a gust of wind, crouched down, carefully lifted Grandfather, and urgently pressed his fingers to the carotid artery. Chaos erupted. The ambulance arrived quickly. Grandfather was lifted onto a stretcher and sent to the hospital, straight into the emergency room. The situation was critical, life and death uncertain. In the Quinn estate’s main hall, the atmosphere was unbearably heavy. The main Quinn family members gathered there, everyone’s faces somber. Ethan returned from the hospital to the estate. When he entered the hall, his expression was even darker than when he’d left. “What exactly happened?” His voice was low, carrying the feeling of an approaching storm, each word like ice. “Grandpa was perfectly fine. How did he suddenly suffocate and fall unconscious? Who did this?” Everyone’s eyes focused on Lydia and me: some suspicious, some scrutinizing, some furious. When they all heard the commotion and rushed to the room, there were only two people inside besides Grandfather: Lydia and me. Only we knew what had happened. I opened my mouth, about to speak. “It was… it was Sophia!”

Sophia’s POV I looked at Lydia in shock as she suddenly cried out. Lydia’s face was deathly pale. She raised a trembling hand, pointing at me, tears streaming down. “It was Sophia! I saw it with my own eyes… saw her holding the pillow, covering Grandfather’s nose and mouth! I tried to stop her, but it was too late…” “You’re lying!” All the blood in my body rushed to my head. “It was you! I saw you with my own eyes holding the pillow over Grandfather’s face!” I turned to Ethan, explaining urgently. “Ethan, you have to believe me! I went to bring Grandfather fruit. When I pushed the door open, I saw Lydia using the pillow to smother him! She’s the one trying to kill Grandfather! That pillow must have Lydia’s fingerprints on it. We just need to test it!” “That won’t be necessary.” Ethan abruptly cut me off, his voice so low it was alarming. His gaze fell on my face, his eyes full of cold scrutiny, as if looking at a stranger. “Lydia would never do such a thing.” He said each word deliberately. “I believe her.” “You believe her?” I couldn’t believe it. My whole body trembled. “You won’t even investigate before believing her?” Ethan’s face was iron-gray, his eyes flashing with terrifying coldness. “Lydia’s been married into the Quinn family for so many years. We’ve all seen what kind of person she is. She’s usually so gentle she wouldn’t even step on an ant. How could she possibly dare harm Grandfather?” “Then what about me? Grandfather has always treated me well. What reason would I have to harm him?” “Yes, I’d very much like to ask you.” Ethan’s handsome face was as cold as frost. “Grandfather has always treated you well. Why were you so ruthless as to attack him?” My whole body shook. I was utterly shocked. I’d expected him to protect Lydia, but I never imagined he’d be so blind to the truth. “Ethan.” An older Quinn family member spoke gravely. “Your grandfather’s life still hangs in the balance. This matter must be severely punished.” “Yes, he must be given justice!” “We absolutely cannot let the culprit go free!” The Quinn family members chimed in, looking at me with disgust and fury. Ethan was silent for a moment, then finally raised his hand. “Someone come.” Two bodyguards entered at his command. “Take her to the police station.” Ethan’s voice was ice cold. “On charges of attempted murder.” “Ethan!” Cold seeped through me from the inside out. “You can’t do this to me. I’m carrying your child!” This was my only bargaining chip now. Though only I knew the child was already gone. But at this moment, this was the only way I could think of to delay and wait for the truth to come out. “Even if you really don’t believe me.” My voice choked, carrying a last shred of hope. “At least wait until Grandfather wakes up and hear what he has to say…” “Take her away.” Ethan didn’t look at me, only uttering two words to the bodyguards. The bodyguards stepped forward, gripping my arms from both sides. “Ethan!” I struggled, my voice shrill. “Please, at least wait until Grandfather wakes up…” “If Grandfather can wake up.” Ethan finally looked at me, his eyes colder than I’d ever seen. “Perhaps I’ll consider hearing your explanation. But now, you should pay for what you’ve done.” “You can’t do this, Ethan! I’m your wife. I’m carrying your child!” No matter how I struggled, argued, or pleaded, I couldn’t soften Ethan’s heart. The bodyguards forcibly dragged me away. The following days were the darkest period of my life. I was locked in a detention center. The female inmates looked at me like I was prey. At first, it was just verbal abuse, then it escalated to shoving, and then… “I heard she’s a vicious woman who tried to kill her own grandfather?” “Looks so innocent on the outside, but has such a black heart!” “Someone paid big money for us to teach her a lesson!” Fists, slaps, fingernails digging into flesh. All aimed at me. The most painful was late at night, when they’d press me down on the filthy bathroom floor and pour cold water over my head again and again. The cold water soaked through my thin prison uniform. The bone-chilling cold made my teeth chatter, but it couldn’t compare to one ten-thousandth of the cold in my heart. I’d fantasized countless times that Ethan would appear, investigate the truth, and take me out. But one day, two days, three days… hope gradually extinguished. On the afternoon of the seventh day, a guard opened the cell door. “Sophia Wright, someone’s posting bail for you.” I struggled to get up from the floor. My whole body was covered in injuries, my left eye so swollen I could barely open it, dried blood still at the corner of my mouth. I stumbled out of the detention center. The harsh sunlight made me dizzy. A black sedan was parked in front. Ethan leaned against the car, a cigarette between his fingers. Seeing me in this state, his expression didn’t waver. He just looked up slightly. “Get in.” I stood still, my voice so hoarse it didn’t sound like my own. “Has Grandfather… woken up?” Ethan’s smoking motion paused. Through the cigarette smoke, his face was somewhat blurred. “The doctor said his brain was severely deprived of oxygen. He’s become a vegetable. The chances of him waking up are minimal.” My heart sank to rock bottom.

Sophia’s POV “However.” Ethan threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with his shoe. “Considering you’re still carrying Quinn family blood in your belly, the family has decided to temporarily not pursue criminal charges against you.” He opened the car door. “But from now on, you’re no longer my wife, no longer part of the Quinn family. Once the child is born, I’ll divorce you.” I looked at him and laughed. Laughed until tears came out. “Ethan.” I said softly. “You’re going to regret this. One day, you’ll know how ridiculous today’s choice was.” Ethan frowned, as if wanting to say something, but ultimately just turned aside. “Get in. Don’t make me say it a third time.” I wanted to refuse, but the words stuck in my throat. I knew resistance was meaningless. Besides, all my documents were still at the villa. I had to go back to get them before I could leave. Half an hour later, the car pulled into the familiar villa courtyard. But after stepping into the villa, the scene before me made me stop in my tracks. Several servants were moving things out of the master bedroom. My clothes, jewelry, cosmetics, even my cherished books and photo albums: all carelessly stuffed into cardboard boxes, piled in the hallway like trash. “Hurry up.” Lydia commanded imperiously. “Throw anything useless into the storage room.” She looked up and saw me, a victorious smile curving her lips. “You’re back?” Coming before me, she looked me up and down in my disheveled state, saying smugly, “Starting today, this villa has a new mistress. Naturally, the master bedroom is no longer yours either.” She raised her hand, pointing to a narrow door at the end of the hallway. “From now on, you’ll live there.” I found this utterly absurd and laughable. I looked at Ethan mockingly. “Your grandfather is still lying unconscious in the hospital, and instead of investigating the truth, you let this woman move into our bedroom? Can you face him after doing this?” “Grandfather became like this because of you. That’s the truth.” Ethan’s face was terrifyingly dark. “If not for the child in your belly, you’d still be in jail right now instead of standing here questioning me.” He raised his chin toward a nearby servant. “Take her to the storage room. From today on, she lives there until the child is born.” Two servants stepped forward, gripping my arms from both sides. The storage room was worse than I’d imagined. Less than a hundred square feet, filled with old junk, the smell of mold mixed with the pungent odor of cleaning agents, nauseating. The servants carelessly threw my belongings on the floor. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll be responsible for cleaning the entire villa every day.” Lydia stood in the doorway, her smile sweet but vicious. “Because the Quinn family doesn’t support freeloaders.” She paused slightly, as if remembering something. “Oh, and don’t think about running away or contacting anyone, because it would be futile. Your phone has been confiscated. I’ve also instructed everyone that no one in this villa dares lend you a phone. Before the child in your belly is born, someone will watch you every moment of every day.” With those words, the door slammed shut heavily. I dug my fingertips deep into my palm, trying hard to calm my emotions, then turned to rummage through the pile of belongings for a long time, finally finding all my identification documents. I gripped those documents tightly. I had to endure for now, endure until I found a chance to escape. In the days that followed, before dawn each day, I was dragged from the storage room by servants to begin the day’s labor. Scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets, washing mountains of dishes, tending to wildly overgrown weeds in the garden… any slacking off resulted in kicks from the servants watching me. My three meals were the cold leftovers everyone else didn’t finish. As for Ethan and Lydia… If before, with Grandfather keeping them in check, they still exercised some restraint and only dared to sneak around… Now with Grandfather down, they had completely thrown caution to the wind. The living room sofa, the study desk, the dining table, even the garden swing… everywhere bore traces of their lovemaking. Several times late at night, tossing and turning on the narrow bed in the storage room, I could hear moans and panting from the other side of the wall, obscene and unbearable. The gentle consideration that once moved my heart. How laughable it all seemed now. This afternoon at noon, the sun blazed overhead. I was ordered to clean the pool. I crouched by the pool’s edge, scrubbing the walls bit by bit with a brush. At the other end of the pool, water splashed everywhere. Lydia wore a sexy bikini, her whole body clinging to Ethan, laughing coquettishly. The servant watching me was a middle-aged woman, currently leaning back in a lounge chair dozing off, obviously drowsy from the stifling afternoon heat. My scrubbing motion paused slightly. I raised my eyes, quickly scanning the surroundings. Ethan and Lydia were immersed in their own world, not paying attention to me. The villa gate was at the end of the garden, about fifty meters away. My heart pounded violently in my chest. I gently set down the brush, pretending to reach for the hose in the corner, but used the cover of the bushes to inch bit by bit toward the gate. Five meters, ten meters, twenty meters… Behind me came Lydia’s coquettish complaint. “Ethan, my shoulders are so sore. Massage them for me…” Ethan chuckled lowly. “Where? Here?” Panting sounds resumed. I held my breath and finally reached the gate. I looked back once. The servant was still dozing. Those two were still entwined in the water. Now. This was the best chance to escape. I gripped the documents in my pocket tightly. Then without looking back, I slipped out silently.

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As a single mother, to scrape together tuition for my daughter to study for her master’s degree in the UK, I worked three jobs a day. I even had an accident while working the night shift at a factory—the machine severed two of my right fingers. But the day she got her UK visa, she was at the airport clinging to a wealthy businessman twenty years her senior, crying and laughing. “Daddy, if you hadn’t sponsored me to go abroad, my trash-collecting mom would have ruined my whole life.” I stood behind a pillar in the departure hall, holding up my freshly bandaged hand that was still bleeding through the gauze, frozen in place. I stepped forward to call out to her, but her friend Isabella wrinkled her nose in disgust and shoved me away. “Where’d this old hag come from? Get lost before you dirty Laura’s designer clothes!” I looked at my daughter. She wore exquisite makeup, and her eyes held no trace of guilt—only an icy warning. In front of the rich man, she pulled out two hundred-pound notes from her purse and threw them in my face like she was dismissing a beggar. “Take the money and get lost. I only have a sugar daddy—I don’t have some bottom-feeder poor mom!” People around us pointed and whispered. The wealthy man patted her shoulder approvingly, praising how sensible she was. I didn’t pick up the money. I just calmly watched her go through security and board her flight. Then I turned around and dialed the embassy. “Hello, I’d like to file a formal report. Someone has falsified academic credentials and may be involved in illegal immigration.”

After hanging up with the embassy, I didn’t look back at the security checkpoint. I walked straight out of the departure hall. When the spring breeze hit me, I realized I was soaked through with sweat. The gauze on my right hand was saturated with blood, and fresh pain shot through the wound. In the emergency room, the doctor unwrapped the bandage, his brow furrowing tightly. “What happened? The fingers we just reattached have torn open again!” “Did you get into a struggle with someone? If you keep this up, this hand will be permanently damaged!” I was drenched in cold sweat from the pain, but I just shook my head. “Please, just wrap it tighter for me.” After getting my wound treated, I returned home and pushed open the rusted iron gate. The musty smell of the basement hit me in the face. The room was a complete mess. Before leaving, Laura had used scissors to shred all the old clothes she didn’t want, and thrown them everywhere along with old shoes. Looking at the chaos on the floor, waves of bitterness washed over me. To let her wear decent clothes like other children. I worked three jobs a day to earn living expenses, and even took night shifts at an unlicensed factory to pay for her tutoring. But she broke my heart and trampled my dignity. My eyes grew moist, but in the end, no tears fell. I pulled out a black garbage bag and swept the shredded fabric into it. I stuffed this garbage along with the designer bag I’d bought with money from my first blood donation into the bag. Then I carried these two black bags and mercilessly threw them into the dumpster outside the complex. Just as I finished throwing away the trash, my phone vibrated. It was a reply from the embassy: [Hello. Regarding your report about Ms. Laura’s suspected academic fraud and unclear visa funding sources, we have initiated a joint investigation with customs. Thank you for your cooperation.] Looking at the words on the screen, my lips gradually curved upward. Almost simultaneously, my phone rang. It was Laura. The moment I answered, Laura’s shriek came through: “You old bitch! Did you report me?! Why did customs detain me?! They said my visa has been frozen and they’re going to investigate Daddy’s financial records!” Hearing her voice crack as she screamed, I felt nothing but satisfaction. “Yes. You’re my daughter. I won’t let you sell your body!” “Are you insane?! I’m your daughter! You’re ruining my future! I’ll kill you—” Before she could finish cursing, I hung up and blocked her number. Back in the basement, I looked at the passbook on the table containing my work injury compensation and took a deep breath. This money was originally meant to be her living expenses abroad. Now, I would use it to move out of this basement and start my real life.

The next afternoon, the basement’s iron door was kicked open with a bang. Laura burst in with her suited sugar daddy. Her friend Isabella followed aggressively behind them. “Smack!” A visa rejection letter was thrown in my face by Laura. “You poisonous old witch! Are you satisfied now?! My visa’s been revoked! I’m banned from entering the UK for three years!” Laura pointed at my nose, her eyes bloodshot. “You’re bottom-feeding trash rotting in the mud—fine! But why do you have to drag me down with you!” Isabella beside her covered her nose, her face full of disgust as she fanned the flames. “Exactly! Laura accepted Mr. Osman as her daddy. She was going to become a real lady of status.” “You’re just jealous that Mr. Osman has more money than you, so you sabotaged her, didn’t you? You poverty-stricken lunatic!” Mr. Osman stood with his belly protruding, looking down at my room condescendingly. He pulled a stack of cash from his briefcase and threw it on the table. “Ten thousand pounds. Go to the UK embassy and withdraw your report. Tell them you were having a psychotic episode and talking nonsense.” Mr. Osman flicked ash from his cigar, his tone arrogant. “Women are so short-sighted. Your daughter will live the high life with me. You should be grateful.” I looked at the ten thousand pounds on the table and laughed coldly. “Mr. Osman is so generous.” Then I raised my head and stared at Laura. “She paid someone to take her exams for her.” “Mr. Osman, you don’t really think Laura’s a genius, do you?” “Are you sure she can bring you any value if she goes abroad?” Laura’s expression changed drastically. She screamed in humiliation and rage: “Shut up! Daddy, don’t listen to this crazy woman’s nonsense!” She looked around frantically, then suddenly spotted the passbook I’d placed under my pillow. It was my severed finger injury compensation! “What’s this?!” Laura’s eyes lit up. She pounced over and snatched the passbook. Opening it, her eyes went wide. “Three hundred thousand?! You’ve been hiding three hundred thousand from me!” She reached under the pillow and pulled out my ID card, viciously stuffing it into her own pocket. “Is the password my birthday? Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out!” My expression changed. I rushed forward to grab it back. “Give it back! That’s my severed finger compensation! That’s my lifeline!” “What do you mean YOUR money? You ruined my dream of going abroad—consider this compensation for my emotional distress!” Laura clutched the passbook and ID card, backing away self-righteously. I lunged and grabbed her wrist, but she yanked hard. My freshly bandaged right hand slammed heavily into the iron bed frame. The wound hadn’t healed at all yet. “Rip—” Sharp pain instantly spread from my fingertips. The gauze was stained red with blood, dripping onto the cement floor. I collapsed to my knees in pain, my whole body convulsing uncontrollably. “Oh please, are you trying to scam us?” Isabella rolled her eyes from the side. Osman snorted coldly and gave a look. His two bodyguards immediately stepped forward and roughly shoved me against the wall, escorting Laura out. “Mom, I’m taking this three hundred thousand.” “You can just rot in this moldy basement and fend for yourself!” Laura waved the passbook and ID card, linked arms with Osman, and strutted away in her high heels. I lay in my own blood, watching their retreating figures, biting my lip until I tasted blood. Laura, since you’re going to be so ruthless, don’t blame me for being merciless.

I endured the severe pain and shakily dialed the police with my left hand. The police arrived quickly, but when they learned that the person who’d stolen my belongings was my own biological daughter whom I’d carried for ten months, they showed helpless expressions. According to regulations, the police could only temporarily classify it as a domestic property dispute and needed further investigation before filing a case. The officer in charge saw me lying in a pool of blood looking pitiful. After taking my statement, he immediately took me to the relevant department. He helped me file emergency reports for a lost ID card and freeze the passbook. The three hundred thousand couldn’t be recovered immediately, but at least I’d secured the money in the account so Laura couldn’t squander it. By the time I returned to the basement after getting my wound re-stitched at the hospital, it was late at night. My right hand was wrapped in gauze, each throb accompanied by stabbing pain. Just then, my phone started vibrating crazily. Hundreds of abusive text messages from unknown numbers flooded my inbox. I opened a short video platform and found that on the homepage feed, Laura had posted a five-minute accusatory video. In the video, she wore fake no-makeup makeup, tears streaming down her face as she tearfully accused me of being an evil mother. She lied to the camera, claiming I’d tried to sell her for bride price money to pay gambling debts, even slandering that I’d deliberately self-harmed my severed fingers to extort money from her. She also played the victim, saying I was jealous she’d received sponsorship to study abroad, so I maliciously spread rumors to ruin her future. Oh my god, how can such an evil mother exist? Unfit to be human! Poor girl, what bad luck to have a mother like that. Support the daughter cutting ties! People like this should just die! The comment section was outraged. Even my former coworkers at the factory believed the lies and sent me messages cursing me out. You always seemed honest, but I never knew you were so vicious, harming your own daughter. Disgusting! Facing the online mob, I didn’t cry. I looked coldly at Laura’s face on the screen, methodically saving her defamatory video with my left hand. Then I took screenshots and screen recordings of all the vicious comments and personal attacks the video had attracted. Next, my gaze fell on the laptop in the corner. It was an old computer Laura had disdained as too outdated to take with her. Laura was careless. She thought emptying the recycle bin solved everything. But she didn’t know that as long as the hard drive wasn’t destroyed, data could be recovered. I spent the whole night using my left hand to control the mouse, using recovery software I’d found online to gradually excavate the secrets buried deep in this computer. When the progress bar reached one hundred percent and I opened the hidden billing statements and chat records that had been recovered, I broke out in a cold sweat, then laughed out loud in the basement. Mr. Osman’s several trading companies were all shells used as fronts for overseas fraud syndicates to launder money! The funds Laura had been dreaming about for going abroad all came from dirty accounts. Not only that, I also recovered several eye-burning videos. The protagonists of the videos were actually Osman and Laura’s friend Isabella, who kept calling him sugar daddy! This seemingly innocent Isabella wasn’t just a business partner—she’d been sleeping with Osman all along. Laura had become a tool Isabella used to please her benefactor. I extracted those money laundering flow statements, along with the exam proxy transfer records and pornographic videos, and organized them into categories. As morning sunlight filtered into the basement, I pressed send. I sent them in encrypted compressed file format to the Economic Investigation Division’s verified report email, copying the tax bureau. Laura, it’s time to wake up from your dream of marrying into wealth.

Three days later, to whitewash her reputation, Laura held a high-profile banquet at a luxury hotel in the city center. She announced publicly that although her mother’s interference had temporarily prevented her from going to the UK, Mr. Osman had already arranged for her to enter a prestigious domestic academy. The banquet hall was brightly lit. Many of Osman’s business associates attended, along with Laura’s classmates. Social media influencers she’d invited for publicity filled the hall. I pushed open the banquet hall doors wearing old clothes, my right hand wrapped in thick bandages. The entire venue instantly fell silent. “Oh my god, that’s the evil mother from online, right?” “How does she have the nerve to show up? Dressed so shabby.” “Probably saw her daughter made it big and came to extort more money. So disgusting.” The guests pointed and whispered, their contempt undisguised. Laura stood on stage in a gown. Seeing me, a flash of triumph crossed her eyes, then she put on a wronged expression. “Mom, what are you doing here? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” She held the microphone, her voice choking. “But no matter how evil you are, you’re still my mom.” “As long as you admit your mistake in front of everyone today, I’m willing to forgive you.” Isabella sneered from the side, stirring things up: “Who apologizes standing up? If you’re truly repentant, you should kneel and apologize to Laura!” “Right! Kneel and apologize!” Several people who’d been bribed started jeering from below the stage. Just then, Osman stood up from the main table, holding documents, looking down at me condescendingly. “Since you’re here, just sign it.” Mr. Osman threw the documents on the floor in front of me. He used a threatening tone to make me sign that notarized statement admitting to slander and severing the mother-daughter relationship. Laura walked to the edge of the stage and threatened me in a voice only we could hear: “If you don’t sign today, I’ll have my online team destroy your reputation so you can’t survive in this city!” “Sign it, and I’ll give you back half the money from the passbook.” Give me back half? Using my lifeline money to threaten me? I looked at the humiliating document on the floor, then at that face on stage that resembled mine yet looked so hateful. I calmly bent down and picked up the pen with my left hand. “Fine, I’ll sign,” I said flatly. Laura and Isabella exchanged glances, smiles of triumph on their faces. Mr. Osman also exhaled a satisfied puff of smoke, watching me submit. I held the pen and walked up to the stage step by step, standing before Laura and Mr. Osman. Then, under everyone’s expectant gaze waiting for my submission, I used both hands and tore the document in half. Then I continued tearing, shredding the document to pieces. With a swoosh, I violently threw the handful of confetti into the shocked faces of Laura and Mr. Osman! Paper scraps fluttered to the floor. Laura screamed: “You crazy old woman, what are you doing?!” “What am I doing?” I looked at them, a cold smile curving my lips. My voice carried through the microphone across the banquet hall: “Laura, Osman. Did you really think that during these past few days when I didn’t fight back, all I did was make one phone call to the embassy?” As soon as I finished speaking, the guests in the hall who’d been ready to watch me humiliated looked at each other. Everyone fell silent. Laura paused, then covered her mouth and sneered: “Phone calls? Who else could you call? The psychiatric hospital?!” “You old hag, are you so traumatized you’re having delusions? Everyone look, this woman’s gone insane! Quick, get security to drag her out!” Isabella beside her joined in the mockery: “Exactly! Wearing rags to a five-star hotel pretending to be rich.” “Mr. Osman, look how pathetic she is. She’s probably money-crazy and daydreaming!” Osman crushed out his cigar, his expression dark, and barked: “A toast refused means a forfeit drunk! Someone, hold this crazy woman down!” “This agreement—she’ll sign it whether she wants to or not!” Two bodyguards immediately lunged toward me. Just as Laura and the others looked triumphant, BANG! The banquet hall doors were pushed open from outside!

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When I was eighteen, after Brooks and I had sex for the first time in our rental apartment, he proposed to me with a cheap ring. At twenty-four, he was found by the Davis family and became the heir to a prestigious and powerful household, but he secretly got engaged to someone else behind my back. On the day of our sixth anniversary, I wanted to surprise him and came home early. I happened to overhear his friend mocking him: “Why are you still living in this dump? Are you really going to refuse the marriage alliance with the Tony family for your first love?” Brooks laughed while biting his cigarette. “How is that possible? I’m just playing around. Alexis doesn’t have the status to be worthy of me now.” The door was slightly ajar, and the words hit me without warning. I froze at the entrance, looking up at the people inside the rental apartment. Aside from Brooks, they were all playboys whose shoes alone cost more than my annual internship salary. Hearing Brooks’s words, they laughed even more mockingly: “Those worthless trinkets she gives you—I’d be embarrassed to carry them in my pocket.” “Yeah, it sounds harsh, but it’s the truth.” My eyelashes trembled as I clutched the gift I’d prepared, having saved up for three months, feeling utterly humiliated. It was already the best thing I could offer Brooks. “When are you planning to break up with her?” Cigarette smoke blurred Brooks’s expression. I couldn’t see clearly, only hearing his indifferent voice: “It’s just an engagement, no need to break up. She’s really stupid—she won’t find out.” The room erupted in derisive laughter again: “She really is stupid, completely played by you.” “But what about Laurient? Can you hide it from her too?” Laurient—I’d heard that name from my colleagues. A genuine heiress. Playful and manipulative, she’d boasted that there wasn’t a man in all of Los Angeles she couldn’t catch. But I’d heard that this time, the man she was pursuing was her social equal, and she was serious about marriage. Brooks showed no emotional reaction to hearing that name. He stubbed out his cigarette and started ushering them out. “Are you done? Alexis is coming home early today.” The group left. I hid around the corner, listening to them complain about how remote and shabby this place was as they walked. Then I heard them say that the engagement between the two families was set for next month. Next month… In the stuffy corridor, I suddenly felt cold enough to shiver. I slowly pieced it together. So the person the Davis family found a year ago—the one whose return was celebrated throughout the city—really was Brooks. I remember looking at Brooks in the kitchen back then and asking regretfully, “You’re both named Davis, why couldn’t it be you?” Brooks asked back with amusement, “Why would it be me?” I looked at him without blinking. “Because… you’re really different.” Brooks didn’t know. When my mom married into that town and brought me along, the first time I saw Brooks, I felt he didn’t belong there. He was smart, aloof, yet strikingly handsome—nothing like that alcoholic, abusive stepfather. Brooks didn’t say anything more at the time. But that very night, the online post was deleted completely. After that, nothing related to the Davis family appeared in my life again. From that moment on, the person I’d loved for eight whole years had already been lying to me. The corridor gradually darkened, the endless darkness seeming ready to swallow me whole. I suddenly felt an urgent need to escape this place. Anywhere would do—I didn’t want to face Brooks. But the moment I stepped around the corner, I locked eyes with Brooks, who was standing at the door. In just a few seconds, Brooks had already guessed what happened. The guilt and regret I’d imagined never appeared on his face. He laughed once, showing that familiar expression somewhere between troubled and annoyed. I knew that look too well. It was exactly like the expression Brooks wore when he used to witness my stepfather about to hit me—troubled, impatient, yet forced to deal with it. Back then, he’d glanced at me coldly, showing no intention of coming over. But in the end, he still pulled me behind him. Later, he protected me with a cold face, time and time again. He was very young then too, no match for an adult’s strength. So he always ended up covered in blood. I’d cry while holding Brooks, soaking half his shoulder with tears. After my mom died, he was the only one who protected me. Brooks always said I was useless, asked how I’d survive without him, but never said he’d abandon me. Memory and reality overlapped as I watched Brooks sigh and walk toward me like he used to. Actually, I was terrified. In that moment, I even blamed myself for not hiding well enough. I wanted to completely disappear and avoid this confrontation. But in the end, under Brooks’s gaze, I asked him numbly, “You’re getting engaged?”

Along with the thunder came Brooks’s voice. He looked down at me and admitted it frankly. “It’s a marriage alliance arranged by the family. I can’t refuse.” “They would never accept someone as worthless as you into the Davis family. You understand that, don’t you?” “But Alexis, I won’t leave you,” his fingers slowly wiped away my tears. “I’ll still protect you, just like before—” I sensed something was wrong. “What do you mean?” What did he mean by “won’t leave me”? What did he mean by “just like before”? Brooks’s eyes were pitch black. Through those eyes, I saw my own wretched, pitiful reflection. I actually had so many questions I wanted to ask. But now I couldn’t get a single word out. I looked at Brooks and asked him slowly, word by word: “Brooks, you want me to be your mistress?” Brooks didn’t deny it. From the moment the Davis family found him, he knew they would never accept me. He agreed to the marriage alliance while continuing to act out this charade with me here. Just like he said, I was so stupid I’d believe anything he told me. I tried hard to keep my eyes open to stop the tears from falling, but I just couldn’t control them. The corridor window was half-open, rain pouring down wildly. Years ago, I’d confessed to Brooks in the pouring rain, and now I had to end it in the rain too. But Brooks didn’t take my words about breaking up seriously. He calmly watched me finish my tantrum, then brought me back to the living room and casually asked what I wanted to eat. He seemed certain I wouldn’t refuse him, much less leave him. Not until I shook off his hand and started packing did his eyes finally show some emotion. “Alexis, does it have to be this way?” I didn’t answer. Brooks’s grip on my wrist only tightened. He looked at me quietly, as if genuinely not understanding: “I said we can still be like before. I can give you anything you want now. Do you really want to go back to those hard times?” I looked at him numbly. “Brooks, I won’t be a mistress.” “I can survive without depending on you.” “Without depending on me?” Brooks laughed. “Alexis, why are you still so naive?” “Without me, could you have graduated safely from under that perverted school administrator’s hands?” “Without me, could you have so coincidentally met that specialist during your surgery?” “And,” Brooks leaned closer to me, his tone mocking, “If you really care so much about what others think, why did you fall for me back then, confess to me, even kiss me—your nominal brother?” My whole body went cold as I slowly raised my head to meet Brooks’s gaze. So mocking and sharp, landing on me like a knife that cut to the bone. “Alexis,” Brooks looked at me with a smile, “stop pretending.” “You’re not as pure and noble as you claim to be.” Brooks said I was really stupid, that every choice I’d made since childhood was foolish. From enduring my stepfather’s beatings without resistance before, to leaving him now—it was all the same. He swore that within a week, I’d definitely come back to him. This week was probably the hardest week of my life. I hit walls everywhere, work went poorly, I couldn’t even find a place to rent. At critical moments, someone would always show up with more money to outbid me. I had no choice but to temporarily stay at my college friend’s place, but this morning, she told me she couldn’t let me stay anymore. My eyes fell on the phone clutched in her hand. I said softly, “Brooks contacted you, didn’t he?” She sighed. “Even if you broke up, he shouldn’t go this far, right?” She didn’t know much about what happened between Brooks and me. I didn’t want to drag her into this any further. I had to move to a hotel. Before I left, Sophia insisted on transferring me some money. “I know your internship salary isn’t much. Use this for now, pay me back when you get your full-time position.” I didn’t accept it. But the news about my full-time position was indeed supposed to come today. When I arrived at the company, though, the atmosphere was strangely off. Many people looked at me with complex expressions. My heart raced as an ominous premonition arose. Before I could think it through, my boss called me over. The office was silent. My boss took a sip of tea and told me straight out. Among this batch of interns, I was the most qualified for the full-time position, but not anymore. “The company landed a once-in-a-lifetime deal, but that company has one requirement.” I met my boss’s gaze, my heart sinking. “…What requirement?” My boss took another sip of hot tea and spoke slowly: “They require that we fire you.”

On the way back to the hotel, it started raining. The rain felt so cold it seemed to pierce into my heart. Brooks was already waiting at the hotel entrance. When he saw me, he got out of the car with an umbrella, his face wearing its usual smile. “Alexis, when will you break the habit of forgetting your umbrella in the rain?” I stared at the hand holding the umbrella. Brooks was still wearing the ring from when he proposed to me. I found it laughable, but I was too exhausted to laugh. The wet, sticky coat clung to my body, making my voice tremble when I spoke: “Brooks, how far do you have to go before you’ll stop?” “I used to like you, depend on you, but I never did anything to hurt you, did I?” “On our anniversary, I’d been preparing for quite a while.” “The gift I got you—I saved up half a year’s salary for it.” “Back then I even thought, I’m about to get my full-time position, and once things stabilize, we can move to a slightly bigger place.” “Why,” I looked up at him, “why do you have to treat me this way? Why does it have to be me?!” Brooks didn’t respond. His eyes fell on my hand instead. “Where’s the ring?” The ring he’d proposed with in the rental apartment. I’d worn it for six whole years. It wasn’t that he’d never bought me new rings, but I just loved that one. “I lost it.” I turned to walk back inside. “Do whatever else you want, Brooks. My answer won’t change.” Unexpectedly, Brooks backed down. He said he could stay out of my employment situation, but he had one condition. “What?” He gestured at the increasingly heavy rain. “It’s cold. Can we go inside to talk?” The hotel I’d found on short notice was very basic. Brooks waited until I changed out of my soaked coat before speaking. He sent me an address, saying there was a reception tomorrow night and asking me to come for a final goodbye. But on the way there the next day, for some reason, my heart suddenly started pounding violently. It was a high-end club, the kind of place I wouldn’t normally even glance at. Brooks’s private room was on the top floor. I saw many people inside. I saw that the bottles of alcohol they casually opened could buy my cheap rental apartment. In that moment, I finally had a concrete sense of Brooks’s current status and the gap between us. There, I also saw Laurient from the Tony family. She sat beside Brooks, beautiful and radiant. Before I could figure out why Laurient was there, I suddenly heard her say she had a surprise for Brooks. Vaguely, I seemed to hear my name. I suddenly tensed up. Laurient knew about my existence. I watched her casually make a phone call to someone. After a few brief sentences, the smile on her face grew even brighter, carrying the satisfaction of a successful prank. She tilted her head, studying his expression as she asked, “I accidentally got Alexis fired. You won’t blame me, will you, Brooks?” I stood there numbly, feeling coldness slowly penetrate my limbs. Until it climbed to my heart, bringing sharp, tingling pain. So Laurient’s “surprise” was destroying the job I’d just gotten today. Brooks sat beside her, watching her calmly. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t blame Laurient, didn’t even change his expression. I’d never found that indifferent face of his so disgusting. He’d clearly promised me he wouldn’t interfere with my work. I suddenly remembered what I’d said yesterday. I remembered that inscrutable smile on Brooks’s face before he left yesterday. I’d thought that because of what I said, he was slightly moved, had the tiniest bit of pity for me. But there was nothing. When Brooks smiled then, was he laughing at me like I was a pathetic, ridiculous clown? A clown who used to be played by him, yet was busy planning an impossible future with him. But now this clown still had to go find him. Because I saw Laurient reach out and pull a jade pendant on a black woven cord from around Brooks’s neck. I slowly blinked. Finally seeing clearly what was in her hand—it was the pendant my mom left me, my only keepsake of her. So when Brooks suggested going to my hotel room yesterday, it wasn’t because he was cold, and it wasn’t because he was actually willing to back down. It was to find this.

Brooks was as accommodating to Laurient as he once was to me. He casually removed the pendant and tossed it to Laurient. The last tightly wound string in my mind suddenly snapped. I had nothing left now. I’d even lost my job. I couldn’t lose this last memento of my mom too. I pushed hard on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Brooks—” I saw Brooks look up. Under the brilliant lights, through the glass, he just looked at me quietly with his usual smile, showing no intention of opening the door. I immediately understood—everything he said yesterday was a lie. He was angry I’d talked back to him, angry I’d thrown away the ring. He was warning me, punishing me, using the jade pendant to force me to compromise. Separated by a door, the hallway was quiet, but the music blasting inside the room was deafening, drowning out my voice. I was nearly breaking down as I spoke: “Brooks, I… I don’t want the job anymore!” “I’ll find the ring and return it to you today!” “Please, please give me back mom’s jade pendant!!” A week’s worth of pent-up emotions exploded. I shouted like a madwoman, drawing the attention of many people in the hallway. But Brooks still didn’t move. The music happened to reach its final few seconds of quiet outro, and everything fell silent. Through the glass, I watched helplessly as Laurient took the jade pendant and tossed it up and down with distaste. Then she accidentally fumbled it, and the pendant fell from her hand. After a crisp, cheap-sounding crack, Brooks suddenly stood up. He stared at the cracked jade pendant, his expression changing beyond his control. The scene suddenly descended into chaos. They seemed to be saying something, but my head was buzzing and I couldn’t hear anything clearly. I don’t know how I got back to the hotel. I only came to my senses when I realized I was completely soaked by the rain. Someone equally drenched stood at my door. That face was familiar—one of Brooks’s friends. “Brooks was taken back by the Davis family. He told me to make sure to tell you that things aren’t what you think. He didn’t mean to destroy the jade pendant.” “About your job, Brooks will handle it. Something came up with the Davis family, but as soon as he can get out, he’ll come find you right away. Don’t…” Before he could finish, I slammed the door shut with a bang. Silence returned to my ears. Water dripped from my sleeves, tap tap tap. I stared silently at the broken jade pendant in my hand for who knows how long before my phone suddenly vibrated. A notification popped up—I’d been fired, along with a transfer for severance pay. The full-time position really was Brooks playing me. Laurient couldn’t tolerate my existence, and Brooks condoned her tantrum. It was all lies. I’d never believe Brooks’s fake sympathy again. After blocking Brooks on all platforms, I bought the earliest ticket out of Los Angeles. I never wanted to come back.

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Right after giving birth, I stumbled upon a post: “My wife just had a baby, but I don’t want to help take care of the kid. What should I do?” Someone replied with advice: “Hurry up and apply for an overseas assignment with your company. Best if it’s for about three years.” The poster was puzzled: “Why?” The advisor explained: “Are you stupid? These three years are when kids are the hardest to take care of. Find a legitimate excuse to get out and you can avoid all the hassle, right?” “Plus, kids have no memories of their first three years. By the time you come back from your assignment, it won’t affect you being a good father later.” “If your wife ever fights with you about it, just tell her how hard you worked making money those three years abroad.” “It’s a win-win situation!” The poster immediately responded gratefully: “Thanks, man.” I stared in disbelief, thinking what awful people these two were. The next second, a message from my husband popped up: “Cedric, the company is assigning me overseas for three years.”

I stared at those words, somewhat confused. Why did Morant’s message sound exactly like what that post had suggested? After a moment of shock, I replied: “Overseas assignment? Why so sudden? Where are you going?” The typing indicator above the chat box appeared and disappeared intermittently. Morant’s message finally came through: “It’s a new project in the Southwest.” “Cedric, this is a rare opportunity. The company values this project highly and specifically requested me to lead the team. Once this is done, I’ll definitely get promoted and get a raise when I come back. Our lives will be so much better.” Morant sounded earnest and sincere. In the past, I probably would have supported his career. But I’d just finished my postpartum recovery period. My parents had died in an accident two years ago, and Morant’s parents were unreliable. If he left now, I’d be the only one managing everything at home, inside and out. I told him what I was thinking: “I don’t want you to go.” “The baby is still so small, I really can’t handle it alone.” “And when my maternity leave ends, I have to go back to work too. Who will watch the baby then?” “If you leave now, you’re dumping all the burden on me.” Morant replied almost instantly: “Cedric, I know how hard this is on you. I don’t want to leave you and the baby either.” “But we need to think long-term. This separation now is for a better future.” “As for taking care of the baby, there’s always a way.” “You can take the baby to work with you. Lots of moms do that, don’t they?” “Just tough it out for a few years. Once I’m back, everything will be fine. You’ll just have to work hard these few years, and when I return, everything will be better.” I frowned, laughing bitterly. How dare he say such things, casually telling me to sacrifice while he wanted to be a deserter? I couldn’t hold back and confronted him: “Easy for you to say. How am I supposed to work and take care of a baby at the same time? Carry the baby to the office? Or should I split myself in half?” He paused for a moment this time, then dropped a bombshell: “If it doesn’t work out, just quit your job.” “I can definitely support you and our daughter, no problem.” “You can focus on taking care of the baby at home. Isn’t that great? Many families arrange things this way.” I stared at those lines, instantly furious, my chest tightening with frustration. I didn’t even want to type anymore. I sent angry voice messages instead. “I’m not willing to do that.” “Before we got married, I made it clear to you that I wouldn’t be a housewife. It hasn’t been that long, and you’re already going back on your word.” “You leaving for three years isn’t fair to me, and it’s not fair to Ellis either.” “The child needs a father. You have parenting responsibilities too.” He defended himself pitifully: “Then what do you want me to do?!” “I’m doing all this for—” “Enough!” I cut him off. “We can’t talk clearly on the phone. Come home early tonight. We need to discuss this face to face.” This time, a full two or three minutes passed before his message finally appeared: “I can’t tonight. There’s a project kickoff meeting. I have to have dinner with the leadership. It’ll definitely be late. Don’t wait up, get some rest.” “I’ll come home early tomorrow and we’ll talk properly, okay?” I was exasperated. Ever since the baby was born, he’d been leaving early and coming home late, suddenly becoming a workaholic. I didn’t think much of it before, but after seeing that post, something felt off. I didn’t give him room to negotiate. “Tonight. I’ll wait for you. We must talk this through.” After a long while, he finally replied with a simple “okay.” I let out a deep sigh. On impulse, I clicked back into that post. Surprisingly, it had been updated.

Just over ten minutes ago, the poster had a new problem: “My wife won’t agree to my overseas assignment. She says there’s no one to help take care of the baby. So annoying. Women are so short-sighted.” The advisor quickly replied: “That’s easy. First, work it out with your mom. Have your mom come help out.” “Once you leave, then have your mom find some excuse to bail.” “By then you’ll already be overseas. What can your wife do about it?” “The kid will be tied to her. She can’t just abandon the baby, can she? In the end, she’ll have to deal with it herself.” The poster was ecstatic, sending a string of praise emojis: “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! You really get it! I’ll do exactly that!” I felt my hands and feet go cold. This was a coordinated attack against women. Some netizens who couldn’t stand it started cursing: “Have some humanity!” “Your wife just gave birth to your child and you’re scheming against her like this? Did a dog eat your conscience?” “What a time to be alive, even animals can pretend to be human now.” “Red flag! Stay away from this scumbag!” Facing the criticism from netizens, the poster didn’t immediately respond. I thought maybe he felt guilty and didn’t have the nerve to show his face. But after a while, he replied. He shot back at those criticizing him: “What do you know?! Easy for you to talk when it’s not your problem!” “Do you know how much pressure there is in the workplace these days? I’m going out there to advance my career for this family!” “Isn’t it a woman’s natural duty to take care of children? Isn’t it tiring for me to earn money to support the family?” “My mom worked hard her whole life. Helping out is a favor, not an obligation. What’s wrong with that?” “You say I’m scheming? I’m rationally allocating family resources. You’re just jealous!” His comments became more and more extreme and absurd, drawing even more angry criticism from netizens. The thread grew rapidly, quickly turning into a fierce flame war. Until one reply appeared: “Screenshot taken. Everyone, stop arguing. The most important thing now is to make sure his wife knows about this.” “You’d better pray your wife never sees this post.” After this reply, the previously arrogant poster suddenly went silent. A few seconds later, I refreshed the page. The screen displayed: “Sorry, the post you’re trying to access has been hidden or deleted.” He panicked. I clicked into his profile page. It was completely blank, with default avatar and username. There was no useful information to be found. But I wasn’t worried. Those who should slip up will slip up eventually.

At seven in the evening, Ellis started fussing before bed. I held her and paced back and forth in the living room, humming an off-key lullaby. At eight, Morant sent a message: “Meeting’s running long, will be a while longer. You eat first, don’t go hungry.” I didn’t reply, just kept pacing. Ellis’s crying quieted down, turning into pitiful whimpers. At nine-thirty, he sent another message: “Had a few drinks with clients, won’t be back that soon. Just go to sleep.” At eleven, I finally heard keys turning in the lock. He pushed the door open and saw me sitting on the sofa. He froze for a moment: “You’re still up? Didn’t I tell you to sleep?” He walked toward me, trying to hug me. A faint, unfamiliar perfume scent wafted over. I moved aside to avoid him. He looked awkward. I got straight to the point: “Let’s talk about the overseas assignment.” He sat down and began explaining: “Cedric, I know you were upset today.” “This assignment really was too sudden. I had no idea the company would arrange things this way.” I didn’t respond, just looked at him. Seeing my silence, he continued: “Look, raising a kid is so expensive now. Education costs will be even more astronomical later.” “My current position isn’t great—stuck in the middle, and the pay is just so-so. When I come back…” He went on and on, painting a picture of his promotion and raise. But I was too lazy to listen anymore. I asked him: “Did you actively apply for this assignment?” He froze for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly before returning to normal: “How could that be? Of course the company arranged it. If I refused, wouldn’t that make me ungrateful?” “Is that so?” I stared at him, my gaze sweeping across his slightly open collar, where there seemed to be some inconspicuous glitter. “Are you going alone or with someone else?” He turned his head, avoiding my gaze: “My secretary is going too.” His secretary was named Ilysis, a pretty young woman. I understood, and smiled. He was baffled by my smile and quickly changed the subject: “Cedric, I know it’ll be hard for you to take care of the baby alone. I’ve already thought it through—we can have my mom come help.” Hearing this, my heart sank. This line… Morant thought his idea was great, his voice brightening: “My mom’s still in decent health. She can definitely handle taking care of the baby.” “With her helping out, won’t that make things easier for you?” As he said this, his expression was frank and his tone sincere. If I hadn’t seen that post, I might have been fooled by his act. The last bit of hope in my heart disappeared. It really was him scheming against me. I didn’t rush to expose him. Under his gaze, I gently nodded. “Fine, then go.” Since he dared to scheme against me, he couldn’t blame me for what came next. Morant’s face instantly lit up. “Cedric, you really agree?” He seemed to want confirmation, his voice barely containing his joy. “Yeah.” I lowered my head, looking at my fingers twisted together, not wanting to see his nauseating expression. “When are you leaving?” “Next week! Next Wednesday’s flight!” He blurted it out, then seemed to realize he sounded too eager and softened his tone: “The project timeline is tight, they’re pushing hard over there. I wanted to spend more time with you and Ellis, but I really have no choice.” I smiled bitterly. He really didn’t want to stay a moment longer. “But,” he leaned in closer, trying to hold my hand. I shifted slightly, avoiding him. He didn’t seem to mind and continued: “I’ve arranged everything. I’ll call my mom in a bit and have her pack up and come as soon as possible.” “Also, I told Torres that while I’m gone these three years, he should look after you two.” “If there’s any heavy work, hard labor, or anything that needs a man’s help, just ask him. He’s my best friend, totally trustworthy.” I knew Torres—Morant’s childhood friend who grew up with him. They both joined the same company. Morant became a minor manager while Torres remained an ordinary employee. He was pretty helpful. Morant mentioned him often. I didn’t know if this was part of his scheme. But since he’d already made all these arrangements, how could I not go along with his wishes? I said okay. Morant breathed a sigh of relief, hugging me tightly and thanking me for understanding him. This time I didn’t avoid him. I rested my chin on his shoulder and sneered. Morant, it was too early to thank me.

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The day my SAT scores came out, several Ivy League admissions officers showed up at my house, all competing to recruit me. My high school teacher, Ms. Peyton — a woman who worshiped male students — deliberately said when she learned I’d gotten a perfect SAT score: “Jenna, I’m so happy for you! I can’t believe you actually slept your way to getting the test answers and still managed a perfect score! Oh my, I’m just joking. It slipped out. Don’t mind me. Just tell me quietly — how many test writers did you sleep with this time?” In my past life, I cried and explained that I’d studied hard for the exam myself. She sneered: “Right, right, you studied for it yourself. If you didn’t seduce male teachers and get the answers ahead of time, then why are you so upset right now?” That statement made the Harvard and Stanford admissions officers suspicious, and they rejected my application on the spot. In the end, I wasn’t accepted by any university. Three years of hard work went down the drain, and I eventually died from depression. Meanwhile, the male student Ms. Peyton favored most stole my admission spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the Ivy League admissions officers came to school. Without hesitation, I chose to call the police: “Officer, I’ve been assaulted, and the witness is my high school teacher.”

The moment those words left my mouth, Ms. Peyton’s expression changed instantly. She never expected that I — usually introverted and timid — would actually call the police in front of so many people. She lunged at me, reaching for my phone. I stepped back, and she nearly fell to the ground. “Jenna, what are you doing? It’s such a small matter. Is it really worth calling the police?” “What witness? I just heard it from someone else. I can’t testify for you!” I froze, staring at her intently. “A small matter? Spreading sexual rumors about me and accusing me of cheating — that’s a small matter?” “You knew the Ivy League admissions officers were coming to my house today. Why would you say something like that?” Ms. Peyton looked as if I’d exposed her, her face turning ugly. But the next second, she laughed dramatically, accusing me of being too sensitive. “I didn’t know the Ivy League admissions team was coming to your house today. I didn’t mean to bring up your… impropriety.” “I’m just worried that if you got into an Ivy League school through these means, you won’t be able to handle the academics there. Your teacher is just looking out for you!” “After all, you’re a girl who became the top science student in the state. Who knows what underhanded methods you used?” She cleared her throat and suddenly raised her voice. Everyone’s attention was drawn back to her, even my mom looked at me with suspicion. “Dear admissions officers, I know this child, Jenna. When she first enrolled, she was at the bottom of the class. Then she transferred to the science class — which was full of male teachers — and suddenly her grades shot up.” “Don’t you think that’s strange? And I’ve caught her going in and out of hotels with male teachers multiple times. As her teacher, it’s hard for me not to think in that direction!” In my past life, Ms. Peyton said exactly this, making the admissions officers deeply disappointed in me. She relied on her position as my high school teacher, knowing no one would question a teacher’s character. She made everyone believe her lies, and no one wanted to hear my explanation. Not only did the Ivy League schools reject my file, preventing me from attending any college. Even my parents were implicated and ridiculed by relatives and friends. Three years of hard work were destroyed. They disowned me. I couldn’t defend myself. In the end, I died from depression. When I opened my eyes again and returned to this day, there was no way I’d let her play her tricks and ruin my college dreams again! “A hotel?” My mom looked at me in disbelief, her lips trembling slightly. “That’s right, Jenna’s mom. You didn’t know, did you? Jenna is a regular at the hotel by the school gate. The first time I saw it, I couldn’t believe she was that kind of person!” After saying this, Ms. Peyton quickly covered her mouth, pretending it was an accidental slip. “Wait, no, no. Oh my! Why did I say that out loud? Just pretend I was talking nonsense. Don’t overthink it!” “I came here today to celebrate Jenna getting a perfect SAT score and bringing honor to our school, even though her methods were a bit… unclean…” All the admissions officers exchanged glances and began discussing among themselves. “I can’t believe she’s that kind of person. Our school can’t admit someone like this…” Even my mom didn’t trust me, frowning as she questioned me: “Jenna, is what Ms. Peyton said true?” “Did you really go to that kind of place? Tell me. How many times did you go?” A trace of delight flashed in Ms. Peyton’s eyes, but I showed no sign of panic. “Ms. Peyton, are you sure you saw me? Then I must have been drugged unconscious, because I don’t remember it at all!” “When the police arrive, you must clearly state the time and location so they can catch the person who assaulted me as soon as possible!”

Ms. Peyton was stunned. The current me was completely different from the me she knew. She never expected I’d be so serious about this — not only showing no shame but practically wanting the whole world to know. “Dear Ivy League admissions officers, I believe Ms. Peyton’s words. She must not be joking!” “But I truly don’t remember any of this. I definitely wasn’t there willingly. With Ms. Peyton here, she can definitely find the culprit and clear my name!” I gripped Ms. Peyton’s hand tightly, speaking earnestly. She recoiled in disgust and immediately shook me off. “You — what nonsense are you spouting, child?” “How shameless can you be? Tell the truth. A month ago, did you or did you not check into the hotel by the school gate?” “And you weren’t the only one who checked in! Admissions officers, if you don’t believe me, you can check the registration records. I swear on my twenty years as a teacher!” At those words, all the admissions officers’ gazes fell on me like countless knives. “Miss Lynn, did you really use despicable means to get the SAT answers and score so high?” “No wonder she scored more than ten points higher than second place. In twenty years, no one has scored this high. So that’s how…” The fruit platter in my mom’s hands fell to the floor, fruit scattering everywhere. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, her voice filled with anger and shock. “Jenna, tell your mother. Is what Ms. Peyton said true? Did you go to a hotel?” “Did you — did you really use those methods to get your grades today? Say something! Are you trying to kill your mother?” “Your father and I poured everything into raising you. How could we have raised a daughter like you?” Ms. Peyton looked at me triumphantly, a smug smile on her lips. I suddenly remembered that before the SAT, I did go to the school hotel. Dylan Cooper had asked me to meet him there. But as soon as I entered and went upstairs, I sensed something was wrong and left through the back door. Only now did I understand — this was a trap set by Ms. Peyton and my classmate, Dylan Cooper. She was determined to have Dylan Cooper take my perfect SAT score. After all, the school’s reward for the top student was a full hundred thousand dollars! To achieve her goal, she was willing to stake her twenty years of teaching reputation. Ms. Peyton knew exactly how to manipulate teachers and parents. She understood that the truth didn’t matter — public opinion was enough to crush a person. Once the admissions officers left, they would spread the news. And then what awaited me would be slut-shaming. In this life, not only would I be unable to attend college, I’d even repeat the tragic fate of my past life. “I did go.” Three words slowly left my mouth. My mom nearly fainted from anger on the spot, and the admissions officers clamored to leave. “However, I didn’t enter any room. I left through the back of the hotel.” Ms. Peyton burst out laughing: “Ha ha ha, who would believe that? Jenna, you usually look so pure and honest, but only I, as your teacher, truly understand what kind of person you are!” “I didn’t deliberately smear you in front of the admissions officers. I just don’t want to see you go down the wrong path and make mistake after mistake!” “As long as you admit your error, we’ll void this year’s results, and you can prepare properly for the SAT next year. I’m willing to tutor you for free!” She spoke with such sincerity, like a good teacher. Only I knew how much she worshiped men and loved spreading sexual rumors about female students. In high school, Ms. Peyton treated male and female students completely differently. When male students asked for leave, she’d approve without checking the reason. But when female students were in so much pain they fainted, she’d just think they were faking. When male students didn’t wear their uniforms properly, it showed boldness and masculinity. But if a female student dared take off her jacket, she was a shameless slut trying to seduce men. She would spend an entire class period scolding female students, treating all the girls in class like enemies. I took out my phone and called the hotel by the school gate: “Could you please check the back door surveillance footage from around 8 PM a month ago?” The front desk quickly sent me the surveillance from that time. It clearly showed me entering through the front door and leaving through the back door less than a minute later.

Everyone watched the surveillance footage. Ms. Peyton’s face showed a moment of surprise, then she also called the hotel front desk. A few minutes later, a year’s worth of check-in records was displayed for everyone to see. “Jenna, the surveillance video only proves you didn’t go this time. It doesn’t mean you never went before!” “This is the check-in record from the past year that I just had the front desk send me. Look for yourself — how many times have you checked in this year?” “Tsk tsk tsk, so shameless at such a young age. I’m truly ashamed for you as your teacher!” “Dear admissions officers, look at what kind of person she really is! Tell me, how could a student like this possibly get a perfect SAT score through her own efforts?” Suddenly, my dad, who had just returned home, saw all of this. He raised his hand and slapped me: “You — how could you do something so disgraceful!” “Go turn yourself in right now, or I don’t have a daughter like you!” My face immediately burned with pain, half of it swelling up. My parents were both furious and shocked. The way they looked at me was complicated. I covered my face, holding back tears. Ms. Peyton’s smile grew even more triumphant. I’d studied hard for three years, finally going from the worst student to the top student, and even my parents didn’t believe me. “Don’t — don’t hit the child! I’m sure Jenna just had a moment of confusion. Otherwise she wouldn’t have done such things for six years!” “I only found out about this from her middle school teacher. Otherwise I wouldn’t dare believe I’d have such a student!” My dad clutched his chest in anger, his face flushed red, pulling out his belt and pointing it at me. “Jenna Lynn! You — you did this disgraceful thing for six whole years! Let’s see if I don’t beat you to death today!” He charged at me with the belt. I ran everywhere to escape. My mom’s tears wouldn’t stop flowing, her eyes red from crying: “Jenna, you’ve disappointed your mother so much!” Seeing me getting beaten, Ms. Peyton almost laughed out loud but forcibly suppressed it, pretending to stop my dad. “Jenna’s dad, don’t get so worked up! No matter what, you can’t hit your child!” The admissions officers also shook their heads in disappointment at the scene. “Miss Lynn, we have doubts about your SAT results and cannot approve your application.” I froze and immediately explained: “Do you believe what she’s saying too? The SAT is fair and secure. How could the answers possibly be leaked?” “Mom, Dad, calm down! Think carefully — I’m just an ordinary student. How could I possibly know the test writers?” “And leaking SAT answers is a criminal offense with a ten-year prison sentence. Who would dare leak them?” My dad lowered the belt in his hand. My mom stopped crying too. Everyone realized this wasn’t realistic. The SAT had military-level security. Even the most powerful person couldn’t get the answers. Suddenly, Dylan Cooper walked in: “Then how do you explain this?” He pulled out a report. My parents were shocked when they saw it. “Jenna, you — you’re pregnant? Early intrauterine pregnancy, six weeks! What do you have to say for yourself?” Ms. Peyton quickly snatched the report and hid it, scolding Dylan Cooper: “Why did you come here? I wasn’t planning to tell them about this. After all, it’s not honorable for a girl…” “Everyone, just treat this as fake, as a joke. Don’t believe it!” Dylan refused to back down: “Why not? Why should someone like her be the top student!” “Jenna Lynn is a shameless slut. She’s always taking birth control pills at school. The whole class has seen it!” With those words, the whole room exploded. My dad wanted to kill me. My mom had a heart attack and fainted on the spot. The admissions officers turned to leave. “How did I give birth to a slut like you! You’re even — even pregnant with some bastard’s child!” My dad grabbed a kitchen knife and came at me like a madman. The scene descended into chaos. Ms. Peyton and Dylan calmly watched the show from the side. “I’m not pregnant! They forged that report! They’re deliberately trying to harm me. Dad, please calm down! Admissions officers, don’t leave!” I desperately explained, completely despairing, but now no one was willing to believe me. My dad couldn’t hear anything. The knife came straight at my neck. The next second, a large number of police officers burst through the door. “We heard a report about SAT answer leaks? I’m the SAT inspection team leader. This matter is serious. We immediately launched an investigation upon receiving the report.” “After examination, student Jenna Lynn’s results are legal and compliant. The test writers and papers were all under strict monitoring, with no leaks whatsoever.” “We are now lawfully arresting Peyton and Dylan Cooper for spreading rumors. Please come with the police.”

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