Category: English

I’m a D-list celebrity. Yet, because of a video, I accidentally went viral and hit the trending list. In the video, I was aggressively sniffing a kitten who looked like it had given up on life, laughing maniacally. “Whose little kitty is this~ Hohohaha~ It turns out it’s Mommy’s kitty, mua! mua! mua!” “A cute kitten like you~ mua~ was born to be kissed to death by Mommy~ mua” Then one day. Julian Fox, the movie emperor who is seen as cold and noble by outsiders, pinned me against the corner, a pair of fluffy fox ears popping out from his black hair. “Foxes are also very good to sniff, would you like to consider it?” Me: ?!! 1 I’m trending. Because of a video. It started when I was live streaming with fans at home, and forgot to turn off the camera during the break. So, completely unaware, I performed an inhumane act of aggressive sniffing on my orange cat, Can-Can, in front of the live camera. While sniffing, I laughed maniacally in a high-pitched voice. “Whose little kitty is this~ Hohohaha~ It turns out it’s Mommy’s little Can-Can, mua! mua! mua!” “You waving your tail in front of Mommy, isn’t it just to attract Mommy’s attention?…” “An indecent kitten like you, no one likes you, only Mommy, only Mommy loves you the most, hehehe…” “Those kittens outside, at this age, are already working in cat cafes to earn cans. You eat mine, live in mine, what’s wrong with me kissing you? muamuamua!” Finally, satisfied, I returned to the camera shamelessly: “Sorry everyone, my cat just pestered me for kisses, delayed a bit of time.” … After the video was uploaded online, it quickly went viral. Me, a D-list celebrity, stayed on the trending list for a whole night for the first time—— #Susan Destroys Cat# #Susan PUA Master# #Susan Eats Cat# #Susan Cat Virtue Class Principal# #Susan’s Laugh# To be honest, I was quite confused. For this, I specially went to read netizens’ comments under the trending video. “I personally tested Susan’s quotes, they are effective. Just practiced on my cat, now it’s wearing an apron cooking for me in the kitchen, afraid I’ll send it to work in a cat cafe.” “Told my rebellious son if he doesn’t behave I’ll send him to Susan for cat virtue training, in a blink of an eye saw him wearing stockings dancing on a pole in front of me, said he wants to keep my heart.” “I just tried laughing like Susan, now I’m at the police station, the Cat Squad sent a cat to arrest me, my cat called the police, said there’s a pervert.” Me: …Ridiculous. “How could she forget to turn off the camera? Obviously staged, isn’t it just wanting to be famous? And so many idiots believed it…” “Agree with upstairs, just a D-list wanting to be famous deliberately released it to attract attention.” “Am I the only one who thinks her state is very neurotic? Honestly, I suspect she secretly abuses cats privately…” “Are the people upstairs sick? So disgusting, can think of everything so darkly, starting to hate before she even gets famous?” “Pretty sister don’t mind those idiots, I just like beauties like you who look good but have a sick brain, fan now hahaha…” “I’m a fan too, but I’m doing it to see more of Can-Can in the future. Its look of having no desires and giving up on life while being kissed by Susan really kills me with laughter hahaha…” “Although but, am I the only one envious of that cat? Boohoo~ I also want to be kissed by the pretty sister, Susan really hits my aesthetic point…” “No, upstairs you are not alone…” … What surprised me even more was that the current top star in the entertainment industry, Julian Fox, actually liked this video and commented below: “Very cute.” Julian’s fans were in an uproar, don’t know if they were bored or what, followed the vine to find my Twitter. So the already confused me gained hundreds of thousands more followers. Me: ? I silently opened the comment section again. “Susan on the surface (noble and cold): Men? Not even worthy of carrying my shoes. Privately (rubbing hands and laughing foolishly): Hehehe, Mommy’s little Can-Can. Boohoo~ Who understands this contrast, sister kills me…” “Laughing to death hahaha, after reading all of Susan’s tweets, I say, brother is right, the cat is really cute, this sister is really crazy too…” “Agree with upstairs, I will really die of laughter in Susan’s Twitter, hahaha…” “Let’s just say, is there a possibility that Julian Fox said Susan is cute (dog head).” “Can-Can: No one speaks for me?” … In summary, I seem to be famous. Finally, I posted a tweet with Can-Can’s greasy paw-licking meme. Caption: Admit it girl, you have fallen deeply in love with brother. 2 After getting famous, my agent Lisa, who hadn’t contacted me once in eight hundred years, came to me on her own initiative. “Got you an audition for a drama, third female lead, a villain, but lots of scenes, the character setting is brilliant, and it’s Director Wang’s drama, seize the opportunity.” She seemingly unintentionally scanned my room, still looking serious: “By the way, Julian Fox liked that video… did you know each other before?” I shook my head, that’s not true. How could Julian know an unknown D-list like me? At most, I was an extra in the crew he was in before, he probably doesn’t even remember someone like me. I was also quite surprised that he liked my post. After all, Julian is known as the flower of the high ridge in the entertainment industry, cold and distant. Besides acting diligently, I’ve never seen him show enthusiasm for anything before, let alone this kind of entertainment news that passes with a laugh. Thinking about it, I can only attribute the reason to—— My Can-Can is really super invincible cute, even the ascetic Julian likes him… Lisa continued in a deep voice: “Regardless of whether you knew each other before, if you can get this role, having a good relationship with him in the crew won’t hurt you.” I nodded, just about to watch her leave, but saw her stop at the door, cleared her throat and seemingly unintentionally said: “Where’s your cat? Why didn’t I see it?” I blinked and said truthfully: “Just got tired playing with me, sleeping.” Lisa twitched her lips, a trace of imperceptible disappointment flashed in her eyes. I held back my laughter, reaching out as if to stay: “Need me to wake him up?” Lisa decisively pushed the door out, her always indifferent voice carried a trace of unnaturalness: “No need, I didn’t say I wanted to see it.” With the “bang” of the door closing, my eyes carried playfulness. Tsk. Just say it if you want to see my Can-Can. 3 In the past two years, I have acted in many dramas. Although they were all insignificant small supporting roles, my acting skills have indeed been tempered. The audition went smoothly, and I successfully got the role of the third female lead. I was very happy. This means I can make money to buy cans for my little Can-Can again. A few days later, I entered the crew of “Winds of L.A.”, entrusting Can-Can to my best friend Bella’s care. As Lisa said, although I am only the third female lead, I have quite a few scenes, especially in the early stage, I have a lot of rival scenes with the male lead, bouncing around until the middle and late stages before going offline. And this drama, strictly speaking, is actually a big male lead drama with a detective theme in a modern noir background. The female lead is a tool person assisting in solving cases throughout, with almost no romantic scenes. But even so, once the drama was warmed up, countless fans still took the lead in shipping Julian and Emma Zhao as a couple. Emma, naturally, is the female lead of this drama. Current top traffic flower, beautiful and good acting, standing with Julian can be said to be a talented man and a beautiful woman. It’s a pity… I looked at Emma who returned disappointed not far away and raised my eyebrows. It’s a pity that fans will be disappointed. Julian really doesn’t understand romance, even a goddess like Emma who evokes pity is shut out. And Julian over there, just finished the conversation with Emma, lowered his eyes and quietly looked at the script in his hand. From my angle, the side profile is exquisite, the brow bone is superior. He was still wearing that dark cyan suit costume, thin and straight, with a calm temperament, really like a cold and jade-like noble son. Phone vibrated, best friend Bella sent a message. “Is Julian really handsome in person? Does he look worse in real life?” Naturally he is handsome. I was an extra in the same crew as him before. Looking from afar at that time, I felt he was extremely good-looking. Acting with him at close range yesterday gave me a more intuitive understanding of his beauty. What’s more… I looked at Julian’s quiet side profile not far away again. Then added a sentence after replying to Bella “Top-tier beauty, worthy of the reputation”. “He has a small black mole next to his Adam’s apple, very sexy.” I recalled for a moment, silently added. “Want to lick.” 4 One week after joining the group, I took time to video call Bella during the break on set. Haven’t seen for a week, missed Can-Can. And on the screen, it was Can-Can waving his tail and posing. I watched with burning desire, wishing I could rush into the screen and execute Can-Can on the spot. Cat-crazed me spoke without thinking: “Damn it!” “Vixen, wait till I come back and play you to death!” As soon as my voice fell, the surroundings seemed to be silent for a moment. Immediately after, there were whispering discussions. “Did you hear that? So Susan has a boyfriend…” “Tsk, can’t tell the young couple plays quite wild…” I froze, raised my eyes with hindsight, and met a pair of cold and indifferent eyes. It was Julian. He pursed his lips, still looking indifferent, but I seemed to see a trace of imperceptible shock in his eyes. Me: … I reacted for a moment, quickly showed him the phone screen, explaining: “Don’t misunderstand, I was video calling my cat just now.” I thought for a moment, then deliberately raised my volume and said seriously to the screen: “Can-Can, come! Meow a couple of nice ones for everyone.” Can-Can is indeed my good son, very obediently shook his tail and “ao” twice at the screen. And in order to let everyone hear clearly, I specially turned up the volume. “Meow~~” The meow was tender and long, soul-destroying. My heart burned listening to it, restrainedly pinched my fist. Damn, sooner or later die on Can-Can. At this time, there were surprised discussions from others. “Holy crap, clip sound (cutesy voice) cat!” “Why does this cat meow so erotically? Isn’t this an edge-ball (suggestive) cat? Meowing my soul away.” “Sure enough not a serious cat, no wonder Susan…” “They say cats resemble owners, I suspect Susan usually has…” Me: ? Hearing them speaking more and more excessively, I pulled my lips in a sneer, threatening the few people: “Watch your mouth! Be careful my Brother Baozi (Treasure) calls his cat brothers to throw cat poop at your window tonight.” The few people silenced decisively. And Julian at this time also looked at the few people, his handsome face slightly dark, expression cold. “Director Wang complained to me that the crew’s expenses are high. If you are really free, I think we can appropriately reduce manpower.” The few people scattered dejectedly. I naturally could see Julian was speaking for me, remembering Lisa’s instructions, I said to him with a solemn face: “Teacher Fox don’t be afraid! I, Can-Can-kun, serious dead dead di (very serious)!” I leaned close to him, serious: “Can-Can-kun, big big good cat, won’t throw poop randomly, you, don’t believe, I scare them.” Julian: … He lowered his eyes to meet mine, and after two seconds, actually bent his lips and laughed. He was born handsome and elegant, usually never seen smiling. At this time, lowering his eyes and smiling slightly, truly amazed people to the extreme. Damn it! The desire accumulated on Can-Can for a long time without venting poured out at this moment. Ultimately couldn’t hold back, I clutched my chest and blurted out dirty words to Julian: “Here, thump thump di!” … Afterwards, chatting with Bella. “And then? What did Julian say to you?” I recalled, replied to Bella: “Didn’t speak, couldn’t take teasing, ears turned red.” I looked up at Julian who was quietly reading the script with lowered eyes not far away. Perhaps my gaze was too burning, he seemed to sense it, raised his eyes to meet mine. Our gazes entangled. Half a minute later, he lost the battle, moved his gaze away first. I hooked my lips, slowly revealing a victorious smile, then messaged Bella: “He seems to get shy easily.” I immediately sent a lecherous meme: “Want to bully.”

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The first thing I did after being reborn was swap the water in the pesticide bottle with real poison. In my past life, just as our family became the first in town to save ten thousand dollars, my husband Julian Reed failed in his business venture, racking up a debt of $130,000. Guilt-ridden, Julian said he didn’t want to drag me and my mother-in-law down, and drank pesticide to commit suicide. To prevent debt collectors from taking everything, my mother-in-law hid the family’s last bit of savings inside his coffin. When the debt collectors couldn’t find any money, they forcibly occupied our house. To protect my mother-in-law, I had my leg broken by them. Unexpectedly, during the funeral, Julian’s coffin caught fire, and all the money burned to ashes. I shouldered the burden of the family alone, working day and night to pay off debts, and cared for my mother-in-law until her death. I ended up riddled with illness, my hair turning gray prematurely. Just when I was reduced to scavenging for recyclables on the roadside to survive, I bumped into my husband—who had been “dead” for years—walking down the street with another woman and a child, looking glamorous and wealthy. “Julian, you were so smart. By faking your death back then, you got rid of the debt and still had money to marry me.” Julian replied indifferently, “It was that woman who was too stupid. Since she occupied your rightful place, it was only fair she paid the price with her money and labor.” I couldn’t believe my ears and died on the spot from a sudden heart attack caused by intense anger. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Julian drank pesticide to fake his death. … 1 “Chloe, I’ve failed you. Not only did I lose all our family’s savings, but I also owe $130,000. I deserve to die!” “I can’t drag you two down. A bottle of pesticide, and the debt dies with me!” My husband, Julian Reed, knelt before me, crying bitterly, having even prepared a coffin to show his resolve. With tears streaming down his face and filled with remorse, he raised the pesticide bottle to his mouth. In my last life, I was too shocked to stop him in time. This time, I acted quickly, pouncing on him and gripping his wrist tightly, tilting the bottle mouth outwards. The entire bottle of “pesticide” spilled onto his clothes and the ground; not a single drop went down Julian’s throat. Ignoring Julian’s ugly expression, I threw away the bottle and grabbed his hands. “Hubby, money isn’t more important than your life. Don’t do anything foolish!” “No matter how hard it is, there will be a way out. I’ll give you my dowry to pay off the debt, let’s figure this out together!” I looked at him with concern, acting entirely for his sake. Hearing “dowry,” a look of greed instantly burst into his eyes, and he asked urgently: “Really? You’re willing to give me your dowry?” I sneered internally. Acting so hard just for my dowry money. “Of course. We are husband and wife. Who else would I help if not you?” After much persuasion, Julian pretended to give up the idea of suicide and happily went to get my dowry. Seeing the excitement he couldn’t hide in his eyes, my heart went cold. In my last life, Julian cheated me out of my dowry under the guise of paying debts. Then he faked his death by drinking “pesticide,” taking all the family’s money to live happily with another woman. I, on the other hand, was beaten by debt collectors for protecting my mother-in-law and his empty coffin, breaking my leg and shouldering a huge debt. In the end, after caring for my mother-in-law and paying debts all my life, I could only make a living by collecting scrap. Julian, however, remarried and lived happily as a family of three. Thank God for giving me a second chance. Since my husband wants to drink pesticide, water won’t do. Let’s make it real. 2 I took out all my dowry and gave it to Julian, telling him to pay the debts. My mother-in-law, who always disliked me, was also suspicious of my sudden generosity. I wiped my tears and said, “Mom, Julian and I are one. His debt is my debt. Even if I have to eat chaff and vegetables, I will help him pay it back.” “Good thing you still have some money. Whether we have meat to eat in the future depends on you.” My mother-in-law immediately became alert and glared at me unhappily. “I knew you didn’t have good intentions. That’s my coffin money, why should it be spent on you!” She turned into the room, took out her own money, and handed it to Julian. “Son, take this money too!” The two exchanged glances constantly. Julian accepted it without a second thought, taking almost all the money in the house. I knew he wouldn’t use it to pay debts. He would just take the money and run, leaving the $130,000 debt entirely on my head. But it didn’t matter. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to use any of it. Early the next morning, the sound of the gate slamming came from the yard. A group of tall, burly men surged to our doorstep, each looking fierce. The leader had a scar on his cheekbone. He kicked open the courtyard gate, his stick hitting the stone hard, making a loud noise. “Julian Reed, time to pay back the money you owe us, right?” In my last life, when this group came, he had already faked his death and run away. This time, I wouldn’t let him have his way. I decisively hid behind Julian, my voice tearful. “Who are you people? What are you doing in my house? Hubby, save me!” I conveniently pushed Julian forward, making him stand at the very front. Julian’s face turned pale when he saw them, shivering subconsciously. His legs trembled as he swallowed hard. “Brother Zhang, $130,000 is too much, I really can’t pay it back…” Brother Zhang grinned hideously, the scar on his face twitching. “Can’t pay? You didn’t say you couldn’t pay when you borrowed it. Don’t think about welching on the debt!” The commotion attracted nearby neighbors; several people peeked in. But no one dared to come forward, watching from a distance. “Wasn’t Julian Reed just the first millionaire in the village? Didn’t expect him to owe $130,000 in a blink of an eye.” “It’ll take lifetimes to pay this off. Might as well not have done business.” “This is great. Not only did he not make money, but creditors are knocking on his door.” More and more people gathered to watch, discussing animatedly. Julian’s face flushed red, and he shouted: “I have no money, just my life! Since you’re pushing me so hard, I’ll pay you with my life!” Brother Zhang sneered, looking at him mockingly: “Is your life even worth $130,000?” He thought Julian was threatening him, but the next second, Julian took out a pesticide bottle. “Death cancels debt. Chloe, for you and Mom, let my life make amends!” “After I die, put me in the coffin I bought. Don’t waste money, bury me early!” He had a look of heroic sacrifice on his face, not forgetting to clear his name. After speaking, he picked up the bottle and guzzled it down. He drank urgently and quickly, fearing I would stop him. Everyone was stunned, watching Julian throw the bottle away and start foaming at the mouth, convulsing all over. I threw myself over, crying, “Hubby, don’t leave me, how can I live without you?” Before I could get close, my mother-in-law wailed and hugged Julian as he fell to the ground. “My son, how can you make your mother bury her child? I only have one son!” She acted like a mother hen protecting her chick, shoving me hard. “Don’t come over, no one come near my son!” I took the opportunity to sit on the ground, several meters away from them, burying my face in my hands and crying, looking helpless. Brother Zhang frowned, watching Julian rolling his eyes and drooling, spat in disgust. “You have guts. But don’t think dying lets you escape the debt. Brothers, we’ll come back tomorrow!” The debt collectors left. Julian lay in my mother-in-law’s arms, really on the brink of death. Cold sweat broke out all over his body, twitching continuously. The onlookers were also shocked. A kind-hearted person said: “Better send him to the hospital quickly. Immediate rescue might still save his life.” My mother-in-law retorted: “What hospital? They’re all scams! Do you think my family doesn’t owe enough money? Wasting it in such a place!” She held Julian tightly, refusing to let go no matter what anyone said. 3 Seeing Julian’s breathing getting weaker, he tremblingly pulled at my mother-in-law’s sleeve. “Mom, save… save…” My mother-in-law thought it was about the money and quickly said, “Son, don’t worry, we won’t let you down. We’ll hide the money well.” Julian shook his head desperately, but to outsiders, it was just a weak movement. He barely made a sound: “Help…” I immediately started crying loudly, wailing at the top of my lungs: “Hubby, why are you so miserable? Forced to this point, don’t die wuwuwu…” Julian couldn’t catch his breath, eyes rolled back, almost passing out. A neighbor aunt urged me: “Chloe, hurry up and take your man to the hospital. Even the village clinic is better than waiting here to die!” I cried deliriously, reacting slowly to get up, but my mother-in-law rushed over to stop me. “You’re not allowed to go! Julian is lying here, you don’t care about him, running to find what doctor!” She obstructed in every way. Others couldn’t help but say: “Julian’s mom, Julian isn’t dead yet, gotta find a doctor to save his life! You won’t go yourself, why stop his wife!” My mother-in-law couldn’t say it out loud, stammering. At this moment, a voice came from the crowd: “Make way, let me take a look!” Someone shouted in surprise: “Dr. Chen!” Dr. Chen from the village clinic happened to pass by and ran over. Seeing Julian’s face, he immediately said gravely: “The condition is very bad, must be sent to a big hospital for rescue immediately.” My mother-in-law hugged him tighter: “No!” Dr. Chen, with a doctor’s benevolence, couldn’t care less at this moment and directly grabbed the person from my mother-in-law. He looked anxious, shouting: “It’ll be too late if we delay! Folks, come help! Saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda!” Neighbors came to help lift him, some persuaded my mother-in-law to seek medical help, and some went to get their tricycles. The scene was chaotic. When the vehicle arrived, everyone worked together to lift Julian onto the tricycle. My mother-in-law grabbed the wheel, crying and shouting: “Where are you taking my son? Give him back to me!” I persuaded with red eyes: “Mom, the doctor said Julian can still be saved, he can definitely be cured!” My mother-in-law became even more agitated, screaming: “No! Who knows if you are really saving him?” “I know my son, he’s hopeless, no need to go to the hospital!” Everyone was shocked by her decisive words, finding it inconceivable. “You are his biological mother! Letting your son wait for death without even trying is too vicious.” My mother-in-law said angrily: “What do you know? I have my reasons!” Nobody understood her reasons, but the next moment, everyone saw the dying Julian start vomiting violently. At first, it was vomit, and people around instinctively covered their noses and stepped back. A few seconds later, Julian began to vomit blood. Large amounts of fresh blood gushed from his mouth, as if a big hole had been punched in his stomach. Everyone was immersed in the shock of Julian suddenly vomiting blood. My mother-in-law had already rushed over and snatched him back. She put her hands on her hips and shouted: “I said don’t send him to the hospital! Now look, moving him around made my son vomit blood!” The neighbor aunt spat and scolded my mother-in-law: “We kindly tried to save your son, even brought out the tricycle. Only you kept blocking us. Now saving people is wrong?” I tried my best to persuade: “Mom, if you keep blocking, Julian will really be hopeless!” My mother-in-law turned and slapped me: “You slut, your man just died and you’re already siding with outsiders against me!” I covered my face and cried: “But Julian has been vomiting blood!” Julian’s blood seemed endless. After being put on the ground by my mother-in-law, blood flowed from his mouth to both sides, pooling in a small puddle under him. My mother-in-law looked back and panicked a bit, hugging Julian. “Julian, we won’t go to the hospital. Stop vomiting blood, it’s okay now.” Others looked at my mother-in-law like she was crazy, but I knew she thought Julian was acting. Dr. Chen took the opportunity to run over and check Julian repeatedly, checking his pulse. When Julian stopped moving, he retracted his hand, expression solemn. “Too late. Drank too much pesticide, stomach corroded by poison. My condolences.” My mother-in-law subconsciously refuted: “Impossible, you quack!” She glared viciously at Dr. Chen, but didn’t notice Julian’s face was pale and lips purple. I said faintly: “Mom, you don’t know how to treat illnesses, but you can tell if a person is breathing or not, right?” Hearing this, my mother-in-law looked at Julian’s dead face, tremblingly reached out her hand under his nose. Two seconds later, her face turned pale, and she slumped to the ground. 4 My mother-in-law looked at Julian in disbelief, fear and shock written all over her face. She grabbed Julian’s shoulders and shook him back and forth: “Julian, Julian wake up!” But Julian was truly dead, dead as a doornail, his head drooping weakly, no response. My mother-in-law shook Julian like crazy, pinching his philtrum and lifting his eyelids, as if delayed grief had finally appeared. Her movements became more and more frantic, suddenly pouncing on Dr. Chen, pulling his clothes and crying loudly. “Dr. Chen, look at my son, look at him quickly, what’s wrong with him?” Dr. Chen wondered: “You wouldn’t send him to the hospital just now, now he’s not breathing, what’s the use.” “Look at his constricted pupils, that’s a symptom of pesticide poisoning.” My mother-in-law jumped up, face flushed: “Absolutely impossible, how could my son have pesticide poisoning!” The neighbors looked at her with strange eyes: “Everyone saw Julian drink a bottle of pesticide. If not pesticide poisoning, what else could it be?” My mother-in-law’s face turned pale. Only then did she remember the pesticide bottle thrown in the corner at the beginning. She ran over to pick it up, smelled it carefully, and found it was real pesticide inside, not water at all! She realized the biggest loophole in the plan. Julian wanted to fake his death but accidentally drank real pesticide. The previous symptoms were real, vomiting blood wasn’t acting. Julian was poisoned to death by a bottle of pesticide, missing the best time for rescue. My mother-in-law regretted it deeply. She really thought Julian hadn’t drunk pesticide and tried every means to stop him from being sent to the doctor. Unexpectedly, he was cold. Looking at the dirty corpse on the ground, I felt incredibly gratified. At this time, my mother-in-law ran over and slapped me hard, pointing at me and cursing. “Bitch, was it you? You gave Julian pesticide to drink!” “You have such a vicious heart. Julian is your man, and you poisoned him to death!” Her eyes were scarlet, looking at me with hatred. My head turned from the slap, face burning and swelling up. I immediately said aggrievedly: “Mom, what are you saying? In broad daylight, Julian drank this pesticide himself. He even said death cancels debt. Isn’t that a death wish!” “I couldn’t stop him. I wanted to save him and send Julian to the hospital.” “It was you who insisted on stopping me, not letting me go, saying I was siding with outsiders!” Tears fell like a flood from an open gate. I cried breathlessly. Counting out every incident, my mother-in-law instantly became an unreasonable crazy woman. The neighbors came with good intentions to save a life but were despised by my mother-in-law. They were already unhappy, and now they mocked her even more. “Julian’s mom, are you senile? First you said your son was hopeless, then you wanted to save him. Now that he’s really dead, you blame your daughter-in-law.” “Crazy, must be something wrong with her brain.” “I think she’s targeting Chloe, deliberately pinning the blame on her, wanting to push the fault of killing someone onto her.” “Pah, serves him right to die, brought it on himself!” One sentence after another, everyone scolded my mother-in-law bloody. And I, with the slap mark from trying to save him earlier still on my face, was just a pitiful woman whose husband died. My mother-in-law rolled her eyes in anger, chest heaving. “What do you know? My son was alive and well.” Everyone thought she was crazy with grief. Dr. Chen sighed. “Although no need for treatment, better send him for cremation quickly. Bodies rot easily in summer.” Hearing this, my mother-in-law stammered again. She didn’t express her stance for a long time. Another voice popped up from the crowd. “Cannot cremate! Julian said he wanted a burial!”

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1 My wife, Victoria, has a pathological aversion to being touched by men. The slightest contact sends her into a violent episode. Out of respect for her condition, I never touched her after we were married. But accidents happened. Twice. The first time, she had an episode and stabbed me. Thirty-eight stitches. The second time, she locked me in an old industrial freezer. The frostbite nearly cost me my leg. After that, I never dared to touch her again. I was so afraid of triggering her that I kept a constant three-foot distance between us. But on the day I buried my cat, I saw my wife—who was supposed to be on a business trip—having dinner with her male assistant. Her gaze was tender, her eyes filled with an affection I’d never seen directed at me. They kissed on the street, a long, desperate embrace that seemed to go on forever… Just then, my phone rang. It was the hospital, the doctor’s voice buzzing with excitement. “Mr. Otto, regarding Mrs. Otto’s condition, we’ve found a breakthrough treatment—” I watched the assistant’s hand slide under the fabric of Victoria’s dress and let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We won’t be needing it.” … “What? Why? This new therapy protocol has a near-certain chance of success…” the doctor pleaded, but I wasn’t listening. I lifted my head, a glutton for punishment, and forced myself to watch them. The assistant was now nestled in her arms, his fingers roaming freely. And Victoria, the woman who flew into a rage at the slightest touch, showed no reaction at all. I looked down at the chaotic web of scars on my arm, the phantom pains stealing my breath. Maybe this was the price I had to pay. The price for falling in love with the wrong person. I ended the call and walked away. A cold rain began to fall, and a dull ache throbbed in my leg. All because I’d once reached out to steady Victoria when she stumbled. For that simple act of concern, she locked me away to freeze. Suddenly, the five years I had dedicated to this marriage felt like a pathetic joke. When Victoria came home, she found me sitting on the sofa. She stormed over and slapped me hard across the face. “What have I told you? You are not to sit on my sofa without putting down a protective cover!” She raised her hand to strike me again but stopped, her expression twisting in what looked like agony. I vaguely remembered a time she’d told me she loved me very much. She’d claimed that she was trying so hard to control her phobia that she managed not to stab me that day. A humorless smile touched my lips. “Victoria.” “You say you love me. Prove it.” I extended my hand toward her. Victoria held her ground, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her fists. But just as my fingertips were about to graze her cheek, she flinched away. In the end, she smashed the ceramic mug I’d spent three days crafting for her, used a shard to slice open her own wrist, and fled the room. I watched her go, my expression hardening into a cold mask. I remembered the time I’d been so thirsty after a long day of work that I’d accidentally used her teacup. She stabbed me thirty-eight times for that. At the hospital, she’d feigned remorse. “Sean, you know how severe my condition is. Don’t touch my things again. You’ll trigger an episode.” Seeing my pale face, how close I’d come to death, Victoria forced herself to give me a brief, stiff hug. “Sean, it’s all my fault, this psychological disorder. I am so, so sorry.” “From now on, just be careful. Sanitize everything, and don’t touch me so much, and we can still have a good life.” “Once my condition improves a little more, I’ll even have a baby for you, okay?” I’d always wanted children, but I never brought it up, for her sake. I truly believed she was just sick. I endured everything. Until Alex appeared. Until I realized I’d been played for a fool. Victoria went to take a shower, an obsessive ritual she performed even if I hadn’t touched her. I went to the bedroom and started packing. It was time to leave this place, a home that no longer felt like mine. The noise must have alerted her. Victoria emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her. “Going on a business trip?” When I didn’t answer, her brow furrowed. “Are you throwing a tantrum? Just because I wouldn’t let you touch me?” I shook my head. “There’s an emergency at a branch office I need to handle.” It was a lie. I just couldn’t stand the sight of her. Victoria stared at me, her expression unreadable. After a long moment, as if making a great sacrifice, she began to unbutton her silk robe. Her tone was clipped, impatient. “Wipe that miserable look off your face. Fine. You can have me this once. Will that make you happy?” The next second, she froze, her face a mask of disbelief. “You’re recoiling from me!” I said nothing, simply putting more distance between us. Sensing the shift in me, she grew agitated. “I’m fighting back my revulsion to offer myself to you, and this is how you react? What more do you want?!” Still, I was silent. Victoria clicked her tongue in annoyance and pulled a small gift box from her pocket. “I bought you a ring. Stop this childish nonsense.” Her tone was that of someone tossing scraps to a dog. I thought of the social media post Alex had made just a few minutes earlier. This ring was nothing but a cheap, complimentary gift that came with the luxury watch she’d bought him. I didn’t touch it. My voice was calm, detached. “Let’s get a divorce, Victoria.” Before she could respond, her phone buzzed with a notification. It was clearly a text message. She instinctively angled the screen away from me and began typing a reply. The look on her face was one I’d never seen before, a soft, intimate tenderness. An eternity passed, or maybe it was only a minute. Victoria finished her conversation, a reluctant fondness still lingering in her eyes, and looked up at me. “What were you saying?” I clenched my fists. It felt like punching a pillow, all my anger and pain dissipating into nothing. A suffocating pressure built in my chest. Her phone’s wallpaper, I now noticed, was the silhouette of a man from behind, a man who looked strikingly like Alex. Every time she saw it, her mood seemed to lift. She had never, not once, looked at me that way. So when Alex showed up at my office, smugly sliding a legal document across my desk for me to sign, I didn’t hesitate. I landed a solid punch square on his jaw. He crumpled to the floor, howling. “Sean, you hit me! If Victoria finds out about this, she’ll make you pay!” I was about to hit him again when Victoria burst in, shoving me so hard I stumbled and fell. Her face was dark with fury as she shot me a glacial look. “Sean, don’t you dare go too far.” She knelt, gently helping Alex to his feet. I laughed, the sound sharp with irony. “What’s wrong? Your phobia suddenly cured?” Victoria flushed with anger, but she tried to maintain a facade of righteousness. “Do you have any idea how a public assault charge would affect the company?! I’m protecting you!” I snatched the document Alex had brought and threw it at her. “Then explain this.” The words were there in stark black and white. A contract, asking for my consent for Victoria and Alex to conceive a child. A twisted smile played on my lips. “We’re not even divorced, and he’s already parading this in my face, demanding you carry his child. Tell me, shouldn’t I have hit him?” I got to my feet, ready to slap that smirk off Alex’s face. Victoria stepped between us, shielding him. “Sean, have you made enough of a scene?” Her eyes were filled with disgust. “Alex was just joking.” “Honestly, this just proves you don’t trust me. Sean, I was so wrong about you.” Listen to that. So noble, so self-righteous. As if everything was my fault. Victoria was always conscious of her public image, carefully cultivating the persona of a gentle, devoted wife. This was the first time she’d ever dropped the act, openly demeaning me without a care for who was watching. “So, Victoria, are you really going to have his child?” I expected a denial, but she remained silent. Sometimes, silence is an admission. “Yes,” she finally said, her voice firm. “Sean, Alex is the only man whose touch doesn’t trigger my phobia.” “The Vaughn family needs an heir. I just want to get pregnant and secure the succession.” “Once the baby is born, I’ll fire Alex, and we can go back to how things were.” The absurdity of it all was suffocating. “Victoria, are you even listening to yourself?” My tone seemed to infuriate her. She shot to her feet. “Don’t you dare be so selfish, Sean! Don’t you care about my life at all?” “Alex is the only one who doesn’t cause a reaction! Do you think I want to be with another man? I’m doing all this to give you a child!” In the next instant, I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. A red mark bloomed on her cheek. She didn’t flinch, just stared at me, her voice quiet. “Are you satisfied now?” “Alex has already sacrificed enough for us. I can’t just abandon him.” She positioned herself in front of him, a human shield. Her stance made her allegiance perfectly clear. I suddenly remembered the first time I met Alex. Victoria had explained, “This is Alex, my new assistant. He’s very diligent.” “Sean, weren’t you supposed to be at the branch office?” Her tone softened now, a calculated retreat. “Let’s go home. We’re making a scene.” I let out a cold laugh. “Victoria, I tried to catch you when you fell, and you stabbed me. I accidentally sat on your precious sofa, and you locked me in a freezer. I’ve given you years of my life, and this is what I get in return? And you have the nerve to call me unreasonable?” Victoria looked exhausted. “I apologized, didn’t I? What more do you want?” “Besides, I even forced myself to kiss you afterward, didn’t I?” Forced herself? The word was like a knife in my heart. I couldn’t help but laugh, a raw, painful sound. “If being with me is so disgusting for you, then let’s just get a divorce.” Hiding behind Victoria, a triumphant glint flashed in Alex’s eyes, though his expression was one of feigned distress. “Vicky, this is all my fault.” “If I hadn’t been trying to help, your husband wouldn’t be so upset.” Victoria sighed. “It’s not your fault, Alex. It’s Sean. He can’t see the bigger picture. All he does is throw tantrums.” She took a deep breath, her voice turning placatingly gentle. “Sean, stop this. If you can just agree to this arrangement, I promise I’ll give you a proper wedding.” That’s right. We’d been married for years and never had a wedding. Back then, our business was just starting out. I understood. I thought she was too busy. Now I knew the truth. She wasn’t busy. She just didn’t think I was worthy of one. But I was no longer the man who saw his entire world in her eyes. “Fine,” I said. A smile instantly bloomed on Victoria’s face. “You finally understand—” Her words were cut off by a scream. I had picked up a heavy ceramic serving platter from a nearby table and hurled it directly at her. “Don’t hurt Vicky!” Alex shouted, diving in front of her. The platter shattered against his head with a sickening crack. Blood streamed down his face. Victoria’s face went deathly pale. “Alex!” She cradled him in her arms, her voice a soothing murmur. “Alex, don’t be scared, I’m taking you to the hospital right now!” As she left, she shot me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. And in that moment, I knew. Victoria would not let me go easily. But before she could make her next move, I glanced up at the security camera on the wall. The cold, impartial lens had recorded everything. If all went according to plan, by tonight, Victoria Vaughn’s reputation would be in ruins. Victoria, my love for you was the only reason I ever tolerated your cruelty. But I’m not in love with you anymore. And it’s time you learned just how ruthless I can be. Sure enough, an hour later, the headline #VaughnHeiressCheatsWithAssistant,ForcesHusbandIntoSurrogacyContract# was trending nationwide. My phone blew up with calls from her. “Sean! Get that story taken down right now! Do you want me to divorce you, is that it?!” I hung up and blocked her number without a second thought. She used a different number to send a barrage of texts. “Sean, do you have any idea how much damage this will do to the company?!” “Sean, I know you’re angry, but don’t abuse your power like this. What about our employees? They’re innocent.” “Fine! I won’t have a baby with Alex, alright? Is that what you want to hear?” I turned off my phone and looked across the table at the top divorce lawyer in the city. “Let’s continue.” I handed him a file. “I need you to look at this. Is this prenuptial divorce agreement still valid?” Nine years ago, Victoria had signed a blank divorce agreement. Our love was new then, and her eyes shone with warmth. “Sean, this is my promise to you,” she had said. “My guarantee. If I ever change, or if you ever want to leave, all you have to do is sign.” Our marriage had been good after that. Despite the lack of physical intimacy, it was warm, happy. She would rush home from her busy schedule just to cook for me. I thought that happiness would last a lifetime. I never imagined that lifetime would be so short. Before I discovered her affair, the thought of divorce had never crossed my mind. Aside from her severe phobia, Victoria had been a considerate and attentive partner in every other way. My love for her could withstand the pain. But it couldn’t withstand being treated like an utter fool. The lawyer reviewed the document carefully. “Mr. Otto, this agreement is ironclad. It remains fully valid today. All it needs is your signature.” I signed it on the spot and handed it back. “Good. I want this divorce finalized as quickly as possible.”

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I did five years in prison, taking the fall for my company. The day I got out, a lone G-Wagon was waiting outside the iron gates. My boss’s assistant cracked the window and tossed out an envelope with a single sentence. “Nina. Compliments of Mr. Price. Two hundred and fifty bucks.” “What’s this supposed to mean?” The assistant, Kevin, sneered. “The company’s about to ring the bell and go public. Mr. Price said, to keep things civil, this two-fifty is your bus fare. The farther you go, the better.” “Where is Victor? Where are the others?” “You really think the boss himself would come pick up an ex-con?” I scrolled through my social media feed. Pinned to the top was a photo of my boss on a yacht. Champagne, bikinis, and his fat, smiling face. The caption read: “The ship has cleared the storm. Grateful for shedding the dead weight five years ago.” I clutched the two hundred and fifty dollars and smiled, too. If you don’t want to be civil, then none of us will survive this. 1 The G-Wagon’s engine roared to life. Its tires spun, kicking up a spray of filthy water that splattered all over me. “Nina, the boss had one more message for you.” I brushed the mud from my clothes. “Spit it out.” “He said if you don’t keep your mouth shut, the mud on the ground will be your final resting place.” The window slid up. The taillights vanished down the road. When I finally made it back to my old apartment in the city’s tenement blocks, I froze on the third-floor landing. The familiar iron door was gone. In its place was a new security door, adorned with a festive sticker. I knocked for a long time, but no one answered. The neighbor across the hall, Mrs. Gable, peeked her head out. When she saw me, her jaw nearly hit the floor. “Nina? Is that you?” “Mrs. Gable, where’s my mom? What happened to our apartment?” She pulled me inside her apartment and locked the door, as if afraid of being seen. “Oh, you poor thing…” “Not six months after you went in, those men started coming.” “Every day, they were here. Splashing paint, leaving funeral wreaths, shouting through a megaphone that you were an embezzler.” “Your mother couldn’t take it. They told her you lost the company a fortune and she had to pay it back. They said if she didn’t, you’d be beaten to death in prison.” “So she sold the apartment?” My knuckles were white as I gripped her doorframe. “Sold it for nothing! They said it was to pay the debt, but those thugs took every last cent!” Mrs. Gable’s eyes were red with anger as she spoke. “Where is my mom now?” “She said she was going to rent a cheap place in the slums, to wait for you… I didn’t dare ask for the details.” Following Mrs. Gable’s vague directions, I made my way into the deepest, darkest corner of the slums. The air was thick with the stench of raw sewage. The door wasn’t locked. In fact, it wasn’t much of a door at all—just a rotting piece of plywood propped against the frame. I pushed it aside. The room was dark. An old woman was curled up on a filthy mattress she must have salvaged from the street. She was gnawing on half of a moldy bread roll. At the sound of my entry, she flinched violently, clutching the bread to her chest, her whole body trembling. “Don’t hit me… please, don’t hit me… I’m getting the money… I swear I am…” “Just please… don’t hurt my daughter…” I rushed forward and threw my arms around her. “Mom! It’s me! It’s Nina!” The body in my arms went rigid. She slowly lifted her head. Her left eye was a sunken pit, the eyeball shrunken and cloudy with a grayish-white film. “Who… who is it?” She reached out, her hand grasping at empty air. “It’s me, Mom. It’s Nina.” I took her hand and pressed it to my face, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Nina?” Her good eye twitched. Her hand fumbled across my face, from my forehead to my eyebrows, then down to my nose. When her fingers found the small mole on the bridge of my nose, she let out a gut-wrenching sob. “It’s really you… It’s really my daughter…” “Mom, what happened to your eye? And your leg…” “It’s nothing… I’m fine…” She tried to hide her leg under the thin blanket. I pulled it back. A grotesque lump protruded from her shinbone. “Victor Price did this, didn’t he?” I wasn’t stupid. My mother was silent for a long time before she finally spoke, her voice trembling. “Two years ago, I went to find them, to ask what really happened. I never believed you would steal…” “They hit you?” “They said I was in the way, that I blocked Mr. Price’s car… A security guard pushed me, and I fell down a flight of stairs… We had no money for a doctor, so… it healed crooked.” “And your eye?” “From crying…” I said nothing. I saw the words “PAY UP” spray-painted in red on the wall and knew the whole story. “Where’s Dad?” My mother’s sobs stopped abruptly. “Two years ago… there was no money for his dialysis… He’s gone.” “Nina, you must be hungry.” My mother tried to press the moldy bread into my hand. Victor Price. This is what you meant when you promised to “take care of her like your own mother”? I clutched the stale bread, looked at my mother’s broken body, and gritted my teeth. “Mom, I’m going to buy some medicine. And I’m going to get back what’s ours.” 02 I tucked two hundred dollars under her pillow and, with the remaining fifty, walked to the Price Holdings tower. I had chosen the location for this building. I had secured the loans. Now, it was a place I couldn’t even enter. “What do you want? Scrap collectors use the back entrance,” a security guard said, swinging his baton and eyeing me dismissively. “I’m here to see Victor Price.” “You think you can use the CEO’s name like that? Do you have an appointment?” “I’m Nina Shaw.” “Nina who? Never heard of you. Get lost.” The lobby was bustling with people. Dressed as I was, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I ignored him and tried to walk past. “Hey! You asking for it?” The guard grabbed my arm and twisted it hard. A sharp pain shot through me, but I bit my lip and didn’t cry out. I used his momentum, dropping into a squat to break his grip. The guard was momentarily stunned, clearly not expecting me to know how to defend myself. Enraged, he motioned for his partner to help him restrain me. “Stop.” The sharp click-clack of high heels echoed on the marble floor. The elevator doors opened, and a group of executives walked out. The woman in the lead wore a designer suit, her makeup flawless. The limited-edition Hermès bag in her hand was a gift from me, years ago. It was my former protégée, Amber Reed. “Well, well. If it isn’t my old mentor.” Amber stopped and took off her sunglasses. “What happened to you? I thought you were a homeless person.” Employees nearby slowed their pace, whispering amongst themselves. “Is that the former CFO? The one who went to prison?” “The embezzler, right? So shameless, coming back here.” I stared at Amber. “The shares Victor promised me, and my mother’s medical bills. Pay up.” “Mentor, you’re hilarious.” Amber took a step closer. She lowered her voice. “The world has changed in the five years you’ve been away.” “Victor is a billionaire now. You really think he’s going to see an ex-con?” “That’s my money.” “Yours?” Amber laughed, her perfectly styled hair bouncing. “Where’s your proof? That little agreement we had?” “Burned long ago. The books are clean now. I did them myself.” “Everything you taught me? I do it better.” She took a step back and raised her voice. “Security, be more vigilant from now on. Don’t let just any riffraff in here. If something happens, who’s going to take responsibility?” Kevin, the assistant who’d given me the money, came running out, pointing at me. “That’s right! She’s just here to extort us! Throw her out!” Two guards grabbed me, one on each side. “You’ll regret this, Amber,” I said, my eyes locked on hers. “Regret it?” Amber looked down at me. “I live in a penthouse and drive a Porsche. What do I have to regret? You, on the other hand, look like a stray dog.” “Consider this one last piece of advice from your mentor: shut your mouth and walk away.” “If the company wasn’t in the middle of its IPO, with so many eyes on us, do you really think you’d still be walking around?” Kevin waved his phone at me. “Leave now, or we call the cops. They can send you right back where you came from. This time, it’ll be for extortion and causing a public disturbance. That’s another few years for you.” Amber shot him an annoyed glance. “Why are you wasting your breath on her? Security, throw her out!” My body was lifted off the ground and then slammed onto the concrete outside. A torrential downpour started, soaking me to the bone in seconds. Amber stood behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at me. Through the glass, I could read her lips. “Useless.” I wiped the rain from my face. A mixture of blood and mud trickled into my mouth, tasting of salt and rust. 03 I didn’t leave. I went around to the building’s underground garbage depot. A crumpled invitation. Half of a burnt itinerary. A few empty bottles of Evian water. I spent my last fifty dollars on a second-hand janitor’s uniform. Wearing the foul-smelling clothes, I slipped into the city’s most extravagant and exclusive private club. No one stopped me. Outside the top-floor suite, bodyguards lined the hallway. The heavy, soundproofed doors couldn’t contain the raucous noise from within. “To Mr. Price! That was a brilliant move, shedding your old skin!” I pulled my cap down low and pushed my cleaning cart forward. “Collecting empty bottles.” A bodyguard glanced at me. “Get in, get out. No dawdling.” The door opened. Victor Price was flanked by two women. His business partner, Marcus, sat beside him with a famous starlet in his lap. Amber was there too, pouring Victor a drink. A banner scrolled across a large screen: “Celebrating Our IPO, and Getting Rid of Old Baggage!” I pushed my cart into the center of the room. “Mr. Price,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “The old baggage is here to offer congratulations.” The air in the room froze. The music was still playing, but everyone had fallen silent. All eyes were on me. Victor’s glass stopped halfway to his lips. He squinted at me for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Well, I’ll be damned. Look who it is.” “Our greatest contributor, the one and only Director Shaw.” He put down his glass. “What’s the matter? Didn’t like the food upstate? Came here looking for scraps?” Marcus pushed the starlet off his lap. “What bad luck. Security! How did a beggar get in here?” I ignored Marcus. My eyes were fixed on Victor. “My mother’s leg. And the 30% equity payout we agreed on.” “Two million. The money hits my account, and I disappear.” Victor stood up. He walked over until he was standing right in front of me. “Two million?” he sneered. He turned to Amber. “Amber, our Director Shaw wants two million. Should we give it to her?” Amber glided over, a full glass of red wine in her hand. “Mr. Price, our mentor just got out. She’s a bit… ripe. I think she needs a wash.” Splash. The entire glass of wine was poured over my head. The sticky liquid ran down my hair, into my eyes, and into my mouth. The room erupted in laughter. “Hahaha! A good wash!” “Much cleaner now!” I wiped my face. Victor pointed to the wine stain on the expensive carpet. He pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket. At least ten thousand dollars. He threw it onto the stain. “Nina,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t say I don’t remember the good old days.” “You always liked things clean, didn’t you?” “Lick the wine off the floor. This ten grand is yours.” The laughter stopped. Everyone was waiting for the show. I looked at the money on the floor. Slowly, I bent down, my hands on the carpet. My face was just inches from the stain. Just as I was about to touch the carpet, BAM! A leather shoe slammed into my shoulder. The force sent me flying backward, my head cracking against the corner of a table. A sharp pain exploded in the back of my skull. Victor pulled his foot back, his face a mask of disgust. “Fucking disgusting.” “I told you to lick it, and you actually were going to do it?” “Nina, when did you become so pathetic?” He picked up the money and tossed it onto a sofa. “You’re not getting a single cent from me.” “Throw her out.” Seven or eight bodyguards swarmed me, lifting me up like a piece of trash and dragging me toward the service exit. I didn’t fight back. I just stared at Victor’s fat, smug face. “Victor,” I said, my voice cold and clear. “You are going to beg me.” “You are going to get on your knees and beg me.” Victor roared with laughter, grabbing a handful of melon seeds and throwing them in my face. “Me? Beg you? Nina, did prison fry your brain?” For the second time that night, I was thrown out into the rain. Before I could even catch my breath, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this Nina Shaw? Your mother was frightened by a burst pipe. She’s in cardiac arrest and we’re trying to resuscitate her. A family member needs to come to the hospital immediately to pay the deposit.” “Can you please just save her? I’ll get the money.” “I’m sorry, it’s hospital policy. The system is locked. We can’t proceed without payment.” “Okay…!” I didn’t even have five hundred dollars. As soon as I hung up, a text from Kevin popped up. “How was the wine tonight? The boss says you should know your place. Take your old hag and get out of this city. Or this is just the beginning.” It was followed by a countdown timer emoji. Years ago, my father needed half a million for a kidney transplant. Victor Price slapped the money on the table in exchange for me taking the fall for a twenty-million-dollar hole in the company’s finances. “Nina, you take this hit for us, and the company will cover your father’s surgery, and I’ll take care of your mother for the rest of her life.” I traded five years of my freedom and my entire future for my father’s life. And what was the result? My father died waiting for the money. My mother was blind and crippled. Victor, since you won’t give me what you owe, I’ll just take it myself.

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On New Year’s Eve, my husband and I got into a massive fight over his sister-in-law. The reason? His sister-in-law bought his mom a thick gold necklace, while I, the younger daughter-in-law, showed up empty-handed. My husband felt I embarrassed him in front of his family. I didn’t hold back. One sentence from me—”You didn’t pay a dowry, so why should I pay for gifts?”—made him completely lose his mind. Chapter 1 My husband, Chris, was my college sweetheart. When we started talking marriage, my parents asked for a traditional dowry of $18,000 to help with the wedding costs and future security. Chris immediately balked. “I’m not giving your family $18,000. That’s selling a daughter, not a marriage.” “I don’t have that kind of money, and I won’t ask my parents for their retirement savings. That would be unfilial. If you really want it, I’ll take out a loan, and we can pay it back together.” He lectured me about financial independence and not leaching off our parents. He painted a picture of noble poverty. Finally, he proposed a “perfect” solution: The 50/50 Marriage. No dowry, no bride price, split expenses, split housework. At the time, I thought he was just being practical and independent. Like an idiot, I agreed. At first, things were fine. We kept our finances separate and split the chores. But a few months later, the cracks started to show. It started with my mom’s birthday. I casually asked him what gift we should get her. That simple question triggered an explosion. “Lily, did you forget? We have a 50/50 marriage! We agreed: each person handles their own parents. Now you’re trying to get money out of me? Is your family that desperate? Always staring at my wallet!” His words were so ugly I turned red with anger. “Fine, don’t buy anything! But why be so nasty? You married me; my parents are your parents too. Is it so hard for a son-in-law to show a little respect?” Honestly, I didn’t fully understand his version of a “50/50 marriage.” I thought it just meant we were equals. His accusations left me stunned. “A son-in-law can show respect, but only if I want to give it. You can’t ask for it. Besides, in a 50/50 marriage, I don’t owe your relatives anything. If I give, it’s charity, not duty.” Seeing my expression, he softened his tone slightly. “Sorry, I know that sounded harsh. But we agreed before the wedding. You can’t break the rules.” Seeing his self-righteous face, I finally realized something was wrong. “So you mean, in this marriage, I don’t have to do anything for your parents either? No birthdays, no holidays?” “Of course. We manage our own families. I won’t break the rules,” he said, lifting his chin arrogantly. “Ha. Then why didn’t you say anything on Mother’s Day when I bought your mom clothes and supplements?” Chris flushed, embarrassed for a second, then argued back, “That was your choice. You’re her daughter-in-law; it was a nice gesture.” “And you’re my mom’s son-in-law! Where was your gesture?” I shouted, losing my temper. “I told you! I can give voluntarily, but you can’t demand it! I was going to give something, but since you asked, now I won’t. Figure out your mom’s birthday yourself. I’m not going.” He slammed the bedroom door. Chapter 2 I didn’t beg him. On my mom’s birthday, Chris didn’t show up. Not even a text. To save face, I made up an excuse for him. After the relatives left, I told my parents everything. At first, I was calm. But as I spoke, the tears started falling. “Mom, Dad, I didn’t know ’50/50 marriage’ meant this. I thought it just meant no dowry. When his family visited, I booked the hotel, paid for dinners, played tour guide… I never thought when it was my turn, he’d say ‘I don’t owe you anything.’ That bastard…” I cursed him out, letting all my frustration go. I expected my parents to be furious. Instead, they were surprisingly calm. “Why cry? This is a good thing. Now you don’t have to worry about buying gifts for your in-laws anymore. Let Chris handle his own family. It’s fair.” My parents were more open-minded than I thought. Their perspective cleared the fog in my brain. Chapter 3 After that, I changed. No more gifts for his family. No more holiday texts. I even left their family group chat. Chris noticed immediately. “Lily, why did you leave the group chat? How will my parents find you if they need something?” He rushed home from work, ready to fight. “Why would they need me? They can find you. We agreed: 50/50 marriage, no interference with in-laws. Besides, you’re not in my family group chat either.” Chris… He choked on his own logic. He stared at me for a long time, then stormed into the study to make a call. He never brought it up again. Ignoring his family was liberating. I cooked when I felt like it. When I didn’t, I ordered takeout. One night, Chris came home and saw me eating spicy takeout fish. He frowned. “Takeout again? It’s unhealthy. My doctor said my liver isn’t great; I shouldn’t eat greasy food. Can’t you be more considerate?” “Then don’t eat it. The kitchen is right there. Cook for yourself!” I rolled my eyes. Hearing me tell him to cook, Chris exploded. “I work hard all day! I have to cook when I get home? Can’t you be like other wives? Handle the domestic stuff so I have a comfortable home to come back to?” Comfortable home? I scoffed. “Buddy, ‘other wives’ got a dowry and a wedding. They get provided for. You didn’t pay a dime. This is a 50/50 marriage. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” Chris turned green. Slam. He walked out. Chapter 4 We lived like roommates for months. Cold war. Until just before New Year’s Eve, Chris broke. He sent me a WeChat red envelope with $520. I stared at the transfer. “What’s this for?” We had been so strict with money for three months. My first thought wasn’t joy, but suspicion. What did he want now? “My year-end bonus came in. Can’t I give my wife a big red envelope?” He rolled his eyes, acting annoyed but clearly trying to bridge the gap. His confidence made me feel petty for doubting him. I blushed and accepted it. The ice began to melt. It felt like we were back to our dating days. But the peace didn’t last long. A week later, the conflict returned. One night, half-asleep, Chris whispered in my ear. “Babe, come home with me for New Year’s this year? Next year, I’ll go to your parents’.” He sounded so careful, afraid I’d refuse. Honestly, I didn’t care. My parents lived nearby; I saw them all the time. But I hadn’t planned on playing the good daughter-in-law after our fights. “Babe, I know we said ‘separate holidays,’ but it’s your first year married. If you don’t come, my parents will lose face in the village.” He looked pathetic. I softened. “Fine. This year at yours. But next year at mine. And on the second day of New Year, I’m visiting my parents, and you have to come. No backing out.” Chris nodded furiously, promising the moon. His hometown wasn’t far, about an hour’s drive. I packed light. Just a change of clothes. When Chris saw my single bag, his face fell. “That’s it?” He walked around me. “Just one bag?” “Yeah? It’s not far. What else do I need?” “Yesterday I saw you bought lobster, bird’s nest, and expensive supplements. Where are they? Are you letting them rot here instead of bringing them to my parents?” Chapter 5 He was agitated. “Oh, those? My mom asked me to buy them for her. I dropped them off yesterday.” I explained with a smile. I thought that would settle it. Instead, Chris looked even angrier. “What is your problem?” I frowned. “My problem? You have the nerve to ask? I told you a week ago we were going to my house. You didn’t prepare anything for my family?” He started lecturing me. “You’re married now. You need to detach from your original family and focus on our small family. Stop funneling everything back to your parents!” His lecture turned my face dark. So that $520 red envelope was bait. He expected me to use it to buy expensive gifts for his family. “You want to focus on ‘our small family’? Then put some money on the table! We are AA (splitting costs), remember? You said 50/50 marriage means we aren’t responsible for each other’s relatives. Now that it’s New Year’s and you need to save face, the rules change? Who’s the one being greedy? Damn it, even if I did buy those gifts for myself, I’d throw them in the river before giving them to you!” I was yelling now, cursing freely. Chris turned pale. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You… you’re talking about money again! Didn’t I give you $520? Couldn’t you use that to buy gifts?” “$520? To buy lobster, bird’s nest, and supplements? Chris, are you living in 1920? Do you have no shame?” He choked, face flushing red. He clearly wanted to scream, but could only manage: “Well… you can’t show up empty-handed! What do we do now?” He glared at me. I glared back. “How should I know? It’s your house, not mine. You’re the son; you didn’t prepare. What can I, the daughter-in-law who got zero dowry, do?” Mentioning the dowry shut him up instantly.

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Seven hundred yards from the gas station, I found a little girl on the side of the road having a heart attack. The area was remote, and waiting for an ambulance would take too long, so I decided to rush her to the hospital myself. At the gas station, I told the owner it was an emergency and asked him to fill up my tank quickly. He smirked. “Sure. Give me a hundred bucks, and I’ll make it snappy.” Frustrated, I handed over the cash. But then he changed his tune. “Wait, you’re trying to save someone? A hundred won’t cut it. Give me five hundred, and I’ll fill it up.” Realizing he was extorting me, I tried to step out and call 911 to get an ambulance instead. The owner snatched my phone. “Thinking of calling for help? Not a chance!” Inside the car, the girl’s face was turning blue. What the owner didn’t know was that the dying girl in my backseat was his own daughter, on her way home from tutoring. Chapter 1 It was late at night. I was driving back from visiting relatives in the countryside when I saw a small figure curled up on the side of a desolate road. Being alone in such a remote area at night, I was wary of scams, so I slowed down cautiously. But as I got closer, the girl didn’t look like she was acting. She was clutching her chest, collapsed on the gravel. In the headlights, her face looked ghostly pale. Crap. This looks real. I stopped the car and pulled out my phone to record a video, just in case this was a setup. “I’m recording this for my safety,” I said to the camera. “I just found a girl collapsed on the road. I didn’t hit her. My dashcam can prove it. I’m going to help her now.” I ran over and followed the first-aid training I’d taken. I called out to her. She was conscious but weak, murmuring, “Hospital… heart… hurts…” Heart attack. I wanted to call 911, but the GPS signal was spotty out here, and explaining the location on these winding backroads would take forever. Luckily, she was light. I gently lifted her into the backseat, laid her flat, and cracked the windows for air. I was ready to race to the ER when the fuel light pinged. Empty. Damn it. Of all times. I remembered passing a gas station not far ahead. I floored it and arrived in less than a minute. It was late, and only one guy was there. I parked and yelled, “Fill it up, please! Hurry!” Hearing “fill it up,” the owner, who had been lounging in a chair, sat up. He walked over with a greasy smile. “Filling the tank, huh? Don’t worry, Uncle Joe won’t rip you off. I’ll even give you a discount. You take Premium, right?” He reached for the Premium nozzle and tried to open my fuel cap. I always drove this beater SUV on these roads because the gravel destroyed paint jobs. I stopped him. “No need for Premium. Regular is fine. Just fill it up fast!” Uncle Joe’s smile vanished. His mouth turned down, and his brow furrowed with annoyance. “Regular? Fine. Coming right up.” He said he’d do it, but his movements were agonizingly slow. I looked at the girl in the backseat, frantic. “Sir, can you please hurry? I have a sick child in the back. We need to get to the hospital. It’s an emergency!” Hearing “saving someone,” his eyes lit up. He paused and said, “Oh, sorry, miss. We’re out of Regular. If you want gas, you gotta take Premium.” I leaned out and looked at the pump display. The Regular tank indicator showed full. “Sir, you said you wouldn’t rip me off. You clearly have Regular gas. Don’t lie, or I’m calling the cops.” He didn’t look worried at all. He smirked. “Let me tell you something. This is the only gas station for miles. If you don’t fill up here, you’re not going anywhere. Even if you call the cops, it’ll take them forever to get here. By then, that kid in the back will be dead.” I was shocked. “That’s a human life! Are you really that cold-blooded?” He remained unfazed, his attitude aggressive. “Cold-blooded? I’m feeling cold-blooded today! I don’t give a damn about anyone’s life. I only care about money. You want gas, you take Premium, or you can get out and push!” Chapter 2 The girl in the back groaned in pain. I hesitated for two seconds, then caved. “Fine! Premium it is! Just fill it up!” He agreed readily this time, grabbing the Premium nozzle to start pumping. The tank wasn’t big; usually, it took a minute to fill. But as the seconds ticked by, the pump hummed quietly, barely moving. I couldn’t take it. I got out to check. He wasn’t squeezing the handle fully; the gas was trickling out like a leaky faucet. “What are you doing?!” I screamed. “Squeeze the handle! At this rate, we’ll be here until next Christmas!” He whistled, shaking his leg with a thug-like swagger. “Can’t help it. This pump is just slow. But hey, if you want it faster, there might be a way.” My instinct kicked in. “How?” He smiled crookedly, the wrinkles on his face bunching up like a toad’s skin. It was repulsive. “Extra service fee. Give me another hundred bucks, and I’ll fill it instantly.” Veins popped in my forehead. Did I look like an ATM? It was just a gas pump. I knew how to use it. I moved to shove him aside and do it myself. He yelled immediately, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? I got cameras! If you break anything, you pay for it! And I got a bad back—if you push me and I get paralyzed, you’re paying for my medical bills for life!” Rage swirled in my chest, but I was helpless. The girl couldn’t wait much longer. I decided to call 911 as a backup. But before I could dial, he snatched my phone. “Trying to call for help? No way!” I looked through the window at the weak girl, panic rising in my throat. “If anything happens to her, it’s on you! Her parents won’t let you get away with this!” He shoved my phone into his pocket. “I told you. You want gas fast? You pay. Miss, you’re so kind to save a stranger, why not save poor Uncle Joe too? Business is slow out here. Consider it charity.” I had never seen someone so shameless. This wasn’t begging; it was extortion. The girl kicked the door weakly. She was struggling. Fine. Money. He wanted money. “Okay, I’ll pay. But I don’t have cash. Give me my phone, I’ll Venmo you. A hundred, right?” The notification sound dinged almost instantly. But his hand didn’t move any faster. I screamed like a madwoman. “I sent the money! Hurry up!” He laughed, showing yellow teeth. “A hundred was the price a minute ago. The price has gone up.” “What do you mean?” He smirked. “Think about it. I fill your tank, you rush the kid to the hospital, she lives. Her parents give you a fat reward for saving her life. But without my gas, you can’t be a hero, and you don’t get that reward money. So really, Uncle Joe is helping you get paid. I should get a cut. I’m not greedy—just give me five hundred. Fair, right?” Chapter 3 “Five hundred?! Are you insane? Why don’t you just rob a bank?” He raised an eyebrow. “Five hundred is cheap. When you save that kid, the parents will probably give you thousands. You wouldn’t be doing this if there wasn’t something in it for you. Don’t act like a saint.” So in his twisted mind, I was only helping for money. I took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll send it.” I had no choice. I had to swallow my anger. He stared at me. “Don’t try anything funny. I’m watching you.” Under his gaze, I Venmoed him five hundred dollars. He grinned. “See? That’s better. You should have done this earlier, saved the kid some suffering. If she dies, it’s your fault for being cheap.” I heard the woosh of gas finally flowing at full speed. My heart rate slowed slightly. Hold on, sweetie. Just a little longer. Suddenly, the noise stopped. I looked at him. His eyes glinted with malice. He had another idea to squeeze me dry. I immediately put my hand behind my back. Relying on muscle memory, I texted my best friend, Maya: [Bring ambulance. Save me. No calls. Hurry.] I sent my location. I had brought Maya here before; I hoped she remembered the way. If I called 911, he’d hear me. Who knows what he’d do then. Just as I predicted, he stopped the pump and snatched the keys from the ignition before I could react. In the struggle, I saw the girl curled into a tight ball. She was fading. “What now?! I paid you!” He smiled. “Don’t panic, miss. Uncle Joe is just being thorough. I’m checking your car. Looks like you need wiper fluid. And an oil change. I’m doing you a favor, taking care of it all right now. Just give me another three hundred.” Three hundred could buy a truckload of wiper fluid. He popped the hood and started “inspecting” the engine. “Miss, I used to be a mechanic. Tell you what, I’ll tighten some loose screws, give it a full service. Total package—just give me a grand!” I was speechless. He was a pro at this. People took this backroad to avoid tolls. He must have scammed dozens of drivers. He tinkered under the hood, stalling. I couldn’t just sit there. The girl was barely moving. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I saw a car approaching. I ran out and waved my arms. “Stop! Please! I have a sick child! I’ll pay you to take us to the hospital!” I had to mention money to get them to stop. The black sedan slowed down. A middle-aged man stepped out, a cigarette dangling from his lip. He didn’t look friendly. He glanced at me, then looked at the gas station owner. “Joe, what’s the deal? Fleecing another tourist?” Joe leaned back, relaxed. “Can’t help it. Slow week. Caught a live one trying to play hero. Had to squeeze her. Help me keep her here, she still owes me a grand. I’ll cut you in.” The smoker nodded. “Deal.” He smirked at me, whispering, “Miss, how much you offering? You gave Joe a grand, don’t shortchange me. I’m reasonable—five hundred, and I’ll take the kid to the ER right now.” Chapter 4 I tried to keep my knees from buckling. Trapped between two men. I didn’t want to think about what else they might want besides money. I had an idea. “Joe, this guy says he’ll take the kid for five hundred. I’m gonna transfer the money to him. I only have five hundred left in my account.” Joe slammed the hood shut. “Bubba, what are you doing? Stealing my business? Don’t you know the rules?” Bubba didn’t back down. “Joe, money doesn’t have rules. First come, first served. Besides, didn’t your daughter tell you to stop this crap? If she finds out, she might have another heart attack.” Joe bristled at the mention of his daughter. “Keep my daughter’s name out of your mouth! She’s healthy as a horse. You curse her, I’ll kill you.” Bubba stubbed out his cigarette, ready to fight. But Joe was smart. He realized quickly I was playing them. Meanwhile, my hand was already dialing 911. Joe snatched the phone before it connected. “Nice try, bitch. Almost fooled me. Transfer the money now, or that kid dies because of you.” Bubba rolled up his sleeves, showing off a tattoo. “And my five hundred. You’re not leaving until you pay.” I was on the verge of tears. I almost knelt. “Sir, you said your daughter has heart problems too. Can’t you have some empathy? If your daughter collapsed on the road and someone tried to save her, only to run into this… how hopeless would she feel?” Joe spat on the ground. “Pah! My daughter ain’t that unlucky. If that kid dies, it’s her bad luck. You’re the cheapskate here. Don’t act like a hero.” I had no choice. I transferred a grand to Joe. Bubba held up his QR code. I paid him too. Getting the girl to the hospital was all that mattered. Joe finally went back to pump the gas. But Bubba looked at me with a different kind of hunger. Suddenly, he said to Joe, “Bro, pump slow. I got some ‘business’ to handle.” Joe winked. “Sure. Take your time.” Bubba rubbed his hands together, walking toward me with a lecherous grin. “Miss, since you’re so generous, help a brother out. I’m lonely. Consider it charity. Just close your eyes, it’ll be over soon.” He stepped closer. My heart hammered against my ribs. I clutched the nail clippers in my pocket—my only weapon. Just as he reached for me, sirens wailed. Police cruisers and an ambulance screeched into the lot. Officers tackled Bubba instantly. Maya jumped out of her car and hugged me. I pushed her away, yelling at the paramedics, “Heart attack! White SUV! Backseat! Hurry!” Joe tried to run but was pinned by a cop. He was still shouting profanities. “Stupid bitch! I’ll be out in a few days! Just you wait!”

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On payday, I stared at the direct deposit notification, counting the zeroes three times just to be sure. Then I marched straight to Accounting, ready to tear into them. The finance manager didn’t even look up. She slid a statement across the counter. “It’s accurate,” she clipped. “The ten-million-dollar bonus was processed. Just not to your account.” She paused, then added with a dismissive roll of her eyes, “Everyone knows the system’s success was driven by the intern, Poppy. Don’t think you can coast on your tenure and steal her credit, June.” The game I’d architected, led to development, and pushed to an international award, which then sold for half a billion? The credit—and the money—was given to an intern? I didn’t waste another second. I slammed the office door open and strode into the CEO’s sprawling corner office. I demanded an explanation from Rod Carmichael. Rod, my boss and the son of the company’s founder, barely lifted his head from his leather desk blotter. “Juniper,” he said, using my full, formal name, “I’ve done a deep dive. The core of the game’s code was written by Poppy Greene.” “She’s frequently here until midnight, and works weekends. What about you?” He leaned back, lacing his fingers. “You check your phone, clock out at five on the dot. Attitude determines outcome, June. And yours has been lacking.” I nearly laughed, a sharp, humorless sound that caught in my throat. 1 “She’s an intern, Rod. Does she even recognize the full code base?” “Enough!” Rod cut me off, holding up a manicured hand. “The company’s decision stands. Everyone’s performance is under my observation.” He pulled a pre-written severance package from his desk drawer. “If you’re not satisfied, you’re free to pursue other opportunities.” My blood ran cold. Nine years of loyalty and sweat, summed up in a single, icy document. I picked up his custom fountain pen and signed my name. Before I walked out, I gave him a final, low threat. “Rod, you listen to me. If you ever have a technical issue, you go find your diligently working, late-night coding Poppy Greene to solve it. Don’t you dare call me.” He just smiled, a small, arrogant thing. “Deal.” As I walked through the open-plan office, I could hear the immediate, aggressive whisper mill start up. “Look, she’s out. Face like a storm cloud.” “Ten million dollars, poof. Anyone would be furious.” “Furious? For what? If she couldn’t secure her own contribution, whose fault is that? Rod is right: attitude is everything.” “Seriously, Poppy is here grinding until midnight. Meanwhile, June clocks out like clockwork, never misses an hour. And she still expected the credit? Give me a break.” Bella Marshall, a coworker who had suddenly become Poppy’s shadow, piped up with a particularly venomous tone. “I think she was coasting on her tenure and finally got found out. She deserves this.” “Totally. She thought the project would collapse without her. Poppy stepped up, and her code is cleaner! I bet June’s ‘lead developer’ title was mostly water weight.” “I heard she was running to the hospital every day last month. Family trouble, maybe?” “Pfft. Who doesn’t have issues? The company is a place for dedication. Poppy’s commitment is the real model.” “She’s obsolete. Getting phased out was inevitable.” “Ten million to Poppy? Earned. We need to encourage the young talent.” “Some people get old, they just need to move aside for their betters.” The spite was thick enough to choke on. The quick, mean pleasure in my downfall was clear. They seemed to have collectively forgotten the nine years I’d spent here—the all-nighters, the technical fires I’d put out, the team I’d built from nothing. All they saw was the last month, when my mother’s unexpected, critical illness had forced me to leave on time. Especially Bella. She used to call me ‘sis,’ and now her voice was the loudest, frothing with accusations of how I was “unworthy” and “blocking the path.” I stopped. I turned. I walked directly to Bella’s desk. She was mid-sentence, a smug, cruel smile plastered on her face. My eyes landed on the corporate mug on her desk. It was a cheap, commemorative thing the company had issued after I led the team to secure a major project win last year—a token of the Excellence Award I had earned for them. I grabbed it. Bella’s jaw dropped in startled horror. With all the strength I had, I hurled the mug against the floor. CRASH! The sound of shattering ceramic exploded through the open-plan office, silencing everything. 2 All the whispers, all the judgment, all the furtive glances—all of it ceased. Bella’s face went from pale to beetroot red. Her lips worked silently, unable to form a single word. I swept my gaze over the rest of the office. They all quickly dropped their eyes, pretending to be busy with their screens. I didn’t say anything. I just turned and walked into my private office. Closing the door behind me, I began packing my personal effects. My fingers brushed against the aging picture frame on my desk—a photo of the team after our first successful game test. Everyone was smiling, genuinely, with the pure spark of creation in their eyes. Now, only ghosts remained. The white-hot rage in my chest began to subside, replaced by a deeper, cold sorrow. Nine years. A decade of my prime. I had given it all to this company. How many nights was I the last one to turn off the lights? How many weekends did I spend in the server room debugging? How many technical firewalls did I lead us through? The award-winning, record-selling game—its core architecture, its initial concept, the most complex algorithms, the foundational code—every single line was my blood, sweat, and tears. Then, last month, my mother was rushed to the hospital. It was serious. The main development was complete by then; we were in the tedious, lower-level technical maintenance and polishing stage. Split between work and the hospital, I had no choice but to delegate. Poppy Greene, the seemingly earnest and timid intern, had volunteered to step up, insisting I prioritize my mother. I was so grateful. I handed off tasks that were mostly grunt work—tedious, repetitive, but necessary for clean-up. I even praised her in the department meeting, calling her proactive and committed. I never imagined that the grunt work I delegated would become the “game’s core” in Rod’s eyes. I never imagined that prioritizing my sick mother would become “proof” of my “lacking attitude.” The office door opened gently, and a familiar figure walked in. It was Poppy. She moved hesitantly toward my desk, wearing an expression that looked like a mixture of guilt and discomfort. “June,” she began, her voice soft. “The ten million… I feel terrible about it. The bonus should be yours. I want to give it back.” I stopped packing, but didn’t look up. I flashed back to her first day: quiet, carrying her notebook, timidly asking for help with coding questions, eyes bright with the desire to learn. “Fine.” I finally raised my head. My gaze was steady and calm as I took out my phone. “Transfer it now. I’ll wait.” The look of performative guilt on her face instantly froze. It was like hitting a pause button on a cheap tape recorder. A flicker of shock and pure annoyance crossed her eyes. She hadn’t expected me to call her bluff. After a beat of uncomfortable stiffness, a smirk replaced the guilt. “June,” she said, her voice now edged with undisguised mockery. “I was just being polite. You actually dare to ask for it?” She let out a brittle laugh. “I earned this money. Rod saw my ability and dedication. The core code is mine; I was the one working the late hours. Why do you think this money is yours?” She swelled with arrogance, looking around my private office with a predatory gaze. “In fact, thank you for vacating the space so quickly.” 3 “From now on, this is my private office.” The petty, entitled grin made her unrecognizable from the humble intern I remembered. “Earned it?” I took a step forward, closing the distance. “Do you mean the ability to swap the variable names on pre-tested interface parameters, reformat the comments, and submit an organized pile of my test cases as your ‘core algorithm’?” “Or do you mean the ability to always be furiously typing irrelevant code—or staring at a document you finished days ago—whenever Rod happened to walk past your desk?” My voice was low and even, but every word felt like a technical jab aimed at her greatest insecurity. These were the details I’d only realized later. She had leveraged my distraction with my mother, the fact that an intern wouldn’t have access to the final core, but would have access to process files and test harnesses. She spent a month meticulously manufacturing the illusion of “deep, even lead, involvement.” Poppy’s face twisted. The manufactured arrogance dissolved, replaced by the hot flush of being exposed. Her cheeks reddened, and her breathing hitched. “You—you’re lying!” she spat, but her eyes darted frantically, confirming my accuracy. “You know I’m not,” I said coldly. “Those ‘core modules’ you submitted as independent work? The underlying function calls and logic are an exact replica of the framework I built, merely encapsulated with some clumsy attempts at ‘optimization’ and ‘fluffy’ comments.” “Do you want me to put my original design specs side-by-side with your ‘work’ on a technical forum and let the industry judge your craftsmanship?” That statement utterly broke her defense. Her greatest weakness was her shallow technical foundation—it couldn’t withstand any serious scrutiny. Rod was clueless and easily fooled by appearances, but the tech community was ruthlessly smart. Poppy’s face drained of all color. Just then, her eyes landed on the old picture frame. The photo was a shot of my mother and me on a trip last year. Her eyes flashed with sudden malice. She quickly reached out and, with a subtle, intentional sweep of her hand, knocked the frame off the desk. It hit the floor with a clean smash, the glass fracturing into pieces. Then, she took a deliberate, stumbling step forward and crushed the scattered glass and the photograph beneath her right heel. “Oops,” she said, in a voice dripping with false contrition. “So sorry, June. I wasn’t watching my step.” All the blood in my body surged to my head. SLAP! The sound was sharp, brutal, and loud. Poppy’s head snapped to the side, and a perfect set of finger marks bloomed instantly on her cheek. “Get out!” The door flew open. “Juniper, what the hell is your problem?” Rod stood in the doorway, his face a mask of iron-grey fury. He must have been passing by and seen the whole incident. Poppy instantly transformed into the perfect victim. Her voice was a shaky sob. “Rod… I… I just came to apologize to June about the bonus.” “I don’t know why she suddenly got so angry… and hit me.” “June!” Rod roared, stepping into the room. “I never imagined you were this petty! The bonus is the company’s decision. If you have an issue, you don’t resort to violence against a colleague!” “Especially not when Poppy was trying to make amends!” “Amends?” I pointed at the floor where the broken glass and the image of my mother lay scattered. “She smashed my mother’s photo and then ground it under her heel. Is that her idea of an apology?” 4 Rod glanced at the mess, his brow furrowing slightly. But his expression immediately smoothed over. “It’s a picture frame, June. It broke. Is that worth physical assault?” “I think you’ve lost your mind over the money. You’re unraveling.” Poppy added a perfectly timed, whimpering sob, looking smaller and more defenseless than ever. “Rod, please don’t blame June… Maybe… maybe I did do something to upset her…” Rod, seeing her plight, grew even more incensed. “June, I gave you a chance. You threw it away.” “Now, pack up your things and get out of this company. Immediately!” I picked up the ruined photo and placed the last few remaining personal items into my bag. My silence, my absolute calm, seemed to throw both Rod and Poppy off guard. They had been expecting an eruption, a frantic defense, a meltdown. I zipped my backpack. I walked straight toward the door. I stopped as I passed Rod. I turned my head and looked at him, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “Rod, remember what you said today.” “I hope you won’t regret it.” “And I hope Poppy is truly as capable as she’s pretending to be.” Rod scowled, about to launch into a rebuttal. I didn’t give him the chance. I walked out, not looking back. There was nothing left here worth grieving. When I got home, my mother, recently discharged, was resting on the sofa. Seeing me home hours earlier than usual and sensing my dark mood, she asked what was wrong. I didn’t hide anything. I told her about the firing, the stolen credit, and the ten million. There was no blame in her eyes. She just pulled my hand into hers and patted it gently. “Then you quit. That kind of company isn’t worth my precious daughter’s effort.” “Health comes first, peace of mind comes first. I have some savings; don’t rush into a new job. Take a break.” Her words were a wave of warmth, finally thawing the numbness that the corporate crush had instilled in my heart. The next few days felt like life in slow motion. Mornings were spent with my mother at the farmer’s market, listening to her expertly haggle for the freshest produce. Late mornings were for the park, clumsily following her movements as she did Tai Chi with the seniors. Afternoons were spent on the balcony, brewing herbal tea, watching the leaves drift in the cup, discussing simple things. It was a long-lost, grounded peace that slowly, gently, began to mend the damage. In this rare quiet, the past nine years began to unspool in my mind like faded film footage, each frame now achingly clear. I remembered the company’s early, desperate days. To crack the technical barrier on our first game, I lived at the office with the core team for three straight months, sleeping on a piece of cardboard under my desk. We didn’t just solve the problem; we architected an optimized solution that far exceeded expectations. That was the company’s first big break, the one that established our technical reputation. I remembered the time a competitor launched a massive attack on our servers, nearly crippling our services and inciting customer rage. I led the team, working forty-eight hours straight without sleep, not only repelling the attack but successfully identifying and locking down the attacker’s vulnerability. That move saved the company millions and put us on the industry map. And the award-winning game— 5 The initial spark came from a dream I’d had as a kid. I spent countless late nights, surrounded by code and data, iterating, debugging, and refining it line by line. The rough prototype was even tested on my home computer. The game’s soul and architecture were inextricably linked to my identity. Through these hard-fought battles, the company grew from a small startup squeezed into a single, dingy office to a powerhouse. It won the international award, saw its valuation skyrocket, and was on the verge of a potential IPO. Walter Carmichael, Rod’s father and the founder, was a sharp, shrewd man who had tremendous faith in me. He gave me absolute freedom in the technical division. Off-the-record, he’d often put a hand on my shoulder and say, half-joking, half-serious, “If only Rod had half of June’s steady brilliance, I’d feel better about leaving him—and the company—in her hands.” Rod was away at school studying art and business then, and we all dismissed the comments as a joke. But that trust, that genuine expectation, had once made all the sacrifice feel worthwhile. Then Walter passed away suddenly. Rod, with his arts degree and his management books, rushed back to take over. At first, he was polite, consulting me on major tech decisions. But slowly, the company’s atmosphere began to shift. His management style—all about “attitude,” “dedication,” and “corporate culture”—eclipsed his father’s focus on engineering excellence and measurable results. How beautifully a presentation deck was designed, how late the lights stayed on after hours, how enthusiastically one participated in team-building activities—these superficial metrics seemed to matter more to him than actual, technical contribution. I was too immersed in the actual work to notice the shift—until the ten-million-dollar shock wave hit. Rod didn’t need a technical leader who delivered world-class results; he needed a compliant “role model” for his management philosophy. And Poppy had given him exactly what he wanted. After a month of rest, I started looking for a new job, polishing my resume and applying to a few top-tier gaming studios. My confidence was high; my reputation and track record should have made the search easy. But most of my applications went unanswered. The few companies that invited me for an initial interview quickly cooled off, their excuses vague and their attitude suddenly dismissive. After several weeks of this, an old colleague I trusted finally told me the truth off the record. “June, your skills aren’t the issue. Someone in the industry is talking. They’re saying you’re a toxic manager, that you bullied a young intern, stole her work, and physically assaulted her.” “They’ve painted you as an industry cancer.” I knew instantly: Rod was not content with firing me; he wanted to destroy my career. My mother saw my perpetual frown and, after some gentle prying, learned the whole story. Her face went white. She immediately moved to leave the house. “I’ll confront him! How dare he slander you like this!” I gently took her hand, pressing it down. “Hold on, Mom. Don’t rush.” I looked out the window, a strange, calm certainty in my voice. 6 “The time is almost right.” “Soon, he’ll be the one begging me.” My mother looked at me, confused. She was about to speak when my phone—resting on the table—pierced the silence. The screen flashed with Rod Carmichael. I tapped the answer button and put the call on speakerphone. “June?” Rod’s voice was raw, frantic, completely stripped of its usual arrogance. “You need to get to Synergy Tech on the West Side right now! It’s an emergency!”

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My childhood best friend thought I was too “good.” So he fell for the scholarship girl who acted even more innocent than me. To spite him, I tried to go bad. I got mixed up with thugs, ran out of options, and begged him to save me. He ignored me. He covered the scholarship girl’s eyes with his hand and whispered gently, “Don’t look. It’ll scare you.” I was left in that dark alley, tortured until I died. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day he rejected me. 01 While cutting the cake, my friends egged me on to confess. I gathered my courage and said, “Liam, my birthday wish is you.” Liam’s hand, holding a cigarette, trembled slightly. He smirked. A bad boy grin. “Sorry,” he drawled. “You’re too good for me.” “Not my type.” In my last life, that sentence drove me crazy. Remembering how I died, a chill ran down my spine. I wanted to grab the knife and stab him right there. “Summer, are you okay?” “Liam, seriously? Can’t you say something nice on her birthday?” Liam kept that nonchalant, slacker attitude. He blew a smoke ring. “Can’t lie, babe. Not my style.” His lazy voice was usually charming. Now, it just made me sick. In front of everyone, I dropped the smile and made a new wish. “Liam, I wish that in this life and the next, we never cross paths again.” I blew out the candles. They tried to stop me, but I was too fast. Liam’s smile froze on his face. “Summer, are you serious?” “I’ll give you another chance. Make a new wish, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” No need. I ignored him. I picked up the knife to cut the cake. Liam lunged at me, grabbing the blade with his right hand. “Summer, I’m talking to you.” The blade cut his finger. Blood dripped onto the icing. Someone screamed: “Blood! Liam, you’re bleeding!” I knew what was happening. He was having an episode. Liam had severe mental health issues. In my last life, I was the only one who could calm him down. Oh. To be precise. Before the scholarship girl showed up, I was the only one. Because of that, I always thought I was special to him. Until I heard him comforting her with that same lazy tone. “She’s different from you.” “She’s just a placebo. You’re my only cure.” “Without you, I’d die.” I let go of the knife handle. “If you like it that much, keep it.” I turned to leave, but Liam threw the knife aside and grabbed me. His bloody fingers stained my white shirt. “Summer, who are you throwing a tantrum for?” Blood terrified me. I couldn’t help it. Memories of my past life flooded back—dizziness, nausea. I couldn’t take it. I fainted. When I woke up, Liam was by my bed. “Awake?” “You made me mad, yet I had to carry you back. Summer, how are you gonna make it up to me?” Liam was a player. He loved saying ambiguous things like that. Giving me hope I shouldn’t have. But I wasn’t the old me. I knew the truth. When facing the person he truly loved, Liam couldn’t say a single smooth line. Even his confession had been shaky. I sighed. “I’m tired.” “Liam, let’s not see each other anymore.” 02 The next day, I went to school alone. Liam didn’t wait for me. I knew it was my punishment. He was waiting for me to apologize. But I ignored him all day. In the afternoon, I was napping in homeroom when someone shook me awake. “Summer! Wake up! Liam’s fighting at the basketball court!” I was groggy. My deskmate dragged me to the court. “Hurry up! Liam’s gone crazy. Only you can stop him.” No. She was wrong. I didn’t need to go. His female lead had already appeared. I guessed right. When we arrived, Liam had stopped fighting. He was sitting on the sidelines, sweating bullets. Sitting next to him was a girl. Low ponytail, quiet face. She held his hand, her voice choked with tears. “Liam, you’re hurt.” Liam hated physical contact with strangers. He started to pull his hand away. But then his eyes met mine. He paused, gaze darkening, and let Maya hold his hand. The senior he beat up was limping away, supported by friends. “Wait,” Liam called out. He pointed at Maya. “Apologize.” The senior’s face was a mess of bruises. A friend tried to intervene. “Liam, let him go to the hospital first.” Liam refused. His voice was heavy. “I said, apologize to her.” Maya grabbed Liam’s hand and shook her head. “It’s okay, Liam. I’m fine.” The senior, beaten to a pulp, had to bow and apologize. Someone asked why he got beat up. My deskmate whispered, “He called her a charity case. Liam heard it.” “Deserved it! Watch your mouth!” “Liam is so hot! Hero saving the beauty!” “Is this a teen drama or what?” Only I knew the truth wasn’t like that. In my last life, Liam bullied that senior until he transferred schools. Before he left, he found me. He told me to be careful of Maya. He wouldn’t say more. Probably scared of Liam. The senior needed a hospital. The ambulance would take too long. I ran over. “Take my car.” The senior froze. “Thanks, but no need.” Liam rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Summer, are you trying to piss me off?” I looked at Maya behind him, eyes red and teary. “Mind your own business.” “If you leave now, don’t come looking for me later.” I didn’t look back. I helped the senior and his friends leave. Bang! Liam punched the basketball hoop post. Tsk. Doesn’t that hurt? 03 Liam and I barely interacted lately. I heard he stopped fighting for Maya. He even turned over a new leaf and started studying. When his boys called him to the arcade, Maya would whisper, “You haven’t memorized your vocab words.” Liam would sigh loudly and sit back down. “Mom’s strict. Can’t go.” Stories like this circulated daily. Whenever I walked by, people would stop whispering and look busy. “She’s so pitiful.” “Yeah, chased Liam for so long, only to get beaten by the scholarship girl.” Pitiful? I didn’t think so. My visa was approved. Once I passed the TOEFL, I was going abroad. To study Journalism, my dream major. My beautiful new life was starting. One day after school, Liam’s mom stopped me. “Summer, Liam forgot his meds again. Can you bring them to him?” I wanted to refuse. But seeing the bruises on his mom’s wrist, I sighed. “Okay.” I texted Liam: “Where are you?” He replied a long time later with a location. A pool hall. In my last life, I spent way too much time there. I went downstairs. The smell of smoke made me nauseous. I spotted Liam immediately. He was at the center table, gambling. A thick stack of cash sat on the rail. I walked over and tossed the pill bottle at him. “Your mom sent these.” Seeing me, Liam frowned. “Who asked you to come?” I ignored him. Dropped the meds and turned to leave. Someone blocked my path. “Liam, your girl?” Liam smirked, taking a cigarette from a friend and tucking it behind his ear. “Think that’s possible?” Just then, Maya walked in with her backpack. She started coughing immediately. Liam stood up, blocking the smoke from her. “Put them out.” The guy blocking me grinned, showing yellow teeth. “Looks like the real sister-in-law is here.” Maya blushed crimson. “Liam, don’t talk nonsense. The teacher said we can’t…” “I know.” Liam tapped her nose. “Be good. Call me ‘Oppa’ and I’ll let you go.” Maya squeaked and pointed at the cigarette behind his ear. “Liam, you promised to quit.” I felt Liam’s gaze on me. I remembered asking him to quit once. I’ve had asthma since I was a kid. I can’t handle smoke. Back then, he didn’t even pretend to care. He blew smoke in my face and said, “Can’t do it.” I smirked coldly. Tried to walk around the crowd. Blocked again. “Don’t leave, little sister.” “Liam, hurry up. Two on two. My girlfriend is here, who’s gonna play on your side?” 04 I walked away. Maya grabbed my sleeve. “I… I don’t know how to play pool.” I frowned. “And?” “I…” I glared at her, and Maya’s eyes reddened. Liam rushed over, shielding her, demanding, “Can’t you speak nicely?” “Psycho.” I tried to leave. He blocked me. Fed up, I goaded him. “What, Liam? Playing hard to get? Want me to be your girlfriend?” “In. Your. Dreams.” “Then get out of my way.” I left. No one stopped me this time. I heard Maya panicking behind me. “What do I do, Liam? I can’t play.” Liam comforted her patiently. “Dummy, I’m here. We won’t lose.” I didn’t care about their game. But at dinner, my mom kept sighing. “Saw poor Linda again today. Bruises everywhere. Old Xu is too much…” “By the way, Summer, haven’t seen Liam for dinner lately. Did you guys fight?” “No.” “Good. Invite him over…” I looked up, interrupting her. “We’re not friends anymore.” “Huh? Why?” I took a bite of fish. “No reason. Just hate blind people.” My mom asked cautiously, “Did Liam get a girlfriend?” I put a piece of fish in her bowl. “Yeah. It’s like a Wattpad novel. Super sweet.” They were acting out a romance, but they insisted on dragging me in as the extra. Early morning at school, I heard Maya crying. “What do I do, Liam? It was in my bag this morning, now it’s gone!” My deskmate whispered, “The class funds Maya was holding disappeared. Everyone’s looking for it.” I said casually, “Check the cameras.” Maya snapped. She walked right up to me. “Summer, my family is poor, but I’m not poor enough to steal class funds.” I didn’t say she stole it. Why so defensive? Liam walked over, commanding coldly. “Apologize to her.” I put my bag on my desk and sat down. He threw my bag on the floor. Then he flipped my desk. Liam was having an episode. “Apologize. Did you hear me?” The class went silent. No one dared to interfere. I bent down to pick up my desk. Liam grabbed my neck. His eyes were red. “A-pol-o-gize.” I couldn’t breathe. Tears welled up. A red mark formed on my neck. Maya tried to stop him. “Liam! Liam!” He listened to no one. Staring at me with red eyes. He didn’t know who I was anymore. Finally, teachers rushed in and pulled us apart. Maya hugged the raging Liam. “It’s okay, it’s okay, Liam. I don’t care about others, as long as you believe me.” He buried his face in her neck, but his eyes were locked on me. The teachers took me to the nurse. His gaze was dark. Watching me leave.

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Five years ago, Lucas asked if I wanted to leave with him. I said yes. I was always clear-eyed about it. There was no love between us. He needed a wife. I needed money. I played the role of a wife dutifully, spending his money recklessly. I asked him if it hurt his wallet. He was rich enough to just smile and say: “If it’s not enough, just ask.” Five years into the marriage, Lucas died. Great. No one to nag me about smoking or drinking. I could take the fortune he left me and have fun with young guys whenever I wanted. Three days after Lucas died, I received a letter written five years ago. The first line read: To my beloved wife. 1 The moment Lucas died, I went clubbing for three days straight. I popped bottles worth tens of thousands of dollars without blinking. A row of male models stood before me, waiting for me to pick. When I finally got tired and went home, Lucas’s lawyer handed me a letter. “This is a letter Mr. Vance left for you. According to his will, you are the sole heir to his entire estate.” My eyes widened in shock. Oh my god. Was Lucas crazy? We were only married for five years, no kids, and he left me everything? “Are you sure?” The lawyer nodded. “Mr. Vance drafted the will himself. There is no mistake.” Lucas must have lost his mind. I could barely keep the corners of my mouth from twitching up. The sheer joy went to my head, and I momentarily forgot about the letter he left me. The people most upset about Lucas leaving me everything were, of course, his relatives. When Lucas was dying, they were draped over his hospital bed, crying their lungs out. They put on such a show, only to get absolutely nothing. Lucas’s parents died when he was young. His only heir was me. The relatives stormed my house, looking ferocious, demanding I split the money. I used to hustle on the streets. I’ve seen all kinds of people. Did they think they could out-scum me? I was Lucas’s wife for five years. I earned this money. Trying to pry cash out of my hands? Keep dreaming. I crossed my arms, leaned against the doorframe, and sneered as they barked like dogs. “You want money? Fine.” “Lucas and I didn’t have kids. Whichever one of you gets on your knees and calls me ‘Mommy,’ I’ll give you the kid’s share.” These people were ancient. Their combined age was in the hundreds. They turned purple with rage, pointing fingers at my nose. “You gutter trash! Lucas just died and you’re already spending his money on men! Karma will get you!” I smiled, unbothered. “Uncle, ever heard of carpe diem?” The dead are gone. The living need to live it up, right? Besides, Lucas and I had no feelings. I married him for the money. Picking up a fortune for free? I’d wake up laughing from a dead sleep. In this life, money is king. Everything else is bullshit. 2 After cursing away the leeching relatives, the 6’2″ model I just added on Instagram called me. “Babe, when are you coming to see me? I can’t sleep without you.” His whiny, flirtatious tone made my heart flutter. “Got some stuff to handle. Not coming for a few days.” I transferred him $9,999. A little pocket change to keep him sweet. Hanging up, I sat on the leather sofa, sipping red wine, thinking about how to spend the money. So many zeros. It could cure trypophobia. This was the life I had fantasized about. Money, time, freedom. No more living in the shadows. Eat what I want, buy what I want, answer to no one. Aside from everything else, I was actually grateful to Lucas. Years ago, he met me at a gala where I snuck in to find a sugar daddy. He asked if I wanted to leave with him. I asked why. He smiled and said he needed a wife. Conveniently, I needed money. A fair trade. Win-win. Suddenly, I remembered the letter he left me. I didn’t know where I tossed it. What could he possibly say? A standard, gentle, boring gentleman like him? Probably some poetic nonsense. I didn’t care. I was actually annoyed that even in death, he wanted to lecture me. The wine wasn’t strong enough. I’m a heavy drinker. I went downstairs to get the ice wine I chilled. Opening the fridge, I saw a sticky note on the door. Drink less ice wine. Drink less in general. I froze. I remembered. Lucas wrote this. He hated my smoking and drinking. Said it was bad for my health. He tried to quit with me several times. I never stuck with it. I told him flatly: “Habits from a long time ago. Can’t change.” I clawed my way up from the gutter. I suffered too much. Alcohol and nicotine numb the pain. Of course I was dependent. Even after marrying Lucas and becoming a rich wife, I couldn’t change. Not elegant, not proper, not gentle. Lucas never scolded me. No disgust in his eyes. Just gentle warmth, like a sun-dried quilt. “Good habits can be formed too. I’ll do it with you.” He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, had no vices. His hobbies were gardening, calligraphy, and reading. Mild and calm, as if he could never get angry. To me, he was boring to the extreme. I liked loud, thrilling things. I liked everything fresh and new. I was flashy, letting everyone know I had money. The complete opposite of Lucas. I dressed loud. Once I got rich, I piled expensive things on myself, regardless of whether they matched. People mocked me as a tasteless nouveau riche. I didn’t care. I asked Lucas if I embarrassed him. He just smiled gently and said: “You are very beautiful.” Just like that, we coexisted peacefully under one roof for five years. 3 Seeing the note, I clicked my tongue in annoyance and slammed the fridge shut. Still trying to control me from the grave. So annoying. Lost the mood to drink. I turned and went back upstairs. The room was quiet. On the nightstand sat the book he used to read every night. Thick and heavy. I used to joke it would make a good paperweight for instant noodles. He laughed and said I could try it after he finished reading. The letter I had tossed aside was sitting right on top of that book. I opened it. Two thin sheets of paper. Strong, elegant handwriting. His handwriting. I’m uneducated. Dropped out of high school to hustle. To me, writing letters is old-fashioned and tacky. But his letter had a faint scent that made me less resistant. The lawyer said this letter was written five years ago. Lucas instructed him to give it to me only after his death. That meant he knew he was going to die a long time ago. We had just gotten married, and he prepared this letter. What would it say? That marrying me was just making do? Or that now that he’s dead, I should divorce him and stay out of his family genealogy because a woman like me would stain his reputation? If he was so afraid of me staining him, why marry me in the first place? Just thinking about it made me furious. I let out a scornful laugh, wanting to see what bullshit this dead man had to say. The first line: To my beloved wife. 4 Growing up, my family favored boys over girls. My parents’ incompetence was the source of my pain. To support the little prince of the family, I was kicked out at fourteen to work illegally. I knew from a young age that no one loved me. To get my parents’ approval, I sent every penny home, keeping only enough to not starve. When I went home for Chinese New Year, my parents were unusually warm and gentle. I was secretly happy, like a kid getting a toy they wanted. New Year’s Eve, after dinner, they told me not to go back to work. They found a “good family” for me. $15,000 dowry. The man was twenty years older than me, had two dead wives, and was disabled. No parent pushes their child into a fire pit. So that night, I packed my things, accepted the fact that my parents didn’t love me, stole their money, and ran. I worked all kinds of jobs. Legal, illegal. As long as I got paid and stayed alive, I didn’t care. At twenty, I met a man. He was thoughtful. Bought me flowers, cakes, dresses. He took me for rides by the river on his electric scooter. The river wind was cold and damp, but my heart was warm. A man working construction sites, yet he had such a warm, sincere heart. He didn’t mind my background. He hurt for my past. He was different from everyone else. I fell deep into his trap of love. Until he gambled, got drunk, beat me black and blue, and ran off with my money. Only then did I clearly realize: no one in this world loves me. I am discarded trash. A fly. Love is worth less than shit to me. I don’t want love anymore. I want money. Lots of it. I became a sugar baby, worked as a hostess, a cam girl. Except for being a homewrecker or committing crimes, I did everything. I saved up a good amount over those years. Later, I met a kid begging on the street because he couldn’t afford school. I felt soft-hearted and gave him a hundred bucks. That night, I was targeted by his gang. Home invasion. Robbery. I almost died. I asked him why. The kid said everyone else gave a dollar or five. I gave a hundred, so I must be rich. With a cold knife against my neck, I swore: If I survive, I will be a bad woman. Mean, vicious, selfish, low, cold. 5 When you read this letter, I will already be dead. I couldn’t read past the second sentence. It was so melodramatic. It made me irritable. I stuffed the letter back messily and rolled my eyes. Did he think he was some savior? Saving a fallen woman like me, giving me warmth and a home, so I should mourn him forever? Ha. Married five years and he still didn’t know me. I’m heartless. He just died, and I’m out clubbing, drinking with models, living the same debauched life as before. I told him before we got married. He said he didn’t mind. I couldn’t help it. I took the letter out again. I knew you wouldn’t have the patience to keep reading. There was a cheeky smiley face drawn after the last word. Something he would do. “Fuck!” He knew me too well in this regard. This is a farewell letter, not a lecture. Read it without worry. I am deeply sorry that knowing my time was short, I still proposed to you and asked you to be my wife. My fingers gripping the paper tightened unconsciously. My heart skipped a beat, like cotton was stuffed in my throat. Why apologize? I was grateful to him. He was generous alive, and generous dead. A man willing to treat his wife well like this wouldn’t be bad at anything. Oh, except having a short life. Just as I was about to read on, my phone rang. Unknown number. As soon as I picked up, I heard a familiar voice: “Vivian, it’s Dad. Your man died and left you a lot of money, right? Your brother is getting married and needs cash. I know you have it. Taking out a hundred or two hundred thousand to help your brother isn’t a big deal.” A hundred thousand? He dared to dream? “I can burn some hell money for you, want that?” I hung up violently, no longer in the mood to read the letter. I could think with my toes and know it was Lucas’s hypocritical relatives who gave my number to that old bastard. What trash. Every single one of them looked down on me, thought I was low-class, unworthy of Lucas. Every holiday gathering, they had to passive-aggressively put me down. In the end, they’re all just trying to scrape some money from me. But Lucas was a good man. Every time those relatives spoke ill of me, gentle, scholarly Lucas would use his vast vocabulary to curse them out without using a single dirty word. Seeing those self-righteous old farts turn red with rage, I had to pinch Lucas’s thigh under the table to stop from laughing. I acted flashy, had no “aristocratic elegance.” Uncle Lucas would lecture me that a wife should be virtuous and raise children. Made sense. Taking Lucas’s money, I should do something. I pinched my throat to make my voice gentle, walked with small, slow steps. I looked like a waddling penguin. Lucas laughed, pulled me onto his lap, and said: “You don’t need to be virtuous. Just be yourself.” Other rich wives managed the household for their husbands. I lay around drinking and singing. Lucas came home and had to carry drunk-me to bed. Tsk tsk. Thinking about it, I really took advantage of him these five years. Kinda sorry about that. I sat on the bed, dazed. The room was so quiet my ears were ringing. The phone rang again. I thought it was my dad. Ready to curse him out, but it was the funeral home.

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While scrolling through parenting forums online, I stumbled upon a thread. “What’s the most immoral thing you’ve ever done?” One highly-rated answer was pinned to the top. “Does stealing my university professor’s husband count?” “My professor sponsored my education, brought me out of a forgotten town in the mountains, and let me live in her home.” “But I fell for her fiancé the first moment I saw him. So I drugged her and made sure she ended up in bed with his father.” “Later, I framed her for poisoning my mother-in-law.” “My husband grew to hate her completely. He not only destroyed her career but personally handed her over to human traffickers.” “And me? I stayed by my husband’s side for five years, under the guise of atoning for my professor’s sins. The clouds finally parted for me. Now, our child is already in preschool.” The comment section exploded. People were stunned, demanding to know if it was real. The author’s reply was dripping with smug satisfaction. “Of course, it’s real. I still have the photo of her being dragged away by the traffickers.” “By now, she’s probably popped out ten kids in some backwater hellhole, left to rot for the rest of her life.” I stared at the familiar photo, my own terrified face from five years ago staring back at me. … My thumb moved on its own, scrolling through the replies. The comment section was a flood of outrage. “You’re a monster. To do that to someone and then brag about it here?” Someone tagged her directly. “Don’t you feel any guilt for destroying the life of such a brilliant young woman?” Sophie’s reply was swift. “Guilt? This world is survival of the fittest. She couldn’t outsmart me. That’s her bad luck. She should have just accepted her fate!” “You’re all just bitter because you can’t have what I have.” She provocatively posted photos of her jewelry, her sprawling villa, and the elite private school her child attended. “See? This life I have? I fought for it myself. Why should I feel guilty?” “Even if my son finds out one day, he’ll only be grateful that I made sure he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.” My hand clenched, my nails digging deep into my palm. If it weren’t for me, she would have dropped out of school, sold off by her parents for a dowry. For years, I’ve been haunted by the regret of saving such a viper. And now, she dismissed all the damage she’d done, all the pain she’d inflicted, with a casual, flippant, “bad luck.” Hidden behind the anonymity of the forum, she sneered at the criticism, firing back at every comment. But she underestimated the internet. Using the photos of her villa and the IP address on her profile, users quickly identified her husband: Marcus Blackwood, the city’s celebrated tech prodigy. His social media was instantly flooded. “Mr. Blackwood, is it true your ex-fiancée was sold to human traffickers?” “If you knew she was innocent, would you bring her back?” Seeing this, Sophie finally panicked, scrambling to delete her posts. Staring at the storm they had once again stirred up in my life, I felt nothing. Only a phantom pain, throbbing where my right leg used to be. My eyes fell to the sleek prosthesis beneath my skirt, and my mind was dragged back five years. The day my life was irrevocably shattered. I was caught red-handed by Marcus, naked in bed with his own father. When I awoke from a drugged stupor, the first thing I saw was Marcus’s face, contorted with rage. To make matters worse, my most trusted student, Sophie, “found” a bottle of aphrodisiacs in my room. The evidence was damning. My fate was sealed. “Evelyn!” Marcus’s eyes were bloodshot as he choked me, his voice a raw wound. “Are you that desperate? That’s my father!” “How could you be so shameless?” I clawed at his arm, pleading, trying to explain. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it.” Sophie immediately knelt before him, her voice choked with tears as she begged on my behalf. “Marcus, please, let Professor Reed go. She made a mistake, but she truly loves you.” Her words were gasoline on the fire. Ignoring my nakedness, Marcus dragged me to the door. “Get out!” he roared. “Don’t you ever let me see your face again, you whore!” I pounded on the door, desperate to explain, but no one opened it. I remember how the bone-deep cold of that night seeped into me as I sat on his doorstep, waiting, until a raging fever consumed me and I passed out. I woke up in a hospital bed. Marcus was there, a ragged beard shadowing his jaw. His voice was a rasp. “Evelyn, you win.” “If you promise to never cheat again, we can go back to how things were.” I opened my mouth to explain, but he smashed a glass of water against the wall. “The evidence is right in front of me! Are you still trying to play me for a fool?” he screamed. “I’ve already forgiven you! What more do you want?” I had no defense. All I could do was weep, repeating my innocence to a man who refused to hear it. After that day, our relationship seemed to return to normal on the surface. But I knew it was a lie. He was no longer the man who put me first. He was there, but an unbridgeable chasm now lay between us. There was no more intimacy. Every accidental touch would make him flinch before he quickly, casually pulled away. I used to be a regular guest for dinner at his parents’ home. They had always treated me with warmth. Now, his mother would slap me the moment she saw me, screaming that I was a slut, pulling my hair and trying to throw me out of the house. The old Marcus would never have let me suffer such humiliation. But the new Marcus just watched, a flicker of pity in his eyes, as his mother assaulted me. When I begged him for help, his face would cloud with irritation. “My mother is losing her mind over this! You owe her this! What’s wrong with letting her vent?” I wanted to go to the police, but the mere mention of it sent him into a rage. “I worked my ass off to bury this story, and you want to broadcast to the world that Marcus Blackwood got cheated on? By his own fiancée and his own father? You might not have any shame left, but I do!” And just like that, the incident became an open, festering wound between us. An alarm on my phone jolted me from the memory. It was time to pick up my daughter from school. The thought of Lily sent a wave of warmth through me. Before her, my world was gray. I often thought of ending it all. She was the one who pulled me back, who gave me a reason to stay. While waiting at the school gate, I glanced at the forum thread again. Sophie had deleted all her comments and her account. But it was too late. Screenshots of everything she’d said were plastered all over the comments. The public’s curiosity about the “pitiful ex-fiancée” had exploded. Soon, they had uncovered my identity. A scholar from a poor background who, through sheer brilliance, had become a celebrated professor at a prestigious university. But they also dug up the old scandal: the accusation that I had driven a student to a suicide attempt, the official reprimand, and my eventual dismissal. The comments section was a chaotic mix of sympathy and condemnation, a distorted echo of the public shaming I had endured five years ago. I once thought that being framed in bed with my future father-in-law was the lowest point of my life. But that was just the beginning. The events that followed pushed me, step by step, toward the abyss. Our wedding date was approaching. Marcus texted, asking me to come over to discuss the final arrangements. I was filled with a fragile hope, thinking his family was finally ready to accept me again. But when I pushed open his bedroom door, I found Sophie straddling him. She turned, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Marcus, darling,” she cooed, “are you going to call off the wedding with the professor?” Marcus’s reply was lazy, indifferent. “I can’t even stand to touch her anymore, let alone marry her…” His words caught in his throat as he saw me standing in the doorway. My fists clenched, my nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to stay calm. One was the man I had loved for years, my fiancé. The man who had once rushed into a burning building to save me. The other was the student I had cherished most. The girl I had sponsored since high school, the one I had treated like a little sister. The two people I trusted most in the world, in bed together. A double betrayal. It was more than I could bear. I lunged forward, swinging my purse at them. But before it could connect with Sophie, Marcus kicked me away. “Are you insane?” The force of the blow sent me sprawling. My head hit the sharp corner of a dresser, and a warm gush of blood streamed down my face. Marcus didn’t even look at me. He was too busy wrapping Sophie tightly in the bedsheets, holding her protectively as he roared at me. “Evelyn, what the hell are you doing barging in here? Have you no decency?” There was no guilt on his face, only the raw anger of being interrupted. A cold dread washed over me. “You’re in bed together, and you’re asking me about decency?” I screamed. He finally saw the blood covering my face. A flicker of concern crossed his features. “Your head…” Sophie immediately seized the moment, her eyes welling with tears as she slid into her familiar kneeling position before me. “Professor, I’m so sorry. Please don’t blame Marcus. It was my fault. I couldn’t control myself.” “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to break you up. I don’t need a title. I just want to be near him.” She wept with the convincing sorrow of a martyr, as if I were the villain tearing them apart. Every word was an apology, and every syllable was a knife. Rage consumed me. I raised my hand to slap her. But the slap landed on Marcus’s face. He had moved in front of her, taking the blow. A red handprint bloomed on his cheek. His face was a thundercloud.

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