The year-end review was a formality for me. My performance was exemplary, and the promotion to Department Director was sealed.
Then, my boyfriend reported me on the spot.
He accused me of misappropriating company funds for personal shopping during an overseas business trip. His proof? A video he’d originally filmed for my professional vlog. The footage clearly showed me at a high-end vintage market in Barcelona, spending exactly one hundred thousand dollars on a handful of brittle, aged letters.
“Samantha, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice ringing with fake righteousness. “Even though you’re my girlfriend, I can’t in good conscience cover this up. You don’t deserve the Director position. Madison is far more qualified.”
Madison Stone, my biggest internal rival, turned to me, her face contorted in manufactured outrage. “Samantha Rory, you spent that kind of money on old paper? This is money laundering!”
Our senior leadership immediately convened an investigative committee. They looked at me with varying degrees of disappointment and suspicion.
I remained still, outwardly calm, though rage was already churning in my stomach. They called them “old paper.” They had no idea. Those documents were classified WWII-era letters detailing unprosecuted war crimes—a goldmine for an international historical justice foundation. The commendation from the Department of National Security for securing them was already in the pipeline.
1
Mr. Wallace, the Executive Vice President, watched the video and frowned. “Samantha, this is extremely serious. You need to explain yourself.”
I stared at Blake Harrington, utterly blindsided. I still couldn’t believe he would throw me under a bus—and all for Madison.
Just last night, he’d held me close, trying to soothe me out of my career drive.
“Samantha, honey, why don’t you drop the competition with Madison? The Director role is too much stress. It’s a grind.”
“Besides,” he’d continued, condescendingly, “when we get married, you’ll want to prioritize family and kids. Just take a low-stress role. You know I can take care of us.”
I’d been repulsed. “The future is the future, Blake. I’ve worked too hard to give up now. Don’t bring that up again.”
He’d gone quiet, his face tight. Later, in the dead of the night, I’d woken up and found his side of the bed empty. I’d assumed he was just dealing with a last-minute work emergency in his study and had gone back to sleep.
Now, I knew. He had been preparing my public execution.
I took a deep breath, smothering the urge to lunge across the table at him, and addressed Wallace. “Sir, that’s not the full story. I encountered an urgent, time-sensitive situation abroad. I didn’t have immediate access to my personal accounts, so I had to temporarily use company funds. I reimbursed the full amount the moment I returned.”
I pressed the point. “Before using it, I notified Gary Powell in Accounting. It was a verbal pre-approval, but you can confirm the immediate repayment with him.”
Wallace, who usually valued my work ethic, didn’t want to see me fall on a fundamental ethics violation. He immediately instructed his secretary. “Ms. Turner, please verify the financials right now. Then bring Gary Powell in here.”
“Right away, sir.”
Moments later, Ms. Turner returned with Gary, the head of Accounting. Gary was a naturally shifty man, good at sniffing out the safest path. He scanned the room, smiled nervously, and spoke.
“I heard the summary from Ms. Turner,” he chirped. “Ms. Rory’s account is perfectly balanced. She repaid the full amount immediately upon her return. My ledger is crystal clear.”
Madison, however, wasn’t done. Without even glancing at the ledger, she cornered him. “Gary, we all trust your accounting. But Samantha said she got your verbal pre-approval before spending the $100,000. Do you recall that conversation?”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “One hundred thousand dollars—is that an amount you can casually approve with just a sentence?”
Gary’s eyes darted away. He slapped his forehead dramatically. “Oh, man, I truly can’t recall! That day, I was running a high fever, a real flu. I vaguely remember taking a call from Samantha, but honestly, I completely forgot what we discussed.” He turned to me, his tone apologetic but firm. “Samantha, do you have a recording, or any proof to back that up?”
I understood. Gary was a master of self-preservation. He would never risk his job to cover my rear. He was giving me an out, but I hadn’t recorded the rushed call.
My face went pale. “I… I don’t have proof.”
“But the item I bought was critically important. It was an emergency situation, and I fixed the financial side immediately. No damage was done to the company’s bottom line!”
Blake and Madison exchanged a look of smug victory. Blake leaned forward, his voice dripping with moral superiority. “You’re still trying to wriggle out of it? How important can a few scraps of old paper be? And just because you paid it back doesn’t erase the violation, Samantha. Rules are rules. If everyone bypassed protocol like this, the entire firm would fall into chaos.”
He delivered the final blow. “I recommend severe disciplinary action against Samantha as a warning to others. And the Director position must go to Madison.”
2
Wallace considered this for a moment and nodded. “Blake has a point. Samantha, you’ll go home, take a period of leave, and publicly apologize to the department for the ethics violation.” He sighed, the disappointment evident. “The Department Director position will be filled by Madison Stone.”
Madison beamed instantly. “Thank you, Mr. Wallace! I promise I won’t let you down. I’ll lead by example.” She shot me a look, a victorious, silent smirk of pure malice.
Next to her, Blake was gazing at Madison with such genuine warmth and pride.
It hit me like a shot of cheap tequila.
This wasn’t just about a promotion. This was about her. Blake hadn’t just met his college acquaintance; he had meticulously planned to put her in my spot.
Flashes of the past few months played out in my mind: the hickeys Madison hadn’t bothered to cover around me, the scent of a new, unfamiliar cologne on Blake’s shirts, their suspiciously synced travel schedules. Even now, Madison was wearing a delicate silver necklace I’d seen sitting in Blake’s Amazon cart weeks ago.
They had been playing me for a fool.
My original plan was to let the National Security team complete their verification of the letters. Once the historical significance was confirmed, the commendation would clear everything up. But the sheer audacity, the treacherous, hateful look on their faces—it broke my composure.
I am many things, but a quiet victim is not one of them.
“Madison can have the job over my dead body,” I stated, my voice dangerously level. “She does not have the competence.”
I unleashed my own list. “Last September, she carelessly lost the finalized contract for the Windsor account. I spent two weeks begging and negotiating to salvage that mess for her.”
“In June, she took unauthorized photos in the secure R&D lab and posted them on her social media, which I discovered and forced her to delete immediately.”
“In February, she—”
I listed every screw-up, every professional disaster. It wasn’t because I’d been tracking her; it was because Blake had begged me every time to cover for his “innocent student friend.” I’d been naive enough to take Madison under my wing, treating her as a friend and a mentee, patiently teaching her the unspoken rules of the firm, even knowing she was my competitor. I had never sabotaged her.
My reward? A knife in the back.
Madison immediately panicked under the scrutiny of the senior leadership. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “Samantha, shut up! Those are lies! I never did any of that!”
“I have the receipts, Madison,” I countered coolly.
“Enough, Samantha!” Blake roared, his face mottled with fury. “Are you so determined to destroy her? You’re just jealous because she’s younger, prettier, and has a better degree than you! This is your mistake—own it, don’t try to slander her!”
I fixed him with a cold stare. I let out a low, bitter laugh. “Oh, Blake. I was so focused on her, I forgot to save some vitriol for you. You cheated on me, your fiancée, with this snake, and then tried to use corporate espionage to get her promoted? I’m going to make sure everyone in this office knows the truth. Let’s see how long your ‘upright’ reputation lasts then.”
Blake was a creature of reputation. The truth of the affair, exposed publicly, enraged him more than the job loss. His false mask completely shattered.
“I’m a man of integrity! You won’t get away with this slander, Samantha! Are you forcing me to expose your real crimes?!”
Expose me? I raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Blake, what exactly do you think you’re going to expose?”
His face was shadowed, his jaw clenched, and his voice dropped to a menacing, desperate whisper.
“I suspect Samantha Rory is a foreign agent committing economic espionage!”
3
“What?”
“That’s impossible!”
Blake’s accusation stunned the room into a gasping silence, myself included.
Wallace’s expression turned deeply serious. He leaned across the table. “Blake, this is not a personal issue. You cannot throw around the word ‘agent’ without proof. That’s a charge of treason.”
“I have proof,” Blake insisted. “Look.”
He pulled up the video feed, enlarging the image of the aged letters until the script was clearly visible. It was archaic Japanese script.
“Everyone can see the language. If Samantha isn’t a foreign agent, why would she spend a hundred thousand dollars on these old Japanese letters and documents?”
He wasn’t finished. “I saw with my own eyes how valuable they were to her. She kept them secured in a small safe, even when she was in the shower. Who was she hiding them from? She was hiding her true identity!”
His tone was sharp and conviction was heavy, and now everyone in the room looked at me with open suspicion.
This was ludicrous. “You see an image, you guess the language, and you leap to ‘economic espionage’? Blake, you are unhinged!” I countered. “Those documents are incredibly important, but not just to me. They are vital to international historical justice. I had a reason.”
Madison scoffed. “Please, Samantha. You always talk big. If you’re so innocent, prove it. Bring those ‘important’ letters in right now. We’ll find someone who can translate them for us.”
Wallace’s face was dark. His remaining trust in me had evaporated. “Samantha, bring the documents. If they contain mundane information, your innocence is proven. But if they contain classified foreign or military intelligence, as Blake suggests, I will personally turn you over to Homeland Security.”
But the documents—the WWII documents proving war crimes—had already been submitted to the National Security team. They were conducting a critical, time-sensitive verification, and they had specifically instructed me to maintain absolute secrecy about their contents. I could not speak.
My silence confirmed their suspicions. Blake acted the part of the grieving patriot.
“Samantha, please don’t blame me for reporting you. I’m doing this for our country. Frankly, I’ve been suspicious for a while—your insistence on traveling to certain countries last year, your interest in foreign-language media…” He lowered his voice. “It’s not too late to confess. I’ll even speak to the authorities on your behalf.”
I stared at his pathetic performance and laughed again, a harsh, humorless sound. “Blake, you are so desperate to get Madison that promotion, you’ve concocted this insane lie. I promise you, I will sue you for every dime you have for slander and defamation.”
Ignoring him, I looked back at Wallace. “Sir, I have reasons I absolutely cannot disclose, but by tomorrow, everything will be clear. I am innocent.”
Wallace was done. He sighed, shaking his head. “Samantha, if you won’t talk, then you can speak to the police when they arrive.” He turned and walked out, his disappointment a palpable weight in the room.
While we waited, Madison did the unthinkable. She pulled out her phone and started an Instagram Live, zooming in on the enlarged image of the letters on the screen.
“Everyone look! This woman is a spy! A foreign agent! These are the Japanese letters she bought for one hundred thousand dollars! We caught her red-handed!”
“She pretended to be an honest patriot, but she’s nothing but a traitorous criminal!”
Her words instantly ignited a firestorm in the comments. The accusation of treason is explosive in the US context.
The stream had thousands of views instantly. They were cursing me, and worse, cursing my elderly parents. My stomach dropped. I had only been waiting for the police to clear my name, but this was a catastrophe.
My parents were both elderly, Dad with high blood pressure and a fragile heart. The stress could kill him.
4
Seized by panic, I lunged forward, grabbing Madison’s hair and knocking her phone away. “Madison, those documents cannot be leaked! You have no right to film me! You’re going to hurt my parents!”
Blake grabbed me from behind, wrapping his arm tightly around my neck, forcing me to release Madison. He then delivered a hard, vicious slap across my face that made my eyes water.
“This is your fault, Samantha! Don’t you dare lay a hand on Madison! If you hurt her, I swear I’ll make you regret it!”
Madison stumbled into Blake’s embrace, looking up at him with a faux-vulnerable expression while her eyes, fixed on me, were pure triumph. She cooed, “Thank you, Blake. Samantha always bullies me and steals my credit. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Don’t worry, Maddie. I’ll always protect you. This venomous woman will get what she deserves.”
I touched the corner of my mouth, tasting blood. The camera in the office would have caught that slap—he’d pay for that later.
But right now, my priority was my parents. I fumbled for my phone and frantically called my mother.
Finally, the video call connected. I yelled into the receiver. “Mom! You and Dad need to stay inside today! Don’t open the door for anyone!”
Mom’s voice was confused. “Why, honey? What’s going on?”
Just then, a loud, violent series of bangs against their front door nearly deafened me.
I screamed, “Mom, don’t open it! DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!”
But my father, coming out of the kitchen, had already reached the doorknob. He opened it.
A dozen angry, frantic people surged into the house. They pointed at my parents and screamed. “Samantha Rory is a traitor! Her parents are traitors! You animals, selling out your own country!”
My father, who had always been so proud of me, immediately tried to fight back. “You’re lying! My daughter is an executive! She is dedicated and honest! She would never betray her country!”
My mother shouted, “Don’t you insult my daughter! Get out of our house!”
But the mob wouldn’t listen. They shoved my parents to the floor and began yelling and smashing things. My parents tried to stop them but were no match for the strong young crowd. They were pushed down again and again.
Suddenly, Dad’s face went white. He clutched his chest, struggling to breathe. Mom rushed to him, trying to soothe him.
His heart. He was having an attack. I had to get him to a hospital now.
I stood up and bolted toward the door, but Blake was there instantly, blocking my path.
“Let me go! My father is having a medical emergency! I need to save him! Blake, did you forget everything my dad did for your career? If you have an ounce of decency, you won’t stop me!”
“No! That’s irrelevant! Samantha, you have to wait for the police. You can’t leave!”
Watching my father’s ashen face in the video feed, I was frantic. I fought Blake, yanked my arm free, and my trembling fingers punched 9-1-1.
The second the operator answered, Madison grabbed my phone and smashed it onto the floor. She hissed, “Calling anyone won’t help you now! Even if the sky falls, you are going to stay here and wait for your arrest!”
I glared at her and the wall that Blake had become, my teeth grinding with helpless fury. But I had to be rational. My parents were in danger.
When they weren’t looking, I sprinted toward the nearest window. It was the second floor, but I didn’t hesitate. I threw myself out, landing hard on the pavement. A white-hot spike of pain shot through my ankle.
Madison appeared at the window above, pointing down at me. “She’s running! She’s a spy! Don’t let her get away!”
Ignoring the screaming pain in my twisted ankle, I hobbled to the curb and hailed a taxi. Just as I reached the door, several local police officers swarmed me, slamming me face-down on the ground. The cold metal of handcuffs clicked onto my wrists.
Blake and Madison rushed down the stairs, their faces alight with satisfaction. “Trying to run, Samantha? You do have something to hide! Let’s see you talk your way out of this!”
I looked up at them, my eyes burning with tears and hatred. “If anything happens to my parents, I promise you, I will never forgive you!”
Just then, the scene exploded. A convoy of over a dozen black, unmarked SUVs and official government vehicles roared up and surrounded the area. Dozens of agents, wearing tactical gear, emerged and strode toward us.
Madison looked at the massive show of force and cackled with pure malice. “Even if your parents die, Samantha, they got what they deserved! Look at this, they sent half the government to catch you! Enjoy your cell!”
Before her smile could set, a powerful, authoritative voice cut through the chaos.
“Who said we’re here to arrest Samantha Rory?”
🌟 Continue the story here
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One week into the “extreme freeze,” my husband and son—both obsessed with apocalyptic web novels—were convinced the end of the world had arrived.
My husband, Aaron, stopped pretending to be the good guy.
Not only did he encourage our son to loot jewelry stores and supermarkets, but he also moved his childhood sweetheart—who was three months pregnant—into the mansion I bought.
“The world is ending, Clara. Lily is carrying my child. Can’t you be a little more generous?”
“In the apocalypse, this isn’t looting, it’s survival! Mom, your old-fashioned mindset isn’t even worth a strand of Aunt Lily’s hair.”
As our supplies dwindled and the temperature outside plummeted to -100°F (or so they thought), Lily, the “sweetheart,” kicked me out of my own house.
I turned around, climbed into the heavily insulated RV I had prepared in advance, and dialed a number.
“Professor Chen? Is the extreme weather emergency drill almost over?”
On the surveillance screen, the father and son duo were tearing the house apart looking for me. They were losing their minds.
1
I set the RV’s thermostat to a comfortable 75°F and switched on the electric fireplace I’d installed.
The biting cold vanished instantly, replaced by a cozy warmth.
“Clara, come to the lab. It’s not safe for you alone in the RV.”
The man on the other end of the line sounded panicked when he heard Aaron’s mistress, Lily, had thrown me out.
“It’s almost time to reel in the net. Is there anything more satisfying than watching prey struggle in a trap?”
I hung up and looked at the monitor.
Aaron’s veins were bulging on his forehead. He was gripping Lily’s shoulders, shaking her.
“You dared to kick Clara out without telling me? Lily, do you want to die?”
Lily, shocked, puffed out her pregnant belly defensively.
“Aaron! You said you were sick of Clara! You said you could only be yourself with me!”
“Isn’t this better? Without that eyesore Clara, we’re finally a happy family!”
My son, Noah, slumped to the floor, his eyes red.
“Dad, what do we do? Mom hates the cold…”
They all knew that being kicked out in this “weather” meant certain death.
Aaron leaned against the doorframe, his face as pale as a sheet. Suddenly, he let out a guttural roar, filled with helplessness and despair.
Watching this, I let out a cold laugh.
Half a month ago.
“Dad, look! The frozen apocalypse is real!”
Early in the morning, father and son stood by the window, eyes gleaming with excitement.
It should have been a scorching August, but the temperature had dropped by sixty degrees overnight.
The city was frozen solid.
“Son, can you believe it? Our time has come,” Aaron murmured.
I stood on the second floor landing, arms crossed, coldly watching this pair of apocalypse-fantasy addicts excitedly list the supplies they needed to hoard.
“Lily, don’t cry. Don’t be scared, I’m coming to get you right now.”
“…Afraid of her? Baby, you have to understand, in the apocalypse, the strong rule! The weak—women, children, the elderly—step aside. It’s a man’s world now!”
Aaron was on the phone with Lily, his voice booming.
He was openly admitting his affair.
2
To the outside world, Aaron was the perfect husband.
He would leave business dinners early.
“Apologies, gentlemen. My wife made mushroom soup. I have to go home and try it.”
He would coldly reject any advances from female secretaries.
Even a slight cold would make him frown with worry.
“Clara, honey, I called Dr. Liu to come over and check on you.”
He remembered every anniversary. He knew all my habits.
Until six months ago.
My father died of cancer, and I inherited the family company and fortune.
That’s when my perfect husband started showing his true colors.
He disappeared for a whole night, missing my father’s funeral.
When he finally rushed in, he smelled of a perfume that wasn’t mine.
At the same time, my secretary, Jessica, told me that Aaron, the company’s vice president, had been embezzling funds.
She traced the money to a villa in the suburbs.
The deed was in the name of Aaron’s childhood friend, Lily.
I thought I had been too focused on work and neglected our marriage.
So, I cut my business trip to Germany short.
But when I got home, my grandmother, who suffered from dementia, grabbed my hand at the door.
Her cloudy eyes were filled with terror. “Clara, run!”
Before I could comfort her, Lily walked in.
“President Wen, Aaron said he left a file at home and asked me to fetch it.”
Seeing Lily, Grandma fainted.
Three days later, while I was in a meeting, Grandma’s caretaker called.
Grandma had fallen from the third floor of the villa. She was dead.
I broke down, screaming at the caretaker.
“I told you a thousand times! Even if you leave for a minute, lock her door!”
“I’m so sorry, Miss Wen. She wanted hot milk, and the microwave in her room broke. I thought it would only take a second…”
Noah helped me up from the floor.
“Mom, it wasn’t her fault. I saw it. It happened in the blink of an eye. Great-grandma just ran out and fell.”
Aaron held me, looking mournful.
“The dead are gone, Clara. Grandma wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
At the funeral, Aaron was the picture of a devoted husband-in-law.
Everyone envied me.
But years in the business world had sharpened my instincts. Something felt wrong about Grandma’s death.
I hired a private investigator to look into the caretaker.
She disappeared right after quitting. And a large sum of money had been transferred into her account.
The sender was Lily.
3
The truth was obvious.
I wept uncontrollably at Grandma’s grave.
My mother died giving birth to me. My father was always working.
Grandma raised me.
I was a timid child, afraid of ghosts and the dark. Grandma would sing nursery rhymes to soothe me to sleep.
Even with dementia, her favorite thing was sewing little floral dresses for me.
“My Clara has a show at kindergarten. Without a pretty dress, Clara will cry.”
I clutched the floral dress she made me.
Lily, how dare you?
But when I confronted Aaron, he didn’t believe me.
“Clara, I know you don’t like Lily, but to say she murdered Grandma? That’s impossible.”
I looked at him coldly.
“So it’s just a coincidence?”
“I grew up with Lily. I know her character. She’s like a sister to me. Don’t target her.”
Even my son, the boy I carried for ten months, sided with them.
“Mom, don’t badmouth Aunt Lily just because you’re jealous she’s young and pretty!”
Looking at the two people I lived with, I felt like I was looking at strangers.
I handed the evidence to the police.
They summoned Lily.
Just as I thought she would pay for her crimes, the police told me there wasn’t enough evidence.
Lily had a perfect alibi.
The day Grandma died was Lily’s birthday.
And the people celebrating with her were my husband and son.
She provided photos. In them, she sat surrounded by flowers, leaning into Aaron’s embrace. Noah stood by with a huge gift box.
They were smiling, happy.
That night, while rain poured down, I sat alone on the doorstep, holding Grandma’s cold body, crying until dawn.
When I saw Aaron and Noah picking Lily up from the police station, my heart shattered.
My two closest relatives were protecting another woman.
They testified that Lily couldn’t be the murderer.
“Clara, I told you Lily didn’t do it. Why did you call the police?” Aaron looked at the pale Lily with concern.
“Mom, I saw Great-grandma fall myself. Why won’t you let Aunt Lily go? You’re so toxic!”
On the surveillance screen, Aaron suddenly stood up to open the door.
“Clara hates the cold. I have to find her!”
4
I’ve always been afraid of the cold.
I have a severe allergy to cold air. In extreme cases, I go into shock.
Before my father died, he gripped Aaron’s hand tight.
“Aaron, Clara is my only daughter. My biggest worry is her.”
“She’s been frail since she was a child. She can’t handle cold air. Please, take care of her…”
Aaron knelt by the bed, crying genuine tears.
Only after Aaron promised repeatedly did my father close his eyes.
Not long after, a cold wave hit while I was on a business trip.
The allergy triggered. I was delirious, unable to breathe.
My emergency medication was missing from my suitcase. It was a rare drug, impossible to buy locally.
I struggled to call Aaron.
On the tenth try, someone picked up. “Clara? Looking for Aaron?”
Lily laughed softly on the other end.
“He’s in the shower. He promised to spend tonight with me. Don’t call again unless it’s urgent.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Aaron brought me to Hokkaido to see the snow. Even if you needed him, he couldn’t make it back.”
When I woke up, a man was sleeping by my bed.
“Clara! You’re awake!”
Seeing me open my eyes, Ethan Chen’s exhausted face lit up.
“If I hadn’t been here for research and heard you were in town… you would have died!”
Ethan had known me for years. He knew about my allergy.
He tried to call me for dinner, but I was already unconscious. When I didn’t answer, he panicked.
He used his family’s connections to find my hotel.
Bang!
The door burst open.
Aaron rushed in, looking frantic.
“Clara!”
He hugged me, guilt flashing in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I got a sudden order from overseas, huge profit margin, so I flew out immediately. I didn’t know you were sick…”
Watching him lie so easily, I felt exhausted.
“Is the snow in Hokkaido beautiful?” I asked softly.
“I once told you I could never see snow because of my allergy. Remember what you said?”
When Aaron proposed, he created artificial snow for me.
“Clara, you said not seeing snow was your biggest regret. You said maybe the snowflakes hated you.”
“I’m willing to be hated by the snowflakes with you. Marry me, and let me be with you forever. Your joy is my joy, your regret is my regret.”
Aaron froze for a second.
I pushed him away.
“Aaron, let’s get a divorce.”
5
“What’s your plan?”
Ethan walked with me outside the hospital room.
“Clara, if you really want a divorce, I can talk to Aaron.”
I shook my head.
“He’s stubborn. My father left him 30% of the company shares to ensure he’d take care of me. His influence is almost equal to mine.”
“Divorcing him would bleed the Wen Group dry. My father’s life work is in that company. I can’t risk it.”
“Plus, everyone sees him as the perfect husband. A sudden divorce would cause rumors that could hurt the stock price.”
Ethan nodded.
An idea flashed in my mind.
“Ethan, I heard your lab is looking for investors for an extreme weather simulation project?”
“Your dad really treated me like a son. He told you everything.”
I smiled.
“Clara, you’re not thinking of investing, are you?”
Ethan looked at me in surprise.
“Humans are animals. Social order keeps the beast in check. Once that order breaks, true nature reveals itself.”
“Even a ‘perfect’ man like Aaron won’t be able to hide. Once the mask is ripped off, he won’t be able to put it back on.”
And then there was Lily. The murderer.
For Grandma.
I had to take revenge.
6
Day 7 of the “Extreme Freeze.”
“Aaron, I thought you abandoned us.”
Aaron had braved the “blizzard” to bring Lily to the mansion my father left me.
“The apocalypse is here. How could I leave you?”
I watched them cuddling, arms crossed.
Seeing me, Aaron looked slightly guilty.
“Clara, this is an emergency…”
His excuse was that because I asked for a divorce, he got drunk and Lily comforted him.
“Clara, I know you’re mad, but the world is ending! Lily and the baby are innocent. I swore I’d protect you all!”
“Innocent? If she were innocent, she wouldn’t wreck a home. Cheating is cheating. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
Suddenly, Noah ran downstairs wearing a ski mask.
“Dad, I’m going out for supplies! Wish me luck!”
“Stop!”
I grabbed Noah.
“Noah, what are you doing?”
He shook me off like I was toxic.
“It’s the apocalypse! Staying home means death. I’m going out to find a way to survive!”
“You’re not going anywhere! You’re a child! Stop reading those stupid web novels!”
“Clara, Noah is brave. You should be happy for him,” Lily said, putting an arm around him.
“Young people like Noah will thrive in this new world. This is their era.”
“See? Aunt Lily understands! Mom, you’re brainwashed by making money. Open your eyes! It’s the end of the world! Don’t force your old ideas on me. Just watch, I’m going to be a king!”
Noah looked me up and down.
“No wonder Dad likes Aunt Lily. You think divorce threats will bring him back? Dream on.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“Is that really how you see me?”
Noah scoffed. “Always controlling me. Now you care what I think? Mom, aren’t you tired of living like this?”
I wanted to use this drill to expose Aaron.
I didn’t expect my own son to reveal his true colors so soon.
To him, I was just a nagging, absent mother who only cared about money.
Before he was ten, I was a full-time housewife.
I gave him everything.
That’s why Aaron got power in the company.
Now that Noah was thirteen, I started working.
Strangers gave him a little kindness, and he remembered it forever.
I disciplined him once, and he hated me for life.
I watched him leave.
I didn’t stop him.
My heart was colder than the weather.
Hours later.
“Dad! Aunt Lily! The people in the supermarket were terrified! My squad and I got supplies!”
Noah pulled out a bag.
He unzipped it. It was full of gold bars.
“Noah! Are you insane? You robbed a bank?!”
I grabbed his arm.
“Let’s go. We’re turning ourselves in!”
“Get off me!”
Noah looked at me coldly. “I told you, it’s the apocalypse! Civilization is gone! Laws are gone! You have to be ruthless to survive!”
“Mom, I’ve had enough. Stop judging me with your narrow mind!”
“Actually, it makes sense. Someone who would frame an innocent woman for murder is naturally unreasonable.”
Hearing this, my heart turned to ice.
Slap!
I slapped Noah hard.
“Clara Wen! What did he say wrong? If you can’t see reality, get out of this house!” Aaron shouted.
“Noah, does it hurt? Aunt Lily will get some ice. Your mom is so cruel…”
Hatred flashed in Noah’s eyes.
“I don’t have a mom like her. She’s not my mom!”
I turned and walked back to my room.
Ding.
A text message.
“Clara, the surveillance cameras caught Noah robbing the store. Take him to the police station now. Let’s end the drill early.”
I typed back with trembling fingers.
“No need. He has to pay for his actions.”
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She came to me for a pimple. One look, and I knew it was cancer. I scheduled a biopsy and surgery immediately.
Instead, she claimed I was deliberately trying to scar her face to ruin her title as the “Nation’s Ageless Goddess.”
Guided by her, a massive swarm of fans launched a cyberbullying campaign against me.
“A dermatologist trying to treat cancer? Stay in your lane. If you can’t cure it, don’t touch it.”
“What kind of quack is this woman? You’re just jealous because my queen is young and beautiful!”
My husband—the hospital director—didn’t stand by me either. He forced me to issue a public apology online.
I laughed in sheer disbelief.
Twenty years of practicing medicine, countless patients healed, and this was how I was repaid? Framed and slandered.
In a rage, I quit my job, filed for divorce, and left the country to travel the world.
I didn’t expect that a few months later, those same fans would be blocking my driveway.
“Dr. Song, please, we’re begging you! Save her!”
1
“Serena is glowing!”
“Serena, get out of that hospital! Don’t let that butcher touch your face!”
“Don’t be scared, Serena! We’ll protect you!”
Serena Vance, forty years old but looking twenty-five, stood in the hospital lobby. Wearing oversized sunglasses and a designer mask, she waved to her screaming fans with a detached, arrogant grace. She acted like she was walking the Met Gala red carpet, not standing in a medical facility.
I was just trying to get to work.
I pushed through the crushing crowd, struggling to reach the entrance. Suddenly, I was yanked backward. My spine slammed against a marble pillar, the pain making me break out in a cold sweat.
I glared at the woman who grabbed me. Instead of apologizing, she smirked and “accidentally” splashed her hot Starbucks latte all over my scrubs.
“Oh my god! Isn’t this the great Dr. Song? So sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
She covered her mouth, giggling. The fans around her sneered, looking at me like I was trash.
It was a freezing Chicago winter. The wet scrubs clung to my skin, sending a violent shiver down my spine.
I was about to argue when a cold voice cut through the noise. It was my husband, Richard, the hospital director.
“Dr. Song, you’re ten minutes late. What are you doing loitering? Come to my office. Now.”
I wasn’t surprised. I’d been getting doxxed and harassed online for a week because of Serena’s diagnosis. It was disrupting the hospital’s operations.
But what he said next made me shake with rage.
“We’ve received a coordinated complaint from the fan club,” Richard said, closing the door.
They accused me of malpractice and practicing outside my scope. They demanded my immediate termination and a video apology posted to all social media platforms.
I frowned deeply. “Richard, we’ve been married for decades. Do you honestly think I would misdiagnose someone on purpose? My records are in the system. Send an auditor. I have nothing to hide.”
I was the top dermatology resident in my class. I followed Richard to this hospital right out of med school. Twenty years later, my record was spotless. I slept well at night knowing I did my job.
And now, they were lying through their teeth, and my own husband wasn’t defending me?
“Katherine, I know you’re good,” Richard said, sipping his coffee. “But doctors make mistakes. Serena is a national treasure. Her fanbase is massive. I’m your husband, yes, but I’m also the director of this hospital. My hands are tied.”
My face went pale. “What are you saying?”
He sighed. “Apologize. Or step down as Chief of Dermatology. Take a sabbatical until the mob calms down.”
I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. I followed protocol. Why should I take the fall for a diagnosis I knew was right?
If I apologized, I was admitting guilt. My career would be over.
“Richard, let Serena go to another specialist. Let them prove me wrong. Until then, I admit nothing!”
Richard slammed his mug on the desk. “Katherine! Don’t be selfish! Think about the hospital’s reputation! Everyone knows you’re my wife. Do you want them to think I’m covering for you? Have you thought about me at all?”
I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. “But—”
“Get out,” he snapped. “Tomorrow morning, I want to see that apology video. Or you can pack your bags and go home. You’re getting too old for this stress anyway.”
I walked back to my office, chest tight with anger and grief.
But I couldn’t even get inside. My office was packed with fans.
2
“Apologize, you witch!”
The roar stunned me.
A middle-aged man, clearly a superfan, threw a stack of photos at me. The corner of one sliced my cheek, drawing blood.
“Katherine Song, don’t pretend you didn’t target Serena on purpose! You know your husband and Serena were childhood sweethearts. You’ve been jealous for years! You finally found a chance to ruin her face!”
I looked down at the photos scattered on the floor. Richard and Serena, looking very cozy.
I took a deep breath. “I am a doctor. My treatment plan has nothing to do with my husband. If you don’t trust my diagnosis, take her to Mayo Clinic. Take her to Johns Hopkins. Go anywhere else!”
A few young girls in “Team Serena” hoodies chimed in.
“Serena already sent photos to a specialist in Switzerland. The results are coming in any minute. We’re going to expose you as a fraud.”
“We’re livestreaming this. Don’t try to run.”
My intern, Holly, tried to shield me. “Dr. Song is a board-certified expert! She wouldn’t make a diagnosis like that without certainty. Wait for the facts!”
The middle-aged man sneered. “My son is in med school. He looked at Serena’s Instagram photos and said her skin is fine.”
“Exactly. Does she think she’s the only doctor in the world?”
Holly wanted to argue, but I shook my head.
“If you want to wait,” I said calmly, “we wait.”
I knew what I saw. That lesion on Serena’s face was a basal cell carcinoma.
It is the most common form of skin cancer. Highly treatable if caught early. A simple excision.
But because I suggested surgery, she spun a narrative that I was out to disfigure her.
Looking at the photos on the floor, the way Richard looked at her… I connected the dots. They were likely having an affair. That was why she was so paranoid about me holding a scalpel to her face.
A notification pinged on a fan’s phone.
“See! Switzerland says it’s just cystic acne!”
“In your face, Doctor!”
“Apologize! Now!”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Telemedicine has limits. You can’t diagnose texture through a filtered photo. We need a biopsy.”
The word ‘biopsy’ set them off again.
“Biopsy implies cutting! She starts filming her new movie next week! You just want to scar her!”
I tried to reason with them, but the mob had made up its mind.
3
#UnethicalDoctor #FireDrSong #JusticeForSerena
We were trending on X (formerly Twitter).
The narrative was set: The jealous wife utilizing her medical license to disfigure her husband’s beautiful celebrity friend.
Strangers flooded the hospital’s Yelp and Google reviews.
“Is this where they hire butchers? Zero stars.”
“This woman treated my mom once. She has RBF (Resting Bitch Face). Never smiled once.”
“I heard she starves her inpatients. Revoke her license!”
I read the comments, clutching my chest.
As a Chief Resident, I worked 12-hour shifts. I skipped lunch. I didn’t have the energy to smile 24/7. And “starving” patients? That’s called NPO—nothing by mouth before surgery.
Basal cell carcinoma rarely spreads, but rarely isn’t never. If she ignored it…
I worried about my patients until I developed chronic migraines. And this was the thanks I got.
To make matters worse, Richard issued a statement on the hospital’s official account, apologizing for “personnel misconduct” and promising “internal restructuring.”
He threw me under the bus.
Then, Serena tweeted.
@SerenaVance: “Thanks for the love, guys! I’m fine. Dr. Song and I are friends—she was just teasing me because we go way back. Please don’t be mean! <3"
She attached the Swiss "diagnosis." It looked like she was defending me, but it was a calculated move. She tagged my personal account.
Within minutes, my inbox exploded.
"Nice try, Karen. If you're lonely, get a cat, don't come for Serena."
"Jealous much? You're old and dried up. Serena is timeless."
"My dad is a lawyer. We're going to sue you into homelessness."
The notifications were a ceaseless drone of hate.
I wanted to quit right then. But I had inpatients who needed me.
I didn't sleep a wink that night.
4
The next morning, I dragged myself to work.
I just needed to discharge my current patients. Then I could figure this out.
I walked onto the ward and saw Richard surrounded by a group of angry family members.
"Dr. Evans, we trust you," a woman shouted. "But we don't trust your wife! You need to assign a new doctor to my mother immediately!"
"Yes! She brings personal vendettas into the exam room!"
Richard held up his hands. "I understand. Dr. Song was out of line. I’m handling it."
I recognized the woman. Brenda. Her mother had a growth on her neck.
"Brenda," I stepped forward. "I have been treating your mother for three years. You can request a transfer, but you cannot question my medical expertise."
Richard glared at me. "Katherine! Watch your tone! Apologize to them."
I ignored him.
Brenda pointed a finger in my face. "If you had a conscience, you'd quit. If anything happens to my mom, I'm suing!"
I looked around. Patients I had treated for years looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.
Something inside me snapped.
The thread I had been holding onto for twenty years... it just broke.
It wasn't worth it.
I took a deep breath. I took off my white coat.
"Fine," I said. My voice was eerily steady. "I quit."
Richard paused, then nodded, satisfied. "Good. You should have done that yesterday."
I looked him in the eye.
"But I will not apologize."
"And Richard? I resigned. You didn't fire me."
"And if you all think I’m biased, find someone else. Good luck."
Richard’s face darkened. "Katherine, admit you were wrong. Is your ego that big?"
I laughed.
"I wasn't wrong."
"Come home tonight. We need to discuss the divorce."
5
My mother-in-law called to scream at me, telling me I was being dramatic and ungrateful.
I hung up on her.
I had carried that family and that hospital on my back. I was the one working double shifts while Richard played golf and networked.
I was packing my clothes when I found it. A diamond earring, wedged between the cushions of our sofa.
I recognized it immediately. Serena had worn the pair in a magazine shoot last month.
I gripped the earring until it dug into my palm.
So, I was right.
Serena came to the hospital not for medical advice, but to mark her territory. My suggestion of surgery spooked her, so she weaponized her fanbase to remove me from the equation.
And Richard helped her. He gaslit me into an apology to protect his mistress.
Honestly? I didn't even feel sad. Just disgusted.
If Serena wanted to ignore a cancerous tumor because her boyfriend said it was "just a pimple," that was natural selection at work.
I slept like a baby that night.
The divorce was fast. Richard wanted me gone. I took my half of the assets—liquid cash and investments. He kept the house.
On my last day at the hospital to sign paperwork, the fan club was waiting outside with a banner: "DING DONG THE WITCH IS GONE."
Brenda was there, chatting with them, laughing about how Serena would stay young forever.
"The old hag finally left," someone shouted as I walked to my car.
Holly, my intern, walked me out, tears in her eyes. "Dr. Song, I know the truth. They're idiots."
I patted her hand. "Let them be. You can't save people who don't want to be saved."
I was 49. I was wealthy. I was single.
I booked a one-way ticket to Europe.
For twenty years, I hadn't taken a real vacation. I had missed weddings, birthdays, and life, all for the hospital.
Now? The world was mine.
A month later, while sipping wine in a vineyard in Tuscany, I saw Serena on the cover of Vogue.
She looked stunning. But I noticed the heavy makeup on her cheek, and the strategic placement of a feather accessory covering the lesion.
Marketing accounts posted side-by-sides of her face and my old diagnosis, mocking me.
"Dr. Song said this was cancer. Look at her now! glowing!"
"Serena 1, Haters 0."
Some med students commented, "Actually, she should really get that checked again..."
They were swarmed by the hive.
"Stop spreading anxiety!"
"Are you Song's burner account?"
I clicked "Not Interested" and locked my phone.
You can't cure stupid.
6
Two weeks later, Holly texted me.
Holly: Dr. Song... Richard and Serena just went public.
She sent a photo. Paparazzi caught them kissing in Malibu.
I texted back: What’s the narrative?
Holly: They’re claiming 'True Love.' Check trending.
I downloaded X again.
#SerenaRichardLove #Soulmates #FinallyTogether
Serena posted a photo of a marriage license.
@SerenaVance: "Yes, Richard and I are together. We were childhood sweethearts, but life kept us apart. After 20 years, and his divorce, we reconnected. I want a family. I want love. We are legally married! @RichardEvans"
Richard quoted it: "No more regrets. @SerenaVance"
The comments were nauseatingly positive.
"So brave! Love wins!"
"Finally! They look so good together."
"That ex-wife was definitely the problem."
My name wasn't mentioned once. They had clearly hired a PR firm to scrub me from the narrative.
I clicked on a fan video of them walking down Rodeo Drive.
They were holding hands. But Serena looked... gray. She was thin. Too thin. And she kept coughing.
I zoomed in. The lesion on her face had grown. She had covered it with a heavy-duty bandage, trying to pass it off as a fashion statement.
I shook my head.
Richard, the great doctor, was blind. Or maybe he just didn't want to see it.
Metastasis. It was happening.
I grabbed my popcorn. The show was just starting.
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The day of our wedding, Beckett Thorne was diagnosed with psychogenic mutism. He ran, abandoning the ceremony, saying he couldn’t bear to drag me down.
Tears streaming, I held him, swearing I would love him forever, even if he never spoke another word.
Beckett’s pride was a fragile, towering thing, and from that day on, he rarely left our small apartment.
To keep us afloat and pay for his endless, specialist appointments, I worked three jobs. I bussed tables, scrubbed floors, and washed dishes in cold water even during my heaviest cycle. I never complained.
Until the day a raging fever finally brought me down. Semi-conscious in bed, I heard him on the phone.
“Five years, Gigi. I kept my promise. I haven’t said a single word to her, I’ve kept my identity a secret, and I haven’t spent a dime of my real money on her.”
“Isn’t it time for the agreement to end? Come home. I miss you.”
Georgina Sinclair. His childhood sweetheart.
I didn’t say a word. I simply booked a flight for the following week.
It’s alright, Beckett. This game ends now.
1
I wiped my eyes dry, repositioned myself in bed, and called his name, pretending I’d just woken up.
Beckett’s voice—which I had just heard speaking sweet nothings to another woman—fell instantly silent. He hurried to my side, kneeling. He saw the faint redness around my eyes, and his brow furrowed. He typed quickly on his phone and held the screen out: Why are you crying?
“I dreamed you spoke again.”
He shot up, kicking the old wooden stool beside him with a violence that made the cheap frame rattle. I knew I had pushed him. Any mention of his voice turned Beckett into a cornered, feral animal.
He looked down, his fingers flying across the screen before he thrust it at me: Sylvia, you’re tired of me, aren’t you?
If you think I’m a burden, you can walk out right now.
In the past, I would have thrown my arms around him, promising him I’d never leave. But this time, I felt only a crushing tide of weariness, swallowing me whole.
I turned away from him and murmured, “That’s not what I meant. I’m just tired. I’m going back to sleep.”
A strange, heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the loud, rattling hum of the ancient air conditioner. In the dark, I pulled out my phone and finalized the ticket purchase.
Then, on a sudden impulse, I searched his name: Beckett Thorne.
The results popped up immediately. Heir apparent of the Sampson Group.
Tears tracked silently into the pillow. I dug my fingernails into my palm, punishing myself for five years of blindness, of desperate, pathetic devotion.
I didn’t know whether to blame him for concealing it so expertly, or myself for loving so deeply, so blindly. Five years, and I hadn’t known a single truth.
I lay awake all night. Beckett never returned to bed. He stayed in the living room, chain-smoking and whispering those rehearsed declarations of love into his phone—all of them for Georgina.
He never talked to me like that. When we fought, he never comforted me. He only ever pushed me to the brink of hysterics, then calmly typed: Sylvia, I can’t speak. I can’t comfort you.
Even when I was shaking with the flu, delusional with fever, after he’d finally called 911, he still hadn’t uttered a sound. The EMTs had thought it was a prank call, and if not for our neighbor, I might have genuinely died that winter.
I gave a self-mocking laugh. It seemed my life was less valuable to him than Georgina’s amusement.
Suddenly, the fierce grip of my love felt weaker, brittle.
2
Beckett was up early. For once, he had made a table full of breakfast. He took out a tarnished metal lunchbox we hadn’t used in years, polished it bright, and covered it with little stickers.
It was as if nothing had happened the night before. He typed: You’re still sick. I made Pecan and Brown Sugar Oatmeal. I put in extra pecans, just the way you like them. Eat up. I’m going to meet a friend.
My spoon froze halfway to the bowl. My heart clenched, a sudden, sharp spasm.
I was severely allergic to pecans.
Georgina liked pecans. If I wasn’t mistaken, the “friend” he was meeting was at the airport, on the receiving end of his trip.
Seeing my hesitation, he gave my head a tender, patronizing rub. What’s wrong? Still no appetite?
I looked down, my voice muffled. “I’m fine. You should go.”
It didn’t matter anymore.
He smiled, then moved past me to retrieve something: a pair of stunning, charcoal cashmere gloves. He carefully wrapped them and tucked them into his bag.
I went numb. Weren’t those supposed to be my birthday present?
His phone buzzed on the table. Georgina.
Don’t forget my gloves! It’s freezing in Crestwood, and a woman’s hands are her second face!
My eyes burned with unshed tears.
Beckett snatched up his phone and made for the door. “Beckett,” I called out, stopping him. “Do you remember what today is?”
He rushed back, bending down to type: I know you’re upset and want me to stay. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.
With that, he walked out.
Tears dripped, one by one, into my bowl of pecan oatmeal. I finally gave in, burying my face in my hands.
It was my birthday. I’d seen those gloves and convinced myself they were for me. I had stared at them for days, afraid to even touch them. I had planned to give him a huge kiss when he presented them, and buy him that expensive goose-down jacket he needed for winter.
Everything had been a beautiful mirage.
I shouldn’t have hoped. In five years, he had never once remembered my birthday.
I held up my hands, covered in chapped, cracked skin from years of cold water and harsh soap. I knew a woman’s hands were her second face, but what choice did I have? If I didn’t wash those dishes, if I didn’t do that brutal labor, we wouldn’t eat, and he couldn’t see his doctors.
It wasn’t that Beckett was absentminded. His care and thoughtfulness were simply reserved for others.
Our meeting had been dramatic enough for a film. He was a popular radio host then, and he frequented the high-end restaurant where I worked. He claimed he’d fallen for me at first sight. I was deeply insecure and avoided him.
Until one night, a drunken client cornered me after my shift. Beckett rushed in and smashed a wine bottle over the man’s head. He spent the night in a police holding cell, emerging the next morning with a goofy smile. “As long as you’re okay,” he typed.
My parents died when I was young. For the first time in my life, someone had genuinely cared for me. A tight, protective string deep inside snapped.
I accepted his pursuit, and we quickly planned a wedding. Then, on the very day of the ceremony, Beckett was abruptly fired from his job and, hit by the shock, supposedly lost his ability to speak.
He fled the altar.
For the last five years, I had held no bitterness, believing he was a shattered man. But combined with last night’s phone call, I saw the truth: it had been a calculated performance, a game orchestrated by Beckett and Georgina.
The private amusement of the rich and bored, with me as the unsuspecting pawn.
I was morbidly curious about the nature of their “agreement.”
A fog thickened in my head. As I tipped the bowl of oatmeal into the trash, I noticed a discarded prescription bottle—Atenolol, for phobic speech disorders.
I laughed. A bitter, tearing sound. I laughed at my own foolishness, at the futility of my sacrifice.
I didn’t want to fight for him. I didn’t want to challenge this. If this was a game, I was withdrawing my piece.
Beckett, I don’t want to love you anymore.
3
My landlady called. “Sylvia, rents are going up around here. I’ve only held back because I pity you, dear. The lease expires tomorrow. You see…”
I tossed the empty oatmeal bowl into the sink. “I won’t be renewing the lease.”
The notification on my phone flashed: Tomorrow morning, 9:00 AM flight to the Opal Coast, the one place I’d always dreamed of visiting but never could afford.
This month’s paycheck was due. If I wasn’t paying for Beckett’s non-existent treatment, I had enough saved to make a start.
At 5:00 PM, I left for work as usual.
After changing into my uniform, my coworker frowned. “Sylvia, your boyfriend is here.”
“I thought you said he never left the apartment? How does he have so many friends?”
“Also, I thought you two were strapped for cash? How can he afford this kind of exclusive club?”
Her words felt like thousands of tiny needles pricking my skin.
Just then, the manager called out, “Sylvia, take a bottle of that pricey single-malt up to VIP Suite 8888.”
I seized the opportunity to escape, barely hearing my coworker’s hissed, “Hey, your boyfriend is in there!”
When I reached the suite, the door was slightly ajar. The room was loud and celebratory. Inside, a woman in a dazzling gown and a diamond tiara looked every inch the princess. That had to be Georgina.
The man in the center of the room, his eyes fixed on her, was singing “Happy Birthday.”
It was Georgina’s birthday, too.
His singing voice was soft, rich, and achingly beautiful.
If that man wasn’t Beckett, I might have genuinely felt happy for them.
When he finished, a round of applause broke out. “Thorne,” one of the men slurred, “you are a goddamn legend. To test your devotion, Gigi asks you to chase a waitress, you do it. She asks you to run from your own wedding, you do it. She asks you to fake being a mute pauper for five years, and you endure it.”
“Now that Gigi’s back, your true feelings are clear. When’s the wedding?”
“When are you finally dumping that chick?”
The agreement was far more sickening than I’d imagined. They had played with a human life, high and mighty. I was just the fool who took it seriously.
Beckett took a swig of scotch, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Not yet,” he said. “She’s so dependent on me, so completely in love. I just worry about what she’ll do.”
I smiled and wiped a solitary tear. That was the old me, Beckett.
Now, I despise you.
I knocked and entered. The room instantly fell silent. Someone nudged Beckett’s arm. As his gaze snagged on my uniform, a rare panic crossed his face.
I kept my eyes down, placing the bottle on the table. I spoke softly. “The scotch is here. Enjoy your evening. Call if you need anything else.”
Beckett rushed toward me. Our eyes met. He slowly reached up and traced the edge of my eye. “Crying?”
His first words to me in five years.
I turned my face away. “I’m fine. Just enjoy your party.”
I backed out and closed the door, leaving behind a room full of stunned, silent faces.
Beckett didn’t chase me.
The silence lasted maybe a second. Then the laughter and noise started up again.
I was, truly, insignificant. Not even a footnote.
4
Beckett and his friends partied late.
At 2:00 AM, my manager insisted I go home, concerned about my health.
I walked in the door, and Beckett followed right behind.
He was carrying a crushed, discarded cake box, still bearing smudges of pink icing. “It was Georgina’s birthday cake. They barely touched it, so I brought the rest home for you,” he typed.
I know you love sweets.
Was I supposed to commend him for his thoughtfulness?
He offered no words, no explanations. He seemed certain that no matter what he did, I would forgive him.
I thought about asking him if he remembered that it was my birthday, too, but then decided against it. It was pointless.
We wouldn’t see each other again anyway.
I murmured an “Okay,” and went to the closet to pack my clothes.
The small wardrobe held only a few items of mine: a thin, polyester coat and a couple of pilled sweaters. That’s how I had survived five winters.
What are you doing? he typed, suddenly behind me.
I stopped. Let it go. I’d buy new ones.
“Nothing. Just looking for a sweater.”
Beckett smiled and took my hand. Don’t worry about it. You have tomorrow off. I’ll take you out. We can buy a whole new wardrobe.
Before I could reply, his phone rang. I saw the caller ID: Georgina.
He turned away and answered, his voice dripping with affection. “You want to see me? Okay. I’ll be right there.”
He didn’t even try to hide it.
He walked toward the door without hesitation. “You should sleep. Don’t wait up.”
A sudden, overwhelming impulse seized me. “Beckett,” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Do you love me?”
His expression faltered. He only typed: What is wrong with you?
Tears burst forth. All the suppressed humiliation, the exhaustion, the pain—it erupted in great, wracking sobs. I clung to his arm, pleading over and over: “Beckett, just say you love me. Please. Just one time.”
Please, I thought. Just let me win this one thing.
But slowly, agonizingly, he pulled my hands off his arm. He typed: I’m sorry. I’ve just started talking again. I’m still struggling with certain sounds.
Then, he walked out without looking back.
I stayed on the floor, crying until my eyes were swollen shut and I had no more tears left.
When the sun finally rose, I gathered my documents. I took one last, long look at the small, suffocating apartment, and then I left.
8:30 AM. Thirty minutes until my flight. A message from Beckett popped up.
Where are you? Overtime again? I’m better now. You don’t have to work so hard.
I remember you love the sourdough toast from the bistro on East Street. I picked some up.
I didn’t reply. At 8:50, he sent a photo of a small, perfect chocolate cake.
You didn’t touch the cake last night. You probably didn’t like it. I bought you a new one.
Should I pick you up after your shift?
At 8:55 AM, I typed my reply.
Beckett, yesterday was my birthday, too.
I know about the agreement between you and Georgina. I know all your secrets.
We’re done. I’m leaving.
Then, I powered down the phone.
The plane began its slow taxi and takeoff. I looked out the window as a final tear slipped down my cheek.
Beckett, goodbye forever.
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My high-maintenance, aloof crush suddenly disappeared for a week.
Bored, I posted on my Instagram Story:
[Hired a hot D1 athlete. Insane body. Venmo me $50 for a pic of his abs.]
Unexpectedly, my crush saw it and bombarded me with texts:
[Accidental abs pic. live photo] [.] [Wrong chat, can’t unsend.] [The one you mentioned in your story.] [Transfer: $50,000.00] [Can you show me?] [If you like that type, I can do that too.] [Sophie, you’re not replying… are you playing with him? It’s okay, I can wait until you’re done.] [Can I… come over now?] [You can sample the goods first.]
1
A few hours later.
Me, seeing the messages: ?
I’ve had a crush on Ethan Sterling for three months.
This is the first time he’s sent me more than two words.
I’m flattered, but…
I like what type? Do what? Sample what?
Is this the same cold, quiet Ethan I know?
I held my phone in disbelief, re-reading the messages.
Finally, I lowered my screen brightness, made sure my privacy screen protector was working, and sneakily tapped on the live photo of Ethan’s abs.
I played it over and over again.
Good lord. What a specimen.
And what a…
Bargain.
Slurp.
The inability to unsend after a certain time is truly the greatest invention!
Stimulated by the eye candy, I finally connected the dots.
Ethan saw my joke about the D1 athlete?
But I was just memeing about KFC Crazy Thursday (or a similar viral trend).
He… is?
Wait, didn’t he say he never looks at social media?
A while back, I was obsessed with this Korean BBQ place. I mentioned it to Ethan, and he asked for the name.
Thinking I was slick, I replied: “Check my latest Insta story~ The grilled intestines are to die for! Highly recommend!”
Ethan replied instantly: “Sorry, I don’t usually check social media.”
I froze.
I clenched my fists, fingertips turning white.
The atmosphere got awkward. I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say.
But then, Ethan looked at me intently.
“Ms. Bennett, I mean… we could just go. My treat this time. You navigate?”
His voice was deep, questioning.
I felt like my soul was being hooked.
I stared at him blankly and nodded.
Just when I thought things were going well after that meal…
He ghosted me for a week.
Vanished from the face of the earth.
2
Ethan was video calling me.
Probably because I hadn’t replied for hours, breaking my habit of instant replies.
The moment it rang, I instinctively hit decline.
I couldn’t exactly tell him I muted his notifications because I was mad he disappeared.
Or that I spent the time ignoring him eating KFC with my brother.
But Ethan rarely initiates contact. And he sent “benefits.”
I quickly typed a lie to cover it up.
[Ah, I’m in a meeting at work, can’t video chat right now, sorry!] [Just saw your messages.] [QAQ Sorry, my story was a joke! Don’t take it seriously.] [I’ll treat you to dinner tonight!] [Hehe, returning the favor for the K-BBQ~]
As I was typing furiously, my brother, Leo, leaned over and peeked at my screen.
He burst out laughing.
“Nice. Another victim of the ‘Venmo me $50’ meme.”
“Who is this guy? Rich enough to drop 50k to see a D1 athlete?”
“From Dubai? LMAO, that’s wire fraud if he reports you…”
Leo’s eyes drifted to the contact name at the top of the chat:
[Aloof but Hot Future Husband].
His laughter cut off abruptly.
I moved with zero frame delay.
Before Leo could react, I slapped the back of his head.
“Leo! Bennett!”
Yes. Leo is my biological brother.
And the first victim of my meme.
This morning, I saw the trend on TikTok and thought it was hilarious.
So I copy-pasted: [Hired a hot D1 athlete. Insane body. Venmo me $50 for a pic of his abs.]
My brother was the first to Venmo me $50.
“I gotta see what kind of D1 demon makes you, the cheapskate queen, spend money. I need to broaden my horizons.”
So I brought him to KFC.
3
Leo rubbed his head, wincing.
“Sophie, that contact name is shameless.”
He sneered.
I was pissed. I grabbed him, ready to slap him again.
Leo spun around slippery as an eel.
He laughed and put me in a headlock from behind to stop me.
“Sis, how are you gonna catch a man like this?”
“So violent in public…”
I rolled my eyes and elbowed him.
“Should I learn from you? Getting hit on by a hundred dudes a day?”
“Leo, get your paws off me…”
Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine.
I looked up instinctively through the glass window.
I froze.
Ethan stood there, cold brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.
His gaze was intense, locked onto me and Leo.
The moment our eyes met, time paused.
Why is Ethan here?!
When did he get here?!
I just lied about being in a meeting.
And now I’m caught red-handed by my crush?!
In the time it took me to panic, Ethan pushed the door open and strode towards us.
“Ms. Bennett, just finished your meeting?”
I didn’t have time to think.
“Yes, yes, just finished. Grabbed some lunch.”
Then I remembered.
Ethan knows where I work.
But right now… I’m at the KFC near my apartment.
My eyelid twitched uncontrollably.
I’m cooked.
Ethan paused. His gaze swept coldly over Leo, then he asked in a low voice:
“And this is… your colleague?”
My heart rate spiked. I elbowed Leo again, guilty for no reason.
Just as I was about to introduce him: “He is…”
Leo didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned into my ear and whispered:
“Men… I understand them. Let me be your wingman. You’re welcome.”
4
Leo’s hand slid from my shoulder to link arms with me intimately.
“Sister, who is he?”
Leo asked in a fake, affected voice.
He didn’t forget to shoot Ethan a provocative look.
Me: …
Thanks, I hate it.
Ethan’s expression froze.
His gaze slowly lowered to Leo’s hand on my arm.
“This… gentleman. Please have some self-respect in public.”
Ethan spoke coldly, his deep voice icy.
I felt like I was being stabbed in the back.
What is this weird “caught cheating” atmosphere?!
It’s noon. KFC is packed. People were staring.
Especially after Ethan’s comment.
I forced a stiff smile and pinched Leo hard on his back.
“Bro, ther, act normal. Let go,” I hissed.
Leo grimaced in pain. He tsked and reluctantly let go.
I quickly changed the subject, introducing them awkwardly:
“Ethan Sterling.”
I pointed at Leo, instinctively omitting his last name.
“…Leo.”
“Oh, I have to get back to work. Maybe we chat later?”
Actually, I had the day off after a night shift. But with this brat Leo causing trouble, I didn’t dare let him speak.
I didn’t feel like he was helping; I felt doomed.
Leo acted like he didn’t hear me.
He leaned in “affectionately” and whispered loudly:
“Sister, your friend is so mean…”
A fleeting darkness flashed in Ethan’s eyes.
I caught a glimpse of it.
Ethan lowered his lashes slowly. When he looked up again, his expression was normal.
He ignored Leo and turned to me:
“Sophie, didn’t you ask me to dinner?”
Ethan’s voice was hoarse, with a hint of a tremor.
As if afraid I’d interrupt or reject him, he spoke quickly:
“If you… are busy with him, I can go back and wait for your message.”
I inexplicably heard a pitiful tone in his voice.
Ethan is acting weird today.
This is the first time he’s called me “Sophie.”
Very different from his usual aloof self.
But… I kinda like it.
I want him even more now.
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I walked out on my own wedding day, frantic. I’d just gotten the call: my mother had been in a terrible car accident.
But when I reached the hospital, she was fine. Unscathed. And my bank account had an extra ten million dollars—a deposit from my soon-to-be father-in-law.
Camilla Blackwood dragged me back to her Hamptons estate, her manicured fingers pinching my chin, her laugh a cold, brittle thing. “Ten million is what it cost to buy off my little traitor, then?”
From that night on, she brought different men home, night after night. I was a captive in the guest suite, forced to listen to the sounds of her retribution echoing through the wall.
It lasted for three years. Until I found myself retching into the porcelain, a medical report confirming what my gut already knew: a terminal diagnosis. I watched the news from the bathroom floor—a live feed of Camilla on her private island, celebrating the birthday of A-list actor Ryan Foster, with drones spelling out a giant heart in the night sky.
I steadied myself against the vanity and called her. “I want a divorce,” I rasped.
Her reply was immediate and sharp. “Fine. But first, you pay back that ten million dollars. With interest.”
1
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles went white, a heavy silence settling in.
“Well, Jasper?” Camilla’s voice crackled, impatience barely veiled. “Do you have the ten million ready?”
“Oh, Cam, is this your ‘husband’?” A man’s light, mocking voice cut through. “The guy who checks his pockets for fifty bucks before he buys coffee? Where’s he going to find ten million?”
Camilla’s tone was pure, cutting mockery.
“Hear that? No money, no divorce. You’re stuck, Jasper.”
Her words were like shards of ice, shattering the last fragments of my sanity. Since the disastrous non-wedding, Camilla had kept me a prisoner in this gilded cage of a marriage, and revenge had become her only sport.
I’d stay up making her late-night detox smoothies, only for her to pour the drink down the sink in front of her friends. Her expression was one of cool disdain.
“An amenity bought for ten million? I find the service rather distasteful.”
Even when she allowed me into her bed, her last words, as she pulled away, were always cold.
“Ten thousand dollars a pop, deducted from your account. Satisfied?”
Gathering every ounce of courage, I reached for her sleeve. “The day of the wedding, I actually—”
She yanked her arm free, her eyes two chips of frozen glass.
“Still making up stories? Is the next one going to be that you’ve got a terminal illness?”
“You cursed your own mother with a car crash for money, Jasper. What lie are you incapable of telling?”
Her companion, the one with the snide voice, wrapped an arm around her and chuckled.
“Cam, even I stopped using that one in middle school.”
She grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze, her words dropping like stones.
“Jasper Lowe, is there one single, solitary truth that’s ever passed your lips?”
2
My heart sank into a well of absolute despair.
I looked at the massive, unusable number sitting in my banking app, my fingertips cold. I hadn’t touched a single cent of that ten million since my father-in-law deposited it.
“I haven’t spent any of it, Camilla,” I explained into the phone, my voice raw and brittle.
“Haven’t spent it?” She scoffed. “Jasper Lowe, why did you take it, then? Who are you trying to fool now? The account’s monthly activity is zero because you moved it already, didn’t you?”
“You forcefully claimed half of it under the pretense of joint marital assets!” I was trembling. “The remaining five million—”
That remaining five million had been frozen by Jonathan Blackwood, making it impossible for me to pay Camilla back.
“What, you can’t access it?” Her voice was laced with derision. “Or you just don’t want to? I haven’t forgotten the look on your face when you abandoned me at the altar for cash, Jasper. Now you want to play the martyr, pretending you’re morally above it?”
The line went dead, the click of the disconnect jarringly final.
I slid down the cold tile wall, collapsing onto the floor.
Camilla had been unbelievably stingy post-marriage, barely providing enough for basic living. I had to report every expense over a hundred dollars, subjecting it to the ruthless scrutiny of her secretary.
The remaining five million was an astronomical figure to me. I had no idea how I would ever repay it.
The phone’s busy signal buzzed for a long time before I finally lowered the hot device.
A crushing sense of powerlessness enveloped me.
Everyone in the city believed I was the Cinderella story come true—the fortunate Mr. Lowe who had married into the Blackwood dynasty.
But no one knew this little songbird in a golden cage wasn’t even allowed to flutter his wings.
Camilla had seized all my identification, locking me in this villa. She’d promised she wouldn’t give me another chance to escape.
As for money… she allotted me only enough for subsistence, with every dime monitored.
Loud, exaggerated gasps of admiration drifted up from the living room below.
The news was still broadcasting the show. The brilliant, heart-shaped drone formation dominated the night sky.
“Oh my God, Cam is so romantic! I heard she bought him that island as a birthday gift!”
“Now that’s true love, isn’t it? Dropping millions just for a movie star’s smile.”
“Ugh, I bet the guy upstairs couldn’t even afford the catering for that party, let alone the drone show.”
“Of course not. A man who runs off for ten million? What does he have besides a pretty face? He’s not even in the same league as Ryan Foster.”
3
I used to be the subject of a real-life fairy tale.
Camilla was the sole heir to Blackwood Industries, worth billions, proud and untouchable.
I was just a kid raised by a single mother from a working-class background.
We were worlds apart.
Yet, this woman, this untouchable queen, had never shown a hint of contempt when she found out I was working late shifts at a convenience store to help my mom.
The very next day, she quietly tucked a homemade lunchbox into my backpack, with a note:
“Don’t work on an empty stomach.”
Later, when my mother needed surgery, Camilla secretly settled every bill.
When I found out, I was overwhelmed and speechless. She simply wiped the tears from my face, pressed her forehead against mine, and whispered:
“Jasper, you don’t have to carry the world alone anymore. From now on, you have me.”
In that moment, the sincerity and tenderness in her eyes made me believe the fairy tale was real.
Until the wedding.
In my tuxedo, waiting in the groom’s suite, I got the call from the hospital: Mom was gravely injured.
My mind went blank. I ran out, frantic, without a word to Camilla, who was already walking down the aisle.
When I burst into the hospital, I found my mother sitting up, perfectly fine, and my father-in-law, Jonathan Blackwood, standing there with a grim smile.
He shoved a transfer confirmation slip into my hand, his voice like chipped granite.
“Ten million. It’s the price for you to disappear. Remember, if you breathe one word of this to Camilla… next time, the accident won’t be a staged one.”
I felt like I’d been plunged into a freezing lake.
That’s when Camilla, who had come running after me, walked in. She saw me, holding the receipt, standing next to my perfectly healthy mother.
The light in her eyes went out.
Later, she defied her entire family, dragging me back with a nearly obsessive zeal, though her eyes were now filled only with hatred.
“Jasper Lowe, is money really all you love?”
I wanted to explain, but Jonathan’s cold threat echoed in my head.
I bit my lip until it bled, swallowing every word of explanation, every ounce of my humiliation, along with that ten-million-dollar anchor.
But seeing the tabloids—Camilla and the actor Ryan Foster embracing on a private beach—the self-deception finally shattered.
The look of utter adoration in her eyes in the photo was identical to the one she’d once reserved for me.
My hands trembling, I waited for her to return in the dead of night and grabbed her sleeve.
“Camilla…” My voice was a choked whisper. “Let’s not do this, please. Don’t make me live like a joke.”
She paused, her eyes slowly descending to my white-knuckled grip, then rising to my face. She looked at me like I was an irrelevant object.
“A joke? Jasper, the moment you ran off for ten million at the altar, you became the biggest joke in the city.”
She leaned in, her breath cold against my ear.
“A commodity with a price tag doesn’t get to negotiate terms with me. Your only value now is to stay right here and pay for your choice.”
Since that day, the rumors of Camilla and Ryan had become inescapable.
A churning wave of nausea rose in my throat. I stumbled into the bathroom, dry-heaving violently, nothing coming up.
The feeling of suffocation was overwhelming. I needed air.
I put a hand against the wall and walked toward the front door. My fingers had just brushed the handle when two large, dark-suited bodyguards materialized in front of me.
“Sir, Mrs. Blackwood gave strict instructions. You are not to leave the premises while she is away.”
I clenched my hands, my voice tight. “I just want to walk in the garden.”
The bodyguard’s face was impassive. “Apologies, Sir. Mrs. Blackwood’s order permits no form of exit without her express permission.”
4
I stood frozen in the foyer, watching the sliver of sunlight cut by the doorframe, a profound emptiness consuming me.
I remembered how Camilla used to take me everywhere.
Under the vast, silent stars of the Southwestern desert, she promised we’d see the world.
In the morning mist by the coast, she promised me limitless freedom.
Even outside my shabby childhood home, she seriously planned a trip for my mother and me to see the Northern Lights.
On our one-year anniversary, Camilla took me on a road trip across the Great Plains.
Huddled against me under the endless night sky, she pointed to the horizon and whispered:
“Jasper, see how big the world is? You can go anywhere you want. I want you to be my free little prince forever.”
But now, she’d trapped me in this villa, swearing she would never let me escape again.
I rushed back to the bathroom, another wave of retching, my throat burning, but still nothing.
“Uncle Jasper?” A clear voice broke through the panic.
Nolan, Camilla’s young nephew, stood at the door, his eyes filled with worry. He was staying for the summer—the only source of warmth in this cold house.
“Come with me.” He took my hand and led me through the hallway to the balcony of his room.
As the glass door slid open, the night air, mixed with the scent of pine and grass, rushed in. I inhaled greedily, gasping, tears streaming down my face, uncontrolled.
Nolan quietly handed me a tissue.
“Uncle Jasper, I know what they say… but I don’t believe you’re like that. Is there some kind of mistake between you and Aunt Cam? I’ve seen the photo in her study drawer—the one from the Plains. The way she looked at you… she can’t fake that.”
A lump formed in my throat. A teenager understood this simple truth, but Camilla refused to see it.
Sometime after midnight, the sound of the front gate opening jolted me awake.
A minute later, the unmistakable sounds of drunken laughter, low moans, and whispered exchanges drifted from the master suite next door. It lasted until dawn.
The next morning, I went downstairs to find Camilla and Ryan eating breakfast in the sunlit dining room.
She was spreading jam on his toast, her lips curled into a gentle smile I hadn’t seen in years.
Normally, her “guests” were gone before sunrise. This was the first time she’d kept a man for breakfast.
Ryan looked up and saw me, a smug smirk curving his thin lips.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Lowe. I’ve heard so much. Did you catch the drone show last night, at home? Pity. It was truly stunning in person.”
I ignored him, walking straight to Camilla, and placing the folded divorce papers next to her hand.
Ryan faked surprise. “A divorce, Mr. Lowe? But I thought you owed Cam a rather large sum of money?”
I looked into Camilla’s deep, emotionless eyes. Every word was deliberate.
“I will pay the money back. In whatever way I can.”
Camilla slowly set down her knife and fork.
After a long pause, she spoke, her voice distant.
“Fine. Starting today, I will grant you three hours of unsupervised time outside. Let’s see how you intend to repay the debt.”
“But if you fail to repay it, don’t ever dream of freedom.”
5
I started looking for work, but the power of the Blackwood name was absolute. No company dared to hire me.
I knew Camilla was trying to break me.
I picked up a broom and became a municipal street cleaner.
My meager wages were a drop in the ocean compared to the “debt,” but three hours of freedom a day—even sweeping the sidewalk—was better than permanent captivity.
Passersby stared, their gazes a mix of shock, contempt, and morbid pleasure. Their whispers followed me like an infection.
“Look! It really is Mr. Lowe! Why’s he sweeping the street? Hasn’t he drained Blackwood dry yet?!”
“Ugh, ‘Mr. Lowe’ my foot. Just a discarded trophy husband. That’s what you get for betraying Cam.”
“Ran off for ten million, now he’s paying the price. Good for him!”
“Seriously, he can’t even hold a candle to Ryan Foster.”
I kept my head down, my spine straight, my nails digging into the broom handle.
It doesn’t matter. At least the air out here was moving.
Just then, the screech of an engine tore through the air.
I looked up just as a bright blue McLaren jumped the curb onto the sidewalk.
CRASH—!
The car slammed into me, knocking me hard to the ground.
A blinding pain shot up my right leg, and the broom clattered away.
I gasped, a faint, worrying ache blooming in my abdomen.
Ryan stumbled out of the car, reeking of alcohol. Perhaps because I was wearing a generic uniform, he didn’t immediately recognize me.
“Watch where you’re going, garbage man! Trying to scam me, are you? Targeting my car?” His voice was grating.
I gritted my teeth, trying to push myself up. “You… you drove onto the sidewalk.”
“Bullshit!” He spat, and three or four stylishly dressed friends spilled out of the car, immediately crowding around and joining the attack.
“Foster, don’t waste your breath on a street rat. He’s clearly a professional fraud artist!”
“Desperate for cash, huh? Trying to pull a big one?”
The insults rained down like dirty water.
“You hit me. You have to take responsibility,” I managed.
Ryan threw his head back, laughing hysterically.
“Responsibility? Do you know who my wife is? You think you can blackmail me?”
He pulled out his phone, his voice instantly turning into a pathetic whine.
“Baby—! Come quick! Some crazy man deliberately hit my car and is yelling at me! It’s on my usual street, I’m so scared…”
Camilla arrived quickly.
I remembered months ago when I’d had a fever so high I was barely conscious. I’d managed to call her, but all I got was a clinical busy signal, followed by the sound of her and another man in the room next door later that night.
Her gaze landed first on Ryan. She rushed to him, checking him for injuries. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tight with a concern I hadn’t heard in ages.
Only then did she turn her attention to me—battered, bruised, and sitting in the dirt.
Her eyes were calm, devoid of expression, as if looking at a piece of roadside trash.
“What happened?” Her tone was coolly distant.
“He intentionally walked into my car, then demanded money!” Ryan nestled into her embrace.
I bit my lip, refusing to speak, instead pointing to my bleeding arm and scraped knees, and then to the clearly illegal position of the sports car.
Her gaze paused on my wounds for a fraction of a second, so quickly I thought I imagined it.
“Jasper Lowe, apologize.”
6
Ryan recognized me then, his pupils shrinking, quickly replaced by a smug grin.
“He hit me!” I refused.
“I said, apologize.” Her voice deepened, and the air around us immediately solidified.
“I won’t!”
Camilla seemed momentarily enraged, then a cold smile touched her lips.
She took two steps forward, leaned down, and spoke one word at a time.
“You want a divorce, don’t you?”
My heart stopped.
She straightened up, her voice ringing clearly across the shocked onlookers.
“Apologize to Ryan and his friends. Three deep bows, head to the pavement, for each of them. Do that, and I’ll sign the papers immediately.”
The world went silent.
She was using the one thing I desperately wanted to crush the last vestige of my dignity.
The memory of the disconnected fever-call screamed in my ears.
She wasn’t going to show me mercy. She hadn’t for a long time.
I closed my eyes, inhaling the freezing air. When I opened them, only a dead emptiness remained.
I didn’t look at anyone. I braced my hands against the filthy asphalt, dragging my injured leg, and slowly, deliberately, bent my spine.
The moment my forehead touched the rough pavement, a fresh wave of jeers and whistles erupted around me.
The first bow: for the betrayal purchased by ten million dollars.
The second bow: for my love and dignity ground into the dust.
The third bow: for all the pathetic, remaining illusions I held onto.
Each forced bend was like a thousand-pound hammer striking my back.
When the third bow was complete, I stayed there, forehead pressed to the ground, tears silently mixing with the dirt and blood.
“That’s enough,” she said, two frigid words. She didn’t spare me another glance, turning to wrap an arm around Ryan. Her tone softened instantly. “Feel better now, darling? Let’s go.”
Before leaving, Ryan exchanged a meaningful glance with his friends.
I was still kneeling, the dust and blood a sticky mask on my face. My stomach was cramping violently, but my mind felt only the desolate cold of the Arctic.
Suddenly, several shadows, reeking of stale alcohol and cheap cologne, loomed over me.
It was Ryan’s group of “friends.”
“Lowe, that was a good thump,” the woman with the gold chain slurred, squatting down. “Camilla doesn’t want you anymore. How about us girls take care of you?”
Another, with a cheap peroxide perm, leaned close. “Want to go to the hospital? We can take you. But you’ll have to show us how grateful you are…”
They exchanged vulgar smiles, dragging me toward a dark, secluded alley, surrounding me completely, blocking out the last of the light.
Late that night, Camilla’s face was chalk-white as she turned on the house manager.
“It’s hours past his three-hour limit! Where is he? What kind of job are you people doing?”
The manager lowered his head. “We… we assumed, since you agreed to sign the divorce papers, that you no longer required us to restrict Mr. Lowe’s movements…”
“You fool!” She violently slammed her wine glass down. Before she could erupt, her phone buzzed with a news alert.
The headline was stark: “Municipal Worker Found Dead After Violent Assault at 3:28 AM…”
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The week before New Year’s Eve, I realized my boyfriend had become a different person. It wasn’t just his habits that had changed; he seemed more mature, more grounded.
Even his hobbies were different. He was suddenly into artisanal teas and wellness, no longer obsessed with extreme sports.
In bed, he was… reserved. Almost disciplined. Never greedy.
I thought he’d finally grown up, that he was ready to settle down with me and build a future, done with the usual parade of party girls.
But then I came home early to surprise him for his birthday and overheard him on the phone.
“Bro, just keep Aria steady for a little while longer. I’ll be back in a bit. Thanks for covering for me.”
My boyfriend’s voice replied, “It’s fine. By the way, what brand of condoms do you usually use? I think Aria is allergic to everything I’ve tried.”
Hearing that, my breath hitched. So, the changes weren’t my imagination. Without me knowing, my boyfriend’s twin brother had quietly clocked in for his shift.
1.
The voice on the other end—Declan’s voice—stuttered. “Bro, why are you asking that? We don’t usually use them. She’s on the pill.”
“Just curious,” Rhys, the man in my apartment, replied.
“Is she giving you a hard time? Women are like that, always needy. Just ignore her. Give her the cold shoulder for a few days, and she’ll fall in line.” Even though Declan was confident his brother wouldn’t be interested in me, a hint of unease crept into his voice. “Bro, maybe you should move out. The less you see her, the better. We can just coordinate online. Sloane insisted I take this trip with her, and we’re still on the road.”
Rhys’s voice was low. “I know.”
I stood in the shadows, holding my breath. So, Declan was on a trip with Sloane.
It was almost funny. They swore there was nothing between them, that they were just “best friends.” Yet he would rather have his twin brother live alone with his girlfriend than miss a secret vacation with Sloane.
The truth of it left my mind a blank slate. My first instinct was to flee, but in my haste, I bumped into the robotic vacuum cleaner on the floor.
The living room light flicked on.
Rhys’s eyes found me instantly.
My heart leaped into my throat. I forced myself to look at him, to really observe him. He was different from Declan. Rhys’s gaze was deep, unreadable. Declan’s eyes always had a mischievous glint, constantly calculating his next lie.
Just as I thought he was about to blow his cover, he simply said, “Is that cake for me?”
I lifted the box. Declan’s name was written on it in frosted icing.
Before I could speak, he took it from my hands. “Thank you. I love it. I almost forgot it was my birthday.”
Of course. They were twins. It was his birthday, too.
“Happy birthday,” I heard myself say.
Rhys closed the distance between us and wrapped his arms around my rigid body, his lips gently brushing against mine.
I took a sharp breath. I didn’t know when they’d switched, but in the time since, he and I had done… everything.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out his gift.
“For you.”
It was a tie, a ridiculously expensive one. The color was bright, flashy—a color Declan loved, but one I doubted Rhys would ever choose for himself.
Yet he opened it without a change in expression, took my hand, and guided me to tie it around his neck. His large hand rested on the small of my back, his touch sending shivers through me as his eyes darkened with a familiar hunger.
“…”
Wait, wasn’t this the guy who was into “wellness” and self-restraint?
The next thing I knew, he was carrying me into the bedroom, his kisses peppering my skin. He used the new tie to gently bind my wrists above my head. I started to struggle, but his next words stopped me cold.
“I took one of your birth control pills. So this time, you won’t have a reaction.”
2.
The first time I suspected something was wrong with “Declan” was when he suddenly started using condoms. That was completely out of character.
It started as a nagging suspicion, but then things got worse. Sex, which had always been great, suddenly became painful.
I picked a huge fight with him over it. The next morning, I woke up covered in a painful, swollen rash. I was convinced he’d done something weird and stormed into his office to confront him.
It was only later that I found out I was allergic to the latex.
After that, “Declan” didn’t touch me for a week. He was incredibly attentive, personally applying cream to the rash. This pampered rich boy, who had never set foot in a kitchen, actually started cooking for me. The day I saw him making me soup, I was genuinely terrified. In all my years with the real Declan, he’d never so much as boiled water.
At the time, I thought it was a sign he was finally changing, the playboy settling down. I never imagined the man himself wasn’t the original model.
Once the rash cleared up, Rhys tried a different type of condom.
I had another allergic reaction, though milder this time. The look on his face when he saw the rash was thunderous. I braced myself for an outburst, but instead, he just said, “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.”
I was speechless. In all my time being mistreated by the arrogant real Declan, I had never once heard him apologize.
“It’s… it’s okay…”
Rhys pulled me into a tender embrace, his lips finding mine. I melted into the kiss, my head spinning. At the same time, a thought drifted through my mind: When did Declan get so good at kissing?
It wasn’t that he was better, just… gentler. The real Declan used to bite. Especially my collarbone. It hurt like hell.
Day by day, Rhys’s every action drew me in more. On weekends, he no longer disappeared to clubs with his “girlfriends.” Instead, he’d hold me in his lap and teach me calligraphy, his warm breath tickling my ear as he guided my hand. His voice was a low murmur that made my heart pound.
No! If this continues, I’m going to actually fall for him.
Loving the real Declan was a losing game. It was all about his money and his face, nothing more.
But this man seemed determined to make me fall. When I was working, he’d massage my shoulders. When I was relaxing, he’d hold me close. Even in bed, he was never forceful. Afterwards, no matter how late it was, he would gently clean me up.
I was so overwhelmed by the change that I had to debrief with my friends. Their verdict was unanimous.
“He’s in love with you! He wants to marry you!”
Hearing that, I’ll admit, I was thrilled. But was it really possible? Could a serial cheater, a man who flirted with anything that moved, truly change his ways?
Now I knew the answer. No. Not only would he not change, he’d literally sell his own girlfriend out.
The man who had been so good to me was Rhys.
Declan’s twin brother.
A bitter taste filled my mouth. But hey, if this was his choice, who was I to complain?
3.
The next morning, I woke up in Rhys’s arms, our naked skin pressed together. His perfectly sculpted chest was right under my palm. I swallowed hard.
Rhys, his eyes still closed, nuzzled my cheek. “You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. “Hungry?”
As if on cue, my stomach growled.
A smile touched Rhys’s lips. He sat up, wrapped me in the duvet, and scooped me into his arms. I looped my arms around his neck. “Baby, will you love me forever?” I cooed, playing the part.
He was a natural liar, not even blinking. “Of course I will.”
He carried me to the bathroom, brushed my teeth for me, and dressed me. Breakfast, a lavish spread he’d had delivered, was already waiting.
I sat at the table, watching him. “Declan, you know, you’ve changed a lot lately.”
His fingers froze for a split second. “Oh? How so? Changed in a way you like better?” he asked, mimicking Declan’s playful tone, his eyes dancing.
It was the same face, but the feeling was completely different.
“You were never this gentle before.”
His long eyelashes fluttered. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my wrist. “Baby, I just want to make things better for you.”
You can’t provoke a man, especially by comparing him to another. The moment I put my fork down, he swept me up and carried me back to the bedroom. If it weren’t for the fact that his hand was already sliding under my shirt, his serious expression might have convinced me he had business to attend to.
“Is this better, or was it better before?” he asked, his voice strained.
I closed my eyes, feigning concentration. “Now is better, definitely better.”
His hand tightened on my waist, a drop of sweat falling from his forehead onto my cheek.
When it was over, I lay in bed, scrolling on my phone. Rhys went to take a shower.
His phone, left on the nightstand, buzzed. A message from Declan popped up on the screen.
[Bro, how are things with Aria? Has she suspected anything?]
[Bro, I’ll try to be back soon. I got you a gift.]
Below it was a picture. Two hands, Declan’s and Sloane’s, pressed together, holding a pink crystal rose.
[Bro, isn’t this crystal gorgeous? If you like it, I’ll bring one back for you.]
Declan’s hands were identical to Rhys’s, right down to the lines on his palm.
A wicked smile spread across my face. I tapped out a reply.
[Who’s this? My boyfriend’s in the shower.]
There was a long pause from the other end.
A second later, the bathroom door flew open. Rhys emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist. He saw me with his phone and rushed over.
“Someone keeps calling you ‘bro’,” I said innocently. “Who is he?”
Rhys masked the complex emotions in his eyes. “He’s the neighbor’s kid.”
I suppressed a laugh. I wondered how Declan would feel knowing his own brother had demoted him to the kid next door.
“He said he’s bringing you a gift. That crystal is really pretty.”
Rhys pulled me into a hug, kissing my cheek. “I’ll buy you one, honey.”
And as he held me, I slipped the tiny listening device I’d bought to catch Declan cheating into his pocket. The deal had been fifty grand for every time I caught him.
The phone in Rhys’s hand started buzzing incessantly.
I guessed Declan was starting to panic. A few seconds later, it rang. A call.
Rhys pulled away. “I’ve got to take this. You get some rest.”
I watched him go, the smile slowly fading from my eyes.
4.
“Bro, what are you and Aria doing? Why did she just message me from your phone?”
Out in the hallway, Rhys listened to Declan’s suspicious tone, his own voice perfectly calm. “My clothes were dirty, so I was taking a shower.”
Declan audibly relaxed. “Oh, is that it? Good. I was thinking of cutting the trip short anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Rhys didn’t say anything.
Declan suddenly sounded anxious. “Bro, I think I’m done playing around. Being out here made me realize how good Aria is. You’d be okay with me marrying her, right?” The question was laced with a desperate, thinly veiled attempt to gauge Rhys’s feelings.
“Of course. If that’s what you both want.”
Declan let out a huge sigh of relief. What was he thinking? Rhys had seen all kinds of women; why would he ever be interested in a woman his own brother had slept with? He felt foolish for even suspecting him. After a few more pleasantries, Declan made an excuse and hung up.
When Rhys came back, I found an opportunity to retrieve the bug.
“Declan, what happened?” I asked, my face a mask of innocence. “You look so preoccupied.”
Rhys cupped my face, his voice low. “Aria, will you stay with me forever?”
“Of course I will.”
“And do you like me now, or the way I was before?” he pressed, even though he’d asked the same question just three hours ago.
My lips curved into a small smile. “I like them both.”
I wasn’t about to give him a straight answer. If Rhys decided this game was over, I could still go back to Declan. But if he wanted to keep playing, the pressure was all on him.
Just as I predicted, my answer left him looking lost. He pulled me into a tight hug, as if clutching something he was about to lose. The moment was charged with a desperate longing, and soon we were kissing again, a tangle of limbs and soft murmurs. He unzipped my dress, his body pressing me down onto the bed.
But the next second, the doorbell rang.
The carefully constructed atmosphere shattered.
This apartment was a gift from Declan. No one else would just show up unannounced. There was only one possibility.
Declan was back. Ahead of schedule.
And the room, littered with the evidence of our afternoon, was not fit for company.
I looked up at Rhys. He swallowed hard. “I’ll get it.”
Sooner or later, this had to happen.
He opened the door. Declan stood there, still in his hiking gear. The smile on his face vanished the moment he saw the rose petals scattered across the floor.
I looked straight at him. “Oh, you must be Declan’s brother,” I said sweetly. “Can I help you?”
I knew Declan had a twin.
A pained, forced smile stretched across Declan’s face, but his eyes burned with rage. Aria hadn’t even recognized him. Did he mean anything to her at all?
“I’m here to see him,” Declan ground out, his gaze fixed on Rhys. “We need to talk. Outside.” His fists were clenched at his sides.
I smiled, adding more fuel to the fire. I wrapped my arms around Rhys’s arm and kissed his cheek. “Honey, come back soon. I’ll be waiting for you.”
In less than a second, Rhys shoved me away.
Declan’s fist connected with his face.
I let out a theatrical shriek. “What are you doing? Don’t hit my boyfriend!”
🌟 Continue the story here
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Six years after breaking up with Julian Thorne, I died from an illness caused by overworking, leaving behind our five-year-old daughter.
Julian, devastated, handled my funeral.
He raised our daughter with spoiling love and care.
But our daughter always resented him for my death and even ran away from home with a gold-digger boyfriend.
The System had no choice but to recall me.
“Every time she causes trouble, she uses you, her dead mother, as a shield.”
“Hurry back and set her straight.”
“Your stay is limited, so hurry up.”
1
The living room was a mess.
Porcelain shards littered the floor, and tea stains spread across the carpet.
The girl in the center was still looking for things to smash.
Julian stood in the entryway.
His back slightly bent, eyelids lowered, taking a deep breath.
“Are you done venting?”
He said.
“Put on your shoes, don’t cut your feet. I’ll have someone clean up.”
The girl’s face visibly flushed red again.
“I don’t need you to care! What right do you have to manage me!”
“Because I am your biological father.”
“You didn’t even marry my mom, who recognizes you?”
“…That guy is no good. He can’t give you a good life.”
“Hilarious. You were bankrupt when you were with my mom. Now you look down on others?”
“I just didn’t have money back then, not lack of ability.”
“Right, you’re capable. Did she enjoy a day of blessing from you?”
Silence fell.
Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed several times.
Head lowered, he adjusted his cuffs helplessly.
The girl stepped over the shards and ran upstairs.
Stopped at the turn of the stairs.
Maliciously, she spoke again.
“My mom broke up with you even when she was pregnant. How good could you be?”
Julian raised his bloodshot eyes.
“I didn’t know she was pregnant with you!”
“If you knew, you wouldn’t have borrowed money to invest?”
She enunciated every word.
“Stop pretending to be affectionate.”
The servants were silent as cicadas in winter.
Julian walked to the center of the living room and sat on the sofa.
Arms resting on his knees, looking around at the mess.
Bullet comments flashed before my eyes.
[Bringing up the past as soon as they argue, Julian really has no moves left.]
[Lily knows exactly where to stab to hurt the most.]
[With this mental state, I feel she has a psychological disorder.]
[Normal. Julian was almost breaking down when he collected the heroine’s body. Lily was only five then, watching her own mom vomit blood and die, definitely traumatized.]
[Where’s the heroine? Didn’t they say she’s resurrected? Why haven’t I seen anyone?]
[Heard she’s still a ghost.]
[Reshaping the body takes time, just wait.]
So much happened in these eleven years.
A massive amount of information impacted my mind.
I recalled the girl just now in disbelief.
Silver hair, tube top, low-rise cargo pants.
Obvious lip piercing, and seemed to have a tattoo on her waist.
Sixteen years old?
My daughter?
Lily Thorne, you really need a slap in the face.
The System ran back and forth in my mind.
“She just got caught running away from home with a gold-digger boyfriend.”
“Luckily she wasn’t tricked into pregnancy.”
“If she got pregnant, this NPC would completely collapse. My points would be deducted to zero!”
“Think of a way to straighten her out. My year-end bonus depends on you!”
Making it hard for a ghost?
I didn’t say a word.
Floated to Julian’s side and sat down.
Sixteen or seventeen years have passed since we broke up.
You’re old.
I said in my heart.
Didn’t expect you to still be so handsome in your forties.
Indeed, an old Ferrari is still a Ferrari.
Julian pressed his brow.
Took out his wallet and pulled a photo halfway out.
…
I was slightly stunned.
It was a two-inch ID photo with a blue background.
Used for submitting resumes after graduation.
Wearing a suit from the photo shop.
Smile stiff, photoshopped deadly white.
Consciousness dissipated for too long; I almost forgot what I looked like when I was young.
I thought it was ugly and should have disposed of the unused ones.
Don’t know where this one came from.
Over the years, the photo had blurred a lot.
Only the eyebrows and mouth were still somewhat clear.
Julian touched the face in my photo.
The phone suddenly popped up a call.
He slowly put away the wallet and calmly started talking about business.
I floated up and circled him a few times.
Things in the past had their difficulties.
He wasn’t wrong, and neither was I.
I stopped blaming him long ago.
2
Julian came from a Hong Kong merchant family.
He was a rich young master when he was young.
It’s just that his father went bankrupt, and he had to make a living himself.
If not for this, he wouldn’t have met me.
Wouldn’t have been chased and caught by me relentlessly.
Wouldn’t have squeezed into a tiny rental apartment with me.
I was 22 when I met Julian.
Just graduated.
Sending resumes everywhere in the talent market.
Couldn’t find a job.
Had to look at the long line of applicants, thinking about which bubble tea shop was better to work at.
But Julian was different.
He was very popular.
Luxury counters and high-end sales positions fought over him.
There were also some livestreaming positions and bar waiter jobs trying to squeeze in.
It took Julian half a day to escape the crowd.
I kindly went to help him avoid pitfalls.
Sales is tiring, luxury counters are competitive.
Livestreaming and bars trick people into shady business.
Don’t go to any of them.
If asked, say they contacted me too, and I know the inside story.
Julian listened to me patiently.
Then said, he wasn’t looking for a job.
…
I knew it.
Wearing this old-school custom suit, he didn’t look short of money at a glance.
Didn’t expect.
That night I saw him being kicked out of an office building by security.
He sat under a tree, slowly patting the dust off his clothes.
Later I learned he was seeking investment.
Seeking investment, finding talent, cultivating an unknown team.
Many said he was a madman.
Including my boss.
Julian was too good-looking.
I thought about getting close to him and introducing him to rich ladies.
Then I could definitely get a big, big red packet.
Heard someone did this.
A rich lady wanted to keep him with a Maserati.
An intermediary came to persuade him to sell himself.
Resulted in eating a punch from Julian, getting a black eye.
I started paying attention to Julian.
His actions were very regular.
People around occasionally mentioned him with mockery.
Fragments plus action trajectory could piece together what he did and who he met.
During a carefully arranged encounter.
He came out of the office building where I worked.
Obviously, seeking investment failed again.
Too many “chance encounters,” we were familiar with each other.
He recognized me and nodded politely.
I treated him to a glass of draft beer.
Then said, I thought he could make it.
After all, the bosses only mocked him for wanting to take a radical path in a conservative market.
Never said his eye for products was bad.
Julian’s polite and gentle expression froze.
Lifted his bloodshot eyes, staring at me motionless.
Corners of his mouth trembled.
Before lowering his eyelids and forcing a bitter smile.
Drank a bit too much that night.
Life taught me to strike quickly and grab everything I wanted.
Even failure wouldn’t lose anything.
So borrowing the courage from alcohol, I kissed him in the alley.
Julian’s back pressed against the alley bricks, frozen.
He was at a loss, very embarrassed.
Maybe felt I was offensive.
But he started adding me to his social circle.
Introducing me to others, from shyly teasing me as “talent scout.”
To serious “friend.”
Finally becoming “my lover.”
I was satisfied to have him in my bag.
He was a qualified lover.
Loyal, patient, unruly, a bit machismo.
Cohabiting for two and a half years, never let me spend a penny.
But what made us quarrel and part ways in the end was also money.
Julian disregarded his life when he acted.
Could bet his entire net worth on one choice.
When the team he favored officially started financing.
He mortgaged all his remaining fixed assets in Hong Kong for cash.
Plus borrowed money, exchanged for more than eight million.
Invested all into the market.
During this period, he made many similar investments.
Just not heavily invested.
He also didn’t ask me for money, so I had no reason to object.
But this time it was eight million.
He was 27.
I had also been working for two and a half years.
Knowing what a figure in the millions meant for ordinary people.
I wanted to ask him to be more cautious.
Ask him to consider our future.
…
And I was pregnant.
I didn’t say this sentence.
Because Julian’s expression was too cold.
Too stubborn.
On the table was the money he borrowed from former friends.
And loan certificates from the bank.
A few thin sheets of paper, pressed under the ledger.
Julian sank into the sofa, smoking one cigarette after another.
I choked and wanted to cry.
“Can you not smoke?”
He put out the cigarette and went to rinse his mouth.
I grabbed his sleeve tightly.
“Carrying so much debt, have you considered me?”
“That check in the room is for you.”
He lowered his eyelids.
Emotionlessly, wiped away my tears with his thumb.
“Following me, you don’t need to carry debt. If you want to leave, that money counts as my compensation to you.”
Maybe pregnancy makes one easily break down.
I started screaming in disbelief.
“Do I want your money? Have you ever thought about what if you don’t succeed? Will you commit suicide?”
“I will succeed.”
“So many times before, which time did you bring back good results?”
Julian pursed his lips tight, looking at me.
The light in his eyes seemed to go out.
Half disappointment, half relief.
He gently brushed away my hand and turned his back.
The smell of smoke rose again.
He leaned sideways against the wall, back bent wearily.
Simple white shirt and suit pants, worn nobly.
His back blurred in my eyes.
I knew he would succeed.
But didn’t know how many times he would fail before succeeding.
Also didn’t know if I could last until the day he succeeded.
He was ambitious.
And I wanted a stable life.
Not on the same path, we would separate sooner or later.
I wiped my tears and went to pack my clothes.
Counted everything I could take away.
Walked towards the door.
Julian suddenly called me.
Rarely, a bit incoherent.
He said, “A few days ago… a friend of mine said he saw you go to the hospital.”
I touched my stomach.
The test strip result was only a faint gray double line, uncertain.
So I went to the hospital to confirm the pregnancy.
He didn’t know.
I originally wanted to tell him tonight.
Then we could have a good talk about the future.
I said softly.
“Nothing, endocrine disorder, prescribed some medicine.”
Suitcase wheels rolling.
“Chloe!”
He called me.
Lips moved, then said.
“I remember that suitcase is broken.”
I didn’t respond.
His retention was too euphemistic.
So I had the right not to understand.
I packed a few clothes and moved out that night.
Didn’t take the check he gave.
Didn’t take anything related.
Every penny might be his future retreat.
This was my last kindness.
No contact after separation.
That year at 25.
I gave birth to Lily, still drifting in Beijing.
Her arrival brought me good luck.
In the next four years, I kept getting raises.
Salary enough for me to move into a slightly larger rental in the East City, and still have savings.
I didn’t pay attention to financial news.
Until Julian’s face frequently appeared in short videos, I realized.
He indeed succeeded.
That eight million investment leveraged everything.
His net worth skyrocketed, and he began to redeem assets in Hong Kong one after another.
We were all moving in a good direction.
Thought I could raise Lily smoothly.
Then let her choose whether to see her biological father.
Things went contrary to wishes.
Long-term accompanying dinner parties, I drank a lot of alcohol.
Alcohol caused problems in my body quickly.
After drinking once, the sink was dyed red by the blood I vomited.
Premonition before death.
Too late.
I didn’t call 911, nor the police.
Because I wasn’t sure who the police would give custody of Lily to after I died.
I wasn’t assured leaving her to my parents.
Even less hoped she would be sent to an orphanage.
So while vomiting blood, I dialed Julian’s number.
Didn’t even finish that call.
Just reported the community unit.
Before losing consciousness, I felt pity.
Pity dying at home instead of the company.
Couldn’t get compensation.
Lily cried loudly by my leg.
I heard Julian’s voice.
Panicked, hoarse, and broken.
“Chloe Vance!”
He was calling me.
“I’m coming right away, you can’t hang up!”
Vaguely heard him choking.
All sounds faded away.
I thought he would take good care of Lily.
He did take good care.
Raised her into whatever.
Spoiled into lawlessness.
When I come back, I’ll slap her.
Bullet comments suddenly covered the sky, dense and invisible.
[Holy crap holy crap, what is Lily Thorne doing!]
[Want to escape prison shouldn’t jump off building damn it]
[That dead mother phoenix man is still tricking her to secretly transfer dad’s money!]
[Anyone with a brain wouldn’t jump from the third floor right?]
[Break a leg then, taken away by phoenix man exploited completely, honest at home]
[Where’s the butler, servants, no one found the miss climbing the window?]
I floated to the third floor.
Thanks to wall-passing skills, found her quickly.
She hesitated by the window.
Even with the green belt as a buffer, injury was inevitable.
“Too high, have to think of other ways.”
She was on the phone, rubbing her head irritably.
The person on the other side answered quickly.
“Okay, no rush. Your dad shouldn’t have cut off your card yet, right? Need to prepare early.”
“Cut off long ago. It’s okay, I know what to do, don’t worry about money. You book the hotel and tickets first.”
“…Lily,” the man smiled bitterly, “Booking a hotel will max out my card, you book the ticket yourself.”
“I’ll transfer to you.”
“Sorry, letting you burden this little money.”
“Take it and cut the crap.”
Anger rose from my heart.
Wanted not to look at her to calm down, turned head, saw the magnificent room.
One room, with a living room and terrace, cloakroom full of luxury brands.
Bathroom bigger than the bedroom I rented before.
Even more annoyed.
Julian raised her like gold and jade.
For her to let a phoenix man suck blood?
I wanted to wake her up.
Hands passed through her shoulders, grabbing nothing.
I called out the System.
“Hurry up and give me a body, my hands are itching.”
System categorical.
“Tech department is working overtime, definitely ready by tomorrow evening!”
Have to wait another day.
I gritted my teeth.
She shuffled in slippers, lying on the bed.
Familiar with tapping the screen.
Opened a bank account.
Frowned, as if hesitating.
Repeatedly deleted and typed password.
Finally gritted teeth, transferred a sum of money.
And dashingly transferred twenty thousand to another account.
[Using dad’s money to tip men… hard to comment.]
[Not earned by self so no heartache ha]
[Hey where is she going?]
[I remember Lily Thorne specifically contacted a servant before, probably running away]
I followed her closely.
Sure enough.
A middle-aged woman pushed a dining cart, stopped at the room door.
Quietly dropped a key on the carpet.
Kicked it into the door crack.
Lily lay on the ground, quickly grabbed the key.
Cautiously waited half an hour before opening the door to leave.
I gritted my teeth following Lily.
Probably her grounding wasn’t public.
Security heard she was going to dinner with a friend, quickly dispatched a car.
[Why isn’t Julian home?]
[He just finished a call and went to the company]
[Male lead come back quickly, daughter gone if not back!]
[He’s still in a meeting now, can’t even answer phone.]
[It’s okay, finishing meeting seeing bank card transaction info will know]
Arriving at the restaurant.
Driver drove away.
She went into a coffee shop.
Quickly put on mask and cap.
Sat by the window, looking around.
Ten minutes later.
A tall and thin handsome man knocked on the glass.
Lily walked a few steps fast, jumped into his arms.
I closed my eyes tight.
Too late to curse, sudden dizziness.
System shouted excitedly.
[Fast fast! Loaded complete you have a body!]
3
I felt death again.
No concept of time.
Only void blackness left.
Like the black seen covering one eye.
Sound arrived one step before light.
Quarreling again.
Lily had been caught back home.
[Actually hiding under Julian’s information network for three days, Lily Thorne still has some skills]
[Originally not stupid, just pure rebellious]
[She’s underage can’t lock hotel info, otherwise caught back in half a day]
I opened my eyes.
Soul half stuck outside body, half melted into flesh.
Crying in the study.
Julian pursed his lips tight, hands curled stiffly.
Finger marks clear on the girl’s face.
Staring in disbelief, tears popping out quickly.
Julian swallowed slightly, didn’t move gaze.
“Know your mistake?”
Lily gritted teeth staring at him fiercely, not saying a word.
“Lily Thorne, speak!”
Desk thudded heavily.
“Buying gifts to see that man’s family, showing off wealth?”
“If I didn’t find you, do you know how dangerous you were?”
“This kind of place, police can’t even enter the village entrance when you die!”
Julian threw a stack of HD photos on the table.
“How did I know his home was so remote?”
She wiped eyes talking back, sobbing intermittently.
“My mom never hit me… if my mom was still here she definitely wouldn’t let you hit me.”
Julian clenched fists tightly, red oozing out of eyes again.
Turned back, breathing deeply and shallowly.
Lily bumped past his shoulder, pulled door hard.
My body loading complete.
Feet on ground.
Through soft carpet, still had unrealistic floating feeling.
I couldn’t see my face.
Delicate reflective skin on back of hand made one trance.
Door in front suddenly pulled open.
I met Lily’s gaze.
She inherited her father’s height advantage.
Already grew a bit taller than me.
Seeing me, she froze for a long time.
Suddenly grabbed my hand, dragged me into the study.
“Julian!”
She pointed at me, questioning him angrily.
“Who is she? When did she come?”
“Finding such a young one, do you have no shame!”
Julian slammed desk with anger, “What did I find?”
I was dragged staggering.
Stumbled forward a few steps, barely stood firm.
Julian leaned sideways on desk, gaze slanting disdainfully.
Atmosphere stagnated instantly.
On his face was nearly foolish blankness.
Long time, only slightly moved cervical vertebra.
Driving body, slowly turned front to me.
I unconsciously smoothed hair.
Didn’t know where to put sight.
Had countless words to say when ghost.
Old friends reuniting, after years, how to greet.
…
You aged a lot? Seems inappropriate.
Directly confess? Probably too scary.
Resurrection from dead, facing it know how absurd.
Lily between us, looking left and right.
“What do you mean?”
Her breathing slowly weakened, somewhat unstable.
“You guys hooked up long ago? Just happened to be here this time, accidentally bumped into?”
“Lily out!”
Julian suddenly spoke.
She stubbornly fixed in place, “Why should I go out?”
“Lily Thorne!”
Julian pointed at door, harsh voice and stern countenance.
“Out, close the door, don’t let me repeat.”
Door slammed an echo.
Ground vibrated.
I looked back, no one there anymore.
Julian cleared throat.
Futile, vaguely carried choking.
“Miss, you are…”
He covered face pressed temples, exhaled.
“Estate security very strict, may I ask how you entered?”
I hesitated to speak.
Words to mouth, turned corner.
“Convenient to let me go to bathroom first?”
Julian stunned again.
Trance-like, pointed to northeast corner.
“There… over there.”
I supported wall, walked crookedly to bathroom.
Just entered this body.
Limbs soft like noodles, forgot how to walk.
Guess I should be like a congenitally disabled person with cerebellar hypoplasia now.
Door cut off that sight always following my back.
Face in mirror childish.
Hair down, no makeup, youth that staying up late eating takeout couldn’t hide.
Was me just graduated.
System urged me out to see Julian.
[How long can you hide here?]
“Then what to do,” I said, “Go out say hi I’m your ex-girlfriend, I’m reborn, in this life I want to take back everything belonging to me?”
System didn’t squeak.
I splashed water rinsing face.
“What identity did you arrange for me?”
[You have no new identity.]
System silent a while.
[Inserting a completely new name register is troublesome, need match very much social information. You won’t stay long, no need arrange new card.]
“Meaning I am currently undocumented?”
[Strictly speaking, yes.]
No money no phone.
Face recognition would recognize me as dead Chloe Vance.
Hard to move an inch out door.
I dried water on face, walked out of bathroom.
Warm yellow desk lamp soft and dim.
Study not bright, blackout curtains to ground, swallowing sunlight.
Julian stiff on sofa like stone block.
Laptop in front honestly presenting surveillance screen.
No one seen entering estate.
Outside study.
I appeared out of thin air.
He repeatedly dragged progress bar, looked up in disbelief.
Looking at me, eyes full of bloodshot.
I put hands behind back clenched fists, clench release.
I said, “Long time no see.”
He motionless, staring at me himself.
Suddenly stood up, one arm supporting waist, paced a few steps back turned, then turned back.
Seemed to have tears.
I inexplicably had a kind of guilt of faking death.
“Julian, hard to explain, but…”
I paused a while, anger surfaced with hindsight.
“Let’s not talk about this first, you raised Lily too spoiled, she actually wanted to jump off building to find her boyfriend, I very much support you beating her once in this situation. Who did she learn this from?”
His Adam’s apple rolled violently.
Light suddenly appeared in eyes.
I stood by bookshelf, watching him approach.
Heartbeat fast for no reason.
Only one arm distance left.
He lifted arm.
Closed eyes eased a bit, reached out to me.
I conditionally reached back to hold, unconsciously shook lightly.
He swallowed, voice a bit shaky.
“Recently okay?”
“Should be not too good,” I incoherent, “You know, just came back to life, a bit unaccustomed.”
Unexpectedly cold field.
I lowered head, withdrew hand awkwardly.
But couldn’t pull back.
Julian tightened knuckles increasingly, almost wrapped my whole palm.
He asked hoarsely.
“Can hug once?”
“Ah, sure, sure… mm!”
Air squeezed out of chest cavity.
I felt I became a stress relief toy, squeak once when pinched.
Body temperature conducted through thin shirt.
Muscle direction, breathing ups and downs, belt edges, all printed on body front.
He bowed body, pushed me to chest.
Embrace completely strange.
But swept away the restraint just now.
Forty-four year old Julian’s fitness traces very clear.
Although I can’t remember his figure in twenties clearly.
But seems, more lean and strong than before.
“Have time to work out, seems life is good.”
I pressed against his chest.
Pulled out a section of shirt, probed into hem.
Apollo’s belt deep on waist side, just right to put thumbs.
Julian grabbed my hand, pressed on face.
“I’m old.”
He said.
“Arrived age to maintain body.”
Skin under palm, had matte texture.
Couldn’t see stubble, rubbing sandily on hand, itchy.
Compared to plump collagen, more was bone.
Bone covered with thin layer of skin and flesh, showing cold hardness familiar with worldly affairs.
Julian buried in my hair.
Hugged hard once, slowly released.
His breathing calmed down, couldn’t see more emotions in eyes.
“Just live here?”
“I can’t go out, I’m undocumented.”
“It’s okay,” He raised hand, supported my back neck, pulled towards front, “Many rooms at home. Are you hungry?”
“Not hungry.”
“Mm, good. Good.”
He responded absently.
Gaze wandered several times, fell on my face again.
His eyelids flushed.
Suddenly circled me tight again, air sound low and weak.
“Hug again.”
4
The study was like a barrier.
Just stepped out the door, bullet comments covered the sky.
[What happened just now? Why all black screen]
[What thing not let my noble VIP see?]
[Heroine hurry to third floor, your daughter seems to have 1.4 (GPA? or height? assuming trouble/height of conflict)]
[No big deal, Lily Thorne thinks dad has new love, crying in quilt]
Julian gently pinched my fingertips.
“What’s wrong?”
I came back to senses.
“Want to see Lily, she looks misunderstood.”
Julian let go, sighed deeply and shallowly.
“There’s a monitor at her bedroom door, easy to find. I won’t go up, she doesn’t like me finding her.”
I spoke coolly.
“Aren’t you afraid she beats me as mistress?”
He pursed lips, led way silently.
I gestured.
“She’s so much taller than me, not like me at all.”
Julian laughed once.
“Yes, she looks like me… temper like you, does whatever she wants, listens to no one’s persuasion.”
I said, “Aren’t you the same?”
His smile solidified, quickly put away.
Probably both remembered those not so good memories.
Simply silent.
Corridor extended front and back, music low and slow.
Not approached yet, a surveillance probe slowly turned over.
Aimed at me, started talking.
“Take your mistress roll as far as you can!”
“I move out next month, give each other some face these days, don’t disturb each other, okay?”
Julian pressed operation screen on wall, asked servant to bring key.
I frowned, “Open directly?”
“Can’t communicate at this time.”
Julian pulled a bitter smile.
“If talk nicely to her, she will leave us hanging here all day.”
I waved hand, signaled him to go first.
“I talk two sentences with her first.”
Julian silent moment, nodded.
Footsteps away.
I faced monitor, puzzled.
“Lily Thorne, is your brain damaged?”
“I worked hard to find you a good dad, you play cutting off relations this play?”
“Still move out, don’t want money?”
Silence inside for a while.
Inconceivable tone exactly same as mine.
“Are you f***ing crazy?”
I pointed at myself.
“Recognize my face before speaking.”
“Also, if you say one more dirty word involving mom—”
“I will let people beat your boyfriend into a sandbag.”
[Holy crap laughing to death]
[Boyfriend: Who made a sound for me]
[Being only child too long brain easy to rust, suggest send to study abroad deep cultivating]
[Fighting for property with illegitimate child is honest]
Door pulled open fiercely.
Lily Thorne shuffled in slippers, whole body alert.
“Who are you?”
She stared at me, trying to identify.
“My mom died early, never said she had any sisters.”
“Letting people stand at door talking is very impolite.”
“You haven’t even entered Liang family door, still want me to talk politeness with you?”
“Whether your boyfriend will become hand-beaten beef balls depends on you.”
“Haven’t become my stepmom yet f***ing pretending high right? Don’t know who I am? Julian gave you much face?”
Small age.
I raised palm, slapped crisply.
She visibly furious, grabbed my collar.
I sneered, “Knew earlier you would be crooked like this in Liang family, my call should have been to your grandma. Also, running away from home still saying I definitely won’t hit, now I tell you, I not only will whip you, but also whip you into a top.”
Strength on her hand suddenly loosened.
I finished scolding word after word, palm hot.
Surged a few points of regret again.
Did I hit too hard.
This situation, asking me to talk nicely, unacceptably too hard on people.
Which biological mother seeing daughter like this can be calm.
She stared at me dead.
“Who exactly are you?”
I looked up at her.
She gritted teeth, “My mom died early.”
“Then just treat me as temporarily returned soul.”
I withdrew sight, passed by her.
Didn’t walk a few steps, feet started to become weak.
Buzzing non-stop in brain.
System beeped warning.
[This body rushed made a bit rough, not compatible with your soul nodes, need repair now]
[Quickly protect head, you going to faint!]
No…
I fell straight down.
Lily Thorne jumped like thunder.
“??? Doing what?”
“Framing?”
“Loss I still believed you—Hurry help me! Call my dad!”
🌟 Continue the story here
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Seven days after I was found and brought back home, I stumbled upon a confession post online.
[Actually, the year my parents adopted me, I knew the real daughter was also in the orphanage. But I didn’t dare say anything. I was afraid I wouldn’t have a home and would continue to be bullied by the director.]
[Now my parents favor me and treat her badly. I feel so guilty. How can I make it up to her?]
In my past life, I discovered the poster was the fake daughter, Chloe. I broke down and dragged my crippled right leg to confront her.
But that night, she couldn’t handle the pressure and jumped off a building.
My parents blamed me for her death, screaming out of control for me to pay with my life. Only my adoptive brother protected me.
He took me away to live elsewhere.
But he refused to get me a doctor and tormented me daily.
“You drove Chloe to her death. You killed a vibrant life with your own hands. You must use your life to atone and repent.”
In the end, I fell into severe depression and jumped off a building, just like the fake daughter did years ago.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I discovered the post.
1
Netizens thought Chloe was just fishing for attention to gain followers and left all sorts of sarcastic comments.
She continued updating.
[My parents raised me for eighteen years. They have feelings for me and couldn’t bear to send me away, so they let me be the real daughter’s sister.]
[The first time my sister and I met, we were both five. We became best friends in the orphanage. But I was afraid her parents would recognize her and not adopt me, so that day I tricked her into playing hide-and-seek and told her to hide.]
[Later, I wanted to find her, but she had been adopted. She lived a very bitter life all these years. Her leg is crippled, and she’s skin and bones.]
[I heard her adoptive family was terrible, beating and scolding her, neglecting her. They made her drop out before finishing middle school to fend for herself.]
[In contrast, I grew up in luxury, never lacking money. If I so much as sneezed, my parents and brother would nervously call the family doctor. I also attend a top private high school. I really feel sorry for her…]
In my past life, it was because I read these that I completely exploded.
How could I not hate?
The first day I was recognized back into the Moore family, my mother hugged me and cried bitterly. My stern-faced father’s eyes reddened. My adoptive brother, Lucas, gently patted my head.
We should have lived happily ever after.
But Chloe appeared.
Wearing a beautiful dress, wearing diamonds I had only seen in advertisements, smelling sweet and soft.
I subconsciously lowered my head.
My right leg, crippled by my adoptive father, barely supported my malnourished body.
My $9.99 bargain bin clothes smelled weird after being worn for too long, and black lint from the fabric was stuck under my fingernails.
Why?
She occupied my life.
I hated Chloe.
She had changed too much, so I didn’t recognize her as “Dumpling” from the orphanage.
After getting lost back then, I was sent there by kind people.
Never full, never warm. The director was fierce, but nice to Dumpling.
Every time the director took Dumpling away to “play games” and brought her back, she would have a bag of snacks.
I wanted snacks too, so I asked her how to play the games. She said:
“The games aren’t fun at all. They hurt, and they smell bad. If you want to eat something, I can share with you.”
“But you can’t become clean, or the director will easily force you to play games.”
I believed her and played in the dirt every day like a little monkey.
Until one day, six months later, Dumpling suddenly wanted to play hide-and-seek with me.
When I came out of the closet.
It was dark.
She had been adopted by rich people.
I felt happy for my best friend.
But she lied to me.
The truth was ripped open, bloody and raw. In my past life, I went crazy and hit Chloe.
Attracting my parents and Lucas.
Learning that Chloe caused me to be separated from them for thirteen years, my parents couldn’t believe their obedient daughter was so vicious.
She cried and apologized over and over.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I ruined your life. I’m sorry…”
Not long after, Chloe jumped off the building and died in front of me.
My parents, who were originally angry at her deception, collapsed the moment they saw her body.
Mom grabbed my collar, out of control.
“What did Chloe do wrong! She was just too afraid of being bullied by the director! She wanted parents to protect her! Why did you have to expose her and drive her to death!”
“She was also my daughter!”
Then what did I do wrong?
Being crippled at the best age of my life.
Starving until I picked trash to eat, wearing one pair of shoes for four seasons.
Is whoever dies the innocent one?
I forgot how I left the Moore house that day. I only remember Lucas hugging me, separating me from my parents.
His embrace and voice were equally warm.
“Don’t be afraid. Brother is here.”
But his existence was also because Chloe wanted a brother, so they adopted him.
2
Lucas settled me in his apartment and wiped away my tears.
“From now on, you’ll live with me, right here.”
But Chloe’s death became my nightmare.
When I woke up screaming at night, it was Lucas who held me tight, coaxing me softly.
“Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid. Brother is with you.”
“Brother will find a movie for you to watch. Distract yourself and don’t think about those things.”
But scenes of falling in movies made me even more afraid.
So Lucas switched to opera.
The passionate voices tugged at my nerves.
Only by holding Lucas’s hand could I feel a moment of peace.
Like duckweed, relying on the water source that allowed me to survive.
Love grew in despair.
My mental state got worse and worse, and I tried to save myself.
“Take me to see a psychiatrist tomorrow.”
Lucas refused.
He pressed close to my ear and asked gently.
“When Chloe died, her head was smashed. Have you thought about how much it hurt?”
“Do you remember? Before she died, she was apologizing to you. Do you forgive her in your dreams every night?”
“Sarah, you are a murderer.”
“You drove Chloe to her death. You killed a vibrant life with your own hands. You must use your life to atone and repent.”
It turned out Lucas didn’t take me away because he knew I wasn’t wrong. He did it to torture me and avenge Chloe.
So in this life, I closed that post and pretended not to see it.
I didn’t want to become a sinner again.
I wanted to use the Moore family’s influence to climb up.
Then leave this place forever and live the life I want.
Only I can make myself feel safe relying on myself.
So, I went downstairs and told my mom.
“I want to continue studying.”
3
When I first came home, Mom mentioned transferring me to the high school Chloe attended.
I hated her and was afraid of being mocked as a cripple, so I refused immediately.
Now that I brought it up myself, Mom was very happy.
“That’s great. Chloe will have company at school from now on.”
“Sarah, you’ve missed a lot of classes. Your brother happens to be a junior in college. He can tutor you. Ask him if you don’t understand anything.”
Lucas was sitting nearby watching TV.
Hearing this, he looked up.
Still the gentle appearance in my memory.
But I didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore, so I shook my head.
“No need to trouble Brother. I can ask the teacher.”
Lucas lowered his eyelashes slightly. “Suit yourself.”
“Let’s eat.”
Chloe came downstairs too.
She sat opposite me cautiously.
Mom put food in our bowls and smiled, mentioning I would go to school. Chloe’s face turned slightly pale.
“It’s good that sister is willing to study. I will take care of sister at school…”
I interrupted her softly.
“Mom, I can’t eat celery. I’m allergic to celery.”
I discovered this when working part-time. I was so hungry I ate leftovers from customers, but broke out in a rash and had difficulty breathing.
The shop owner was scared and called an ambulance.
Afterwards, because I affected the shop’s business, he deducted my $100 salary for that month.
Mom was stunned, and quickly picked the celery out of my bowl. “It’s Mom’s fault. Mom will remember from now on.”
“Chloe, you eat it. You like celery the most.”
But she threw away that piece of celery and picked a new piece for Chloe, as if my bowl was unclean.
Mom picked up another piece of fish, carefully removed the bones, and teased Chloe.
“You have to eat a bite of meat after eating celery, otherwise it won’t be the balanced diet you want.”
The love that should have belonged to me fell on Chloe.
Chloe carefully observed my reaction.
I just took big bites of meat.
The fake beef I ate before was soft and tasted like tofu.
Unlike the meat I was eating now, bouncy and savory.
I ate very quickly.
Suddenly there was an extra piece of ribs in my bowl.
Lucas picked it.
“Ribs are delicious too. You can’t just eat beef.”
I froze, daring not to touch it.
Subconsciously guessing, is there something wrong with the ribs?
My nose felt hot.
He quickly took a tissue to help me wipe the nosebleed.
I stood up in panic and backed away.
The chair legs dragged on the ground making a harsh sound. Mom looked over, and I spoke in a panic.
“I’m full.”
Running upstairs, I heard Lucas’s low instructions.
“Mama Wang, Sarah seems to have internal heat. Cook her some sweet soup to cool it down.”
Lucas was such a considerate person.
After I came home, even if we had no feelings, he would care about me, whether I was used to living here, whether my clothes were warm enough.
That’s why in my past life I never suspected that his kindness to me hid hatred.
But it doesn’t matter. In this world, Chloe won’t die.
And I won’t have a mental breakdown and jump off a building.
The enrollment procedures were done quickly.
On Monday morning, I could go to school with Chloe.
She came to my room.
4
Chloe was holding an orange bag with a backpack inside.
I had seen customers carrying it when I delivered food part-time. It was called Hermes or something, very expensive.
“Sister, your school bag is a bit small. There are many subjects in high school, it won’t fit. This one is new, I’m giving it to you.”
From the day I came back, Chloe found excuses to give me expensive things.
I thought she was showing off and refused coldly every time.
Now I realized that was her compensation for guiltily stealing my identity.
This time, I accepted it without hesitation, estimating the resale price.
After all, money won’t lie to people.
Seeing I didn’t refuse, Chloe’s steps leaving were a bit lighter.
I took the bag downstairs, ready to go to school.
Passing the living room, Mom suddenly stopped me.
“Sarah, do you like Hermes too?”
“If you like it, Mom can buy it for you, but you shouldn’t steal…”
Mom coughed lightly and changed to a euphemism, “You shouldn’t take Chloe’s bag.”
I was stunned.
“Chloe gave this to me.”
“Impossible. Chloe treasures this limited edition the most. Usually she can’t bear to use it. Once when I teased her about giving it away, she even cried.”
At this moment, Chloe came down. Hearing Mom’s words, she hurriedly admitted.
“I gave it to Sister.”
Mom didn’t understand. “Don’t you like this bag very much?”
“I…”
Chloe stammered, daring not to tell the truth.
But it made Mom misunderstand that I bullied her, and her face darkened.
Lucas walked over.
“It was indeed Chloe who gave it. I heard it upstairs just now.”
Chloe nodded immediately. “That’s right, Brother can testify for me.”
But Lucas had been downstairs with Mom the whole time.
Mom sighed. “You siblings are just too soft-hearted.”
“Then let’s forget about this matter.”
Lightly glossed over, I became a thief who couldn’t be cleared.
I clenched my hands and didn’t explain further.
Mom wouldn’t believe me.
They were Chloe’s family. Whatever I did was wrong, so why say more?
I turned around and found a consignment shop to sell the bag.
Seven figures. A number I couldn’t earn even if I died working.
Being treated as a thief was worth it.
🌟 Continue the story here
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For five years, we tried. Twelve rounds of IVF. Finally, Nicholas and I had our child.
The day he was born, Nicholas, always so composed, broke down in tears. He gripped my hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Annette, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. You and our boy… you’re my everything now.”
He held our son with a reverence I’d never seen, hesitating before daring to touch the baby’s soft cheek. “We’ll call him Max,” he whispered. “For a life filled to the absolute maximum with joy and peace.”
That was before his first love’s daughter was diagnosed with kidney failure.
“Lily is a prodigy,” he’d said, his voice strained. “She’s destined to be a world-class painter. We can’t let her health stand in her way.”
Then he was on his knees in front of me, stripped of all his pride, his voice a desperate plea. “Annette, I checked. Max is a perfect match for Lily. Please… just let him give her one of his kidneys. Please?”
…
Nicholas was a man defined by his pride. He never bowed his head for anyone or anything. Even when he proposed, he hadn’t asked. He’d simply tossed a ring box at me and said, “Marry me. You won’t regret it.”
But now, for Claire’s daughter, he was on his knees, as pathetic as a stray dog begging for scraps.
In the sweltering summer heat, an icy chill spread through my bones.
I closed my eyes, the world spinning. “Nicholas, do you have any idea what you’re saying?”
A tiny, foolish part of me held out hope. If he would just say it was a moment of madness, that he didn’t mean it, I could forgive him. We could pretend this conversation never happened.
But Nicholas remained silent, his jaw set. He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but people can live perfectly normal lives with just one kidney.”
When I didn’t answer, his voice turned to steel. “If you won’t agree, then I’ll have to remind you that I am also Max’s legal guardian. I have the right to sign the consent forms.”
The air left my lungs. A wave of grief and fury so powerful it almost knocked me over washed through me. “Absolutely not,” I choked out, the words tasting like poison.
He reached out, his expression pained, and tried to stroke my hair. “Annette, don’t make this difficult.”
I flinched away, hammering my fists against his chest. “You said we were your everything!” I sobbed. “The day Max was born, you promised! Nicholas, that was only three years ago!”
I collapsed against him, my fight draining away. “There has to be another way, right? Medicine is so advanced now. Can’t they just wait? Maybe another donor will come along. Please.”
A flicker of sorrow crossed his face. “If there were any other option, of course I wouldn’t want Max to—”
His phone rang. He glanced at the screen: Claire. Without a second’s hesitation, he pushed me away and answered.
Claire was hysterical on the other end. “Nicholas, Lily’s back in the ICU! I’m here all alone, I don’t know what to do…”
The tenderness on Nicholas’s face vanished, replaced by sheer panic.
He grabbed his car keys and bolted for the door, not even looking back. “We can’t wait any longer,” he threw over his shoulder, his voice cold and final. “Don’t worry. I’ll perform the surgery myself. I’ll make sure both children are safe.”
Max, who had just woken up from his nap, toddled after him, calling out, “Daddy, where go? Max go too!”
Nicholas didn’t even glance back. He let Max stumble and fall on the front steps, his cries echoing in the sudden silence of the house.
In that moment, my heart turned to ice.
I wiped my tears, scooped up my wailing son, and sent Nicholas a text.
“I want a divorce.”
Nicholas didn’t reply. He came home late that night, laden with toys and candy, and Claire was trailing behind him.
Before I could stop him, Max had already run into his father’s arms.
Nicholas smiled, handing Max a brightly colored plastic toy. “Do you like it? Daddy and Auntie Claire picked it out just for you. And look, your favorite snacks.”
He settled Max on his lap, tore open a bag of candy, and popped a piece into our son’s mouth. Max, having already forgotten the morning’s abandonment, snuggled against his father’s chest, giggling happily.
I watched them, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. Max adored his father, even more than he did me. And this man, this father, was willing to carve a kidney out of his own son.
It was Claire who nudged him, reminding him of my presence. Nicholas looked up and pulled a necklace from his pocket. “It’s a wishbone, Annette. For you. From now on, whatever you wish for, I’ll make it happen.”
I stared at him, my expression unreadable, and pushed his hand away. “My only wish is for you to call off this donation.”
He looked down, mumbling something under his breath. “Annette, do you think this is easy for me? Max is my flesh and blood. But I’ve watched Lily grow up, too. I can’t just let her die.”
“Nicholas, let it go,” Claire whispered, her eyes welling up. “It was my fault. I was impulsive to even suggest that Max could help Lily. I’ve caused nothing but trouble for your family. It’s all my fault.” She bowed her head, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the very picture of tragic beauty.
Watching her tears splash onto the polished floor, Nicholas’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white.
“How could this be your fault?” he said, his voice fierce. “Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would have offered.”
The intimacy between them was a physical pain, a blade twisting in my gut. I took a deep breath to keep from screaming.
The tension in the room made Max start to cry, but Nicholas only had eyes for Claire, his gaze full of pity and protection.
The blood in my veins ran cold.
Before I married Nicholas, I knew he had a childhood sweetheart. When I’d hesitated about our future, he’d sworn to me that he and Claire were just friends, that she would never come between us.
Lies. All of it.
When Claire went into labor, Nicholas abandoned a career-making international conference to be by her side.
The day Lily was born, Nicholas, a man who scoffed at sentimentality, went to a high-end auction and bought a custom-made pink diamond tiara as a welcome-to-the-world gift for another man’s child.
The moment Lily showed a flicker of interest in art, he pulled strings to have the country’s most renowned painter take her on as a private student.
And my Max? When he was born, all he got was a small, silver locket. Two days later, his father volunteered for a medical mission in Africa and was gone for a month.
He claimed to love us, to love me and Max above all else, but he always, always put Claire and her daughter first.
For years I had lied to myself, pretending not to see. But I couldn’t lie anymore.
Max was still holding the cheap toy Nicholas had brought, the cloyingly sweet candy still in his mouth. He never liked things like this, but because it was from his father, he treasured it.
“Max, spit that out,” I said softly. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.”
“That’s enough, Annette!” Nicholas snapped. “If you have a problem with me and Claire, say it to my face! Don’t take it out on our son! What kind of mother are you?”
Even now, he was defending her.
“If our Max had kidney failure, Claire and Lily would donate in a heartbeat! Annette, you can’t be this selfish!”
“Don’t say that, Nicholas,” Claire sobbed, pressing herself against his chest. “Just pretend you never knew me. Pretend Lily and I don’t exist.”
Nicholas’s eyes were glacial as he glared at me. “We’ve been married for years, and it’s only now that I see how cold and heartless you truly are.”
A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. Our honeymoon in Hawaii. In the middle of it, Claire got divorced.
She posted a single sad selfie on Instagram, and Nicholas, without a word to me, booked the next flight back to comfort her. He stayed by her side for two weeks.
While I walked alone on beaches crowded with happy couples, Claire’s feed was full of pictures of the “World’s Best Friend,” featuring Nicholas in her kitchen, making her heart-shaped pancakes.
While I sat by myself under a palm tree, her story was a picture of Nicholas’s profile in a darkened movie theater, captioned, “The secret from when we were eighteen.”
For two weeks, I woke up every morning and scrolled through her life, my tears falling until I was just numb. But I still trusted him. I still believed him.
Watching the undisguised tenderness in his eyes as he held Claire, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “So, if we had gotten married just a little later, you would have called it off and married her instead, wouldn’t you?”
Crack.
The sting of his palm against my cheek exploded across my face. Nicholas’s eyes were bloodshot with fury. “Yes, I was in love with Claire. That’s not a secret. But I gave up a world of memories with her for you! Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to say things like that just to hurt me?”
His cruel words were a knife, carving out my heart. The tears I had held back for so long finally broke free, streaming down my face.
When I looked up at him again, there was nothing left in my eyes. No love, no pain. Just emptiness. “No,” I said, my voice hollow. “You don’t have to give up anything. From now on, you will never see me or Max again.”
I scooped Max into my arms and turned to leave. But Nicholas blocked my path. “You can go,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “But Max stays.”
My lips parted, but all that came out was a broken, mirthless laugh. “Nicholas, do you really have to be so cruel?”
He didn’t answer. In one swift movement, he snatched Max from my arms and shoved me so hard I fell to the floor.
He handed our crying son to Claire. “Take him and go! Now!”
🌟 Continue the story here
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