Category: English

My fiancée photoshopped my head out of our engagement photos and replaced it with her first love. Then she posted it for all the world to see, with the caption: “A decade of waiting, finally answered today.” When I angrily confronted her, she was completely nonchalant. “What’s the big deal? It’s obviously photoshopped. Can’t friends have a little fun? It’s normal.” The result? On our wedding day, every single one of Ava’s friends and family thought her first love was the groom. When I pulled Ava aside, begging her to acknowledge me as her fiancé, she pretended not to know me and wrapped her arm around the other man’s. Treated like some crazed wedding crasher, I was beaten until my ribs broke and rushed to the hospital. Lying in that hospital bed, my heart finally gave out. I dialed the number of the mother I hadn’t spoken to in three years. “Mom,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’ll do it. I’ll agree to the arranged marriage.” 1 During my hospital stay, my fiancée, Ava, didn’t call once. Instead, her first love, Justin, posted a picture to his social media. Curvy and stacked. Someone’s getting lucky tonight. The accompanying photo was of Ava, dressed in lace lingerie, leaning over to shave Justin’s face. The angle was deliberately provocative. The whole image was suggestive, designed to make your mind wander. The old me would have seen that photo and immediately called her, demanding to know why they couldn’t respect boundaries, asking if she even remembered she had a fiancé, begging to know if she still loved me… But now? Staring at the picture, I felt nothing. I even managed to tap the ‘like’ button. A second later, my phone rang. It was Ava. She launched into her explanation. “Honey, don’t misunderstand. Justin’s hand got hurt at the wedding, I was just helping him shave, that’s all.” Hurt at the wedding? A cold laugh escaped my lips. Because Ava had replaced my face with Justin’s on our wedding photos, all the guests had assumed Justin was the groom. When I, the actual groom, had tried to get Ava to clarify things, to prove my identity, she’d announced to everyone, “The groom is Justin. This guy is just some pathetic dog who follows me around.” That’s when her friends and family had surrounded me, beating me to a bloody pulp. And Justin’s “injury”? He’d tried to snatch the boutonnière from my chest and pricked his finger on the pin. The difference between who she loved and who she didn’t was painfully, brutally clear. I was lying in a hospital bed, unable to move, while Justin was apparently incapacitated by a pinprick. A sharp, final pang of pain shot through my heart. In that instant, any remaining feeling I had for her vanished completely. “Mm,” I said into the phone. “I’m not misunderstanding.” “If that’s all, I’m hanging up.” But Ava, as if terrified I wouldn’t believe her, kept talking. “At the wedding, I just didn’t want Justin to feel embarrassed when everyone mistook him for the groom. That’s why I didn’t clear things up for you. Don’t be upset about it, okay? We can just have another wedding.” I listened silently. She was afraid of embarrassing Justin. What about me? “I don’t care,” I said, my voice flat. “You don’t need to explain.” Perhaps my lack of emotion, my failure to immediately forgive her as I always did, set her off. Her tone, previously apologetic, sharpened. “Ethan, I’ve already explained it to you. What is this attitude?” “Are you giving me the silent treatment?” I said nothing. My attitude? For all the years we’d been together, no matter what mistake she made, no matter how many of my boundaries she crossed, all she had to do was cry a little, act soft, and offer some flimsy excuse. I would instantly crumble, pulling her into my arms and comforting her. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it was my fault too. Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.” And now, after this, she still expected me to forgive her. A profound exhaustion washed over me. Every bone in my body ached as if it were broken. Her insistent questioning continued on the other end of the line. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was about to hang up when she added one more thing. “Oh, and check yourself out of the hospital tonight. You’re a grown man, what’s a little injury? Don’t be so dramatic.” “On your way home, pick up some ribs from that famous barbecue place across town. I’m craving them.” The barbecue place was in the north. Our home was in the south. A ninety-minute round trip. She really did see me as nothing more than an errand boy. 2 I checked myself out of the hospital. The cast was still on my arm, a dull ache throbbing beneath it. I had to take a cab home. My injured hand meant the fingerprint scanner wouldn’t work, and I kept fumbling the password. Figuring Ava was home, I knocked. The person who opened the door was her first love, Justin. He welcomed me in with a broad, warm smile. “Ethan, you’re back! Ava’s in the shower.” He gestured to his hand. “Oh, man, it’s my fault. You know, my finger is injured, and Ava was worried I wouldn’t be able to use the fingerprint lock, so she changed the password.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s the anniversary of the day Ava and I first got together. I bet you didn’t know that. I’ll text it to you in a bit.” An anniversary? Ava couldn’t even remember my birthday, but she remembered the anniversary of her relationship with her first love. I looked at Justin. He was wearing the matching set of couple’s pajamas that belonged to Ava and me. His hair was damp, his face cleanly shaven, and he was holding a hairdryer. Justin noticed my gaze. “Ava asked me to dry her hair for her. You have no idea, back when we were together, she used to insist on it. Couldn’t miss a single night.” He held up his hands placatingly. “Don’t get the wrong idea, we’re just friends now.” “If you’re not happy about it, here, you can do it.” Justin shoved the hairdryer into my injured hand. Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Ava emerged, wearing the same style of pajamas as Justin. She was toweling her hair dry. “Justin,” she said, “aren’t you going to dry my hair? Why aren’t you coming in?” Then, she saw me. Her face, flushed pink from the steam, instantly went pale. She rushed over to explain. “I was just tired, so I asked Justin to help me with my hair. Don’t misunderstand.” Honestly, there was nothing left to misunderstand. His hand was too injured to shave. Her arms were too tired to dry her own hair. Useless on their own, but a hundred percent willing to do it for each other. I handed the hairdryer back to Justin and walked toward the bedroom. Ava grabbed me, her voice sharp with panic. “Ethan, what is your problem? You wouldn’t talk on the phone, and now you’re acting like this in person.” “Don’t push your luck!” Her grip on my wrist was crushing, completely disregarding my fresh injury. “And where are the ribs? Didn’t I tell you to get ribs?” “Why don’t you ever listen to me? Go out and buy them now!” The pain was sharp, and my patience finally snapped. “I’m not buying them!” I shook her hand off and continued into the bedroom. The sight that greeted me was a floor littered with clothes—a jacket, underwear—and on the bed, a pair of torn stockings and boxer shorts. And there, hanging from the frame of our wedding portrait, was a single, snapped black bra strap. 3 Ava scrambled in front of me, shutting the door. “I was just changing in here. It’s a bit of a mess.” “Go buy the ribs, and I’ll have the room cleaned up by the time you get back.” I gave her one last look, then turned and went into the guest room. The walls were thin. I could hear everything from the living room. “Ava, don’t be angry. I don’t have to have the ribs. Ethan’s in a bad mood, you shouldn’t make things harder for him.” “If you’re hungry, how about I cook for you?” “Oh, Justin, you’re just so generous and forgiving. Not like him. I tell him something a hundred times, and he still insists on defying me.” “Okay, okay. Let me dry your hair first. I’d be heartbroken if you caught a cold.” The whirring of the hairdryer started up. It was the perfect cover. I dialed the number of the mother I hadn’t spoken to in three years. “Mom,” I said, “about that arranged marriage you mentioned. I’ll do it.” My mother’s voice was filled with joy. “Oh, son, you’ve finally come to your senses! Your father and I are getting old, and you’re our only child. You have no idea… for that woman, you gave up your inheritance, everything. These past five years, your father’s hair has turned white with worry.” “We heard about what happened at the wedding. A woman like that is not worthy of you. She’s flighty and unfaithful, she doesn’t deserve you.” “But since you’ve agreed… how does the eighth of next month sound for the wedding?” My mother’s voice was now tinged with the frailness of age. My eyes welled up. I had been so foolish. I had thought love was everything. When my parents disapproved of Ava, I had run away with her without a second thought, cutting off all contact for five years. But all I ever had to do was turn around, and they were still there, waiting for me. “Okay,” I said, my voice thick. “I’ll wrap things up here and come home. You two can help me with the wedding preparations.” “Wedding? What wedding?” The guest room door opened without warning. I coolly hung up the phone and looked at Ava. She was holding a takeout container, which she placed on the nightstand. “What were you saying about a wedding?” “Didn’t I tell you we’d have to postpone it? Are you that desperate to get married? Afraid of ending up an old bachelor?” Seeing the anxiety on her face, I answered calmly, “I was just explaining the situation to a friend.” Ava visibly relaxed. She opened the takeout box, revealing the ribs inside. “You didn’t buy them, but Justin did.” “He was afraid you’d be upset, so he bought you a whole rack. Ethan, let’s just drop this, okay? Don’t be so unforgiving.” I covered my mouth and nose, turning my head away. Annoyance flashed in Ava’s eyes. “What is that reaction? Justin was kind enough to apologize, and you’re acting disgusted?” “Are you just going to waste his kindness? Ethan, don’t take this too far!” I took it too far? “You know I have a physical aversion to barbecue, don’t you?” 4 Back when Ava and I first ran away together, we had less than two thousand dollars to our names. To help me adjust to a normal life, Ava got me a job at a popular barbecue joint. At the time, she’d said, “Ethan, I love barbecue. If you work here, does that mean I’ll get to eat it all the time?” For that one sentence, I spent my days plucking feathers and cleaning hundreds of chickens, my body permanently steeped in the cloying, greasy smell. Over time, I developed a visceral disgust for it. Even the cooked meat made me sick. Back then, Ava would ignore the smell, throwing her arms around me the moment I got home. “Ethan, I don’t like barbecue anymore. Please, quit that job. I can’t stand to see you working so hard every day.” So, what is love? I told her to take the food away. Ava opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, all she could manage was: “I’m sorry, Ethan. I forgot.” She didn’t forget. She just didn’t love me anymore. In the past, when I came home from work, she would have my clothes washed and would scrub the whole apartment with disinfectant, just so I wouldn’t have to smell a hint of that greasy smoke. She once stood in hundred-degree heat wearing a stuffy mascot costume, handing out flyers just to buy me a birthday cake. She had accepted the simple ring I wove for her from blades of grass, tears streaming down her face as she said yes to my proposal, promising to be my wife. But you can’t chase the past. I took a deep breath, but the smell of the barbecue still drifted into my nose. I couldn’t stop myself from gagging. Ava quickly tied up the bag. “What do you want to eat, then? I’ll make you something.” I was about to say I didn’t need anything. A knock came at the door. “Ava, I spilled the container! I burned my hand! Can you take me to the hospital?” Hearing Justin’s voice, Ava immediately rushed to the door, her face etched with concern. “How could you be so careless? It’s all red! Your hands are so precious, we can’t let them get scarred.” Before she left, she remembered to toss a line over her shoulder to me. “Ethan, I’m taking Justin to the hospital. He’s a pianist. His hands can’t have anything happen to them.” The door slammed shut, leaving me in the silent room with the takeout container on the nightstand. After a moment, I picked it up and walked out to throw it away. Just as I reached the hall, I saw them by the elevator. Ava was holding Justin’s hand, blowing gently on the small red patch of skin. The elevator dinged. They stepped inside. A single door closed, separating two worlds. And sealing the end of our future together.

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1 The day my wife, Isabelle, went to the airport to pick up her childhood friend, Ross, on his return to the country, our lives shattered. It started with something so small. Our two boys fell, and I helped my own son, Ryan, to his feet first. I didn’t get to Ross’s son, David, in that first instant. For that, she banished us. She sent my son and me to the Sanctuary of Mount Sorrow, a remote monastery, so I could, in her words, “learn the meaning of compassion.” In the gnawing hunger and bitter cold of that place, three years passed. And then, my son froze to death. On the day of his burial, Isabelle arrived at the Sanctuary. Ross was with her. She had come to take my son’s bone marrow. David had leukemia, and she needed to see if Ryan was a match. I told her our son was dead. She scoffed. “Three years, and you haven’t changed a bit. You’d go so far as to curse your own son just to avoid saving David.” Her voice was like ice. “Let me tell you something, Ross. I don’t care if you say he’s dead. Even if he is dead, I’ll dig up his coffin myself to see if his marrow is still viable.” … I was forced to stand at the monastery gates to welcome the distinguished guests. I never imagined that guest would be the very woman who had condemned my son and me to this suffering: my wife, Isabelle. I hadn’t seen her in three years. Her first words to me were, “So, have you learned your lesson?” I stared at her cold, beautiful face, the memory of that day flooding back. It was because two children had fallen, and I had helped Ryan first. She had just returned from the airport with Ross and saw the whole thing. She watched Ross rush to comfort David, and her brow furrowed in anger as she rounded on me, accusing me of being petty. “David is only staying with us for a few days until Ross gets settled. I can’t believe you can’t even tolerate that much,” she had said, her face a mask of disappointment. “Take your son and go to the Sanctuary. Meditate on your failings. You can come back when you’ve changed.” And so, Ryan and I were sent to this desolate place. We were starved of food, of warmth, and sometimes, we were attacked by wild animals from the surrounding forest. In all that time, Isabelle never visited. Not once. Pulled from my thoughts, I gave a numb, noncommittal, “Hn.” Her expression softened slightly, and she finally stated her purpose. “David has leukemia. I need Ryan to get tested as a bone marrow donor. For David’s sake, I’m willing to forgive you and personally take you both home.” My eyelashes trembled. I swallowed the bitter acid rising in my throat. “You can’t take him,” I said softly. “As for me…” A bitter smile twisted my lips. “I’m staying here. To be with my son.” Isabelle’s face instantly darkened. “What do you mean? You know David is dying, and this is how you act? Selfish and narrow-minded! This is a life, Ross! A life we can save!” She didn’t know that every word she spoke was another knife twisting in my heart. Ross, seeing the tension, stepped forward, his voice dripping with false humility. “Ross, I know you’re upset. That Isabelle sent you and Ryan here three years ago because of us. I’m… I’m so sorry.” He bowed his head. “If you’ll just let Ryan get tested, I’ll do anything for you. Anything.” Isabelle immediately grabbed Ross’s hand, her voice softening as she spoke to him. “You don’t have to beg him. He was the one in the wrong. I carried Ryan for ten months. I gave birth to him. Ross has no right to deny me this.” Her gaze, when it returned to me, was burning with fire. I simply stared back. After a moment, Isabelle took a deep breath and barked an order at the men she’d brought with her. “Find Ryan. Tear this place apart if you have to, but you will find him.” She glared at me, her jaw set. The monks who had gathered to watch exchanged uneasy glances. The abbot, Father Michael, finally stepped forward. “Blessings upon you, madam,” he said to Isabelle. “It is not that Ross is unwilling, it is simply that…” Isabelle cut him off with a cold laugh, her eyes still locked on me. “That what?” Father Michael sighed, a deep, mournful sound. “The young boy, Ryan… he passed away from the cold seven days ago.” Isabelle froze for a beat, and then her face contorted with rage. “Ross,” she hissed, her eyes black holes of fury, “is Ryan dead?” I said nothing, my silence a confirmation. She swept her arm across a nearby table, sending a jar of pickled vegetables crashing to the floor. “Ross! I can’t believe it! After three whole years, you’re still the same pathetic man! You’d curse your own son, claim he’s dead, just to keep him from saving David!” “I’m telling you, I don’t care if he’s dead or alive! Even if he’s in a coffin, I’ll have it dug up and pry his bones apart myself to see if his marrow can be used!” 2 A resolve as hard as steel shone in Isabelle’s eyes. She couldn’t fathom how the gentle, kind Ross she knew could have become this unrecognizable stranger. On the drive up to the monastery, she had been filled with hopeful visions of their future together. She had planned to tell him that sending him and Ryan away had been a necessary evil. Three years ago, her company, Fourier Corp, had been on the verge of collapse. To stabilize it, she’d had to enter into a sham marriage with Ross. Sending Ross and Ryan to a remote, safe place under a flimsy pretext had been the only way. She had always intended to bring them back. But the work at Fourier had been relentless, and she’d put it off, day after day. She had assumed that Ross, with his soft, forgiving nature, would melt with a few apologies and a little sweet talk. He always had. He had always spoiled her. As for Ryan… she resented him for stealing Ross’s affection after he was born, but he was still the product of their love. She was willing to win him over, too. Ryan loved to eat and play; she had already commissioned a private amusement park to be built for him. She was certain the little rascal wouldn’t be able to resist such a bribe. She would make up for the hardships they had endured. Then David was diagnosed with leukemia. The thought that Ryan’s marrow could be a match had kept her awake for nights, giddy with excitement. It was the perfect, public reason to finally bring her family home. But Ross had changed. He was lying. He said Ryan was dead. Frozen to death. What a joke. While she hadn’t visited in person, she had sent a truckload of supplies every single month. She’d made sure they wanted for nothing. It was this blatant, clumsy lie that enraged her so deeply. The more she thought, the angrier she became. She strode forward and grabbed my wrist, her grip like a vise. She stared at me, her thoughts a silent scream: Give me back my gentle, kind Ross. He’s not like you. After a long moment, her eyes grew red. She loosened her grip slightly, still afraid of hurting me. Just admit it now, Ross, she thought, her heart pounding. Just apologize, and I’ll forgive everything. She watched my face, her own lips trembling with tension. Then, I opened my mouth. “Isabelle,” I said, my voice hollow. “Our son is really dead.” “You killed him.” “If you hadn’t been so blind, so stubborn, if you hadn’t sent us to this hellhole, he would still be alive.” Every word was a spike driving through her heart. He wasn’t just lying; he was trying to blame her. This man was no longer the Ross she knew. She dropped my hand completely, her head slumping in defeat. When she looked up again, her face was a mask of cold determination. She was about to speak when one of her men ran up to her, breathless. “Ma’am, we’ve found the young master!” I didn’t understand the expression on Isabelle’s face. It was as if I was the one in the wrong. “Ross, I’ve found him,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment. “Are you still going to stand there and lie to my face with such conviction?” I stared at her for two seconds, and then I began to laugh. A wild, broken sound. Isabelle’s brow furrowed. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Isabelle, why don’t you ask them what they found?” A flicker of doubt crossed her face. She looked at her man, but he quickly avoided her gaze, his own face pale and frightened. A sliver of panic pierced through her composure as she looked back at my dead-eyed expression. She steadied herself. “Bring Ryan to me.” The seconds stretched into an eternity. Finally, her men returned, carefully carrying a small, crude wooden coffin. It was deep winter, and the monastery was high in the mountains. Even after seven days, my son’s body was perfectly preserved. He lay there with his eyes closed, looking so peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. The color drained from Isabelle’s face. She staggered back. “How… how can this be?” Ross, who had been standing silently by her side, grabbed her arm to steady her. He gave her what he must have thought was a reassuring look, then turned to me. “Ross, I know you hate us, but you shouldn’t have gone this far. To make your own son lie in a coffin just to sell a lie…” He shook his head disapprovingly. “I know we’re all modern people, but this is… it’s a bad omen. Please, have Ryan get up.” I stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. Then, I smiled. I couldn’t imagine how a person could twist reality so completely. But Isabelle… she believed him. She peered into the coffin again, at our son’s serene, sleeping face. She wrenched her arm from Ross’s grasp. The next thing I knew, a searing pain exploded across my cheek. I looked at her, stunned. Her face was stone. “Ross, you’ve truly lost your mind.” Her voice was a low snarl. “I don’t know how you found out I was coming today, how you managed to stage this entire drama for me. Is this your revenge for what I did three years ago?” “Fine! You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth! It was for the company! Do you have any idea who Ross is, his status? Our ‘marriage’ allowed me to save the company. And you? What good are you? And you dare to orchestrate this elaborate play to guilt me?” she spat. “And our marriage was fake anyway!” “I don’t care if Ryan is dead or alive. He will donate his marrow to David. And if he is dead, I’ll crack open every bone in his body until I find some that’s still usable!” I just stared at the venomous creature in front of me. A morbid curiosity rose within me, and I asked the question aloud. “Isabelle, why are you so sure Ryan and David will be a match?” I expected her to falter, to show some sign of guilt. She didn’t even blink. “Don’t play games with me, Ross. I’ll tell you the truth. David is my biological son. And so is Ross’s.” “Ross’s family demanded he produce an heir before they would hand over the family business. He didn’t have anyone he truly loved, so to help him, I agreed to have his child.” “But I’m not as sordid as you think. I didn’t want to hurt you, so the child was conceived via IVF. I lied and said I was going overseas for a project for a few months. I was protecting your feelings.” I stared at her, my voice cold as the grave. “So you did all this… for me?” Isabelle’s face twisted in a look of pain. “Because I truly love you, Ross.” “As long as you repent, as long as you let Ryan save David, our family can go back to how it was before.” I closed my eyes, fighting back a wave of pure rage. When I opened them, my voice was flat. “Isabelle, our son is dead. Why can’t you accept that?” “Our family? The moment Ryan died, this family shattered into a million pieces. Isabelle, I want a divorce.” The words hung in the silent air. No one dared to breathe. Isabelle looked at me in disbelief. “A divorce?!” Her eyes darted around the courtyard, and her gaze fell on a young woman in the corner, a local herbalist, who was staring at me with open concern. Understanding seemed to dawn on Isabelle’s face. She turned back to me, her voice laced with arctic cold. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? You made up this entire story to trick me, all so you could divorce me and be with her.” “You’re insane,” I gritted out. She studied my face for a few seconds, and then a slow, chilling smile spread across her lips. “Fine,” she said coldly. “If Ryan is truly dead, then I’ll grant you a divorce.” She paused, her eyes glittering. “But if he’s not, you will never be free of me. Even in death, you will be buried in my family’s ancestral plot!” “Now,” she mused, her voice dangerously soft, “how shall I expose your lie?” Just then, a faint meow came from the corner. Everyone turned. Ross’s eyes lit up. He leaned in and whispered in Isabelle’s ear, “Isabelle, that’s the cat Ryan was always taking care of. He loved that thing more than anything. He wouldn’t be able to stand seeing it hurt.” Isabelle’s gaze fell on the scrawny Ragdoll cat, and her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Seeing her hesitation, Ross pulled back, his head bowed. “You don’t think I’m being cruel, do you? Using a little cat as a bargaining chip…” He sounded ashamed. Isabelle looked from him to me, and a bitter smile touched her lips. “Ross was willing to curse his own son. What you’re suggesting is nothing.” I heard the sneer in her voice but could barely react. My heart gave a slow, heavy thud. It was becoming difficult to breathe. Suddenly, the cat let out a piercing shriek. I looked up.

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I bankrupted my own company to take my girlfriend’s public, making her dream a reality. At her IPO celebration, I planned to reveal myself as a billionaire heir and announce our relationship. But she stepped on stage arm-in-arm with another man. “Bryan,” she said, trembling with excitement, “the pregnancy rumors are true—he’s the father!” Silence filled the room. Everyone turned to me. I stood, forced a smile, and started clapping. The crowd erupted. Watching Sophia glow in Bryan’s arms, I realized—if this was her happiness, I wouldn’t stand in her way. I walked out and called my father: “Kill Sophia’s funding. Let her figure out the IPO alone.” 1 My father, sharp as ever, knew instantly that something was broken between Sophia and me. He sighed, a heavy sound over the phone. “Bill, are you sure about this? If we pull this funding, Rosewood Tech won’t just fail to go public. They’ll go under completely. That hole from their tax evasion is too deep to fill.” He paused. “I won’t ask why you’re making this decision. I just… it’s been seven years, son. I don’t want you to have any regrets.” Seven years. After I got with Sophia, I cared more about her career than she did. When I first got involved, her company was a black hole, and to keep it from collapsing, I cannibalized my own successful business. She’d cried, telling me how much it hurt to see me work myself into a bleeding ulcer for her, swearing she would never let me down. She promised that once the company went public, we would finally make our relationship official. So I worked even harder, all for the day I could stand by her side without hiding. But promises? They’re just hot air from the person making them, and only a fool believes them. “Dad,” I said firmly. “Just trust me on this.” He didn’t press further. The moment I hung up, Sophia stormed out after me. “Bill! You’re the host. You can’t just walk out! That’s so unprofessional!” A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “My duties didn’t include emceeing the public announcement of your affair.” Her face went rigid. “You’re the host, you host the whole event! You don’t get to pick and choose.” Her voice rose, dripping with indignation. “Besides, I was telling the truth. Bryan is the father of the child in my belly! I can’t very well lie and say it’s you, can I?” She hadn’t told me she was pregnant. I found the test in the trash can myself. I didn’t question it, just naturally assumed the child was mine. I started taking even better care of her, and she let me, never correcting my assumption. I never imagined I was just a placeholder, a glorified caretaker for another man’s woman and child. The thought was as nauseating as swallowing a fly. I didn’t want to waste another breath on her. “I’m going home.” After a quick shower, I collapsed onto the bed. My phone buzzed. It was a video from Bryan. I opened it, and the sounds of Sophia’s moans filled the quiet room, each one louder than the last. She moved with him, trying different positions, her face a mask of pure ecstasy. “Oh, Bryan,” her voice cooed from the speaker, “only with you… only with you does it feel like our souls are truly merging.” So, they really were a perfect match. That video showed me a side of Sophia I’d never known. With me, she’d just lie there like a starfish, a mechanical, lifeless participant. I had always thought she just had a low libido. Turns out, that wasn’t it at all. She just didn’t love me. My eyelids felt like lead weights. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, deeper than any I’d ever felt. I, who always needed to get to the bottom of everything, now just wanted to sleep. I dropped my phone and let the darkness take me. 2 In the dead of night, Sophia came home, propping up a drunken Bryan. The blankets were ripped off me, and a blast of cold air hit my skin. I opened my eyes to see Sophia’s face, arrogant and demanding, hovering above me. “You’re sleeping on the couch,” she ordered. “Bryan’s taking the bed.” She had always treated me this way, with a casual, high-handed authority. After seven years, she was used to me being her servant. I didn’t move. “Doesn’t he have his own home?” “Can’t you see he’s drunk? I have to take care of him.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if Bryan were her rightful partner. How considerate. I remembered the time I drank myself sick to land a deal for her company. I called her to pick me up, but she said it was too cold to go out. I had to drag myself home, collapsing the moment I walked through the door. I spent the night on the freezing floor and woke up with a raging fever. I had to call the ambulance myself. She didn’t visit me once in the hospital. “Ah, I almost forgot,” I said, my voice flat. “He’s the father of your child.” Sophia took my words as agreement. “Exactly. So are you going to move, or not?” “Bill, I know you’re angry,” she said, her voice softening slightly, “but I can’t let my child call another man ‘daddy’.” What a noble mother. But who created this mess? I looked at her, truly looked at her, and for the first time, she utterly disgusted me. I started to get up, but she stopped me. Her expression was a mix of conflict and resolution. Finally, she let out a breath. “The person I love is Bryan. The baby and I… we can’t be without him.” She paused, as if offering me a grand concession. “So, here’s the plan. The three of us will live together. You’ll keep managing the company, and you’ll get your share. I won’t cheat you.” A laugh bubbled up inside me. The sheer audacity of it. She wanted to have her cake and eat it too. Make her grand public declaration with Bryan, and keep me around as her free labor and glorified butler. “No, thank you,” I said. “Since you chose him, I wish you both the best.” Sophia looked at me as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Can you stop being so dramatic? Without me, how would you even survive? I’ve been supporting you all these years.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Just stay put. The three of us can make it work. It was Bryan’s idea, too.” Just then, Bryan made a retching sound. Sophia immediately rushed to his side, all concern and worry. I went to the study to sleep. It wasn’t long before the study door was being pounded on, the noise shaking the frame. “Get up and make breakfast! Bryan and I are hungry. We want noodles, hurry up!” I pulled the covers over my head, pretending not to hear. After a while, the knocking stopped. My sleep was ruined anyway. When I finally got up, they were both gone. Perfect. Time to pack. The stench of stale alcohol in the master bedroom was overwhelming. She could really tolerate anything for Bryan’s sake. I opened the closet. My clothes were just a few items, all of which I’d bought myself before moving in. After a moment’s thought, I gathered them all and threw them in the trash. If I was letting go, I was letting go of everything. Besides the clothes, I also threw out the matching couple’s toothbrushes, slippers, and dishes I had bought. As I cleared things out, it dawned on me: the only person invested in our “couple” status had been me. Sophia’s set of everything was still in its original packaging, untouched. As I was clearing out the shoe rack, I found something tucked away in a corner. A pair of men’s underwear. Not my size. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I looked around the apartment, our home, and a sickening montage played in my mind: Bryan and Sophia, laughing, touching, living in every corner of this place, while I remained completely in the dark. Thank God I was finally awake. 3 After shipping my few remaining personal effects back to my family’s estate, I headed to Rosewood Tech to resign. Beyond funneling resources to Sophia from behind the scenes, I also held the official title of General Manager. For seven years, day in and day out, I had been the one closing deals, solving crises, and pushing the company upward. I pushed open the door to my—to the General Manager’s office—and found Sophia and Bryan wrapped around each other, directing a secretary who was packing up a desk. My desk. Now that they were public, they certainly weren’t shy. I thought back to all the times I had asked, begged, for us to be more open, and how Sophia had always refused. She was the boss, she’d said, she had to set an example. What would happen if all her employees started office romances? How could she maintain control? “Throw all of his junk out,” Sophia’s sharp voice cut through the air. “I don’t know why we let such garbage accumulate in here. It’s cheapening the place.” They turned as I entered. Sophia’s face was a mask of cold indifference, while Bryan shot me a look of pure, triumphant provocation. “Bill,” Sophia announced, her tone brittle, “in light of your immature behavior at the celebration party yesterday, you’re being demoted. Bryan will be the new General Manager. You can be his deputy.” She gestured towards Bryan. “That funding deal from New York? You’ll assist him in finalizing it from now on.” The New York deal. The one I’d spent a month wining and dining the client’s representative for, drinking until I gave myself a bleeding ulcer just to get a foot in the door. The deal that was only truly secured because of my father’s influence. Now that they thought it was a sure thing, they were trying to kick me to the curb and steal the credit. How utterly predictable. I didn’t bother arguing. I simply pulled the resignation letter from my jacket and placed it on the desk in front of her. “Ms. Rosewood, this is my resignation. Please approve it.” The sudden move caught them completely off guard. Sophia and Bryan exchanged a shocked glance. She frowned, her eyes searching my face for some hidden motive. Bryan, however, was practically vibrating with excitement. With me gone, the project—and all the glory—would fall squarely into his lap. “Come on, ‘Deputy’ Vance,” he sneered. “Are you really going to quit just because of a small demotion? Or do you actually think this company can’t function without you? Pulling a stunt like this right before the IPO… real classy.” Any hesitation Sophia might have had vanished at Bryan’s words. Her face darkened with anger. “I don’t know why I ever hired you in the first place!” she snapped. “You want to leave? Fine! I accept. Now pack your things and get the hell out! And don’t you ever think of setting foot in Rosewood Tech again.” I nodded, quietly placing my few belongings into a cardboard box. Just then, Sophia’s assistant rushed in, out of breath. “Ms. Rosewood, the representative from the New York firm is here! They said they’re ready to talk about the financing!” Sophia immediately started fussing over Bryan, straightening his tie. “You’ve got this,” she whispered encouragingly. “It’s all been negotiated. All that’s left is the signature. Don’t be nervous.” “I won’t,” Bryan said, puffing out his chest as he walked out of the office. I finished packing and walked out with my box. In the hallway, I saw Bryan, a fawning smile plastered on his face as he extended a hand to the representative. “Hello, sir. My name is Bryan Carter. I’m the new General Manager here, and I’ll be handling the financing deal with you.” The representative didn’t even glance at his outstretched hand. His eyes lit up when he saw me. He immediately came over, taking the box from my arms. “Mr. Vance,” he said, his voice loud and clear for everyone to hear. “I’ve already been notified about the situation. I’m actually here today to officially cancel the investment.” He gestured vaguely back toward Bryan. “This whole deal was contingent on your involvement, as a favor to your father. With you gone, there’s no reason for us to stay.”

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Every year on our anniversary, Vincent would send me 999 roses. This year, my four-year-old niece, Lily, was visiting. She was absolutely captivated by the enormous bouquet. Suddenly, she scampered over, tugging on my sleeve. “Auntie Maria,” she chirped, “there are nine hundred and ninety-eight flowers, right?” 1 I paused, then smiled, ruffling her hair. “No, sweetie, you miscounted. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine.” Lily pouted. “Nuh-uh! It’s nine hundred and ninety-eight!” Seeing the determination in her eyes, I knew I couldn’t just dismiss her. You have to show a child, not just tell them. “Alright then,” I said with a playful grin. “How about we count them all again, together? We’ll see who’s right.” Lily nodded eagerly. Twenty minutes later, I stared at the sea of roses spread across the floor. Nine hundred and ninety-eight. I felt a strange blankness. How could one be missing? Lily clapped her hands in triumph. “Auntie was wrong!” Snapping back to the present, I forced a smile. “You’re right, Lily-bug. You’re so smart! As a reward, how about a cookie tart?” She nodded so fast her head bobbed like a little bird. That evening, my sister Sophia came to pick up Lily. As she stood in the doorway, holding her sleeping daughter, she looked at me intently. “Ellie, is something wrong?” I flinched slightly but shook my head. Sophia didn’t press, just told me to call her if I needed anything. After I closed the door, the house fell silent. The last rays of the sunset spilled through the window, painting the floor in gold, but I was in no mood to appreciate it. I just sat on the sofa, lost in thought. It was just one rose. It was probably just a careless mistake at the florist. A simple miscount during packaging. But a knot of unease tightened in my gut. I couldn’t shake it. Night had fully fallen when Vincent finally came home. The house was dark. “Maria?” he called out, flipping the light switch. When the room flooded with light, he saw me on the sofa. “Hey, why are you sitting in the dark?” Before I could answer, he noticed the scattered roses on the floor. His brow furrowed in surprise. “What happened here? Did you take them apart?” I stood up, taking his jacket from him. “Lily did. She wanted to count them.” Vincent froze for a second. “Funny thing,” I continued, my voice carefully neutral. “There were only nine hundred and ninety-eight. One was missing.” He was unbuttoning his cuffs, his head bowed, so I couldn’t see his expression. After a moment, he looked up, shrugging it off. “The florist must have messed up. I’ll buy you another one tomorrow to make up for it.” He leaned in, kissed my forehead, and headed for the shower. I stood there, rooted to the spot. A scent lingered on him, not his usual cologne, but a pure, complex fragrance—a mix of countless different flowers. My heart clenched. A moment later, I found myself pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. In five years of marriage, I had never once checked Vincent’s phone. I’d always believed that a relationship without basic trust wasn’t worth having. This was the first time. I knew myself too well. If I didn’t put this doubt to rest, it would fester, becoming an unhealable crack in our marriage. His passcode was my birthday. It had never changed. I opened his messages and quickly found the contact for the florist. The name was “Alicia,” with a little hand-drawn sunflower as the profile picture. I tapped open their chat. The conversation was clean—just orders for bouquets, straightforward questions and answers. Nothing overtly flirtatious. But then I scrolled up. And up. My finger froze. He had been ordering from her for the last three years. That, in itself, wasn’t the problem. Vincent was a creature of habit; once he found something he liked, he stuck with it. The problem was that he had kept their entire chat history. Three full years of it. Vincent had a quirk: he obsessively deleted his chat logs to keep things tidy. It had once caused him to lose an important file and nearly torpedo a project. After that, he’d tried to be more careful, but he still rarely kept a conversation thread for more than a week. I was the only exception. From our first date to this very day, he had saved every single one of our messages, meticulously backing them up whenever he got a new phone. And now, there was a second exception. My hand started to tremble. Sometimes, a woman’s intuition is terrifyingly accurate. Taking a deep breath, I clicked on Alicia’s social media profile. It was mostly ads for her flower shop, but one post stood out. It was a photo of a slender hand holding a single rose. The caption read: Even a sliver of your heart is a precious gift. It was posted on our anniversary. Vincent hadn’t replied, but he had liked it. In that instant, a chilling cold seeped into my bones, as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. I don’t know how long I stood there. Vincent came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He saw me with his phone and paused. Then he grinned, a teasing light in his eyes. “Maria, finally getting curious enough to check my phone?” 2 I turned to face him. There wasn’t a shred of guilt on his face, only playful amusement. For a split second, I felt a desperate urge to believe I was overthinking it all. I took a steadying breath, refusing to be pulled into a spiral of suspicion and anxiety. I held up the phone, showing him Alicia’s post. “One rose was missing from my bouquet,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “And this post was made on our anniversary.” I locked eyes with him. “Vincent, I need an explanation.” He looked genuinely surprised. “Honey, it’s just a coincidence.” “You liked her post,” I countered, my voice hardening. “And you’ve saved three years of your chat history with her.” The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Finally, he sat down beside me, taking my hand. He sighed. “Maria, it’s not what you think.” “I saved the chat history to track orders,” he explained. “They messed up an order once and wouldn’t admit it, so I started keeping the logs as proof. As for the ‘like,’ it was just a mindless scroll. I probably didn’t even read the caption.” I said nothing. The excuse sounded plausible on the surface. But I knew Vincent. He had a visceral disdain for incompetence. He’d once transferred his own executive assistant for making a single, minor error. For Vincent to break his own rules for someone meant they were special. Seeing my silence, his brow furrowed. “Maria, don’t you have even a little faith in me?” I looked at him, my voice soft but firm. “If that’s the case, then delete her contact. We can find a new florist. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?” His expression shifted. “Maria, you really don’t trust me, do you?” I just stared at him, my silence an unyielding demand. His face contorted with a flicker of emotions before settling into a cold mask. He shot up from the sofa, his voice hard with what sounded like petulance. “Fine! Do whatever you want!” I nodded. Right there, in front of him, I deleted “Alicia” from his contacts. His face grew even darker. “Are you satisfied now?” he snapped. I didn’t answer. He snatched the phone back and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him with a resounding bang. The fight went out of me, and I sank back onto the sofa, only then noticing how violently my hands were shaking. I stared at the closed bedroom door, a bitter smile twisting my lips. Was he angry because I’d overstepped? Or because I’d uncovered a secret he wasn’t ready to face? The next few days were a blur of icy silence. We were in a cold war. He didn’t try to coax me out of my anger like he usually would, and I didn’t press him further about Alicia. In my heart, I knew they probably hadn’t crossed a physical line. But they had absolutely shattered the boundaries of a normal professional relationship. On the tenth day of our standoff, I came home from work to find Vincent in the kitchen, wearing an apron. The aroma of cooking filled the air. He heard the door and turned, offering me a small smile as if the past ten days of tension had never happened. “Wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” I stood there for a moment before turning toward the bathroom. As I passed the dining table, I stopped. There was a new bouquet of flowers, the brand card from a different, well-known florist dangling conspicuously, as if placed there for me to see. It wasn’t from Alicia’s shop. I understood immediately. This was his peace offering. His way of surrendering. I stood there for a long moment before taking the flowers and arranging them in a vase. When I came out of the bathroom, dinner was on the table. All my favorites. I stared at the spread, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. The last time Vincent had cooked for me was years ago, back when he was just starting his company. We’d poured every penny we had into the business. There was a time we were so broke, we’d stretch a single packet of ramen with plain noodles, just to have enough for two. He would always pick out all the flavored ramen bits and put them in my bowl. I’d been so moved back then. Thinking about it now, it was both pitiful and sweet. Then his company took off. He’d taken me to the finest restaurants, and we never had to huddle over a tiny table sharing a bowl of noodles again. But sometimes, I missed those days. Not the hardship, but the fierce, all-consuming love we had for each other back then. Now, we were on different career paths, shining in our own separate worlds. We had less and less to talk about. Maybe neither of us had noticed, but the moment our conversations started to dwindle, the first cracks in our marriage had already appeared. 3 The cold war between Vincent and me ended unspoken over that dinner. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was the weary compromise of adulthood, the necessity of turning a blind eye. If I were twenty, I would have slapped him across the face and walked out without a backward glance. But I was twenty-nine. The law firm I’d co-founded was in its crucial startup phase. Our partnership with Vincent’s company was a strategic move that maximized our profits. So, as long as he didn’t cross my ultimate line, I wouldn’t burn everything to the ground. I thought the incident was behind us. But two weeks later, while reviewing a case with a client, a wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to run to the bathroom, gagging over the toilet. A dreadful premonition washed over me. A trip to the doctor confirmed it. I was pregnant. I sat on the hard bench in the hallway, staring at the ultrasound report with a storm of emotions churning inside me. I was over two months along. The doctor said the baby was healthy. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. After a long while, I crumpled the report in my fist and took a deep, steadying breath. This wasn’t a decision I could make alone. Vincent was the father. He had a right to know, a right to be part of the choice. As I walked out of the clinic, the sun warm on my shoulders, a sliver of hope flickered within me. Maybe this was the universe giving us a chance to fix what was broken. I drove to his office. The young woman at the front desk recognized me, smiling brightly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hamilton.” I nodded, but my eyes were drawn to a long table against the wall. I froze. On the table sat a large cardboard box filled with single-stem roses, individually wrapped. The receptionist, skilled at reading people, noticed my gaze. “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” she explained cheerfully. “Mr. Hamilton ordered a rose for every woman in the company. We just pick one up on our way out.” I barely heard her. My eyes were glued to the familiar, hand-drawn sunflower logo printed on the side of the box. After a moment that felt like an eternity, I managed to tear my gaze away. “Does he do this every year?” I asked, my voice a dry rasp. She thought for a second. “He started about three years ago.” A hammer slammed into my chest, the impact stealing my breath. An indescribable, acidic bitterness flooded my heart. I forced a weak smile and headed for the elevator. I was about to knock on Vincent’s office door when it swung open from the inside. A young, beautiful woman stepped out, a radiant smile on her face that instantly froze when she saw me. Silence. We stared at each other, no words needed. We both knew exactly who the other was. The silence drew Vincent’s attention. When he saw me, his face went pale. He instinctively moved to stand in front of Alicia, shielding her. “Maria, it’s not what you think,” he began, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She was just delivering the flowers. The Valentine’s order was placed ages ago, it couldn’t be canceled…” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “Vincent, stop. The excuses are just making you look pathetic.” His face darkened, as if I’d just insulted his very core. Before he could retort, Alicia stepped forward, her chin held high in defiance. “Ms. Bishop, that’s a horrible thing to say,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Mr. Hamilton and I have nothing to be ashamed of!” She bit her lip, then turned to look at Vincent with an expression of pure, heartbreaking adoration. “It’s all me. I’m the one who loves him, but he’s never once led me on. His heart belongs only to you! He’s a wonderful man, Ms. Bishop. You should treasure him.”

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To save the world’s brooding, future supervillain, I tried everything. I tried being his girlfriend; he dumped me in a week. I tried being his private tutor; he fired me for no reason. I tried being his stepmother; he had me thrown out of the house. For my final chance, I cashed in all my points with the System for a “Bloodline Alteration Pill.” I regressed my body and mind to that of a three-year-old. Then, at the most critical moment of his arcade game, I rushed forward, hugged his leg, and yelled, “Daddy!” His body shuddered. He lost the game. His delinquent friends erupted in laughter. “Whoa, Ryder, man! When did this happen? Your kid’s already this big?” Ryder, still in his high school uniform, roared back, his voice echoing through the arcade. “I just turned eighteen! I’m still a virgin!” 1 Ryder’s shout was so loud that everyone turned to stare. His best friend, Leo, froze. He quickly clapped his hands over my ears. “Dude, kid’s right here!” Ryder glared down at me, his eyes radiating a glacial chill. “What kid? I don’t know her!” He tried to shake his leg. “Let go, kid!” I just hugged him tighter, pressing my cheek against the denim of his jeans, pretending I couldn’t hear a thing. Suddenly, strange text floated in my vision. I couldn’t read the words, but luckily, an AI voice read them aloud for me. [The villain is just a kid himself. How’s he supposed to raise a kid? This mission is doomed.] [This Operator has really tried, though. Attempt #1: Girlfriend. He claimed he was allergic to women and broke up with her.] [Attempt #2: Tutor. The villain said she brought bad luck by entering the room with her left foot first. Fired.] [Attempt #3: Stepmother. He told his dad she was cursed and would kill him. His dad is… superstitious.] [If this attempt fails, the Operator will be erased, right? Then the villain will go dark, and the world will be destroyed.] I didn’t understand any of that. But it didn’t matter. I’d found my daddy! Ryder’s face grew darker and darker until he finally just kicked me away. I rolled across the floor like a little ball. Pain flared across my body, and I could already feel bruises forming. Why was Daddy being so mean? I stared at him, stunned. Leo gasped. “Ryder! What if she starts crying?” Ryder sneered. “Not my damn problem. I don’t even—” “Daddy.” I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain, and ran back to hug him again. “What the f—” He caught himself, a vein throbbing on his temple. “Why are you so damn clingy?” He stared at me. I stared back at him. The air in the arcade turned strangely silent. One of his buddies spoke up. “You know, Ryder… she actually looks a lot like you.” Leo picked up something that had fallen out of my pocket. He stared at it for a long, silent moment. He patted Ryder, who was still fuming, on the shoulder. “Dude,” Leo said slowly. “When… when exactly did you make this mistake?” Ryder’s eye twitched. He snatched the paper from Leo’s hand. A DNA test. Paternity confirmed. Father-daughter relationship. His anger was so extreme it looped back around into a twisted smile. He crouched down, pinching my cheeks between his fingers. “Alright, kid, tell me. Who sent you? Who faked this test? What’s your goal here?” His voice was a low growl. “Don’t you think I’d know if I’d ever been with a woman? I had a girlfriend once, but I never even held her hand!” His grip was strong, and my face hurt. He’d already kicked me; why was he still being so mean? A wave of injustice washed over me. My eyes welled up, but I bit my lip and held back the tears. “You are Fifi’s daddy!” A storm was brewing in Ryder’s eyes. He let go of my face, and my cheeks bounced back into place. The sudden release made me lose my balance, and I plopped back onto the floor. Ryder’s scowl almost broke into a laugh. He coughed a few times to cover it up. “Call the cops,” he said flatly. “Maybe she’s my dad’s illegitimate kid. He can deal with her.” An hour later, Ryder walked out of the police station with me in tow. His face was a mask of pure despair. “She’s really my kid?” “Holy shit!” 2 I tilted my head, confused. The text appeared again. [Fifi is adorable, but it’s a shame this mission is destined to fail.] [In three days, the villain’s father is going to bring home his mistress and their illegitimate son. The mistress will constantly bad-mouth the villain. Feeling misunderstood and unloved, the villain will go street racing, get into an accident, and have his leg amputated.] [After that, his personality will darken. The mistress will deliberately introduce him to drugs. He’ll completely break down when he learns his mother has remarried.] [He’ll lose everything. His friends will betray him. He’ll meet the story’s heroine, his one ray of light, but she’ll end up giving all his company secrets to the hero.] [That’s when the villain will snap. He’ll kidnap the heroine. The hero, his father, and the mistress will all die horrible deaths. He’ll even kidnap his mother’s new child… After getting revenge on everyone who ever hurt him, he’ll jump off a building.] I didn’t understand, so I ignored it. I instinctively hugged Ryder’s leg, becoming his personal ankle-warmer again. “So, what’s the plan, man?” Leo asked. Ryder looked like he’d aged ten years. He, a teenager, was already radiating exhausted dad energy. He ran a hand through his hair, reflexively wanting to shake me off but stopping himself. “Whatever happens,” he muttered, “my dad can’t find out about this.” He lifted me onto a nearby planter. “Do you have a name? Who’s your mom?” My stomach rumbled loudly. I gave him an embarrassed little smile, interrupting his interrogation. “Hehe, Fifi’s hungry.” Half an hour later, a scowling Ryder led me into a McDonald’s. I grabbed an icy Coke, but he snatched it away, frowning. “You’re having a Happy Meal. Kids can’t drink Coke.” Kids? I remembered the text. Daddy was a kid, too! Ryder took a big gulp of the Coke. Before he could swallow, I reached up and squeezed his cheeks. Hard. PFFFT— Coke sprayed all over my face. I beamed at him. “Daddy, you’re a kid, too! You can’t drink it!” Ryder’s jaw clenched. He looked at me, drenched and sticky, and took a deep, steadying breath. And another. Finally, he covered my ears and whispered one word. “Fuck.” [Wait, how did this tragedy turn into a comedy? I’m dying!] [And it seems like the villain has already accepted he has a daughter. This move was brilliant! Way better than being his girlfriend.] [Let’s just wait and see. I refuse to believe someone as rotten as the villain can take care of a child.] Whatever the text said, Ryder, despite his obsessive cleanliness, took a wet wipe and started scrubbing my face. It wasn’t working. The sticky residue wouldn’t come off. So much for Coke Zero. He pulled out his phone and typed into the search bar: [Is it okay to throw away a dirty child?] The AI read the search query aloud. I puffed out my cheeks and poked him. “You can’t throw me away!” My voice trembled. “Bad Daddy! You already kicked Fifi, and Fifi still hurts!” His gaze fell to the purple bruises already forming on my arms and legs. His fingers, holding the phone, froze. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “…Sorry,” he mumbled. “That was… that was my fault. Don’t be mad at me.” He looked down, his long eyelashes hiding the emotion in his eyes. [HOLY SHIT, THE VILLAIN APOLOGIZED?!] [Is this the power of blood ties? After four failed attempts, this is the first time I’ve ever seen him be gentle…] [This is kind of sad. The villain has never known love. To suddenly have a daughter who depends on him completely… he must be terrified.] I didn’t understand the text. All I knew was that I had held back my tears when he was mean to me. But the moment I heard his soft, gentle voice, it was like a feather landing on the surface of a lake, becoming heavy with water, and sinking to the very bottom. My heart sank with it. My lip trembled, and big, fat tears started rolling down my cheeks. “Daddy is good,” I hiccupped. “Fifi is just a baby who’s scared of pain. Hic.” “Daddy, please don’t leave Fifi.” 3 Ryder’s pupils contracted. He froze. After a long moment, as if he’d made a momentous decision, he took my sticky, Coke-covered hand in his. His voice was a little hoarse. “Okay.” He wiped away my tears, which only made me break down completely. I started wailing. My cries were so loud that a customer at a nearby table looked around, confused. “Is someone boiling a kettle?” Ryder’s fingers tightened on mine, and his ears turned bright red. In a moment of sheer desperation, he shoved a piece of fried chicken into my mouth. The world fell silent. Thirty seconds later, I was still holding the chicken. “Dis thing (chew, chew, chew) is sho yummy! (chew, chew, chew)” Ryder sighed. “Even food can’t shut you up!” By the time he’d taken me to a department store, given me a bath, and bought me a mountain of new things, it was already evening. He held my hand, his steps slow and measured. The setting sun stretched our shadows long behind us. “Fifi Ryder,” he said. “From now on, your name is Fifi Ryder.” I giggled and hugged his leg. “Fifi’s not a stray anymore! Fifi has a daddy!” Ryder scooped me up into his arms. “What stray? You’re a princess, you know that?” He looked at my face, and a thought seemed to strike him. He pulled out his phone and called Leo. “How do I keep scumbags with bleached hair away from my daughter?” Leo was silent for a moment. “Ryder… we are the scumbags with bleached hair.” “…” That night, Ryder walked into a salon. “I want this mess dyed black. Now.” With his naturally sharp features and high nose bridge, the black hair toned down his rebellious aura, giving him a cooler, more refined look. He held me, snapped a selfie, and sent it to Leo. [From now on, bleached-blond lowlifes like you are not allowed near my daughter.] Leo: [?_?] For the next few days, Ryder skipped school. He stayed up all night, devouring five different parenting books. He even started trying to cook child-friendly meals in his small apartment. The system text was baffled. [Shouldn’t he be out street racing? Partying? Getting into trouble? What is he DOING?!] In just three days, Ryder had become an expert at tying my hair into cute little pigtails. He was about to take me to the park when his father called. “Ryder, I don’t care what you do outside of school, but didn’t I tell you to stop having your teachers call me?!” “If you’re not going to class, what are you doing? If you don’t want to study, you can just go die.” The hateful words made Ryder’s face harden. His eyes went cold, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. I gently pried his fingers open. “Daddy, be gentle. You’re hurting the phone.” Hearing my voice, the fury in his eyes softened. He lifted me up with one arm. “Fine,” he said into the phone. “Just remove me from the family registry, and you won’t have to worry about me anymore.” Normally, his father would have exploded in a tirade of curses. But today, he was strangely calm. “Ryder, you…” Before he could finish, Ryder heard a small, childish voice on the other end. “Daddy, I wanna go to the amusement park!” His father’s voice immediately turned warm and loving. “Of course, sweetie. Daddy will take you.” Ryder’s eyes turned bloodshot. The anger he’d just suppressed came roaring back. “Got a new son already? How could you do this to Mom?” His father didn’t answer. He just hung up. [Oh no, the wheels of fate are turning… He’s going to go street racing tonight and break his leg…] [Noooo, I was enjoying the last three days of wholesome content!] [The villain’s life is so tragic. I’d go dark, too, if I were him.] Ryder’s hand tightened on the phone, his first instinct to hurl it against the wall. But then he remembered me, and he forced himself to stop. His face was blank, but I could feel waves of profound sadness rolling off him. I hugged his leg and looked up at him. “Daddy, don’t be sad.” Ryder knelt and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m fine.” I hugged him back, gently patting his back. “Daddy, don’t tell lies.” “Fifi loves you.” His body went rigid. I felt a damp spot spreading on my shoulder. “Daddy, don’t cry little pearl tears.” His voice was muffled. “Okay. I won’t.” 4 Perhaps it was the unstoppable force of the plot, but Ryder still went out on his motorcycle that night. The difference was, this time, he strapped me securely to his chest, adding several extra safety harnesses. Only when he was certain I was safe did he swing his leg over the bike. He drove slowly. So slowly that an old man jogging on the sidewalk easily overtook us. Seeing the old man’s disdainful glance, Ryder fell silent. He wanted to speed up, but when he saw me with my mouth wide open, catching the wind like a baby bird, he sighed in resignation and pulled over. He took me to a nearby ice cream shop. “Daddy, ice cream will stop the pearl tears!” I held up my cone to him with a big smile. “Daddy eats first!” [What a good girl!] [I want a daughter like this!] [Wait, did we just… solve the car crash plot point like that?] He glanced at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. The next second, he opened his mouth and ate the entire scoop of ice cream in one bite. My smile froze. “Daddy… you… you ate it all?” “You… Fifi… Fifi is gonna—” Just as the tears were about to fall, he stifled a laugh and quickly shoved the sugar cone into my mouth. Seeing my face caught between crying and not crying, he finally burst out laughing. All the pent-up emotions, all the darkness and pressure, just seemed to evaporate into the night air. On the way home, we rode slowly, the cool evening breeze on our faces. As we passed a dark alley, we heard a woman’s desperate cries. “Let go of me! Somebody, help!” A man’s sleazy laugh followed. “You won’t be saying that once you start enjoying it.” The system text sounded confused. [Huh? This is the scene where the hero saves the heroine. Why is the villain here?] [Holy crap, he’s going in!] Ryder handed me his phone, already dialing 911. “Tell the nice police officer that some people are fighting. Then you stand right here and don’t move. I’ll be back in three minutes.” A moment later, the sound of pained grunts echoed from the alley. I felt a little scared. My voice trembled as I spoke to the dispatcher. “Officer, there’s a fight!” I stammered out the address. Three minutes later, Ryder emerged, draping his jacket over the shoulders of the heroine, Stella. His own white hoodie was stained with blood. “Thank you,” Stella said, her voice hoarse, her eyes filled with gratitude. Ryder just waved it off, more focused on scooping me up. Hearing the approaching sirens, his face beamed with pride. “Good job, Fifi. You know how to call the police now.” Seeing him, my fear vanished. I puffed out my chest proudly. “Hmph.” He laughed, the last of the darkness gone from his eyes.

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1 My sister-in-law couldn’t produce milk after giving birth. She sent a topless photo to my boyfriend, a doctor. “Dr. Leslie,” she wrote, “I heard suckling can help stimulate milk flow.” My boyfriend replied: “I’m an OB/GYN. For a sow in heat, you see a vet.” Feeling insulted, my sister-in-law framed him for sexual harassment, posting an edited video online that went viral. My boyfriend’s medical license was revoked, and in his despair, he took his own life. Even then, my sister-in-law continued to stoke the flames of public opinion online. “A man with no common decency like that deserved to die.” I dragged her to the roof of our apartment building and we fell to our deaths together. When I opened my eyes again… I was reborn, sitting right in front of my sister-in-law, who had just given birth. … I opened my eyes again to find myself on the living room sofa. The air was a sharp mix of hospital antiseptic and the faint, sour smell of milk. My eyes darted around, disoriented, until they landed on a pale, gaunt face. It was my sister-in-law, Laura. She had just given birth and was wearing a striped blue-and-white hospital gown, leaning weakly against the headboard of a temporary bed set up in our living room. My brother, Mark, was holding a bowl of chicken soup, carefully blowing on each spoonful before lifting it to her lips. “Laura, honey, just a little more. Mom simmered this all morning for you.” Laura pushed the spoon away with a look of disgust. “I can’t stomach it. I have no appetite.” Her voice was frail, laced with an almost imperceptible thread of irritation. “My milk just won’t come in. The baby won’t stop crying from hunger. It’s breaking my heart.” That sentence was like a lightning bolt crashing through my mind. I was dead. I had dragged Laura to the rooftop of our thirty-story apartment building and jumped, taking her with me. The whistling wind, the gut-wrenching feeling of freefall, the sound of shattering bone, and Laura’s terrified screams. And then, endless, icy darkness. But now, here I was, real and solid. I looked down at my own two hands, perfectly intact. This wasn’t the afterlife. I was reborn. Reborn before the tragedy began. My brother was still worried sick about Laura’s inability to breastfeed. My boyfriend, Julian, was still alive and well. He hadn’t yet had his life destroyed by a single topless photo and a vicious lie. He hadn’t had his medical license revoked, hadn’t been driven by endless despair and a campaign of cyberbullying to leap from the roof of the hospital. He hadn’t yet become an eternal, unhealing scar on my soul. A tidal wave of hatred churned in my chest, threatening to burn my sanity to ash. I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug deep into my palms, the sharp pain the only thing keeping me grounded. Laura. I stared at her, at that pitiful, angelic face. In my last life, that was the face that had fooled everyone. She had cried to me, claiming Julian had verbally abused and harassed her after she’d simply asked for advice on milk production. She had edited their chat history, releasing only Julian’s final, provoked message. “I’m an OB/GYN. For a sow in heat, you see a vet.” She never mentioned that she had first sent him a photo of her bare chest. The caption read: “Dr. Leslie, I heard suckling can help stimulate milk flow.” She didn’t say it, so I never knew. I even had a massive fight with Julian over his “inappropriate language.” Later, Laura posted the edited video online. Public opinion exploded. A helpless new mother, shamed and humiliated by an unethical male doctor. It was the perfect story for a viral outrage. Doxxing, death threats, and curses flooded every corner of Julian’s life. The hospital, buckling under the pressure, suspended him pending an investigation. He tried to explain, but no one would listen. When he produced the complete, unedited chat logs, Laura just started a livestream, sobbing that the photo was photoshopped, that Julian had made it all up in a bitter rage after she had rejected his adLeslies. She claimed she was suffering from postpartum depression and had only been seeking a doctor’s help, only to be treated so cruelly. She said she didn’t want to live anymore. The self-righteous internet mob grew even more furious. They protested outside the hospital with banners, threw paint on Julian’s front door, and mailed him razor blades. Finally, to quell the public outcry, the hospital board revoked Julian’s license to practice medicine. That day, he sent me one last text message. “Joanne, I didn’t harass her. But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sorry. I can’t take it.” By the time I rushed to the hospital, all I saw was a cold body under a white sheet. And Laura, she was still online, guiding the narrative. She posted a long essay about how the wicked get what they deserve. The final line—”A man with no common decency like that deserved to die”—was a knife in my heart. It was in that moment that I finally snapped. I stormed back home, ignoring the protests of my parents and brother, and dragged a leisurely, TV-watching Laura up to the roof. “You love playing the victim, don’t you?” I had whispered in her ear. “Let me show you what real despair feels like.” Then I wrapped my arms around her and leaped. 2 I couldn’t believe it. I was reborn. Back at the very beginning of the nightmare. Laura sat across from me, her face sallow from childbirth, her expression a mixture of irritation and a faint, cruel edge. “Nothing. Not a single drop,” she complained, tugging at her bulky nursing top while whining to my mother. “Mom, the baby is screaming his lungs out from hunger, and my breasts feel like rocks. What am I supposed to do?” My mother, for whom her grandson was the center of the universe, was wringing her hands. “Don’t panic, honey, we’ll figure something out. Just drink more of the soup.” “I’ve already had three huge bowls! My stomach is about to burst, and it’s useless!” Laura’s tone was sharp with impatience. My brother, Mark, stood by helplessly, trying to soothe her. “Honey, don’t be angry. It’s bad for your recovery.” “How can I not be angry? Your son is starving, and I, his mother, can’t even give him a drop of milk! I’m useless!” As she spoke, her eyes reddened, and she put on the face of a martyr who had suffered the world’s greatest injustice. In my last life, that was the exact expression that had fooled everyone. She looked at me, a flicker of calculation in her eyes. “Joanne, isn’t your boyfriend a doctor?” Here it comes. Exactly like the last time. I dug my nails into my palm, the sharp sting keeping me focused. I couldn’t be a fool and fall into her trap again. “Joanne? What are you thinking about?” Laura raised her voice when I didn’t respond. I looked up, meeting her probing gaze, and forced a stiff smile. “Oh, just thinking about my boyfriend.” “Well, hurry up and ask him,” Laura immediately pressed. “He’s a top doctor, he’s got to have a solution.” My mother also looked at me with pleading eyes. “Yes, yes, ask Julian. He’ll know what to do.” My brother chimed in. “Yeah, Joanne. Your sister-in-law is about to burst into tears.” See? They were all on her side. It was the same in my last life. They had all pressured me to ask Julian. Back then, I’d thought it was normal for family to help each other out. I had no idea it was a meticulously laid, poison-laced trap. I took out my phone and tapped on Julian’s profile picture. It was a photo of him in his white coat, taken on the hospital grounds. He was smiling, a warm, clean smile that reached his eyes. My own eyes instantly burned with tears. Julian. This time, I won’t let you suffer a single injustice. No one will ever hurt you again. 3 In front of all of them, I sent Julian a message. 【Hey, you busy? My sister-in-law just gave birth and she’s not producing any milk. Do you have any professional advice?】 I didn’t just give Laura his contact info like last time. This was the first step. I had to control the channel of communication. Laura leaned over to look at my phone. When she saw my straightforward, professional question, a flash of annoyance crossed her face, but she didn’t say anything. Julian replied quickly. 【Physical stimulation is one of the standard methods, like having the baby suckle more frequently. A breast pump can also help. Also, the mother’s emotional state and diet are very important. Tell her not to panic.】 His reply was professional and by-the-book. I showed them the phone. My mom nodded. “Julian’s right. You can’t get stressed.” Laura just pouted, her face a mask of disbelief. “Easy for him to say. The baby’s mouth is raw from trying, and it’s not working. I’ve used the pump, too. It hurts like hell, and it’s still useless.” She paused, then steered the conversation back to her original point. “Joanne, can you ask your boyfriend for me again… about that… physical stimulation. Besides the baby suckling, are there any other methods?” Her gaze became pointed, almost lewd. I knew what she was asking. In my last life, this was how she had guided me, leading me step by step into the abyss. I pretended not to understand, my face a picture of innocence. “Other physical stimulation? What do you mean, Laura?” Laura choked on her words, seemingly surprised by my “cluelessness.” She had no choice but to be more explicit. “Well… I’ve heard that… you know, an adult… is more effective. More powerful.” After saying it, she shot a meaningful glance at my brother. Mark’s face flushed crimson. “I… I tried. It didn’t work…” Laura immediately rolled her eyes, her face dripping with disdain. “What do you know? This requires a professional! Your sister’s boyfriend is an OB/GYN. He’d definitely know best!” She practically shouted the last sentence at me. The atmosphere in the room turned bizarre. My mom coughed awkwardly and made an excuse. “I’ll go check if the baby is awake.” My brother used the opportunity to slip out as well. Now, it was just me and Laura. Her objective was nakedly clear. “Joanne,” she said, grabbing my hand and adopting a chummy tone. “We’re family. I’m just out of options here. Look at my face, I’m so pale. If I can’t produce milk, what’s going to happen to the baby? Your boyfriend’s a doctor. Saving people is his duty, right?” She was buttering me up, laying the groundwork for moral blackmail. “Just talk to him for me. Do it as a favor for me, for your little nephew. If he helps me, I’ll give you a big fat check afterward.” I looked at her hypocritical face, and my stomach churned. She had said the exact same thing in my last life. I had been so blinded by the idea of “family” that I had actually gone and begged Julian. He had been silent on the phone for a long time before finally asking, his voice laced with profound disappointment, “Joanne, what kind of person do you think I am?” He was right. What kind of person had I taken him for? A tool to be used, one who would casually trample his professional ethics to satisfy the unreasonable demands of a relative? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Laura, how could I possibly ask him something like that?” I said, putting on a troubled expression. “What’s so hard about it? This is for the baby!” Laura’s tone was non-negotiable. “Besides, he’s a doctor! This is a medical treatment! Think about your little nephew, wailing from hunger. Can you really bear to see that?” She was using the baby as a weapon again. I laughed coldly to myself. For the baby? She was just trying to satisfy her own twisted desires and, at the same time, test Julian’s boundaries, to see if this accomplished, well-off young doctor could be easily manipulated by her. “But… he’s my boyfriend,” I continued to play dumb. “It wouldn’t be right for him to do something like that for you, would it?” “What’s not right about it? If you don’t say anything, and I don’t say anything, who’s going to know?” Laura leaned in close, her voice a low whisper, like a devil tempting me to fall. “Joanne, your boyfriend is a great catch. You have to keep him on a tight leash. All men are the same. You need to let him know our family isn’t to be trifled with. That way, he won’t dare to bully you in the future.” She was actually trying to drive a wedge between Julian and me. In my last life, I had fallen for this nonsense. I thought that letting her get some “dirt” on Julian would make our future marriage more secure. I was so unbelievably stupid. “Laura, I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said, shaking my head firmly. Laura’s face darkened. “Joanne, what’s that supposed to mean? Are you refusing to help me?” She dropped the act, her true nature showing. “Don’t forget, your brother listens to everything I say. If you side with an outsider and piss me off, don’t expect your life at home to be easy.” It was a blatant threat. I sneered internally but put on a frightened expression, flinching slightly. “I… I’m not.” “Then do it!” Laura shoved my phone into my hand. “Tell him now! Say that I said if he’s willing to help, he can name his price!” I looked at the phone screen. I knew she had lost her patience. Fine. If you’re in such a hurry to die, I’ll give you a push. 4 I opened my chat with Julian, my finger hovering over the screen for a long moment. Then, I sent him a different message. 【Julian, listen carefully to every word I’m about to say. Something absurd is about to happen, but no matter what, I need you to trust me and play along.】 【We’re going to put on a show.】 After sending it, I immediately deleted the messages from my end. Then, I looked up. “Laura… why don’t you add him on your own? I really don’t know how to bring this up.” I had kicked the ball back into her court. Laura’s eyes lit up. This was exactly what she wanted. By taking charge herself, she could control the situation. “Fine,” she agreed, feigning reluctance. I sent her Julian’s contact card. She immediately sent a friend request. As I watched the “Friend request sent” notification on her screen, I knew the show was about to begin. On Julian’s end, he accepted almost instantly. I knew he had understood my message. After he accepted, Laura didn’t speak right away. Instead, she carefully scrolled through her social media photos, looking for the perfect one. She chose a maternity photo, professionally shot and edited to make her look slim, her pregnant belly the main focus, a beatific smile on her face. She wanted to make a good first impression. Only then did she send her first message. 【Dr. Leslie, hello. I’m Joanne’s sister-in-law, Laura.】 Julian replied quickly. 【Hello.】 Just one word. Cold and distant. Laura frowned, clearly not satisfied with this opening. She started to lay the groundwork. 【I just had a baby, but I haven’t been able to produce any milk. Joanne said you’re an expert in this area, and I was hoping to get some advice.】 【’Expert’ is a strong word. You can call me Julian. Joanne told me a bit about the situation. Postpartum lactation insufficiency has many potential causes and requires a comprehensive diagnosis.】 Julian’s reply was once again flawlessly professional. Laura was getting impatient. She felt this roundabout approach was too slow. So, she typed out a new line. 【I’ve heard that physical stimulation is the most effective method, is that right?】 【Yes, that is one of the clinically proven methods.】 【So… besides the baby suckling, is there a more… effective way?】 The dagger was drawn. I held my breath, watching Laura’s phone screen. I knew what was coming next. She was going to send the photo. And she did. She opened her photo album and selected a picture she had taken earlier. It was a close-up of her bare chest, no face visible, but more than enough to constitute sexual harassment. Before she hit send, she shot me a look, a smug, triumphant glint in her eye. As if to say, See? This is how easy it is to handle a man. I lowered my head, hiding the icy coldness in my eyes. The photo was sent. The room was terrifyingly silent. Laura stared at her phone, waiting for Julian’s reaction. She expected him to be shocked, flustered, maybe even play along and make some suggestive comment. That way, she would have her leverage. However, Julian’s reply was completely unexpected.

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The car crash happened on our way home for the holidays. One moment, my husband, Jeremy, and I were driving; the next, darkness. When I opened my eyes again, we were back before we even started dating. In my first life, our seven-year marriage was a masterclass in politeness. We were like respectful strangers sharing a roof, a bed, but never a heart. He wouldn’t even give me a child. It was only later that I understood why: he had never gotten over his first love, the one that got away. So, this time, I decided to set him free. Without a word, we quietly deleted each other from our contacts, kept our distance, and chose different paths. Seven years later, he was a rising star on Wall Street, and at our high school reunion, he and his old flame, Isabella Vance, made their engagement official. He saw me standing alone and couldn’t resist a taunt, a smirk playing on his lips. “Jodi,” he said, his voice laced with condescending pity. “I know I was the best you ever had, the love of your life in two lifetimes. But you don’t have to stay single forever, waiting for me.” I didn’t bother to answer. I just reached out and took my son’s hand. The color drained from Jeremy’s face. His eyes, suddenly wild and bloodshot, locked onto me. “You told me you’d love me forever,” he hissed, his voice cracking. “That you’d only ever have children with me.” 1 The first time I saw Jeremy Olson again was at our seven-year high school reunion. I’d just come off a marathon of surgeries and was too exhausted to even think about changing. I walked straight into the lavish hotel ballroom in my scrubs. Jeremy was the center of attention, of course, his arm wrapped possessively around Isabella Vance’s waist as he soaked in the praise. “Jeremy, you’re killing it, man!” one old classmate gushed. “A few years on Wall Street and you’re already one of the biggest names. You’re the pride of Oakhaven High!” “No kidding,” another chimed in. “I heard the big dogs in New York pay a fortune just to have dinner with him. The consulting fee alone is what most of us make in a year!” “Hey, Jeremy, I’m dabbling in stocks,” a third pleaded. “For old times’ sake, give me a tip, let me ride your coattails!” Then, a curious voice cut through the noise. “So, Jeremy, are you and Isabella finally tying the knot?” Jeremy’s gaze softened as he looked down at the woman in his arms. “We are. The engagement party is December 20th.” A fresh wave of congratulations erupted. Then, someone turned to him. “Jeremy, do you ever talk to Jodi anymore? You two were so intense back in the day. Didn’t you write your first song for her?” At the mention of my name, I saw his smile freeze, his eyes darken ever so slightly. Isabella, ever the graceful fiancée, just laughed it off. “Oh, you know how it is,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “High school hobbies don’t last, and neither do high school romances. He’s been over Jodi for a long, long time.” The crowd chuckled, turning their attention back to what a perfect couple they were. But I knew the truth. That song wasn’t just a song. It was the melody he’d written to ask me out, the one he’d played for me under the bleachers, his eyes shining with what I thought was sincerity. “Jodi, look at me,” he’d said back then, his voice earnest. “I love you. My eyes would never lie.” And I believed him. Turns out, they could and they did. I walked further into the ballroom, my expression neutral. A classmate with sharp eyes spotted me. “Jodi! You finally made it!” “What are you wearing? You couldn’t find a dress?” “Don’t tell me you just got off work. Where are you slaving away these days? We’ve got some heavy hitters here, maybe one of them can hook you up with a real job!” The whispers and snickers followed me as I found an empty seat. I ignored them, focusing on the simple, profound pleasure of food. Jeremy had been watching me since the moment I walked in. His gaze was a heavy, unreadable weight. He finally broke the silence, his voice dripping with mockery. “Jodi Summers. Years go by, and you haven’t changed a bit. Still no ambition.” Isabella’s eyes flashed with a venomous glint, but she quickly masked it, snuggling closer to Jeremy’s arm as if to mark her territory. “Jeremy, darling, don’t be so harsh,” she cooed, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Life’s been a little rough for her, we shouldn’t rub it in. Jodi’s had it hard enough.” She raked her eyes over my casual attire, a smirk playing on her perfectly painted lips. “But really, Jodi, what is this look? You’re not getting any younger. A woman has to take care of herself, you know. Otherwise, how will you ever find a husband? What man wants a woman who’s let herself go?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you need to borrow some makeup?” The question hung in the air, followed by a ripple of suppressed laughter. The contrast was stark. Isabella was a vision in designer labels, her makeup flawless, every strand of hair in place, radiating the effortless confidence of old money. And then there was me. I hadn’t slept in nearly 24 hours, fresh from the operating room, looking as haggard as I felt. My clothes were comfortable, unbranded, and a world away from her curated perfection. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” I replied calmly, turning my attention back to my plate. After the intensity of surgery, I hadn’t eaten all day. As I was savoring a bite of steak, Jeremy approached my table. He slid a check across the polished wood, placing it directly in front of me. It was for ten thousand dollars. “This is for old times’ sake,” he said, his tone that of a benevolent king bestowing charity. “A little something to help you out. Treat yourself. Get a more respectable job, buy some new clothes. Learn to love yourself again.” He paused, his expression shifting. “Jodi, the past is the past. Don’t dwell on it.” He sighed dramatically. “If it weren’t for you… well, it doesn’t matter now.” “What matters is that you can’t let my leaving destroy you. You can’t just give up on life like this. Promise me.” I looked up, genuinely confused. What had I done in our past life that made him so certain he had to abandon me in this one? In that other life, we went from high school sweethearts to a married couple. He had his musical dreams, and I had my dream of becoming a doctor—both paths were draining, financially and emotionally. One of us had to sacrifice. And because I loved him, I was the one who walked away from a prestigious medical residency, taking a job to support both of our dreams on a single income. He failed, again and again. Each rejection plunged him into a deeper despair. And I was his constant, his endless source of support, coming home exhausted only to spend hours rebuilding his fragile ego. I thought he saw my love in that sacrifice. I was wrong. The breaking point came when he wanted a new, expensive guitar, and I had to tell him we simply couldn’t afford it. He exploded, smashing his old guitar against the wall in a fit of rage. “Don’t you get it?!” he screamed, his face twisted with resentment. “If I had just listened to Isabella and gone to America with her, I wouldn’t be living like this! I regret ever getting together with you!” After that, he gave up on music. He lost his dream. And his words—”I regret ever getting together with you”—became a ghost that haunted my nights. I made one last, desperate attempt to save us. I wrapped my arms around him one night and whispered, “Jeremy, I want to have a baby with you.” He shoved me away, his eyes filled with a chilling disgust. “Are you insane? Look at our finances! We can’t afford a child! Besides, I’ve told you before, I hate kids! I don’t want to have a child with you!” Those two sentences shattered the last bit of hope in my heart. When that truck swerved into our lane on New Year’s, I wasn’t scared. I was relieved. It was an escape. Now, we had both been given a second chance, and we had both chosen to walk away. There was no need for “old times’ sake.” I pushed the check back towards him. “No, thank you. I don’t accept gifts from strangers.” 2 His brow furrowed. “A stranger, Jodi? What is that supposed to mean?” “It means,” I said, my voice even, “that I can buy my own clothes. And whatever my job is, I find it perfectly respectable. I’m not giving up on anything. You should keep your money for someone who actually needs it.” He stood there, clutching the check, his lips pressed into a thin, angry line. Isabella glided to his side, her eyes flicking from the check to my face. A storm of anger brewed behind her carefully composed expression, but her voice was as gentle as ever. “Jodi, if you won’t accept our help, perhaps we can offer something more… practical.” She smiled, a benefactor to a charity case. “I just opened a new nail salon on Grand Avenue. I could set you up as an apprentice. The pay isn’t amazing, maybe six thousand a month to start, but you’d learn a real skill. That way, if you ever hit rock bottom, you’d at least have a trade to fall back on.” “What do you think?” she pressed. “It has to be more respectable than whatever you’re doing now.” I calmly continued eating, refusing to be baited. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m quite happy with my current job. I have no plans to change careers.” An old classmate shouted from across the room, “Jodi, don’t be an idiot! Jeremy and Isabella are being generous! They’re offering you money, a job! Just take it!” “Yeah, seriously,” another chimed in. “You’re clearly struggling, swallow your pride! Why else would you even show up to a reunion looking like that if you weren’t looking for a handout? Stop putting on an act!” Isabella jumped in, playing the peacemaker. “Everyone, please! Don’t say that! Maybe Jodi genuinely loves her job.” She turned back to me, her eyes gleaming with false sympathy. “Jodi, this is a real opportunity. We’re only offering because of our history. Don’t let your pride get in the way.” I truly couldn’t comprehend this bizarre need to force charity on me. “Really, I don’t need it. Thank you.” Isabella’s smile remained, but her eyes were cold with disdain. Jeremy finally crumpled the check in his fist. “You can’t help someone who won’t help themselves,” he sneered. “A lost cause. Fine, stay poor for the rest of your life for all I care!” As if his words were a signal, a group of the guys, emboldened by alcohol, swarmed my table. “Jodi, you look like you could use a break,” one of them slurred, shoving a drink toward me. “Drink this, and I’ll send you a thousand bucks.” “If you’re really that desperate…” another one added, his eyes roaming over me in a way that made my skin crawl, “…I could add a little more to the pot.” The rest of the group hooted with laughter. No one stepped in. My patience snapped. This was a far cry from the friendly reunion I’d expected. If I wasn’t waiting for someone, I would have already walked out. I was about to call for security when Jeremy, who had been watching from the side, suddenly stubbed out his cigarette and grabbed the man’s arm. His voice was ice. “Back off.” The man yelped in pain as Jeremy’s grip tightened. Isabella rushed over, tugging on Jeremy’s sleeve. “Jeremy, what are you doing?!” His face was a cold mask. “Being a decent human being. This is a class reunion, not a frat party.” He shoved the man away. The guy didn’t dare challenge Jeremy, but he shot me a venomous glare before retreating. I couldn’t help but stare at Jeremy, surprised that he would defend me. Isabella looked like she wanted to chew nails, but she forced a bright smile. “Anyway! I heard the CEO and the young heir of the Apex Group are having a meeting upstairs. If we’re lucky, we might get to see the city’s richest man in person!” The mood in the room shifted instantly. The Apex Group. Its CEO was a legend—handsome, powerful, and still in his thirties, with a five-year-old son. But the identity of his wife was the city’s best-kept secret. “Does that mean we might see his wife tonight? I’ve gotta post this on TikTok!” “This is front-page news!” Moments later, a team of bodyguards entered the ballroom, escorting a small boy. The crowd buzzed with excitement. “Look at that entourage! That must be him, the Apex heir! He’s so handsome!” The man who had harassed me, now nursing his wrist, sidled up to me again. “See, Jodi? If it weren’t for Isabella, a working-class nobody like you would never even be in the same room as the Apex prince. If I were you, I’d get on my knees and thank her. Maybe she’d help you land a decent job, or even a guy like me who makes a whole six thousand a month.” Pathetic. I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the boy. Everyone swarmed forward, phones out, taking pictures and videos. Even the ever-composed Isabella put on her most charming smile and approached the child, practically oozing with manufactured warmth. “Hello there, little one,” she cooed, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “Is there anything you’d like to eat? Auntie can buy it for you.” But the boy, who had looked so serious and aloof surrounded by his guards, completely ignored her. His eyes scanned the room, landed on me, and lit up. He broke away from his security detail and ran straight towards me, a brilliant smile on his face. “Mommy!” he cried, throwing himself into my arms. “You’re finally here!” The little prince who had been so cool and distant a moment ago was now looking up at me with big, teary eyes. “You didn’t come home last night! I missed you so, so much!” I hugged my son tight, stroking his hair. “I was working, sweetie,” I murmured. “I told you before I left, remember? But guess what? Mommy’s off tomorrow. We can go play anywhere you want. How does that sound?” My precious Leo nodded eagerly. “Yes! Mommy is the best!” The entire room was silent. Every single person was staring at us, their faces a mixture of shock and utter disbelief. Just as someone was about to speak, a devastatingly handsome man in a tailored suit rushed down from the upstairs conference room. “Honey,” he said, his voice warm with relief. “The hotel manager told me you were at a reunion down here. Why didn’t you call me when you got off your shift? I would have picked you up.” The hotel manager stood beside him, beaming. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the stunned crowd, “Allow me to introduce the President of the Apex Group, Mr. Travis Wade, and his wife, Dr. Jodi Summers. Please, enjoy your evening. If our esteemed guests require anything at all, we are at your service.” The atmosphere crackled. The people who had just been mocking me were now staring with wide, excited eyes. Those who had been cruelest looked pale and sick. A few of my closer friends from school finally found their voices. “Jodi… your husband is Travis Wade? The richest man in the city?” “Are you kidding? Didn’t you hear the manager? The little heir just called her ‘Mommy’! She is the secret wife!” “Oh my god… now that is true royalty…” I could only offer a small, polite smile as the whispers turned into a roar. Travis looked me over, his expression softening with concern as he pulled me into a gentle embrace. “Just got out of the hospital again? Let’s get you home to rest as soon as you’re ready.” I nodded. “Okay.” Then, my cool and powerful husband completely ignored Isabella, who was trying to catch his eye, and looked directly at Jeremy. His voice was laced with a cool, cutting disdain.

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Three months into my new job, I discovered my colleagues had a nickname for me: “The Mourning Dove.” The name came from Alexis’s insufferably arrogant secretary. It was because I was thirty-two, still clutching the proof of an eight-year relationship, yet still waiting for a wedding ring. I confronted Alexis. “Your secretary calls me the Mourning Dove. Did you know?” He didn’t even bother to look up. “That’s just Shanna,” he said. “She’s unfiltered, just making a joke. You’re thirty-two, are you really going to pick a fight with a kid?” Then he looked at me and chuckled. “I hate to say it, but it’s a pretty good fit.” My heart felt like it was seized by an icy fist. Eight years of my youth, and to him, it was nothing more than a punchline. I turned and walked away. I quit my job and blocked him on everything. And that’s when the man who was always so composed finally panicked. “Carol,” he begged. “Please, come back.” 1 The first time I heard the words “Mourning Dove” loud and clear was during our Monday corporate meeting. Shanna was looking down, feigning humility as I reprimanded her, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. During the break, I overheard someone mutter. “What a Mourning Dove. Always picking on the pretty young girls.” The words hit me like a physical blow. That one comment opened the floodgates, and the whispers grew louder. “She’s on a total power trip, taking it all out on the new girl.” “She’s thirty-two and still clinging to an eight-year relationship that’s going nowhere. Talk about desperate.” I set my mug down, and the conference room fell silent for a heartbeat. Dozens of eyes focused on me, as if I were the one who had done something wrong. Shanna dabbed at her reddened eyes with a tissue. “Director Kennedy, I’ll double-check the data.” “You won’t double-check it. you’ll redo it,” I said, forcing the iciness in my voice to mask the sting in my heart. “I want an accurate analysis and a recovery plan on my desk before tomorrow morning’s meeting.” My gaze swept over her, and over the gawking faces in the room. “Meeting adjourned.” I stood first and strode out of the room. Behind me, the tide of whispers surged again, this time more brazenly. “Who does she think she is? She only got that director position because she’s sleeping with Mr. Price.” “The Mourning Dove is on the warpath. Tsk, tsk. Guess menopause came early for her.” Back in my office, a notification popped up. An internal email. I opened it. The subject line was glaring: “Regarding the Optimization of Managerial Communication and a Focus on Employee Well-being.” The sender was the HR Director, but I knew exactly whose strings were being pulled. Apparently, Shanna’s tears carried more weight than my performance reports. I scoffed and closed the window just as Alexis’s private line rang. His voice was a lazy, placating drawl. “Carol, you were a little fired up in the meeting, huh? You made the poor girl cry.” “Shanna’s young, she lacks experience. It’s normal for her to make mistakes. You should cut her some slack.” I could faintly hear soft sobs in the background. I fought to keep my own emotions in check, my voice as level as I could make it. “Shanna’s foundational data was riddled with errors. It directly impacts the company’s quarterly financial report.” “Oh, come on. It’s just work. A few slip-ups are bound to happen,” he said, brushing it off. “Besides, Shanna’s on her period, she wasn’t feeling her best. Try to be a little more understanding.” “Anyway, dinner tonight? That new sushi place just opened. I’ve already booked us a table.” 2 As I slid into the passenger seat of Alexis’s familiar black sports car after work, my mood finally began to lift. “She’s just a kid, Carol. She doesn’t know any better. Teach her the ropes, for my sake, okay?” he asked, putting on a show of pleading with me. I decided not to press the issue. I let it go. But when we arrived, Shanna was already there, her long hair perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. Seeing us, she immediately stood up. “Mr. Price, Carol! I was worried you’d be bored waiting for the food, so I went ahead and ordered. I hope you like what I picked!” I shot a look at Alexis, but he had already slid into the seat next to Shanna, smiling. “Shanna was worried you were still angry, so she came to apologize in person. See how thoughtful she is?” Shanna eagerly poured me a cup of sake, raising her glass to me. “Carol, it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry the data stressed you out, and I’m even sorrier that I caused everyone to gossip about you… Anyway, I’ll punish myself with a drink!” She downed it in one go, a becoming blush instantly rising in her cheeks, making her look even more delicate and charming. Alexis gave her an appreciative glance, then asked casually, “What are people gossiping about? What are they saying about Carol?” Shanna pursed her lips into a coy smile. “Oh, Mr. Price, you should ask Carol about that. It’s not my place to say.” Alexis turned to me, his gaze intensely curious. I met his eyes, my voice flat. “Your people are calling me the Mourning Dove.” Alexis didn’t even flinch. He just threw his head back and laughed. “Shanna was just trying to break the ice, kidding around with you. You’re not taking it seriously, are you?” He then looked me over, a smirk playing on his lips. “You have to admit… it kind of fits.” I stared at the face I had known and loved for eight years, and suddenly, he was a complete stranger. “Alexis, do you… do you really think this is funny?” “Hearing them call me a Mourning Dove, you actually find that amusing?” The air in the room went still. Shanna made a show of getting up, her eyes already glistening with tears. “Mr. Price, am I in the way? I should go. I’ll leave you two to talk…” “Sit down, Shanna!” Alexis grabbed her wrist, then shot an exasperated look at me. “Carol, Shanna came here to sincerely apologize. Can you stop being so aggressive? It’s just a nickname. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it?” It felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I looked at his hand, firmly grasping Shanna’s wrist, and a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. The trust and love we had built over eight years crumbled into dust in that single moment. “Fine. That’s just fine.” I smiled, a real, chilling smile this time. I picked up the cup of sake Shanna had poured for me. “I don’t think I can accept this apology.” Without another glance at their shocked, ugly faces, I walked out. 3 The next day, I needed the latest sales data for a presentation to the Chairman. My email request went into a black hole. When I went to the department in person, the response was suspiciously uniform: “Sorry, Director. Shanna told us Mr. Price needed the data urgently, so we have to prepare it for him first.” “Shanna said Mr. Price hasn’t reviewed these numbers yet, so we can’t release them to you.” “You’ll have to check with Shanna. We’re just following her instructions.” The moment I turned my back, the snickering started again. “The Mourning Dove can throw her weight around all she wants, but she still needs us to get anything done!” “Honestly, she acts so high and mighty, but she’s just trash trying to pass!” I immediately called Alexis’s cell. It went straight to voicemail. This deliberate radio silence was a direct, calculated humiliation. Fuming, I marched straight to his office. And I found Shanna nestled in his arms, the two of them looking disgustingly cozy. When Alexis saw me, his voice was sharp with irritation. “Don’t you have any manners? Don’t you know how to knock?” My gaze was locked on him, my voice like ice. “Alexis, I need the latest sales figures for my report.” His brow furrowed even deeper. “I already told you I need that data first. What’s your rush?” He paused, then added, “Shanna is meticulous. She’s reviewing it again to make sure there are no mistakes, so you don’t have another meltdown over a tiny error.” “A tiny error?” A cold laugh almost escaped me. “Alexis, her ‘tiny error’ was on key data that impacts a multi-million dollar project decision!” I reined in my emotions, my voice hardening. “And your idea of ‘meticulous’ is letting someone who can’t even read a spreadsheet properly bottleneck our core data?” Shanna’s eyes immediately filled with tears, her voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “Carol, I know I’m stupid… I know I’m not as good as you, but I’m really, really trying my best…” “Shanna, it’s not your fault!” Alexis instantly wrapped an arm around her, his tone softening to a gentle murmur. When he turned back to me, his eyes were filled with disgust. “Carol! Will you give it a rest? You blow every little thing out of proportion! You’re acting more and more like a Mourning Dove every day!” The words, spoken so openly from his own mouth, made me freeze. He completely ignored the wounded look in my eyes, his voice rising in volume. “You can’t do your job, and you spend all day throwing tantrums! Calling you a Mourning Dove is putting it mildly!” “Look at Shanna! Look at how humble she is! I’m only saying this for your own good!” Leaning against Alexis’s shoulder, Shanna shot me a triumphant smirk. “Fine, Mr. Price. I understand,” I said, my voice flat and dead. “The data. I’ll figure it out myself.” As I turned to leave, I could hear Alexis’s voice, deliberately softened, comforting her. “Don’t cry, Shanna. Ignore her. She’s just jealous of you. She’s twisted…” 4 The humiliation didn’t stop. It got worse. Alexis’s endorsement was a blank check for Shanna and the rest of the hyenas. “Mourning Dove” became a semi-public joke. Two new interns saw me in the hallway and exchanged strange, mocking smiles. One of them whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Hurry, it’s the Mourning Dove. Don’t let her peck you.” “I heard there’s a group chat… haha, are you in it?” “No, not yet! Add me, quick.” This became a daily occurrence. The final straw came during a major project presentation. My last report had been a failure, leaving the Chairman deeply unsatisfied. So for this one, I had prepared meticulously, leaving no stone unturned. But ten minutes before the meeting, Alexis walked in with Shanna. “Shanna has also been following this project closely,” he announced. “She’ll lead the presentation. You can provide supplemental information.” I tried to argue. “Alexis, I’ve been in charge of this project from its inception. I know it inside and out.” Alexis sneered, glancing at me. “You know it? Then who was it that disappointed the Chairman last time?” He then turned to Shanna, his eyes full of encouragement. “Shanna, you can begin when you’re ready.” Shanna immediately stepped forward, confidently plugging her USB drive into the laptop. As she presented, Alexis nodded frequently, a look of deep satisfaction on his face. I watched the whole charade with cold, silent fury. Then, as she was switching between windows, her finger slipped. Her personal chat client was instantly mirrored onto the massive conference room screen. Pinned to the top was a group chat with a name that burned itself into my retinas: 【The Mourning Dove Observation Diary】 The feed was filled with candid, unflattering photos of me, each with a running commentary. “Look at the Mourning Dove with her yoga pants and fancy coffee. Acting like she’s high society!” “Please, Alexis pays for everything. If it were me, I’d have dumped her after eight years!” Even through the screen, I could taste the fake sweetness in Shanna’s reply: “Guys, don’t be so mean.” And right below it, a message from Alexis himself: “Shanna, stay away from the Mourning Dove. Don’t want her starting trouble with you again.” I looked at Alexis. His expression was completely untroubled, almost amused. My heart turned to ash. Eight years of devotion, of sacrifice… had been a complete and utter joke. I didn’t wait for the meeting to end. I walked straight to HR and submitted my resignation. As I was carrying my box out, I ran into Alexis and Shanna, who were laughing together in the hallway. Alexis’s eyes followed me, but he didn’t say a word. And in my heart, I said, Goodbye, Alexis. For good.

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To stay in character as the wicked stepmother, I had a new daily routine. I’d order my eldest son to peel shrimp, my second son to brew my tea, and my youngest daughter to massage my shoulders. This went on for half a month, right up until the man of the house returned. I had my bags packed, ready to be thrown out onto the street. But instead, my eldest son said: “Dad, don’t just stand there. Go make Mom’s bed.” Me: …? 1 “Host, all you have to do is maintain your persona and torment them every day!” the System buzzed in my head. “Once the male lead comes back and kicks you out, your mission will be a success!” “The reward is ten million dollars, you know~” I puffed out my chest and promised, “Don’t you worry. When it comes to being wicked, if I’m number two, no one dares claim to be number one.” The System, reassured, vanished. A new boss has to make her presence known. I gazed at the three little pipsqueaks standing before me, lined up from tallest to shortest like Wi-Fi bars. I decided to make an example of one of them to show the other two I meant business. It was time for them to taste my wrath. 2 “You. Come here and rub my legs.” I pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the eldest, Leo. In the future, he was destined to be a brooding, manipulative man who cared for no one but his younger siblings. Too bad for him, right now he was just a little pawn I could move around my chessboard. He knelt by my feet, his small body radiating humiliation. “Harder! Are you made of fluff? Put some muscle into it!” The moment the words left my mouth, a sharp pain shot up my leg. I… “Leo, was it? Excellent work,” I said through gritted teeth. “As a reward, from now on, you all get to eat at the table with me.” Because of the neglect they’d suffered, the three kids were chronically underfed, as skinny as little monkeys. Leo’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if asking why I was suddenly being so kind. But kind? Not a chance. Kindness wasn’t in my job description. I added slowly, savoring the moment, “But you will also drink a full glass of milk every morning and every evening. And I’ll be watching to make sure you finish every last drop.” As soon as I said it, three identical expressions of horror washed over their faces. I could have laughed out loud. I knew it. Milk. The universal enemy of all children. I studied Leo, a wicked smile playing on my lips. “Tell you what. Call me ‘Mom’ just once, beg me a little, and maybe I’ll let you off the hook with the milk. What do you say?” Leo scoffed, turning his head away in disgust. He’s got backbone. I like that. 3 On my second day as the wicked stepmother, I decided that Leo, who refused to acknowledge me as his mother, needed a new name. Something fitting. Something… classic. “From now on, your name is Jedediah,” I announced. Jedediah stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, but he didn’t dare say a word. Pleased, I turned my gaze to the second son, who was trying to make himself invisible. “And you,” I declared, “will be Hezekiah.” Then, I looked at the little girl, who was blinking at me with innocent eyes, and whispered like the devil on her shoulder, “You, my dear, are Petunia.” Seeing the three of them, seething but silent, I let out a cackle. Ah, being the wicked stepmother? It was a blast. 4 Even a wicked stepmother has her troubles, though. With my husband away, any trouble the pipsqueaks got into at school meant I was the first person the school called. My phone rang bright and early, jolting me from a dead sleep. “Is this Noah’s guardian?” “Noah was caught stealing money from a classmate. We need you to come to the school immediately.” Noah? A thief? I dragged myself out of bed, and by the time I reached the principal’s office, I could hear a shrill voice screaming from inside. “You trashy little thief! You’re nothing but gutter scum! Learning to steal at your age!” “I bet your mother stole the money for your tuition, too! You reek of poverty!” “You little animal, you’re a disgrace! Today, I’m going to teach you the lesson your mother clearly never did!” I took a deep breath and shoved the door open. There was tiny Noah, not even as tall as the desk leg, with a bright red handprint blooming on his pale cheek. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. When he saw me, his head dropped in panic. The teacher stood up awkwardly. “Mrs. Blackwood, hello…” I pushed past her and faced the sharp-tongued woman across the room. Without a word, I swung my designer handbag—worth a small fortune—and slammed it right into her face. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” 5 I didn’t stop there. I slapped her, I pulled her hair—I gave her the full treatment. The woman shrieked in pain. “You dare hit me! You bitch!” “I’m calling the police! I’m calling the police!” “I’ll have you and your thieving son thrown in jail!” I gave her another backhand for good measure. “Go on! Call them!” I taunted. “Let’s see who ends up behind bars!” I was the wicked stepmother, what did I have to fear? As long as the male lead wasn’t back, I couldn’t be written out of the story. Once I’d vented my anger, I slapped the tablet with the security footage onto the desk. “Open your damn eyes and take a good look! See who the real thief is!” Noah hadn’t left his seat all day. The teacher blinked. “How is that possible? The camera in that classroom has been broken for weeks. We haven’t had it repaired yet.” The woman sneered, “You faked the footage!” I just laughed. For a wicked stepmother with a System, getting my hands on a little security footage was a piece of cake. I turned and made a fist, looming menacingly over the chubby little boy hiding behind his mother’s legs. “You. Little man. Tell me the truth,” I growled. “Did Noah really steal your money?” The memory of me beating his mother was still fresh in his mind. The slightest bit of pressure was all it took. He burst into tears. “No… no!” he wailed. “Mommy… I spent all the money myself… Please don’t hit me, wahhh…” The woman’s face turned green. Under my intimidating glare, the boy sobbed out the whole story. He’d overspent his allowance and, terrified of being punished, had blamed it on Noah. It was an easy lie; no one ever came to pick Noah up from school, so all the kids just assumed he was an orphan. They figured no one would stand up for him if he got bullied. The woman who had just been screaming about calling the police now looked like her face was cycling through a rainbow of shame and fury. She grabbed her son and tried to leave. I blocked her path and pointed a finger at Noah. “Apologize to him.” “Or I’ll make sure everyone in this school knows your son is a lying little punk.” 6 On the way home, Noah kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes full of tiny, sparkling stars. It was starting to get on my nerves. I glared at him. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll gouge your eyes out.” He immediately clamped his little hands over his eyes, but after a moment, he peeked through his fingers. “You’re… you’re not going to hit me?” Given that the ‘me’ he was used to tormented him daily, it was a fair question. An incident this big without a beating was a little out of character. So, I reached out and gave his cheek a wicked pinch. “Your punishment is an extra glass of milk tonight!” I declared. “And begging won’t do you any good!” Hmph. After all, milk was the most disgusting thing in the world. A look of pure agony crossed Noah’s face. Mission accomplished. 7 We walked into the house hand-in-hand, just in time to see Leo returning from his after-school tutoring. His eyes immediately locked onto the handprint on Noah’s face. His expression darkened, and he pulled his little brother behind him protectively. “She hit you again?” he demanded. I raised an eyebrow. “What if I did? You want some too?” With that, I turned on my heel and sashayed away, leaving Noah to frantically explain the situation to a very skeptical Leo. I overheard Leo’s cool analysis as I walked away: “Don’t trust her. This is just a new trick to mess with our heads.” I couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Looks like another successful day in the life of a wicked stepmother. 8 I was ready to strike while the iron was hot, to cook up some new mischief to really cement Leo’s hatred of me. But before I could even start scheming, the butler rushed in, his face pale with panic. “Madam, it’s terrible!” “Master Leo got into a fight and has been taken into police custody! The station just called and asked you to come down!” Jedediah, detained? A grin spread across my face. Opportunity was knocking! When I arrived, a police officer was patiently trying to get a reason for the fight out of Leo. Across from him sat three teenagers, their faces bruised and swollen. As expected of the future brooding anti-hero. One against three, and he still came out on top. I asked the officer for a few minutes alone with the boys. As soon as he left the room, I spun around and gave Leo a firm slap on the backside. “Getting a little bold, are we?” I hissed. “Starting fights now? You can just wait to be thrown out of this house!” He stared at me, his body trembling with rage. I glared back, even more fiercely. “You dare look at me like that?” I scoffed and turned away from the seething boy, pasting a friendly smile on my face as I approached the three dumbfounded teenagers. “Hello, boys. I’m Leo’s stepmother. To be honest, I can’t stand him either.” “Could you tell me what the fight was about? I’d love to have something to report to his father so we can finally kick him out.” The three of them exchanged glances, remaining silent. My smile widened. “How about this? You tell me what happened, and I’ll give each of you five thousand dollars.” The lure of money was too much. One of them cracked. “He’s a damn busybody, that’s what.” “We were just having some fun with a girl, took a few pictures, and he came at us like a psycho.” I kept my expression neutral. “What kind of pictures? Can I see?” One of the boys hesitated, but the other two, their eyes already glazed over with greed, pulled out their phones. “Here, ma’am. See?” “We just took a few pictures, that’s all.” “If you ask me, don’t just kick him out. You should have him committed.” I looked at the photos on their phones—upskirt shots, pictures of them bullying other students. I nodded thoughtfully. Then I opened the door and handed the evidence to the waiting police officer. “Officer, you heard them. My son was simply defending someone. As for these little degenerates, I suggest you send them to a juvenile detention center for some serious rehabilitation.” 9 As we walked out of the police station, Leo’s eyes were filled with a complicated mix of emotions. “Leo!” A soft voice called out. He turned to see a girl standing there, his brow furrowing slightly. “What are you doing here?” The girl clutched the straps of her backpack, her voice barely a whisper. “I… thank you for helping me!” Leo just shrugged. “I only beat them up because they were annoying. It had nothing to do with you.” The girl was speechless. I rolled my eyes. “Such a poser.” Leo gritted his teeth. The girl let out a small giggle, then bowed to me as well. “Thank you too, ma’am!” As she ran off, Leo’s cool facade finally broke. “Why did she thank you? When did you two even meet?” I shot him a look. “None of your business.” Leo: “…” A moment later, his awkward voice piped up again. “Don’t think I’m going to thank you just because you helped me.” I snorted. “Who needs your thanks? Just wait until we get home. You and I have a score to settle.” 10 Three hundred and eight shrimp later, Leo finally broke. “This is your idea of settling the score?” he asked, his fingers aching. “What else would it be?” I replied, popping another freshly peeled shrimp into my mouth. “Peel faster. You can’t even keep up with me. What kind of brooding anti-hero are you?” Jedediah said nothing, simply picking up his pace. Hezekiah brought over a cup of freshly brewed tea, placing it carefully by my hand. I glanced over at the adorable, innocent-looking Petunia. “You. Come here and massage my back.” Being a wicked stepmother was a piece of cake. 11 After the Great Shrimp Peeling Incident, Leo’s hatred for me only deepened. Noah, too, was now completely under my thumb. That just left one of them: Lily. I was lying on my bed with a face mask on, pondering how best to torment the little girl, when there was a soft knock on my door. I opened it to find Lily standing there, clutching a doll that was almost bigger than she was and looking up at me with wide eyes. …She was kind of cute. Focus. Must remain wicked. “What is it?” I asked, making my voice as cold as possible. Lily flinched, her voice as small as a mosquito’s buzz. “I… I’m scared to sleep alone…” I glanced outside at the thunderstorm raging, lightning flashing across the sky. I was about to mock her for being a coward, but then an idea sparked in my mind. I stepped aside and let her in. The little girl’s eyes lit up. Poor, sweet Petunia. She had no idea she’d just walked straight into my trap. Once she was tucked obediently into bed, I pulled out a book of gruesome fairy tales and began to read aloud in my most menacing voice. Five minutes later, the little girl was a sobbing wreck. Feeling refreshed, I poked the little bundle of blankets she’d become. “Hey, kid. Don’t get tears on my expensive sheets, or I’ll have to punish you.” After sufficiently terrorizing her, I stood up to go wash my face. But she grabbed onto my leg, her voice thick with tears. “Can I come with you…? I’m scared…” Me: … Fine. I magnanimously agreed. But as I helped the little girl out of her pajamas, I saw them. Her small body was covered in red welts and dark bruises. My brow furrowed. I hadn’t laid a finger on her. What was this? “Hey, kid. What happened? Where did you get these bruises?” I asked, my tone sharp. “Were you fighting at school behind my back?” Lily hugged herself shyly and shook her head. “They’re rewards. From Mr. Peterson.” “He said only the pretty and obedient girls in class get them.” Me: … I looked at her innocent little face and felt my teeth grind together. Damn it. This family was a magnet for trouble.

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I was scrolling through a popular social media channel when I came across a street interview. “What would you say to yourself from five years ago?” In the video, Christian Frost had his arm around his new girlfriend. His voice was calm, laced with affection. “I’d tell the Christian from five years ago to find Lily Lin sooner.” The girl in his arms blushed, covering her mouth as she agreed. “Me too.” Online comments exploded with adoration, followers showering them with blessings. No one knew that five years ago was the day Christian and I got married. Even he had forgotten. Until a week later. The same channel posted another street interview. In this one, I looked directly into the camera and said, seriously, “If I could, I’d tell her: Claire Kingsley, don’t marry Christian Frost. You’ll regret it.” This time, Christian saw it. 1 The day I agreed to the divorce was a perfectly ordinary afternoon. I called Christian’s number, but it was Lily who answered. “Hello?” “I’m looking for Christian.” “He’s in the shower. Is there something I can help you with?” Her voice was as bright and fearless as ever, tinged with a possessive, almost triumphant, undertone. The old me would have screamed, would have hysterically demanded she get lost, that I needed to speak to Christian. But now, I knew all too well that Lily was the only one who could get him on the phone. I couldn’t let her hang up on me like she always did, leaving me to rage like a madwoman. “He mentioned a divorce before. I agree to it,” I said calmly, getting straight to the point. There was a second of silence on the other end, then she repeated, disbelieving, “You’re agreeing to a divorce?” “Yes.” The word had barely left my lips when I heard a rustling sound. Christian must have taken the phone. Soon, his deep, indifferent voice was in my ear. “It’s me.” I know. Hearing his voice, I felt a strange sense of detachment. It had been six months since he’d moved out of our villa to be with Lily. We hadn’t spoken since. The last thing he’d said to me was: “Claire, let’s get a divorce. If you don’t agree, I’ll file for legal separation and then sue.” Now, half a year later, I had finally caved. “Lily said you want to divorce me?” he asked when I didn’t speak. He must have been frowning as he said it, his tone laced with a hint of confusion. I couldn’t understand where his confusion was coming from. He was the one who had brought it up. But I no longer had the energy to argue with him about who initiated it. I just hummed in agreement. “If you have time, let’s meet and sign the papers.” Then, I hung up. 2 It was the first time I had ever hung up on him since discovering his affair. Before, I was the one bombarding his phone with calls and texts. I’d used the most vicious words to curse him and the most heartbroken sobs to beg him. But every time, Christian would say, annoyed, “Can you stop acting like a lunatic? Talk to me when you’ve calmed down.” Then he would mercilessly end the call, ignoring my frantic attempts to reach him again. I wanted to be calm, but whenever I thought about our years together ending like this, I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to demand answers, to know why he had betrayed me. I wanted to beg him to come back, promising I would forgive him. But all my pleading and waiting had led to nothing. Christian remained unchanged. And I, slowly, became the insecure, unhinged person he accused me of being. A real lunatic. I floated through a long period in a haze, drowning in the agony of our relationship. Until three days ago. I stumbled upon a street interview video by a content creator called “Time Capsule.” The question was: “What would you say to yourself from five years ago?” Some said they’d study harder. Others wished they’d spent more time with their families. One person proudly declared that their future self was amazing, having lived up to all their expectations. And then, amidst the stream of answers, I saw him. Christian, with his new girlfriend, Lily. That’s how I knew it wasn’t scripted. Given Christian’s current status, even the most famous creators had to book appointments to see him. This interviewer had truly just caught him on the street, like any other random passerby. At first, Christian seemed annoyed by the interruption. But Lily, beside him, was beaming with excitement. “Oh, this looks fun, Christian! Let’s do it, please?” she begged, shaking his arm playfully. Christian’s expression softened into one of resigned indulgence. The interviewer explained the concept and then posed the question. Lily paused to think, and Christian, seeing her struggle, answered for her. “If I could, I’d tell the Christian from five years ago to find Lily Lin sooner.” He said it with his arm wrapped around her. His voice was cool, but the protective affection he had for her was unmistakable. Lily looked up at him in surprise, then shyly covered her mouth and whispered, “Me too.” 3 By the time I saw the video, it already had tens of thousands of likes. The comments were a flood of adoration. 【OMG! They’re so gorgeous! I ship it!】 【My heart! A true love story! There’s hope for us all!】 【So sweet! You two have to be happy forever! Wishing you all the best!】 I stared at the video, stunned. Did Christian really love her that much? Had he forgotten? Five years ago, we had just gotten married. We were at the peak of our love. We were poor, but we were deliriously happy. And now, here he was, on camera, saying he wished he had met her five years earlier. I expected to feel the usual surge of rage, the uncontrollable fury. I expected to grab my phone and unleash a torrent of angry calls and texts. If he didn’t answer, I would have smashed everything in the villa to pieces, screaming my frustration into the void. But strangely, this time, I just sat there, perfectly still. The comments that should have stung, that should have provoked me, just scrolled past my eyes like lines of code. Then, something inside my head seemed to loosen and drift away. And I was shocked to find… I felt nothing. Obsession can be born in an instant, and clarity, it turns out, can arrive just as quickly. And that’s what led to my phone call. 4 Christian sent me a message. Amidst a sea of red exclamation marks from my blocked messages, his new text stood out in its simple black and white box. Looks like he’d unblocked me, I thought with a self-deprecating smirk. He told me to come to his office on Monday. His lawyer would have the agreement ready. If we both agreed on the terms, we could sign and then just wait for the mandatory cooling-off period to pass. 【Okay.】 On Monday, I went to Christian’s company as planned. Since I didn’t have an appointment, the receptionist had to call upstairs for clearance. “Yes, a Ms. Kingsley is here.” After hanging up, she told me to go up to the executive floor, where a secretary would meet me. I thanked her and headed up. The young woman who greeted me was a stranger. I didn’t recognize her. But then again, it had been six months since I’d last set foot in this place. She was probably a new hire. “Ms. Kingsley, please wait here. Mr. Frost is in a meeting.” She didn’t know me either. She called me Ms. Kingsley and led me to a waiting area. I used to go straight to Christian’s office. His meetings always lasted at least an hour, and I hated waiting. He knew this, so he’d filled his office with books and movies to keep me from getting bored. “You can read or watch a movie. If you get tired, you can wait for me in the break room,” he’d told me back then. The last time I was here, all my things had been removed from his office. The person with free access to his private lounge was someone else. Now, to see him, I had to wait in a generic reception area. But I didn’t have the energy to fight over such a small thing anymore. So I waited quietly. I had plenty of time. I didn’t expect to wait for two hours. Still, no one came to get me. “Excuse me, is Mr. Frost’s meeting over yet?” I finally asked the young woman who had shown me in. She fidgeted. “Mr. Frost is… still in the meeting…” I frowned, about to say something, when I heard laughter down the hall. “Let’s go to that new restaurant for lunch, then.” “Okay!” 5 The voices were painfully familiar. I had just heard them on the phone the night before. There was Lily, clutching a folder, skipping alongside Christian. The young, beautiful girl was a vibrant splash of color, bright and confident. Christian was leaning in, listening to her, a small smile playing on his lips. I don’t know what she said, but the smile on his face deepened. “Miss…” The young secretary tried to stop me as I walked directly towards them, but it was too late. “Christian.” Hearing my voice, they both turned. I clearly saw the flicker of surprise and astonishment on Christian’s face. I asked him if his meeting was over. If it was, it was time to discuss our business. “I got here at ten. I’ve been waiting for two hours.” “Who told you I was in a meeting?” he asked, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. I was taken aback. I looked at him, and the puzzlement in his eyes seemed real. We both realized what had happened at the same time. I didn’t say anything. Christian’s gaze swept across the office, cold and serious. The employees all bowed their heads, not daring to speak. The young woman who had led me to the waiting room shrank back, her head bowed. But just before she did, her eyes darted towards Lily. Of course. In this entire office, the only person who could pull a stunt like this was Lily. “I forgot to tell everyone the meeting was canceled. I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sorry, Mr. Frost,” Lily said, biting her lip and looking up at Christian with wide, innocent eyes. He had always been lenient with her. This time was no different. He didn’t say a word of reprimand. “Come in,” he said, looking at me, dismissing the incident. As I walked past Lily, I saw the pride and defiance in her eyes. 6 “Have a seat.” Inside his office, Christian treated me like a guest. I glanced at the sofa. It was piled with cute, fluffy stuffed animals. The bookshelf that once held my favorite novels was now a snack rack. The door to the private lounge was ajar. Through the crack, I could see a woman’s clothes casually thrown on the end of the bed. Christian looked at me, his expression unreadable. I felt a pang of awkwardness and quickly looked away. “Where’s the agreement?” He handed me the divorce papers from his desk. As I reviewed them, his eyes never left my face. “We’ve been together for so many years. I won’t be stingy. You can have your pick of the cars and houses. If you have any other demands, you can make them now.” Was this supposed to be compensation? The thought flickered through my mind, but it didn’t slow me down. The assets Christian was giving me in the agreement were more than I could spend in several lifetimes. He had always been generous. “This is fine. I’ll just take the villa we’re living in now,” I said. I signed my name cleanly and handed the papers back to him. Christian seemed to have more to say. I saw his lips part, then close again as I acted. He stared at the papers in my hand, as if he couldn’t believe the entire process had taken less than five minutes. I stood up. “The cooling-off period is a month. I’ll contact you then.” I turned to leave. “Claire.” “Is there something else?” “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Christian’s brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with disbelief, his tone a questioning probe. I looked at him, confused. Seeing that he was serious, I thought for a moment and then asked, genuinely, “At this point, you don’t actually expect me to wish you and Lily a lifetime of happiness and a house full of kids, do you?” I may have moved on, but I wasn’t that generous. “…” He was speechless. Christian’s gaze was like a deep, dark pool, his emotions impossible to read. As I reached for the doorknob, I heard his voice again. “Claire, in the end, I’m the one who wronged you. I’ll continue to cover your mother’s medical expenses.”

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