Chapter 1
It was getting late, and I had finally decided to give myself to Carter.
I had just changed into a short skirt when I saw him standing by his Porsche, same as always.
He was smiling lazily at the dorm manager.
“Just let me in, ma’am. Otherwise, my girlfriend will worry seeing me stand in the cold wind for so long.”
My heart pounded like a drum.
I solemnly handed the gift to my best friend.
“Chloe, thank you for dealing with Carter’s pursuit for so long…
“You won’t need to anymore. I’m ready to…”
The words “say yes to him” hadn’t even left my mouth.
I bumped into a hard, warm chestâ
Carter glanced at me indifferently, took a step back, his expression cold and distant.
“Hey, call Chloe for me.
“I’m picking her up for a date.”
Chapter 1
Carter stood tall, looking down at me.
The look in his eyes was like looking at a stranger he’d met by chance.
I opened my mouth, about to ask.
But I was interrupted by Chloe behind me.
“Summer, your ID~”
She held the gift I had just given her, her voice sweet and thoughtful.
“Didn’t you say you weren’t coming back tonight? It’s more convenient to check into a hotel with an ID.
“By the way, Summer, you look beautiful in that short skirt~ But it’s cold today, aren’t you afraid of catching a cold?”
The gaze above my head was burning.
I didn’t dare look up, only feeling the short skirt on my body prickling my skin.
My exposed legs were also chilled by the biting wind.
“Alright.” Carter leaned lazily against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow with a slight smile.
“For our first date, you’re already an hour late.”
He didn’t give me a single glance.
Looking at the gift box in Chloe’s hand, he paused.
His face, which had just softened, turned cold again.
“What is this?”
Chloe smiled frankly.
“A gift Summer gave me. She saidâ”
She looked at me, blinking her eyes with an innocent look.
“Why did you give me a gift again?
“I was putting on makeup just now, I didn’t listen carefully.”
My heart felt sour, and I bit my lip to stop the tears from falling.
In the few seconds I hesitated on how to answer.
Carter reached out, took the gift box, and deftly threw it into the trash can.
He withdrew his gaze nonchalantly, wrapped his arm around Chloe’s waist, and chuckled low.
“Keeping this kind of trash is just a waste of space.
“You’re my girlfriend, you have to rememberâyou deserve the best of everything in the world.”
Finished.
Carter leaned down slightly and planted a kiss on Chloe’s cheek.
Seeing her blush, he took the opportunity to pull her closer into his arms.
I subconsciously turned my head away, not wanting to look.
I felt like I shouldn’t be here, but I didn’t know what I should do.
This weird awkwardness lasted until Carter softly called my name.
“Summer Vance.”
Two words spilled from his lips, just like before, lingering and ambiguous.
At this moment.
I remembered what Carter had said before: “As long as I can catch you, I’ll use every trick in the book.”
Could it be…
He was playing hard to get?
Was all this just an act for me?
Thinking of this, I looked up and met his gaze.
“Summer?” He repeated.
Immediately after, Carter’s face was calm, word by word:
“We’re going camping tonight, soâ
“No need to leave the door unlocked for Chloe tonight.”
Chapter 2
Night fell.
The dorm was completely empty.
The remaining two roommates hadn’t returned from their hometowns after the New Year.
After picking up my takeout, I locked the door tight.
When Carter’s number jumped on the screen, I was packing the love letters he had given meâ
“Are you asleep?” Carter’s voice sounded hollow on the other end, with faint wind noise, his voice slightly hoarse.
“Sorry, I know you hate me calling at this time.”
Listening to his gentle voice, my hand gripping the beer bottle paused.
“Haven’t slept yet” was just out of my mouth.
When I heard Carter clear his throat and say in a deliberately relaxed tone:
“I have a favor to ask you.
“Chloe posted a photo on Instagram two hours ago… You haven’t liked it, she feels pretty bad, she’s been crying for a while.”
Finished.
He took a deep breath, as if mentally preparing himself, with a flattering tone:
“I know you don’t like me, butâfor the sake of me chasing you for two years, help me out with this.
“Chloe says you’re her best friend, she hopes to get your blessing.”
After his voice fell.
Time seemed to stand still.
I could hear the slightly nervous and rapid breathing of Carter, who had always been cynical.
I stared somewhat numbly at Chloe’s bed, confused in my heart:
I didn’t agree to Carter’s pursuit because I felt a bit inferior.
I felt our family backgrounds didn’t match…
Even though Carter always said, the person he liked was me.
I had told Chloe about those contradictory and bitter teenage girl thoughts countless times.
…
“You wouldn’t be like what they say, keeping me hanging without agreeing, and not wanting me to be happy, right?” Seeing I remained silent, Carter’s voice turned cold.
“Summer, you can’t be that selfish.”
Tears blurred my vision.
Wet the box of thick stationery in my hand.
Falling on Carter’s powerful and elegant handwriting, blurring “I really like you” into a black mist.
Afraid he would hear my choking, my voice was very light, and my speech was very slow: “I know.”
Chapter 3
After hanging up the phone, I picked up the beer bottles on the floor and stuffed them into the trash bag.
I opened Chloe’s Instagram.
What came into view was the flashy Porsche full of roses.
And Carter’s hands full of luxury shopping bags.
The caption was: Love nourishes you like a flower. The person who loves you always fears they aren’t giving you enough.
Carter in the photo was still handsome and unruly.
Only, the love in his eyes was no longer for me.
I felt a bit stung.
Hastily liked it.
And replied in the comments below: Wishing you happiness.
After putting away the phone.
I stuck a french fry, pretending it was a candle…
My parents always said: Your birthday is the day your mother suffered.
So I never celebrated my birthday.
This was the first time I wanted to open my heart to Carter.
I even used the money I saved from a month of part-time jobs to buy a gift for Chloe.
…
Forget it.
I closed my eyes and made a wish.
Happy birthday.
Summer.
Chapter 4
I put away that beautiful short skirt.
And a letter.
A full page I had written seriously.
The letter I didn’t have time to give to Carter.
Chapter 5
To avoid Carter, I started keeping my distance from Chloe.
I became a loner.
Becoming the “outcast” in everyone’s eyes again.
Life seemed to have returned to two years ago.
The only difference was, although I lost contact with Carter, his good friend still liked to provoke me.
Every time we met by chance, he would shove food into my arms with a dark face.
Then without waiting for me to say a word, turn and leave.
I gritted my teeth and accepted those expensive snacks.
Then worked hard at my part-time job to calculate the value of those snacks into men’s gifts and return them to his friend.
After Carter and Chloe went official, it got even worse.
He directly sent me a brand-name down jacket.
Looking at the price, I almost blacked out.
When I was ready to return it, I found that this scheming man had customized my name inside the cuff.
No choice.
I could only give a fake smile and say to him, “Thanks a lot.”
Then after class, immediately went to my part-time job.
That night.
Finally preparing to end my second shift.
The door was pushed open.
“Hello, we’re getting ready to close.”
“But Carter, I really want to eat here~” Chloe’s coquettish voice came, “What should we do?”
I lowered my head, pressing the brim of my hat down again and again.
Praying they would leave quickly.
But things went contrary to my wishes.
Carter just rubbed her hair dotingly and whispered “Okay”.
After his slender fingers flipped through a few times, I received a call from the store manager, saying that both the back kitchen and I would get off work late.
I exhaled, put on a fake and decent smile, and walked forward:
“Hello, would you like to order now?”
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I hated Roman Sterling.
I hated that two-faced, arrogant jerk.
It wasn’t enough that he stole my projects, poached my clients, and blocked my promotion.
He actually!
Dared to take my most precious possession!
The moment the bed frame snapped, my soul felt like it left my body.
I was bleeding in two places at once.
My voice was gone, my vision blurred by steam and sweat.
My last memory of that night was Roman gripping my neck, panting heavily into my ear, and chuckling:
“You’re amazing, babe.”
The next morning, I woke up with my hands around his throat, threatening him:
“If a third person finds out about this, you are dead meat!”
A few months later, looking at my slightly protruding belly.
Roman scratched his head, looking pained.
“I didn’t think biology worked that way for us.”
“Can you maybe spare the baby daddy’s life?”
01
I hated Roman Sterling.
He was a world-class jerk.
Usually, I could tolerate him stealing my thunder at work. But sleeping with me? That was a bridge too far.
When the bed collapsed, I think my dignity went with it.
I have a secret. A medical anomaly.
And that night, Roman discovered it in the most invasive way possible.
02
I learned a valuable lesson freshman year of college: Roman is a menace.
Day one of orientation, we ended up in the same dorm room. We both wanted the bottom bunk.
After arguing for twenty minutes, he suddenly smirked lazily.
“If you want to be under me that badly, I’ll allow it.”
Our other two roommates burst out laughing.
I was furious. I threw my suitcase onto the top bunk and glared at him. “Fine. I’m taking the top. Deal with it.”
Roman just smiled and happily made his bed.
Later that night at the dorm mixer, Roman sat next to me. He leaned in, whispering with a grin:
“Cam, top or bottom doesn’t matter.”
“It’s what’s inside that counts.”
It took me ten full seconds to realize what this pervert was implying.
My face went nuclear red.
When a roommate asked what was wrong, Roman casually picked up a cream puff and held it to my mouth.
“He ate something spicy. Here, have something sweet to neutralize it.”
I was so mad I bit down on the puffâpretending it was Romanâs finger.
Filling exploded everywhere, all over my face.
Roman took a wet wipe and cleaned me up, spot by spot.
Some genius took a photo. Because of the angle, it looked… suggestive. Romanâs knuckles, my red face, the white cream.
That photo hit the campus social app instantly.
The thread got three thousand comments overnight.
My reputation as a straight man took a critical hit.
For the first semester, everywhere I went, people teased: “Cameron, where’s your boyfriend?”
I reported the thread for harassment every day for a month until it was taken down.
I thought graduation meant freedom. I thought tossing my cap meant tossing Roman Sterling out of my life.
Day one at the new firm.
I looked up from my cubicle and nearly passed out.
Roman was sitting right across from me, flashing that same devilish grin.
03
I opened my eyes and felt like my face was buried in a cloud.
I moved my head groggily, my lips brushing against something warm.
The person next to me groaned.
Once my vision cleared, I froze.
My body ached in places it shouldn’t.
I realized my head was buried in Romanâs chest. And judging by the red marks, Iâd been there a while.
Just as I was about to knock myself out and pretend this was a nightmare, he opened his eyes.
We locked gazes. He smirked.
“Morning, babe.”
Babe?
This trash. The first thing he does is flirt.
I swung a fist at his face. He caught it effortlessly with his palm, using the momentum to flip us over so he was hovering above me.
“Whoa there. Why so aggressive?”
His tone wasn’t accusing. It was soft. Almost… pitiful. Like he was pouting.
Flashes of last night hit me.
My throat felt dry.
Roman lowered his head.
The moment our noses touched, I sobered up. I grabbed his neck and flipped us again, pinning him down.
I squeezed, watching his face turn slightly red.
“I’m warning you. If you tell anyone that I’m…”
I couldn’t say the word. Intersex.
“I will end you.”
He didn’t speak.
Once I had my pants on, Roman lit a cigarette. He blew a smoke ring toward me, smiling through the haze.
“Then be gentle with me, husband. I’m sensitive.”
04
I scrubbed my skin raw in the shower, trying to wash off the scent of Roman Sterling.
But whenever I closed my eyes, I could hear him.
His voice, whispering in my ear. Calling me “babe.”
It made me sick.
I didn’t sleep until 3 AM. I dragged myself to the office Monday morning looking like a zombie.
The moment I hit my desk, I smelled cologne. Cedar and spice.
Roman was walking toward me in a crisp white shirt, top button undone, looking annoyingly fresh.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
“You look tired. I made you coffee.”
“Damn it, are you stalking me? Are you sick? Did you poison this so I’d miss the morning meeting? I’m telling you, that project is mine!”
I felt smug, thinking I’d seen through his plot.
A female colleague nearby giggled. “You guys are too much.”
Romanâs eyes darkened. He set the coffee down and walked away.
I suddenly remembered college. He used to do this too.
Heâd buy breakfast for the whole room. Save seats. He even did my laundry once when I left it in the basket too long.
Was he actually… nice?
Ha. Believe Roman is a nice guy? Or believe Iâm actually gay?
He probably put bleach in my laundry.
At the meeting, Roman told the boss that my plan was better suited for the new client. He voluntarily stepped back.
I was confused.
Was he compensating me for that night?
The thought made me shudder. Can’t we just get partial amnesia? We are both grown men. There’s nothing to compensate!
I decided to confront him.
During lunch, I dragged him into the break room like a thief.
05
“Look, Roman. We have some… history. But we’re bros, right? Don’t…”
I stammered, my face heating up.
“Anyway, I’m not a girl. You don’t need to compensate me. Let’s just go back to normal. We argue, we compete.”
“We stay enemies.”
Roman laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“So, I hit a home run, and now you want to send me back to the dugout?”
“What home run? What…”
Before I could finish, Roman stepped in. He kneed my legs apart, pinned my wrists against the wall, and loomed over me.
The scent of cedar was overwhelming.
“Who said it was unpleasant? That night, I enjoyed it… thoroughly.”
My face exploded with heat.
“Get the hell away from me!”
Roman chuckled. “Cam, people have been spreading rumors about us for years. Why don’t we just make it real?”
“My father raised a straight man! Straighter than a steel beam!” I roared.
Just then, the break room door swung open.
Some colleagues walked in on us in a very compromising position.
One of the girls gasped, covered her mouth, and frantically flashed us an ‘OK’ sign.
“We didn’t see anything!”
“Door’s closed! Carry on! Don’t let us ruin the mood!”
I watched them flee in despair.
I could predict my reputation for the next ten yearsâthe closeted office romance king.
06
That afternoon, I went to Sarah at the next desk.
“Sarah, switch seats with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”
I couldn’t look at Roman’s resentful face anymore.
Avoiding him was cowardly, but effective.
Sarah looked at me, then at Roman, and smiled knowingly.
“Couple’s quarrel? No way am I moving. Look at his handsome face, you’ll forgive him eventually.”
Not only did I fail to move, but I also got humiliated.
Why does everyone assume he’s the top?
The world has a serious misunderstanding about me!
It rained, and then it poured.
The boss announced a bonus. A trip for two to Hawaii.
“You two worked hard this half. Go relax. Come back refreshed.”
I felt dead inside. Roman took the tickets and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry. I won’t ruin your mood.”
“You find a friend to go with. I’ll just stay in the hotel and sleep.”
Was he that nice?
I debated internally. I wanted to go, but it felt like a trap.
But then my brain short-circuited.
“You… don’t want to go with me?”
I wanted to slap myself. Why did that sound like an invitation?
Roman looked up slowly.
He smiled, a look I couldn’t decipher.
07
How did it end up like this?
I was hiding in the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
Is the company going bankrupt?
Why only one room?
And why a King bed?
The boss is a cheapskate.
Roman knocked. “You done? I need to go.”
You’re in a rush? I’m not mentally prepared!
“Yeah… okay.”
I walked out awkwardly. Roman didn’t even look at me. He went in and locked the door.
He really just needed the toilet.
I felt stupid for worrying.
When I got dressed, I saw he had built a pillow fort down the middle of the bed.
I paused.
Right. We are enemies. This is normal.
So why was I annoyed?
That night, we lay back to back. Roman fell asleep instantly.
I couldn’t sleep.
Fragments of memories floated up.
Sophomore year track meet. I sprained my ankle. Roman ran the 1500m for me, then collapsed by my wheelchair.
The time my scholarship was delayed. He dragged me to the admin office and yelled at them until they fixed it.
There were so many quiet moments buried under the noise of our rivalry.
“Roman Sterling, you jerk,” I whispered into the dark.
He sighed. He moved the pillow barrier.
“Go to sleep, idiot.”
“I can’t.”
“Your breathing is too loud.”
Roman laughed low in his throat.
“Stupid. That’s your heartbeat.”
In the silence, my ears burned.
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After I died saving Holden Blackwood, he didn’t behave like a grieving widower in some tragic romance novel.
Three days after heâd rushed through my funeralâa perfunctory, cold affairâhe married his assistant, Bonnie Shaw. Their wedding was lavish, a spectacle of gilded excess. Meanwhile, my photo from the mantelpiece was tossed into the kitchen trash, and no one in the Blackwood estate dared speak my name again.
Our four-year-old son, Ford, rushed his father, clutching his leg, only to be roughly kicked away.
âElma is dead!â Holden roared, his face a mask of cold fury. âYou will start calling Bonnie âMamaâ immediately, or youâll be out of this house!â
âFurthermore, youâre starting boarding school next month. You wonât interfere with Bonnieâs pregnancy.â
Ford ran away that afternoon, clutching my portrait. He was hit by a car and died alone on the side of the road.
Holden used the priceless collection of artwork Iâd inherited from my fatherâmy dowryâto leverage his companyâs recovery. He became the cityâs wealthiest magnate and lived to the age of ninety.
It turned out, the tidy moral structure of justice in novels was a comforting lie.
Then, I woke up.
I was back on the morning Holden Blackwood fell into the sea.
And I understood. It wasn’t an accident at all. My death in the last life was the result of a cruel, desperate gamble theyâd orchestrated.
This time, I decided to watch the game from the sidelines.
âMommy!â
The small, whiny voice, thick with injustice, jolted me fully awake.
Ford, all four years of him, tumbled into my embrace, his body soft and warm.
The flash of my past lifeâhim lying broken by the road, hugging my framed photo, crying for his motherâstabbed into my mind. I had been a frantic ghost, circling uselessly above him, unable to stop his fate.
My arms tightened around him now.
âMommy, I want to go on the boat with you and Daddy,â Ford pleaded, looking up with wide, beseeching eyes.
The boat. I froze.
Holdenâs voice, sharp and impatient, cut in from behind me. âMove it, Elma. What are you waiting for?â
I turned slowly.
The man Iâd loved with a lifetimeâs devotion was walking toward me. His face was still devastatingly handsome, but my heart felt like a frozen, hollow space in my chest.
âIf weâre late for the summit, Iâm holding you responsible!â
It all clicked into place.
Today was the Lakehurst Commercial Summit. And today was the anniversary of my death.
âPerhaps you shouldnât go.â
Bonnie, immaculate in a silk dress, floated down the sweeping staircase and naturally looped her arm through Holdenâs. âThe little guy is sensitive. The sea air will make him sick again.â
She shot me a glance, a tiny, triumphant smirk playing on her lips.
In the previous life, I would have lunged, tearing her off him. But this time, when Ford shrieked, âBad woman! Let go of my Daddy!â I held him back with a voice that was suddenly, terrifyingly calm.
âFord, come back.â
I scooped him up, rising to my feet. âBonnieâs right. He should stay home with the nanny.â
A flicker of surprise crossed Holdenâs face.
Three months ago, when I first discovered their affair, Iâd trashed his office, made a public scene, and begged him on my knees not to leave me. This composure must seem deeply, unnervingly abnormal to him.
âElma, youâreâŠâ He paused, assessing me. âYouâre being sensible.â
I didnât reply. I simply turned and walked up the stairs.
I wouldnât go to the yacht, not yet. In the past, Ford had witnessed my drowning, a trauma that ultimately broke him. This time, all I cared about was his safety.
I quickly changed my clothes and came back down. As Holden reached for my hand, I slipped past him, letting Bonnie take the front seat. I settled into the back.
The yacht deck was cold, the water vast and flat.
I couldnât help but remember the morgue in the hospital, my dead body wrapped in plastic, and Holden weeping over me. The grief hadn’t seemed fake.
So why, just three days later, did he throw away my photo and marry Bonnie? Even if the love was gone, I had still saved his life.
Just then, a faint crash echoed from the cabin.
Bonnie poked her head out. Seeing the deck was empty, she nervously retreated.
âThe private investigator got the proof!â Her voice was low, tight. âSheâs been meeting with that man frequently… Holden, sheâs cheating on you!â
âEnough!â
Holdenâs voice sounded exhausted. âI told you, youâll be compensated handsomely. But as long as Elma is alive, there is only one Mrs. Blackwood.â
âDonât you want to know if she cares about you, though?â Bonnie hissed.
The man stopped walking.
âIf she jumps in after you, it proves her loyalty.â
âAnd if she⊠doesnât jump?â
âDonât worry, I have a rescue boat standing by.â Bonnie gripped his arm. âItâs just a little drama, a show of desperate love. She wonât be in any real danger.â
The silence stretched, long and deadly.
Holden finally gave in, a single, decisive nod.
I almost laughed out loud.
My death in the previous life was born from their stupid, manufactured suspicion.
The âother manâ was just a rare stamp dealer. Holden was obsessed with collecting, and Iâd been trying to buy him a surprise set.
He never gave me a chance to explain.
A heavy splash echoed from the other end of the deck.
âHoney, help me!â
Holden was thrashing in the icy water.
Last time, I jumped and lost my life.
This time, I stood still. I calmly pulled out a small bag of sunflower seeds and began shelling them.
Bonnie was stunned.
âMrs. Blackwood, youâre not going to save him? You donât care about Mr. Blackwoodâs safety?â
âI have a terrible cold,â I replied with an effortless shrug. âCanât risk getting worse. You look awfully concerned, though. You should go save him.â
With a swift movement, I shoved her backward.
Bonnie shrieked as she plummeted into the sea. Her flailing and desperate cries for help instantly merged with Holdenâs frantic splashing.
I wiped my hands clean and pulled out my phone. I sent two quick messages.
One to my lawyer, instructing him to prepare the final divorce documents.
The second to my childhood rival and estranged friend in France.
Keep an eye on the painter, Theo Moretti, at St. Maryâs Hospital. Iâm giving you a massive score.
The rescue crew was efficient. Neither of them died.
Bonnie woke up quickly. I carried a thermos of hot soup to the hospital room but she wasn’t there.
I walked toward the nurses’ station and paused by the utility closet, hearing hushed voices.
âThe plan is ruined!â It was the crewman’s voice. âElma didn’t jump. We can’t testify that she was pushing the CEOâs head underwater to inherit his estateâŠâ
I held my breath.
Was this the whole truth? No wonder Holden hated me so much shortly after my death.
âDonât panic,â Bonnie chuckled lightly. âHer refusal to jump only proves she never cared about Holden.â
âI have plenty of ways to make them divorce!â She leaned in close to the manâs ear, dropping her voice further. âBesides, I have a massive kill-switch ready.â
I couldnât make out the rest. Seeing them about to conclude, I swiftly retreated to the room.
Holden was awake, his face pale and clammy.
He struggled to sit up, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip.
âWhy⊠why didnât you jump in to save me?â
I gently pulled my arm away. âI have a cold. I shouldn’t go near the water.â
He stared, then loosened his grip. âYou⊠you werenât like this before.â
Yes, before.
In the past, I drained my father’s inheritance to help him rebuild, gave up my job as an art buyer to focus on getting pregnant. I sacrificed my life, and still couldnât save my only son.
Just then, Bonnie rushed in.
She threw herself into Holdenâs arms, clutching him tightly. âHolden, you scared me to death!â
âThank goodness I didnât hesitate and just jumped straight inâŠâ
As she spoke, Bonnie glanced at me triumphantly. I simply smiled, pulling out my phone and pressing record.
âThat was a rather reluctant jump, wasnât it, Bonnie?â
I hit the play button. The conversation from the yacht deck filled the sterile room.
âI have a cold. You go save him.â
Bonnie screamed, âHeâs your husband! What does this have to do with me?â
âYou love him desperately, don’t you? Wouldn’t it be romantic to die together if you canât save him?â
She sounded terrified, shaking violently. âI donât want to die! I have so much left to do!â
The recording ended abruptly with the sound of her being shoved into the water.
Holdenâs face was the color of stone.
Bonnie stammered, trying to make excuses, but he pointed a shaky finger toward the door. âGet out.â
She rose, tears streaming down her face.
Her phone rang as she reached the exit.
She returned instantly, a terrifying confidence replacing her panic. She held the phone triumphantly in front of Holden.
âI couldnât figure out why his wife watched him drown⊠until I saw this.â
A paternity test report.
The subjects: Holden Blackwood and Ford Blackwood.
The conclusion: Zero probability of blood relation.
Holdenâs hand trembled. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot.
He hurled the phone at me, demanding an explanation.
I didnât flinch.
âIt seems Mrs. Blackwood wanted Holden to die so her bastard son could inherit the Blackwood fortuneâŠâ Bonnie helpfully added. âThen she could run off with her lover, is that right?â
I remained silent.
Holden shot up from the bed, ripping the IV from his arm. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the door.
âWeâre going for a re-test now! Weâll find out the truth.â
Bonnieâs face went white, her sudden anxiety visible.
I yanked my arm away. âNo.â
Holden grew frantic. âIf you have nothing to hide, what are you afraid of?â
âIf the test proves Iâve been wrongly accusedâŠâ I pointed at Bonnieâs stomach. âThen you abort her child. Do you dare take that bet?â
Holden froze.
In my previous life, I never knew Bonnie was pregnant until the end. I had always believed Holden was just playing around, and that if I were humble enough, heâd return to me.
âTwo months along, right?â I smiled, shifting my gaze to Bonnieâs barely noticeable bump. âAbout the same stage I was with Ford.â
She instantly covered her belly, retreating behind Holden.
âElma! What are you doing? The baby is innocent!â
âNothing at all.â
I smiled. âJust reminding you, Bonnie, that you need vitamins for the morning sickness. I can even recommend a good nutritionist.â
My sudden generosity only deepened Holdenâs confusion.
âYouâre not angry? Not jealous?â
I shook my head. âBonnie is carrying a Blackwood heir. Why would I be jealous?â
âUnlessâŠâ He choked, his breathing ragged. âUnless your heart is simply not mine anymore?â
I gave him no answer.
âFord is four. You hooked up with your lover four years ago, didn’t you? While I was busy rebuilding my life?â
As Holdenâs eyes became increasingly bloodshot, I remained completely silent.
He could figure it out himself. If Iâd truly had a lover, I would have left him ages ago. Why would I pour my fatherâs entire estate into saving him?
He simply chose not to believe me.
My phone vibrated.
It was the reply from Jasper Reid.
Theo Moretti critically ill. His last works expected to double in value.
I closed my eyes, recalling the twelve paintingsâthe St. Christopher SeriesâIâd left for Holden in the previous life.
I pulled a file from my bag and slapped it against his chest.
âLetâs get divorced.â
Holden stared at the words, DIVORCE AGREEMENT, and swallowed hard.
âWhat did you say?â
âDivorce,â I repeated. âWhen a marriage has no trust, itâs better to go our separate ways.â
âDo you really have to do this?â
His voice softened, a hint of desperation creeping in. âJust agree to the paternity test, give me an answerâŠâ
âAnd then what?â I cut him off. âEven if Iâm proven innocent, will you punish Bonnie for this?â
âDare to subject her to an amniocentesis for DNA testing, or let me use your affair as grounds for a lawsuit?â
He was immediately speechless.
âDivorce, divorce, thatâs all you think about!â
He erupted in a sudden rage, snatching the papers and throwing them back. âI know what this is. You want to walk away with more money to give to your lover! Not a chance! I wonât sign this. You leave with nothing!â
I picked up the pen without hesitation.
And signed it cleanly.
Holden tried to stop me but was too late.
âYouâŠâ His hand shook. âYou really want nothing, just to leave me?â
âI only want the remaining part of my dowry.â
âThose few mediocre paintings?â He tried to find a flicker of doubt in my eyes. âElma, think clearlyâŠâ
âPerfectly clear.â
âFine. Very good.â His eyes were red as he nodded.
He immediately called the nanny, instructing her to pack my belongings. He insisted we leave the hospital and return home.
The moment we walked in the door, he grabbed Ford and ordered my bags to be moved into the guest room.
âUntil the cooling-off period is over, you will live here.â
âWhy?â
âBecause you are still Mrs. Blackwood!â
âThis is illegal confinement!â
The tension was immediate, a standoff. I knew his game: he wanted me here to witness his life with Bonnie, hoping Iâd get jealous and beg him to withdraw the divorce papers.
Tired of the drama, I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave.
Suddenly, he snatched Ford up and slammed the childâs head onto the corner of the dining table.
Thud. A dull sound, followed by the sight of blood.
Ford screamed in pain.
I rushed over and held him, trembling all over.
Holden immediately covered his fleeting moment of panic. âThe child is hurt. You canât drag him around in the cold looking for a place to stay, can you?â
I looked up at him, seeing a stranger.
I remembered the night Ford was born. Iâd had a massive hemorrhage, and Holden stood outside the delivery room, his eyes red, pleading with the doctor to save me. Later, holding his son, he swore he would cherish us both for life.
And now, he had deliberately smashed his son’s head just to keep me trapped.
âMr. Blackwood, call a doctor.â
I turned, my voice venomous.
He carelessly agreed, then wrapped his arm around Bonnie and disappeared into the master suite.
For the next few days, Bonnie was the lady of the manor.
In the living room, the dining room, on the stairsâI constantly found them entwined. Holden attended every prenatal appointment. When Bonnie wanted a midnight cake, he braved the snow to buy ingredients and baked until dawn.
He completely ignored Ford and me.
My lawyer called frequently, reminding me of the dwindling countdown to the official end of the cooling-off period.
That night, with Ford in my arms, he asked, âMommy, are you really leaving Daddy?â
âYes.â
âWhen do we go? I donât want to be here anymore.â
I glanced at my phone.
Soon.
Two more days until the painter, Theo Moretti, died, and Holden’s company would face catastrophe.
In the past life, he used my paintings to save himself. This time, Iâd strike first.
I texted Jasper.
Be at the auction the day after tomorrow.
If Theo doesnât die, Iâll work in your gallery for life. You can’t lose.
After a moment of silence, he replied with a single word.
Deal.
On the day of the auction, I dressed to kill and came downstairs.
Holden and Bonnie were standing together. He paused, seeing me.
âLetâs go, the car is warmed up.â
I stepped in front of Bonnie, took Holdenâs arm, and squeezed him out of her way.
His mouth curved slightly. âChanged your mind about the divorce?â
I just smiled, my eyes scanning the trunk of his car where the paintings were stored.
I took the passenger seat.
In the rearview mirror, Bonnie looked like she wanted to tear me apart.
Holden, in a strangely good mood, kept discussing the items he was interested in bidding on. I was distracted, checking my phone and gazing out the window.
At the venue, I chose a seat far away from them.
Holden looked perplexed. âSitting so far away? Are you trying to publicly humiliate me in front of the media?â
âWeâre getting divorced,â I said, shrugging. âDoes it matter if we sit together?â
His face darkened.
He immediately bid aggressively, buying three expensive diamond sets for Bonnie.
âA gift for the most important woman in my life,â he announced loudly.
The media swarmed. âMr. Blackwood, is it true your marriage with Mrs. Blackwood has broken down?â
He avoided the question, smiling vaguely, looking at me, clearly expecting me to jump up and defend the marriage. I remained silent.
I was calm and quiet, like a detached observer. Bonnie was ecstatic, clutching her jewelry boxes. Holdenâs face grew darker and darker.
Near the end, I stood up. I glanced at the familiar figure in the corner, Jasper Reid, and walked to the stage.
âLadies and gentlemen, I have a few paintings to auction today. They are my late fatherâs private collection.â
A murmur rippled through the audience.
âWhy is Mrs. Blackwood selling her fatherâs things? Is the rumor of her divorce true?â
I took the microphone.
âHolden and I are finalizing our divorce.â
âSince Mr. Blackwood demands I leave with nothing, I need to sell these for cash.â
The media erupted. âIs this because of Bonnie?â
Holdenâs face was livid, but he forced a cold laugh. âThose worthless pieces? How much could they possibly be worth?â
It was true. The painter, Theo Moretti, was completely obscure right now.
But after his death, this series of twelve paintings would skyrocket in value.
And today, was the day he died.
âDonât cause a scene, Elma,â Holden hissed, suppressing his fury. âIf you need money, Iâll increase your allowance. I can even buy them myself at a low price as a charitable act.â
âNo, thank you.â
I waved him off. âKeep your money for Bonnieâs jewelry, Mr. Blackwood. These paintings will find someone who truly appreciates them.â
The auction floor went silent. No one bid.
Holden raised an eyebrow triumphantly, but a voice from the corner cut him short.
âThree million.â
It was him. Jasper.
Holden recognized him instantly.
âIs he your lover?â Holden grabbed my wrist.
I pulled away sharply. âMr. Blackwood, please maintain decorum. If youâre not interested in the next lot, you may leave.â
âHolden,â Bonnie tugged his sleeve. âMy stomach hurts. Letâs go home.â
Holden glared at me, then turned to leave.
But as they approached the car, an international news alert popped up on his phone.
At the same moment, the distinctive ping of news alerts filled the auction hall.
Holden froze.
French painter Theo Moretti passed away this morning. The value of his final works is expected to skyrocket.
He spun around wildly.
By the time he turned back, the bidding had already tripled.
âIâll raise the bid! Five million! Iâll take it!â
He was panting, held back by security guards.
âAttendees who have left the premises are disqualified from bidding.â
I smiled. The auctioneerâs gavel struck the podium.
âSold for thirty million to Mr. Jasper Reid!â
Holden was rigid, watching Jasper stand up and offer me a small, confident smile.
In thirty minutes, the Blackwood Group would be facing a major crisis.
And he had just missed his only chance for survival.
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1
I was the last person the fake heiress saw before she died a brutal death.
To find her killer, my parents subjected me to electroshock therapy and hypnosis, desperate to unlock my memories. I was tormented to the brink of insanity, but I couldnât recall a single detail.
The therapist suggested a more radical approach: an experimental “stimulation therapy” at a notorious, off-the-grid facility abroad.
My brother, Daniel, agreed on the spot. Then he turned to me and said, âBe a good girl. If you can just remember, weâll still consider you our daughter.â
I held onto those words. I became the most obedient dog in that gilded cage. A bite of food was all it took for me to spread my legs.
Then, news broke of a new technology: the Memory Tribunal, a machine that promised a 100% success rate in memory retrieval.
The day I heard about it, I called my brother.
The line was silent for a long time before he finally spoke. âThat tribunal⊠itâs dangerous. If you donât want toâŠâ
I cut him off with a laugh. âItâs fine.â
Just as he hadnât told me that stepping onto the tribunal was a death sentence, I didnât tell him that I already knew.
For me, death was a release.
âŠ
When I was led onto the tribunal platform, blindfolded, I was wearing nothing but a piece of revealing lingerie. My body was a roadmap of festering whip marks, with cigarette burns in places no one could see. The stares from the audience below were like knives, but I felt nothing.
Finally, my brother arrived with our parents.
I lifted my head, wanting to see them one last time. Since the day they had callously sent me away, I had finally accepted my place. As their biological daughter, I wasn’t worth a single hair on the head of the fake heiress, Bianca. After her gruesome death, they had become obsessed with avenging her.
As expected, the moment my mother saw me, she flew into a rage.
âHow dare you dress like that? Youâre a disgrace to this family! Bianca was always so vibrant and full of life! How could a cheap little tramp like you ever compare to her?â she shrieked. âYou were the last person to see her alive! Why canât you remember? Remember, damn you!â
She tore at my hair, tears streaming down her face. I felt the heat of them on my skin and wondered, if I died, would she grieve for me like this?
Probably not.
My father made a token effort to restrain her, his own eyes full of disapproval. âLauren, thatâs enough. Youâve made your point.â Then to me, âYouâre taking this too far, pretending to have all these injuries just to make us feel sorry for you. Donât think I donât know about the decadent life youâve been living.â
I said nothing, my numb gaze drifting to my brother, who quickly looked away. He knew. When he had stormed into that hellhole to bring me home, he had found me on all fours like a dog, waiting to be fed. He had pushed past a line of other girls, searching for me, and when he finally found me, he knew the wounds were real.
But he wouldnât say a word in my defense.
It didnât matter. I had lost all hope in him long ago.
I closed my eyes, then opened them again, my expression devoid of any emotion. âLetâs just get this over with. I want to know what happened the day Bianca died even more than you do.â
I wanted to be free of this filthy world. I couldnât bear to live like this anymore.
As the technicians began to strap me to the tribunal chair, my brother called out to me.
âLauren, are you sure about this?â
I understood his hidden meaning. He was telling me I still had a chance to back out, to live.
But I pretended not to understand.
Daniel, I thought, this world is too dirty. I donât want to live in it anymore.
I lay down on the platform, allowing them to bind my arms and legs.
A technician leaned over me. âAre you doing this of your own free will?â she asked, her voice low. âThe Memory Tribunal is still experimental. You will die.â
I nodded, forcing a smile. It had been a long time since anyone had shown me such concern. I tried to make the smile as genuine as possible.
The technician, her face filled with pity, took the consent form to my parents. âAre you absolutely sure you want to do this to your own daughter? Donât you know that once the process is complete, she willâŠâ
My parents cut her off.
âWe donât care. We just want to find the person who killed our darling girl and make them pay!â
âHow much did Lauren pay you to plead her case?â
I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Mom, all I did was smile at her. Is that all it takes to buy a personâs heart?
Defeated, the technician stepped back and reached for the activation button.
I closed my eyes, waiting for my fate.
Suddenly, my brother strode forward, stopping the technicianâs hand. He pressed something small and hard into my palm.
âHold on,â he whispered.
It was a piece of candy.
Candy. In that gilded cage, it was a luxury. The things I had to do for a single taste of sweetnessâŠ
I managed to turn my head and give him a grateful smile. I was about to die anyway. All the humiliation would finally be erased.
The tribunal began.
A searing pain shot through my mind. I clenched my jaw, enduring it, my hand instinctively tightening around the candy. This was nothing. In that other place, if you survived one torment, there was always another waiting. I was used to it.
The large screen above flickered to life, displaying my first memory. A scene of debauchery, filled with screams and cheers. I was there, raising a glass, downing it in one go.
The audience below began to whisper.
âSheâs no good, that one. Living like that⊠imagine how many men sheâs been with.â
âExactly. I bet those scars are from her own sick fetishes. And she has the nerve to play the victim.â
My parents looked on, their faces filled with righteous anger, as if I had committed some unforgivable sin.
The next second, the scene shifted, and they all froze.
I was kicked to the ground, the bottle I had just emptied shoved into my mouth. Someone grabbed my head and slammed it against the floor again and again. The glass shattered, filling my mouth with blood. I begged them to stop, my forehead a bloody mess from kowtowing, before I was dragged away like a dead dog.
It happened over and over. Every time my wounds started to heal, someone would come to torture me again. I went from a spirited young woman to a broken, lifeless doll.
One of my tormentors spat. âEasy now. We canât kill her. The boss wants her alive. Wants her to go home a raving lunatic, a public disgrace.â
A murmur went through the crowd. Everyone wanted to know who âthe bossâ was. My parents stood there, stunned.
The technician looked at them, her voice filled with pity. âDo you want to continue? Her mental state is⊠fragile. Perhaps you should find this âbossâ and get her justice.â
A flicker of hope ignited within me.
Mom, Dad, now that youâve seen what they did to me, do you feel even a little bit of pity? Just enough to let me know that you care?
They were silent for a long time. Then my fatherâs voice rang out, firm and clear.
âWe will find out who killed Bianca today. As for Lauren, we will compensate her after we have our revenge. Sheâll get whatâs hers.â
The flicker of hope died. My will to live vanished completely.
A look of pain crossed my brotherâs face. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again.
In their eyes, I would never be worth as much as Bianca.
Lauren, I thought, what more can you possibly hope for?
The tribunal continued.
The machine pulsed, and my body began to convulse. It felt like a lightning bolt shot from my brain through my entire body. I could smell my own skin burning.
The dark screen lit up again.
A snarling face filled the screen, causing the audience to gasp.
âRemember! You have to remember!â
âWhy canât you remember? Why wonât you say it? What happened that day? How did my Bianca die?â
It was my mother. She was like a lioness who had lost her cub, vowing to make the killer pay.
In the memory, I was on the floor, shaking, trying desperately to remember, but my mind was a fog.
âI⊠I really canât remember! Please, stop asking me!â I screamed, clutching my head, tears streaming down my face.
Why? Why did no one believe me? Why did everyone think I had something to do with Biancaâs death? Why were they blaming me for something I didnât do?
My father stood to the side, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. âIf she wonât cooperate, increase the voltage. We need to know the truth.â
The truth?
The truth was that my parents and my brother had never trusted me. From the day I returned to them, I had walked on eggshells. I never dared to hope for their love, never wanted to usurp Biancaâs place in their hearts. I had tried to stay out of their way.
But it wasnât enough. They wouldnât leave me alone.
On the tribunal platform, tears of blood trickled from the corners of my eyes. My body shook uncontrollably.
An audience member pointed me out to my parents.
âThis is your fault. How can you sacrifice a living child for one who is already gone?â
âLook at her! Itâs obvious sheâs been horribly abused. Even I feel for her. How can her own family be so heartless?â
The voltage surged through me again and again. It was so brutal that even the technician couldnât bear to watch. Just as she was about to shut it down, my parents snapped out of their trance.
âDonât you dare stop! Keep going!â
âWe havenât gotten to the day Bianca died yet! No one stops until we do!â
My mother ran forward and began to struggle with the technician.
âDonât you understand? Any more of this, and she will die!â
Even my brother stepped in, trying to pull our mother back. For the first time, he seemed to feel a pang of remorse for his quiet, suffering sister.
âDaniel, have you forgotten Bianca?â my mother cried. âSheâs dead! We donât even have a body! Do you want me to go to my grave without getting justice for her?â
My brotherâs hands fell to his sides.
In the struggle, my motherâs hand accidentally hit a dial on the control panel.
The voltage spiked to its maximum level.
I coughed up a mouthful of blood. The screen flashed erratically, a chaotic montage of my life.
Being switched at birth, my miserable childhood. Cowering in fear, afraid to speak. Standing on a stool to cook for my adoptive family before I was five. At ten, my adoptive father trying to trade me to the local drunk for a lifetime supply of cheap wine. At fifteen, my adoptive mother trying to give me to her brother as an unpaid servant. At twenty, my adoptive parents arguing over how much they could sell me for, right before my real family found me. At twenty-two, being sent to that gilded cage by my own parents, where I spent a year wishing for death. And now, at twenty-three, dying on this tribunal platform, a spectacle for all to see.
My family had taken me in, but they had never given me their love. My life had been a quiet, desperate walk on thin ice. Every step I took seemed to be the wrong one.
The images flashed faster and faster, then suddenly froze on the day of Biancaâs death.
âLook!â someone shouted, pointing at the screen. âWhatâs happening?â
Everyone fell silent and turned to look.
A glint of steel in my fatherâs eyes as he adjusted his glasses. My mother stopped struggling, craning her neck to see.
One look, and their eyes widened in horror.
âHow⊠How can this be?â
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My childhood sweetheart, the heir to a dynasty, fell in love with a delicate “white lotus” from the wrong side of the tracks.
To marry her, he withstood the pressure of his entire family and publicly broke our engagement.
Heartbroken, I left the country to pursue my art in Paris.
When I returned, he and Lily had been married for nearly two years.
I had long since moved on.
But at my welcome-home party, Caleb Montgomeryâthe man who once fought the world for herâlooked at the woman he had tried so hard to marry with cold, undisguised disgust.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay home?” he hissed, his voice dripping with ice. “Why did you come out here just to embarrass me?”
1
When I returned to the States, my friends threw a lavish welcome-home party for me at an exclusive rooftop lounge in Manhattan.
I didn’t expect Caleb Montgomery to be there.
Seven years ago, for the sake of Lily Evans, he insisted on breaking his engagement with meâhis social equal and childhood friend. He stood before our elders and declared that he would rather marry a stray dog than marry me.
It was a humiliation that disregarded generations of friendship between our families.
That day, exhausted and broken, I cried for an hour in front of my parents, begging them to agree to the annulment. I told them I didn’t want Caleb anymore.
My parents, heartbroken for me, finally relented. They went to Calebâs parents and spoke behind closed doors for hours. The result: It wasnât Caleb rejecting me; it was the Sterling family refusing to give their daughter away.
Although our families didn’t become sworn enemies, the relationship turned frosty. I left for Paris to study art and hadn’t looked back.
Until today.
I looked at Caleb. Compared to seven years ago, he was taller, more composed, and radiated the cold arrogance of old money. His dark eyes were fixed on me.
I turned to Chloe, the host.
Chloe immediately threw her hands up. “Don’t look at me, Victoria. I didn’t invite him. Caleb heard you were coming back and insisted on arranging this party in my place.”
She added, guilty and hushed, “It wasn’t up to me.”
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I smiled at Caleb, gentle and polite, just as I used to be before everything fell apart.
“Victoria,” he said, his voice smooth. “It’s been years. I was young and reckless back then. I hurt you. Today, I wanted to apologize properly.”
He paused, looking deep into my eyes. “Do you still hold a grudge?”
If I said yes, it would look like I hadn’t moved on.
So, I gave him a dazzling, practiced smile. “You said it yourself, Caleb. It’s all in the past.”
We were in the same social circle, after all. He was insignificant to me now.
I raised my champagne glass. “Chloe told me you and Lily got married over a year ago. I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you. Cheers.”
His expression remained flat. Theoretically, having married the girl of his dreams, he should have been beaming. Instead, he downed his drink like a shot of medicine.
It looked less like a celebration and more like drowning sorrows.
I couldn’t be bothered to analyze it.
Old friends surrounded me, asking about my life in France, my boyfriends, and my global art exhibitions.
“Seriously, Vic,” one friend teased. “Why do you have to be so perfect? Your gallery openings are invite-only, and my dad keeps asking why I can’t be more like you instead of just buying Birkins and chasing rock stars.”
I laughed. “It’s just a hobby.”
“You’ve learned to be humble,” Caleb interjected from the side. His tone was natural, intimate, as if he hadn’t crushed my heart seven years ago.
I sensed a hint of… flirtation?
“I went to see your exhibition, Dreams of a Past Life,” he continued. “It was magnificent.”
The air in the room shifted. My friends went silent, their eyes darting between us.
I kept my composure. “Oh, thank you.” I paused, then added playfully, “Did you go with Lily? I haven’t seen her in years. We were classmates, after all.”
His face darkened instantly. “She had things to do at home.”
He spoke of her as if she were a stranger.
When the party ended, we walked out to the lobby and saw Lily sitting on a velvet sofa near the VIP elevators.
She was staring anxiously at the elevator doors. When they opened, she shot up.
She had been waiting there the whole time.
Everyone froze.
Lily forced a smile, her eyes scanning the group until they landed on me standing next to Caleb. Her face drained of color. She looked terrified, as if facing a formidable enemy.
I felt nothing but confusion.
2
Lily had changed.
I remembered the first time I saw her. She had transferred to our prep school in the second semester of freshman year.
She stood at the podium in an ill-fitting uniform, looking malnourished and terrified. Her features were plain, her demeanor shrinking.
The teacher had smiled and said, “This is Lily Evans, a scholarship student with excellent grades. Please welcome her.”
The applause was sparse. In our world, grades weren’t the only currency.
I had pitied her then. I was the first to clap, leading the rest of the class to follow suit.
“This is our class president, Victoria Sterling,” the teacher said, pointing to me. “If you need anything, ask her.”
Lily never asked me for help. Because she had Caleb.
There were no empty seats except next to Caleb, so she became his desk mate.
I don’t know when their betrayal started.
Maybe it was when she fainted from anemia during assembly, and Caleb carried her to the nurse.
Maybe it was when Calebâs mom brought back expensive chocolates from Belgium for us. I told him to pick first, and he took a box of artisanal truffles, saying, “I want this one.”
Caleb hated sweets. Later, I saw the wrappers on Lilyâs desk.
I convinced myself he was just being charitable.
I was the school beauty, the heiress, the girl who had everything. It never crossed my mind that Caleb would betray me for someone so… plain.
Seven years later, Lily was no longer that skinny girl. She was draped in coutureâChanel, Diorâbut the logos looked loud and awkward on her, as if the clothes were wearing her.
“Victoria,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re back.”
She looked between Caleb and me with obvious suspicion.
Caleb spoke first, his voice icy. “Why are you here?”
Lily flinched. She offered a pitiful, fawning smile. “I was shopping nearby… The club manager said you were hosting a party for Victoria, so I… I thought I’d wait so we could go home together.”
It was a clumsy lie.
She held up a shopping bag. “The manager heard I was here and gave me two bottles of vintage red wine. He said it was a gift for Mrs. Montgomery and Mr. Montgomery.”
She emphasized “Mrs. Montgomery” as if marking her territory.
Caleb frowned, looking physically repulsed.
Behind me, someone snickered.
For a family of Calebâs stature, a club manager gifting wine wasn’t an honor; it was an expectation. For his wife to hold it up like a treasure was embarrassing. It showed she didn’t understand her own status.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay home?” Caleb snapped, not caring about the audience. “Why did you come out here just to embarrass me?”
Lily turned pale, looking helpless.
No one stepped in to explain why she was being laughed at.
I glanced at Caleb. He was cold, indifferent to the mockery his wife was enduring.
It shocked me. Back in high school, when people isolated Lily, or when I eventually lashed out at her, Caleb had always stood in front of her like a shield.
Now, he looked at her with deep-seated exhaustion and annoyance.
How could he despise her now? Had he forgotten how he hurt me to protect her?
3
The first time Caleb stood up for Lily was during English Literature.
For most of us, English lit was a breeze. Weâd had private tutors since we were toddlers.
The teacher asked Lily to read a passage from Harry Potter. As soon as she started, the snickering began. Her accent was thick, her pronunciation broken.
The laughter grew until Lily stood there in silence, trembling.
After class, Chloe walked up to Lily and loudly mocked her pronunciation, mimicking her stumbling words.
Lily sat with her head down, shoulders shaking.
I wanted to tell Chloe to cut it out. But before I could speak, Caleb, who usually slept through breaks, slammed his thick hardcover book onto his desk.
Thud.
“Shut up,” he said, staring coldly at Chloe. “You’re too loud.”
The room went dead silent.
I smiled to break the tension. “Chloe, class is starting.”
Chloe rolled her eyes but sat down.
I saw Lily turn to Caleb, her eyes shining with gratitude. Caleb didn’t even look at her.
Later, I saw them in the library.
Caleb walked over to Lilyâs secluded corner with his original copy of Harry Potter.
“Practicing like that is useless,” he said. He sat next to her, pointing at a line. “Read this.”
“Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep…” she stammered.
Caleb patiently corrected her diction on the word “drifting.”
The sunlight hit them through the tall windows. They looked like a scene from a movie.
Until Lily looked at him, blushing, and whispered, “I really envy Victoria.”
Envy me for what? It was obvious.
That was when I started to dislike Lily Evans.
4
I never bullied people. I was the “Queen Bee,” sure, but I didn’t do mean girl tactics.
Until gym class. Tennis.
As expected, no one partnered with Lily. She stood on the court, clutching her racket, looking pathetic.
I smiled, walked over, and extended my hand. “Let’s be partners.”
She looked shocked. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
I wiped the smile off my face as soon as I turned around.
I ran her ragged. I hit the ball to every corner of the court where she wasn’t. She scrambled, missed, and spent the whole time picking up balls, apologizing profusely.
“I’m… I’m sorry, I’m too bad at this.”
She didn’t realize I was doing it on purpose until a crowd gathered.
“What’s up with Victoria?” someone whispered. “She never plays like this.”
I kept smiling, my shots getting more aggressive, until Lily tripped and fell, scraping her knees.
“Oops,” I said, standing still. “My bad. You really are terrible at this. Next time we play doubles, don’t drag me down.”
Lily sat on the ground, weeping silently.
Caleb walked onto the court. He looked at me, took the racket from a crying Lily, and stared me down.
He smiled, a cold, dangerous smile. “She’s no good, Victoria. I’ll practice with you.”
Caleb destroyed me. To make it “fair,” he played with his left hand.
He was a junior champion; I was a hobbyist.
I ran until my lungs burned. I didn’t have to pick up balls because the boys who had crushes on me did it, but Caleb showed no mercy.
On the final point, he smashed the ball. It grazed the net and slammed right into my kneeâthe exact same spot where Lily had fallen.
The pain was blinding. I nearly collapsed.
Caleb didn’t flinch. “Victoria,” he said coldly. “Even without someone dragging you down, you still can’t win.”
He turned to Lily, helping her up gently. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Lily looked at him like he was a god.
Later, while the nurse iced my knee, Chloe asked, “Is Caleb insane?”
He was. And now, ironically, he regretted it.
It was laughable.
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Ethan was a underprivileged student I sponsored in the past.
After I discovered him using my pajamas to satisfy himself, I decisively applied for an overseas assignment.
The fair, handsome boy clung to my leg, crying miserably:
“Bro, I promise I’ll never do that again…”
“Don’t hate me, don’t leave me…”
I pulled away cruelly.
Once I left, it was for eight years.
When we met again, the boy had transformed into a tech billionaire.
I raised my wine glass, smiling ingratiatingly:
“Ethan, about the tech partnership, can we discuss it again?”
Ethan slowly turned the ring on his ring finger:
“Are you begging me now?”
“Then you should know… how to beg a man, right?”
Chapter 1
My smile froze.
The platinum ring refracted a silvery-white light, stinging my eyes.
He got married?
Makes sense, he’s so outstanding after all.
Ethan had no intention of raising the glass in front of him:
“Mr. Thorne, haven’t you heard how others at the table address me?”
I thought calling him “Ethan” would bring us closer.
Didn’t expect him not to buy it.
I quickly corrected myself:
“My apologies, Mr. Vance is young and promising…”
“Enough.” Ethan interrupted my flattery.
He pointed his chin at the expensive Louis XIII on the table.
“Mr. Thorne, this project is handled by Mr. Chen from my company. He doesn’t have many hobbies, just likes to drink the good stuff.”
“You keep him happy tonight, and we’ll talk about the project tomorrow.”
In the eight years apart from Ethan, I worked myself to death.
Climbed from a small supervisor to the Vice President of the group.
No one dared to boss me around like Ethan anymore.
The guests at the table looked at me with surprise.
I bit the bullet and kept smiling:
“Of course, I’ll definitely take good care of Mr. Chen tonight.”
Half an hour later.
The strong liquor was bottomed out.
My stomach was burning.
Ethan, on the side, didn’t touch a drop.
He just smoked one cigarette after another.
Narrowing his beautiful phoenix eyes as if watching a play, enjoying my sorry state.
I couldn’t hold it anymore.
Got up and rushed into the bathroom, vomiting my guts out.
Then washed my face with cold water again and again.
After a long while, I looked up, and there was another person in the mirror.
Ethan had appeared behind me at some point.
Tilting his head to light a cigarette.
Even his hair strands exuded laziness and unruliness.
“Mr. Thorne can’t handle his liquor.”
I wiped my face: “Mr. Vance is laughing at me.”
He paced slowly behind me.
Hands pressed on both sides of the sink.
His long arms trapped me in the cramped space.
Those bottomless black eyes stared at my flushed cheeks through the mirror.
“Actually, I’m very curious, why would Mr. Thorne stoop so low to personally accompany clients?”
“For a small project worth peanuts, Mr. Thorne shouldn’t even look at it.”
I smiled:
“To tell you the truth, money’s tight lately, I’m broke.”
Ethan smiled too:
“Oh? Since that’s the case, Mr. Thorne should show some sincerity.”
I didn’t want to play riddles with him:
“Mr. Vance, please be clear, what counts as sincerity?”
He turned his head and exhaled smoke:
“Mr. Thorne has risen rapidly these years.”
“Since you’re good at the wine table, you must be good elsewhere too, right?”
When he said this, he pressed rudely against my back.
Been in the business world for a long time.
Inevitably harassed by restless old rich men, I handled them smoothly.
But when the opponent became Ethan, I was actually a bit embarrassed.
I pretended to be choked by his smoke.
Moved slightly away, then joked as if nothing happened:
“If I were a girl, meeting someone as excellent as Mr. Vance, I might just give in, but I’m a man…”
“What’s wrong with being a man?”
Ethan pinched my chin, turning the angle, as if appreciating seriously.
“Rare to find a man as good-looking as Mr. Thorne.”
My old face blushed.
Struggled, couldn’t break free.
Suddenly realized, the thin and frail boy in my memory had grown into an adult taller than me, full of oppression.
Ethan pulled a silk handkerchief from his suit pocket.
Shook it open.
Slowly wiped the water stains on my face.
His gaze was presumptuous and frank.
Patrolling my lips and collar.
Staring until my spine went cold.
I snatched the silk handkerchief from his hand:
“No wonder people say Mr. Vance is aloof and hard to please, looks like it’s true…”
A smile climbed from the corner of his mouth to his eyes, he said:
“Look, didn’t you just please me?”
“Actually, you understand me best, don’t you, Bro?”
Chapter 2
This “Bro”.
Made my brain go blank for a full three seconds.
Eight years.
In a trance, I saw the boy from eight years ago again.
Smiling brightly, full of pride.
Stuffing an express mail he couldn’t bear to open into my hand:
“Bro, you open it.”
I smiled and opened the envelope.
Found an admission letter from a top university inside.
My eyes got hot, rubbed his head:
“Ethan, good job.”
Luckily I saw potential in this child back then.
Luckily I persisted in sponsoring him for six years.
What a pity it would be if such a talented boy was buried in a poor remote area forever?
At that time, he wasn’t as tall as me.
Pushed my hand away a bit unhappily:
“Don’t touch my head, I’m not a puppy.”
I teased him on purpose:
“What? As a brother, I’m not qualified to smooth your fur?”
“Raised you for nothing all these years.”
Hearing this, Ethan was even more unhappy:
“Didn’t raise me for nothing, I’ll make money to support you in the future.”
I was disdainful:
“Who cares about your peanuts.”
A careless joke, Ethan actually held a grudge for so many years.
I staggered to the parking lot.
Waiting for a designated driver in my car.
Something fell out of my pocket.
Picked it up to look.
It was a key card for a five-star hotel.
Almost at the same time, a message popped up on my phone, cherishing words like gold:
[Bro, I’m only in Seattle for three days.]
Chapter 3
We’re all adults.
Some things don’t need to be said explicitly.
Ethan was telling me:
I only have three days left to “please” him.
Expiration date applies.
I slumped heavily against the seat back, rubbing my brow irritably.
A frame from the past flashed weirdly before my eyes.
A narrow door crack.
A dim bedroom.
I saw Ethan with his knees bent, lying on the bed.
One hand clutching a piece of black fabric, sniffing deeply under his nose.
The other hand busy non-stop.
Heaving chest.
Rapid gasping.
Actually aroused my romantic thoughts.
I was startled by myself, turned and fled.
But heard a suppressed low call from the door crack behind me.
“Liam…”
“Bro…”
I was struck by lightning, couldn’t sleep all night.
What was more fatal was.
Early the next morning, I found two pairs of freshly washed CKs drying on the balcony.
The white ones were Ethan’s.
The black ones were mine, the ones he clutched in his hand last night.
I had insomnia for a week.
Finally submitted an application for assignment to an overseas branch.
Ethan cried and begged me:
“Bro, I was wrong.”
“If you think I’m disgusting, I’ll change.”
“I won’t like you anymore, is that okay?”
“Please don’t abandon me, don’t go…”
I was unmoved.
Left for eight years.
The living expenses regularly credited every month became the only connection between us.
Ethan thought I was disgusted by him.
Actually, I was disgusted by myself.
I’m a closeted gay man!
And Ethan hadn’t seen the outside world yet.
His feelings for me were nothing more than imprinting.
What bullshit love?
My phone suddenly lit up in the dark car.
A message from Nono’s mom popped up on the screen:
[Mr. Thorne, sorry to disturb you so late.]
[Nono wants to talk to you, is it convenient?]
I adjusted my emotions and called back.
A little girl’s tender voice came from the receiver:
“Daddy, I didn’t cry at all when getting the shot today.”
“Daddy, am I super brave?”
Chapter 4
Been busy with work lately.
I did neglect that poor little girl.
The next day.
I bought fruits and snacks, went specifically to the hospital to visit her.
Nono was lively and cute.
Unfortunately, she suffered from late-stage neuroblastoma at such a young age.
Medical expenses were like a bottomless pit.
In just one year, almost all my savings were spent.
This is…
The real reason why I must get Ethan’s project.
I accompanied Nono for her shot.
And carried her downstairs to sunbathe.
Nono’s mom followed smilingly.
Before parting, Nono held my finger, reluctant to let go:
“Daddy, play with Nono a little longer.”
Nono’s mom quickly corrected:
“This is Uncle Liam, not your daddy.”
Then apologized to me with an embarrassed smile:
“Mr. Thorne, the doctor said this disease affects the brain, please don’t mind.”
“It’s okay,” I touched the little girl’s cheek, “Nono be good, Uncle will come see you another day.”
She obediently let go, waving at me:
“Okay, bye Daddy!”
Just at this moment.
A familiar figure stopped not far away:
“Bro?”
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After blocking him, he sent me my IP address with a straight face.
“You’re at Lancaster University too?”
“You better pray I don’t catch you.”
“Or else, I’m going to f*ck you up.”
01
Reading these three anonymous messages, I was shivering in my English Literature class.
Because the victim, the academic god Silas Vance, was sitting right in front of me.
He looked focused, seemingly listening to the lecture, but in reality, the pen in his hand was about to snap.
I could tell he was furious.
He had been contacting me from different numbers for days. I ignored them all.
So he resorted to crawling the web and digging out my IP address.
Doomed. Silas Vance wants to “f*ck me up”?
How exactly?
I looked at his biceps, clearly sculpted from frequent gym sessions. Even under his loose sportswear, the muscle definition was visible.
One punch, and I’d be in pieces, right?
I sat on pins and needles for the entire class.
As soon as class ended, I sprinted back to the dorm.
The first thing I did was shut down my computer.
After that day, I didn’t dare turn on my computer to play games for a whole month.
02
My feud with Silas Vance started two months ago.
Silas was the perfect student, beating me in every competition.
This year, sophomore year, I missed out on the scholarship again.
Because Silas participated in the university’s computer software competition and got an A-grade award.
Everyone in that competition was a genius, mostly grad students.
I heard Silas’s aunt was the dean. Who knows what strings were pulled to get him into that team.
Wasn’t this blatant nepotism?
I was indignant.
Just then, my childhood friend failed a class and came crying to me, begging me to write his paper.
“Come on, isn’t Lancaster full of talent? Writing a paper is nothing to you. Just help me this once, I’ll give you five thousand bucks, and I’ll call you Daddy forever.”
“I’m a Law major, you’re Computer Science. What do I know about…”
Suddenly, I paused.
Didn’t Silas minor in Law?
Immediately, I agreed to my friend’s request.
Not for the five thousand bucks.
Mainly because I wanted a new son.
That night, I registered a burner account and started my journey of flirting.
I sent Silas a picture of a girl with a great body I found online.
[Me: Hey handsome, wanna hang out?]
Not long after, he replied.
[Him: I like men.]
Me: ?
Then I saw the red exclamation mark.
Blocked?
Damn, bad start.
Frustrated, I registered another burner account using my dad’s number.
This time I was more cautious.
I liked his tweets every day, commented occasionally.
Until one day, he replied, asking if I was also into programming.
I knew my chance had come.
I pretended to be a straight guy, saying I was a Law major just interested in CS.
Gradually, we chatted more and more.
One ambiguous night.
I “accidentally” sent him a mirror selfie, just showing my waist.
Everyone who saw my waist praised it. Slim, curvy, and fair skin.
[Me: God Silas, I lost so much weight recently.]
[Him: What happened?]
[Me: Can’t write my paper. Professor said if I don’t submit, I’ll fail again. It’s too hard (crying emoji)]
“Typing…” appeared for a long time.
[Me: Gotta go, might not have time to chat recently.]
He replied instantlyâ
[Him: Wait. I’ll help you. Send me the topic.]
In the dark dorm room, I laughed maniacally under my covers.
God Silas, just wait until I play you like a dog.
…
I promised Silas that if he helped me finish, we would meet up, and I might even date him.
He was hooked, saying good morning and good night every day.
Later, Silas sent me the completed paper in less than a week.
Low plagiarism rate, clearly written with care.
I thanked him.
[Victim #1: When do we meet? Sunday works? Weather is nice.]
[Victim #1: Is your waist really that slim? Feels like one hand could hold it.]
[Victim #1: Can I see other photos?]
[Victim #1: Why aren’t you replying? Did I offend you?]
Just as Silas sent the apology.
The next second, he received the notification that he was blocked.
I could imagine the look of shock on his face.
So satisfying.
03
My friend’s five thousand hit my account.
I immediately bought a new pair of Jordans.
Went to the basketball court, and of course, ran into Silas Vance.
I was changing in the locker room.
Shirt off.
I thought the footsteps behind me were my teammates.
“Who are we playing next? I don’t want to play forward anymore.”
The person behind didn’t speak.
I turned around and saw Silas staring at my waist.
I jumped, quickly covering my upper body with my jersey.
“What are you doing?”
Silas looked away.
“Sorry. You were blocking my locker.”
I felt guilty, quickly putting on my jersey and leaving.
To avoid Silas recognizing the online pic, I had sent a picture of my slim waist.
Did he recognize it?
But I used a filter on that photo. Judging by his reaction, he probably didn’t.
Walked onto the court.
Didn’t expect my friends had called Silas and his crew to play.
I stared at Silas’s tall figure.
Damn, how do I win against that?
The whistle blew.
I played uneasily.
Thought I’d lose miserably, but Silas wasn’t that good.
I dunked on him several times.
Just now, in a face-off, I almost fell, and he gentlemanly held my waist.
I scored a three-pointer and won the game.
I actually beat Silas Vance for once?
So satisfying.
I lifted my shirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead.
Silas was drinking water, but his gaze drifted over.
I quickly put my shirt down.
After the game, Silas asked if we wanted to grab dinner together.
I said I was busy and slipped away.
04
Even though we were in the same class, I didn’t interact much with Silas.
Half a month passed, and Silas hadn’t found me.
Must have let it go, right?
After all, Lancaster U is huge. How could he pinpoint me?
School anniversary, holiday.
I signed up for a hiking trip with my club, three days and two nights.
I arrived late at the meeting point.
Everyone had already been assigned rooms at the hotel.
The club president pointed to a guy on the corner sofa: “There. You sleep with him tonight.”
I looked over and met Silas’s deep eyes.
I paused, shaking my head frantically.
“President, are there any other rooms?”
“No. Others are couples or girl groups. The only single guy left is Silas. You’re both guys, no problem.”
Huge problem, okay?
I was terrified he’d see my body.
After dinner, the president organized some interactive games to break the ice.
I deliberately sat far away from Silas.
I sat next to the president, Ethan.
Ethan was very gentle, taking care of everyone. Seeing me lose too much, he even took the penalties for me.
Across the crowd.
I locked eyes with Silas from afar.
He was quietly drinking orange juice, his gaze like a dormant wolf.
At the time, I didn’t understand why he kept staring at me.
At night, back in the room.
He closed the door and locked it.
I came out of the shower to find him standing right outside the bathroom door.
I was startled, tried to step around him.
But he blocked the door, his gaze sweeping over my bathrobe at the waist.
“Do you know Chuck?”
“Huh? Who’s that?”
I pretended to be calm, but was panicking inside.
Chuck was my childhood friend.
Silas stepped closer.
“Lucas, stop pretending.
“Or should I call you… Li Yue?”
“……”
Li Yue was the fake name I used when catfishing him.
Doomed.
I stepped back, slipped on the water.
Silas caught me.
His eyes were deep, teeth gritted.
“It really is slim. I thought the mole on your waist looked familiar last time.
“Lucas, was it fun playing me? Do you know how I spent this past month?
“Remember what I said? What happens if I catch you?”
I swallowed hard.
“Didn’t you say you’d f*ck me up? Come on then if you dare.”
He sneered: “Don’t cry later.”
I clenched my fists, ready.
When it comes to fighting, I’ve never been afraid.
But Silas suddenly stepped forward and locked the bathroom door.
Grabbed a bottle of body wash.
?
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