Category: English

The stomach pain hit me like a fist, and that was when Isabelle kicked me out of the car. My crime? My agony was interrupting the witty banter between her and her childhood friend, Nate. She ignored my pleas, the tinted window gliding up with a soft hum. “So dramatic,” she sighed, her voice a cold whisper before the engine purred and she drove away, leaving me hunched over on the curb. I ended up in the hospital with a perforated stomach. I called her over a dozen times, each call instantly rejected. The next thing I saw was her, the woman I’d loved for eight years, nestled intimately in another man’s arms in the hospital corridor, waiting for an OB-GYN appointment. Isabelle, who had been adamant about us being child-free for our entire relationship, was gazing at him with a syrupy sweetness I hadn’t seen in years. “Nate,” she murmured, “if it’s what you want, of course I’ll have this baby for you.” 1 Later, after I was discharged, I spent a week alone, healing my body and soul at Azure Peak. When I came back, my phone, which had been silent for nearly two weeks, was blowing up with frantic calls from her. “Ethan, are you forgetting to keep tabs on me?!” I finally answered the thirty-ninth call on my way out of the airport. “Ethan, your location shows you’re out of state! Where the hell did you go?” The question was an accusation, sharp and immediate. I didn’t answer, my face calm as I stepped out into the crisp air. When Isabelle pulled up to the curb, she snatched my suitcase without a word, a cold, mocking smirk playing on her lips. “I almost thought you were trying to pull a dramatic little runaway act. But look at you, crawling back with your tail between your legs after just a few days.” She lit a cigarette, the smoke instantly filling the car. “Our wedding is just around the corner. I’m swamped, so I don’t have time to babysit you. Just stay put and don’t cause any more trouble.” I winced, cracking the window. The cold wind was a relief. “We need to stop by the wedding planner’s,” I said, my voice flat. The invitations should be ready by now. She scoffed, hitting the accelerator and peeling out onto the street. When we arrived, she refused to go in, leaning against the car door and scrolling through her phone, a private little smile gracing her lips as she smoked. Inside, the consultant beamed, presenting a stack of elegant boxes. “Mr. Grant, Ms. Vance, your invitations are all ready.” Isabelle glanced over, her eyes landing on the crimson-and-gold cards. “So tacky,” she muttered. “Only you would pick something so garishly red. Zero creativity.” I didn’t argue. I just counted the invitations and pulled out my phone to pay the invoice. Just as I was about to speak, her phone rang. She answered it instantly, and a saccharine, theatrical voice poured from the speaker. “Babe, it’s time for my check-up again! I’ll be on my best behavior if my princess comes to pick me up!” Isabelle hung up, grabbing her keys from her pocket and tossing a single, cold sentence over her shoulder. “You can handle this. I have to go.” It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration. She never doubted for a second that I would simply obey. She was gone before I could even reply. I turned back to the consultant. “These are all paid for,” I said, my voice steady. “You can throw them away. And please, cancel everything else. We won’t be needing your services anymore.” The consultant’s smile faltered. “But, sir… we’re already halfway through the design process. If you cancel now, the deposit is non-refundable…” “Keep it.” As I walked out, it occurred to me that the custom-designed wedding attire I’d paid a fortune for should probably be canceled, too. After handling it all, I walked into a small ramen shop, ordered my favorite spicy broth, and started composing a post for my Instagram feed. The scenery at Azure Peak had been breathtaking. I chose nine of the best photos, a grid of snow-capped mountains and crystal-clear lakes. The caption was just two words: “As promised.” The likes started rolling in. Friends, family… and one from Nate. A moment later, a new post from him popped up on my feed. It was a candid shot of Isabelle, her face soft and focused as she looked at him. The caption read: “A lifetime of promises starts now. A huge thanks to my princess for agreeing to be my surrogate and carry our child!” A flood of “congrats!” and “999” comments filled the space below. I tapped the heart icon, put my phone down, and focused on my noodles. A few minutes later, it started ringing. It was Isabelle. 2 I declined the call, but she was persistent. On the second try, I sighed and answered. “Ethan, you went to Azure Peak alone?” Her voice was low, but laced with a simmering anger. “Didn’t we agree we’d go together after the wedding? A place that romantic… for you to go by yourself, are you trying to embarrass me?” The background was noisy. I could hear the faint, tinny sound of a PA system calling out names, the tell-tale murmur of a hospital waiting room. “It wasn’t about you,” I said calmly. “I just needed to go.” Her outrage, which once would have twisted my gut, now felt like a distant echo. For eight years, I had suggested a trip to Azure Peak. It was my mother’s dying wish for me to see it. But every single time, Isabelle had an excuse. “Ethan, I’m just too busy right now. We’ll go when things calm down.” “Something came up with my family. Maybe next year.” “No time!” Last year, when I brought it up, she didn’t even bother with an excuse. Just a flat, annoyed refusal. I was done waiting. “If that’s all, I’m hanging up.” I didn’t wait for her to reply, just tapped the red icon and felt a wave of relief wash over me. That night, I was working on my laptop in the study when a piece of clothing hit me in the face. “Ethan, can you please pick up after yourself?” Isabelle snapped. “Your clothes are all over the place.” A sharp, metallic decoration on the fabric scratched my cheek, a thin line of stinging pain. “I found this under the sofa. Get your things organized. I don’t want to see it again.” I looked down at the ridiculously skimpy flight attendant costume. “It’s not mine,” I said, my voice cold. Isabelle’s face paled. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes as she snatched the costume off the floor, hiding it behind her back. “Oh, it must be Nate’s. He must have left it here by accident last time he stayed over. I’ll give it back to him.” I said nothing, turning my attention back to my screen. But Isabelle, now consumed with guilt, fumbled in a drawer and pulled out an old, faded cartoon band-aid. She sat beside me, her touch hesitant. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I shouldn’t have thrown that at you. I didn’t see it had… sharp bits.” The sickly sweet smell of the old adhesive made my stomach turn. I pulled away. “It’s fine.” I closed my laptop and headed for the spare bedroom. Isabelle was left frozen in the middle of the room, staring after me long after I had gone. 3 “Ethan, you haven’t been keeping tabs on me lately,” Isabelle said, pushing the door to the study open. She was fresh from the shower, a cloud of steam still clinging to her. As she towel-dried her hair, she added, almost as an afterthought, “And… you feel different. Like you’re avoiding me.” My fingers paused on the keyboard. I thought back. For eight years, we had been in constant contact. Texting, calling, sharing every little detail of our days. Even on the busiest of days, we never broke contact. I had built my life around her. But to her, it was always “keeping tabs.” Now, looking at our message history, our last conversation was over two weeks ago. This distance, this freedom, was exactly what she’d always claimed she wanted. And yet, here she was, complaining. I managed a small smile. “You’re overthinking it. I’ve been busy, that’s all. Didn’t want to bother you.” “Get some sleep,” I added, closing my laptop and picking up my pillow. We had been together for eight years, but we’d been sleeping in separate rooms for the last six months. I hated the smell of smoke. She had actually quit for me once, for three whole years. But the moment Nate came back from overseas, all that effort went up in smoke, literally. Nate was her childhood friend, the one who’d always held a piece of her heart. They thought nothing of sleeping in the same bed, claiming it was something they’d done since they were kids. When I was sick with a fever, desperate for her care, a single phone call from Nate was enough to pull her away. At first, I was consumed by a bitter, helpless jealousy. Why was my girlfriend so entangled with another man? But now? Now, there was nothing. A calm, quiet emptiness. The fact that she was carrying his child barely registered. I had already decided to leave. As I walked towards the door, a flicker of panic crossed her face. “Ethan!” she called out, her voice suddenly fragile. “Tonight… I used mouthwash. The smoke smell is all gone. Can we… can we sleep together?” I didn’t move. She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “Ethan, we’re getting married in two weeks. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? A home? A family?” A home. My eyes burned. Yes. For eight years, that’s all I ever wanted. My mother died when I was young, and I’d spent my whole life searching for that sense of security, of belonging. I had been so desperate to build that little world with Isabelle. But I finally understood. Isabelle’s life was a whirlwind of chaos, and Nate would always be at its center. If the rest of my life was going to be this exhausting, this painful… I’d rather have no home at all. I gently pried her hands off me. “We’ll talk about it later.” Then I walked out and closed the door behind me. 4 I submitted my resignation letter first thing in the morning. My boss, who had mentored me for years and guided me up the corporate ladder, called me into his office, confused. “Ethan, is something wrong? Why the sudden resignation?” I smiled. “Just feel like it’s time for a change of scenery. A new city.” He was kind enough not to press. He approved it on the spot. After work, a few colleagues I was close with insisted on a farewell dinner. As we stepped out of the building, a sudden downpour had soaked the streets. We were waiting for a ride when a voice cut through the rain. “Ethan!” A black Audi was parked by the curb. The window rolled down, and Isabelle’s gaze fell on my rain-slicked hair. She frowned. “Get in. I came to pick you up.” I didn’t move. From the passenger seat, a light chuckle. “See, Ethan? I told you she loves you,” Nate said, his voice oozing with false sincerity. “Coming to get you in this weather? I’m so jealous!” He noticed my flat stare and offered a practiced, innocent smile. “Oh, I didn’t have an umbrella today, and I was with her for the check-up, so she insisted on giving me a ride. You don’t mind, right?” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I don’t mind.” But I made no move to get in the car. Isabelle’s patience wore thin. Just as she was about to snap, my colleague’s Uber arrived. We both climbed in. As I shut the door, I heard her voice, sharp with urgency. “Ethan, I came all this way for you! Where are you going?” I looked back at her, my expression unreadable. “I have plans. My colleague is heading the same way. I’ll see you later.” I closed the door, and the car pulled away, leaving her in my rearview mirror. During dinner, my phone buzzed incessantly with her calls. I silenced it, flipped it face down on the table, and went back to laughing with my friends. After the meal, my colleague’s wife came to pick him up. “Hey man, need a ride home?” he offered. I shook my head. “No, I’m good. You guys go on ahead.” I stayed in the hot pot restaurant, slowly eating from the bubbling, spicy broth. When Isabelle finally found me, she was soaked to the bone, her hair plastered to her face. Nate was nowhere in sight. She looked lost and pathetic. The moment she walked in, her eyes locked on the crimson, oil-slicked pot, and her nose wrinkled in disapproval. “Ethan, you know you can’t handle spicy food. You’re going to be sick.” I didn’t stop, just lifted a piece of tender meat to my lips. The heat made my eyes water, but I smiled through it. Eight years together, and she still didn’t know that I loved spicy food. She was the one who couldn’t handle it; it gave her mouth sores. So, to make her comfortable, I’d all but given it up, only indulging when I was out alone or with colleagues. Besides, the one who got sick from spicy food was Nate.

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1 The Royal Hunt was in full cry, a thunder of hooves on damp earth and the whistle of arrows in the crisp spring air. Crown Prince Alaric loosed an arrow. He never intended for it to find a human target, but it did. It struck a destitute young woman, a distant, orphaned cousin. Her name was Seraphina, the niece of his own mother—a woman whose name was never spoken in polite company. No one could have predicted that a single arrow would spark an instant, fiery infatuation in the Prince. On the spot, he declared his intention to make her his bride. There was, however, the small matter of his existing betrothal. His fiancée was me, Eleonora, the sole heiress of the great House de Courtenay. Soon after, Prince Alaric arrived at Courtenay Manor. His expression was resolute, his voice ringing with a conviction that left no room for debate. “I wounded my cousin. I bound her wounds myself. We touched. Her honor is compromised. Now, she has no other path but to marry me.” He looked at me then, a flicker of something like pity in his eyes. “You are the Queen’s own niece. The finest men of the kingdom would line up for your hand. Why must you fight a poor, unfortunate girl for one man?” Fight? A daughter of House de Courtenay does not fight over men. The absurdity of his words was laughable. Was he dreaming? The news that he had broken our betrothal had barely begun to circulate when a Royal Decree arrived from the palace. The decree stated that while I would retain the honorific title of a princess, the official position of Crown Princess—the future Queen—was now destined for another. … Prince Alaric stood in the grand hall of my family’s estate, his posture impeccable, his bearing noble. But his gaze never left the delicate figure of Seraphina, who clung to his side. “Seraphina is fragile,” he announced to my father, the Duke. “To suffer such a calamity upon her first visit to the capital… I am the one who harmed her. If I do not marry her, how can she possibly face the world?” He then turned his attention to me. “Lady Eleonora, you must understand. For a young woman, her reputation is everything. Seraphina now has no choice but to become my wife. If you have even a shred of compassion, you will agree to dissolve our engagement.” So this was his plan. He had been captivated by her since that day at the hunt and had spent two months nursing his secret obsession, only to choose my own birthday, in front of all my guests, to deliver this public humiliation. My father’s entire body trembled with rage, the porcelain teacup in his hand rattling in its saucer. Decorum be damned. “Your Highness,” he bit out, “do you use such a flimsy excuse to break this vow, without a single thought for my daughter’s future? For her reputation?” “This union was one you personally begged the King to approve, a matter known to the entire realm. And now you appear at my door to renounce it, casting the honor of House de Courtenay into the mud?” Seraphina, her face a mask of timid distress, tugged gently at Alaric’s sleeve. “My prince, please, do not argue with the Duke on my account. I am not afraid of whispers and rumors. If it comes to it, I would rather die than cause you this trouble.” Alaric wrapped a protective arm around her, his voice softening to a tender murmur. “Fear not. I will never let you face them alone.” He then looked up at me, his expression arrogant, his eyes laced with disdain. “Lady Eleonora, you come from a great house. Surely you wouldn’t deign to compete with Seraphina for a man’s affection. You have a legion of worthy suitors to choose from. To cling to this engagement now would make you seem… desperate. A social climber.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or perhaps you are just like every other woman in the capital, greedy for the title of Queen?” He straightened, his voice ringing out once more. “Since our betrothal, you have refused my invitations to ride, to attend poetry readings. You’ve been so cold and distant. It’s clear you were never happy with this match. My breaking it simply saves us both the trouble.” House de Courtenay, a name respected for centuries, had never endured such an insult. I was speechless with fury. With trembling hands, I retrieved the ornate scroll that served as our betrothal writ. “Your Highness, here is the contract. From this day forward, our houses are unburdened by this vow. You are free to marry, and I am free to wed, and we shall be as strangers.” My gaze shifted to Seraphina. “And you, Lady Seraphina, need not continue this performance in my home. You have found your prince. You will one day ascend to the most revered position a woman can hold. Should you not be overjoyed?” Seraphina swayed, her face turning deathly pale. “Lady Eleonora, I know my station is low. I would never dare to compare myself to you, and I never intended to steal your betrothed. Why must you mock me so?” Alaric let out a scornful laugh. “You relinquish your claim so readily, Lady Eleonora. Could it be you already have another in your heart? Perhaps my actions have done you a favor?” He scanned the assembled guests, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Since today is your birthday, why not choose a new husband from this fine company? I shall even provide a handsome gift to add to your dowry.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Seraphina’s waist and led her away, leaving a stunned silence and a flurry of whispers in his wake. “Has the Prince gone mad? To cast aside a de Courtenay for some unknown cousin?” “But Lady Eleonora is the Queen’s niece! She is his cousin as well!” “You haven’t heard? He shot this Seraphina girl during the hunt and was instantly smitten. Insists he must marry her.” “I’ve never even heard of this woman. The security at the Royal Hunt is impenetrable. How did she even get in? There’s more to this than meets the eye.” “I heard she’s from his birth mother’s side of the family…” “Hush! Don’t speak of that. The Prince’s origins are a forbidden topic. His mother was nothing but a common maid.” My birthday celebration was ruined, ending in a chaotic, humiliating mess. And overnight, the news that Crown Prince Alaric had jilted the heiress of House de Courtenay for an orphaned nobody spread through the capital like wildfire. 2 The very next day, I was summoned to the palace by the Queen. She is my father’s sister, my own aunt, and she has always cherished me. My aunt has reigned as Queen for many years but has remained childless, a quiet sorrow that has shadowed her entire rule. Alaric’s birth mother was a mere scullery maid the King had a fleeting encounter with at a country palace. Her station was so low that even after bearing a royal child, she was never granted a title. She died of illness not long after Alaric was born. Because of his mother’s lowly status, Alaric was scorned and abused by everyone in his youth, even the palace servants. He nearly didn’t survive his childhood. It was my aunt, the Queen, beloved by the King and holding unwavering power at court, who took pity on the wretched boy. She brought him into her own wing of the palace, raised him as her own, and educated him with the greatest care. And so, despite being the King’s fourth son, his adoption by the Queen made him the logical, undisputed heir to the throne. She took my hands in hers, her touch warm and comforting. “My dear child, I know the injustice you have suffered. That boy, Alaric, he does not know how to value what he has. I poured my heart into teaching him for years, promised him the most beloved daughter of our house, and for what? For him to be swayed by a pretty face, to cast you aside for a cousin he’s never even met!” Her voice was laced with disappointment. “How can a man who acts on such whims ever be a great ruler? All my years of teaching have been wasted.” A bitter sigh escaped her. “The blood of House de Courtenay does not run in his veins. A son that is not your own, it seems, can never truly be yours.” I leaned against her, resting my head on her lap. “Aunt, perhaps it is not such a bad thing that the Prince has revealed his true nature before our marriage. It is far better than for me to suffer such betrayals after I am bound to him.” I forced a smile. “A daughter of de Courtenay will not want for suitors.” The Queen’s expression softened, and she stroked my cheek. “My Eleonora, you are the finest young woman in the realm. Rest assured, the position of Crown Princess is yours. No one else can take it.” The King and Queen were childhood friends, their bond deep and enduring. Even without an heir of her own, she remained the woman he cherished most. Because she had raised Alaric, the King’s affection extended to him, doting on the boy as if he were his own true-born heir. Despite his mother’s origins, the King bestowed upon him the ultimate honor: the title of Crown Prince. The King had heard of the broken betrothal and was now in a towering rage. “That fool!” he bellowed. “The greatest houses in the realm would kill for a match with a de Courtenay, and he casts aside the family’s heiress for some nobody? The Queen arranged this marriage to give you the backing of a powerful house, to support your weak maternal line, and you throw away your greatest asset with your own two hands! You are as dim-witted as a pig!” He stormed out, his fury echoing in the hall. Even after the King’s tirade, Alaric remained defiant. He had the gall to bring Seraphina to the Queen’s chambers to pay his respects. He knelt before my aunt. “Your Majesty, you have always loved me as a son. All I ask is to marry a woman I truly love. I am the Crown Prince. Surely I have the right to choose the woman I desire?” The Queen looked down at him, her disappointment a cold, heavy presence in the room. “You and Eleonora grew up together. I recall you kneeling before me, begging for this betrothal, proclaiming your love for her, promising a life of mutual support. One life, one love. And now, you claim she is not the woman you desire?” Her voice was sharp. “It seems this Seraphina has blinded you to all reason.” Alaric lifted his chin, his hand tightening around Seraphina’s. “Your Majesty, Eleonora is just like all the other dull noblewomen—bound by convention, lifeless, utterly devoid of spirit. But Seraphina… Seraphina is different! She loves to laugh and play, she can dance in ways the court has never seen, she hums folk songs from the countryside. She is enchanting, vibrant! Your Majesty, if you only got to know her, I know you would love her too!” 3 From behind the curtain where I was hidden, I let out a silent, scornful laugh. Humming folk songs and dancing scandalous dances? You could find women like that in any tavern in the city. The Queen’s gaze was like ice. “Alaric, do you have any idea what you will lose without the support of House de Courtenay?” The Prince actually smiled. “I know you speak of the backing of the great houses of the south. But, Your Majesty, I am the Crown Prince. The future King. The entire realm will be my subjects. What have I to fear?” He brightened, a foolish idea taking root. “I know you are fond of Eleonora. Why not let her be my second consort? When I ascend the throne, I can make her a duchess. Surely House de Courtenay would not dare object to such an honor?” My fists clenched behind the screen. The insolent fool. The Queen’s voice was chillingly calm. “A daughter of House de Courtenay will never be a secondary wife. Alaric, you are my adopted son, but you are not the King’s only son. Do you truly believe you can hold your position by your own strength alone?” “Of course,” he replied, his voice ringing with unshakeable confidence. “I am the future King, Your Majesty.” Seraphina spoke then, her voice a delicate whisper. “Your Majesty, I know my station is low. If Lady Eleonora joins the Prince’s household, I promise not to compete with her for his affections. I will treat her as a sister, and we shall serve the Prince together.” The Queen let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Hmph. Alaric, you must be certain. Once you choose Seraphina, there is no turning back.” His reply was firm. “Yes. I will have no regrets.”

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For every surge of love my husband felt for me, the System answered with a jolt of electricity. He’d been shocked nine hundred and ninety million times, and still, he never regretted a moment of our love. I was just about to tell him I was finally pregnant with our child when they came for me. I was taken by a terrorist cell, thrown into a dark room, and handed over to ten of their men. In my deepest despair, I heard a voice in my head—a link I didn’t know was open. It was my husband, Liam, speaking with the System. “Host, how could you make a deal with these animals? How could you let them treat your wife this way?” Liam’s voice was a shard of ice. “Grace has plot armor. A hundred men couldn’t kill her. But Fay can die. Once Grace has taken Fay’s bullet, I’ll make it up to her.” The words sliced through me, and my heart bled out on the floor of my soul. As the men lunged, I simply gave up. “Damn, this one’s a real prize,” one of them grunted, and the small, suffocating room was suddenly packed with bodies. Long nails had been driven through my wrists and ankles, pinning me to the bed. The slightest tremor sent fire racing up my limbs, but now the whole frame was shaking violently. The stench of unwashed men and stale sweat flooded my senses, a choking cloud of grunts and heavy, ragged breaths. Through the haze of pain, I heard Liam’s voice again, crackling in my mind. “How many?” The System’s synthesized voice wavered. “That was the eighth, Host. Grace’s condition is… unstable. Perhaps you should tell them to stop.” “No,” Liam snapped, his voice a bomb detonating in my ear. “In the book, Fay was violated ten times. If Grace is to take her place, she will suffer all of it. Not one less.” His words plunged me into an abyss of ice. Two months ago, a terrifying virus had torn through a war-torn nation in the Middle East. The infection rate was staggering, the mortality rate near-total; no one survived past the third day. As an infectious disease specialist, I was sent to provide medical aid. Liam had insisted on coming with me, claiming he couldn’t bear the thought of me being in danger. I’d actually believed he was worried about me. Now I knew the truth. He’d been planning this for two months. Another man entered. I was numb, a spectator to my own violation. Suddenly, a sharp, clenching pain ripped through my lower abdomen, a new agony that eclipsed everything else. Before I could even process it, the man on top of me cursed. “The hell? What is this?” Another leaned over. “It’s… a baby.” “God have mercy. She’s pregnant.” The room fell silent. The man scrambled off me. Even these beasts, it seemed, had a line they wouldn’t cross. My mind went blank. The words ‘the baby’ echoed in the sudden quiet, and tears began to stream from my eyes, hot and silent. As a doctor, of course, I knew. How could I not? Liam and I had been married for three years. He wanted me every night. Whenever I was too exhausted, he’d wrap his arms around my waist and plead softly, telling me how he’d grown up an orphan, how his greatest dream was to have a wife and a child of his own. He had the wife; now, he only had one dream left. For him, I had meticulously prepared my body, nurturing it into the perfect state to conceive. Three months ago, it had happened. But I never got the chance to tell him. “Host, that was nine. No one else will touch her,” the System’s voice cut through my daze. The connection was still open. “Why?” Liam demanded. The System’s mechanical tone was now tinged with something like pity. “Because during the ninth… Grace… she…” “Don’t tell me the details!” Liam roared. “I can’t bear it!” “I can only say her condition is critical.” Liam was silent. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought he might feel a flicker of remorse. Then his voice, colder than ever, shattered my heart for the last time. “If no man will touch her, then find me a dog.” The System’s internal fans whirred, a sound like a sharp intake of breath. “Host, this is too much. Grace has done nothing wrong. Why must she suffer this for Fay?” “You think she’s the only one suffering? My heart is being torn apart,” Liam’s voice was thick with a pain that felt like a performance. “But what choice do I have? If Fay doesn’t survive, I cease to exist in this world.” “One last time,” he whispered, his voice a ghost fading in my mind. “After this last violation, they’ll inject her with the virus, and then I can go in and save her.” The door creaked open. A massive, snarling dog was led inside. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the final wave of despair. Everything unfolded just as Liam had planned. When the weight was finally gone, the room returned to a fragile quiet. I forced my broken body to move, to look at the tiny, blood-streaked form on the filthy sheets. I crawled toward it, a shattered thing reaching for the only piece of my soul that was left. My child. This was my child. A tidal wave of grief crashed over me, threatening to drown me completely. Just then, a man entered holding a syringe. The needle pierced my skin, and as the fluid flooded my veins, a chilling cold spread through me. I knew what it was. I had been studying it for three months. It was the pure, concentrated viral strain, likely drawn from a corpse. At this concentration, I would be dead in 24 hours without the cure. The cure I had just finished developing. The cure we hadn’t announced to the world yet. I had always assumed the terrorists wanted me for the cure. Now I saw how naive I’d been. This was all Liam. All for Fay. He had told me, long ago, that he came to this world to save Fay. Only if she lived could he stay. That’s why, after we were married, he was always helping her, always trying to alter her fate. I’d fought with him over it, so many times. And every time, he’d hold me and sigh. “Grace, darling, I don’t have feelings for her. I’m just doing what I have to for us.” I never imagined he could do something like this. He hadn’t just helped her. He’d fed me to the wolves in her place. The pain in my chest was so immense it turned to numbness. The moment the injection was done, the door was kicked open. In the next second, I was swept into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of Liam’s cologne filled the air—a scent that once meant safety, but now only smelled of my own personal monster. He was trembling. “Grace, I’m here,” he choked out. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry they put you through this.” I let him hold me, my eyes fixed on the empty space ahead, my heart a frozen stone of hatred. It took all my strength to make my voice sound remotely normal. “Liam,” I said, my voice a raw whisper. “You have the System. What took you so long to find me?” His body went rigid. “The System glitched. It’s all my fault, Grace. But listen to me, I don’t care what they did to you. You’re not dirty to me. I’ll get you healed. We’re going to the hospital right now.” He draped his suit jacket over my ravaged body, lifted me into his arms, and growled an order over his shoulder. “Leave no one alive.” At the hospital, my colleagues rushed to my side. Even these seasoned professionals, accustomed to the horrors of this place, drew sharp breaths when they saw the state I was in. They pulled more than twenty long, rusted nails from my flesh. After surgery, I was moved to a private room. I have a high tolerance for anesthetics, so I wasn’t asleep. But I couldn’t bear to look at Liam, so I kept my eyes closed. I heard a nurse recount the details of my injuries to him. Liam’s voice was thick with manufactured pain as he stroked my face. “Grace, my love. I’ll never let you suffer like this again.” Before, those words would have made me weep with relief. Now, they just made me sick. Soon, the door opened again. A voice I never wanted to hear again chirped, “Liam, I’m here.” Fay. “Give her the injection now,” Liam said to her, his tone urgent. “The jet is ready. You can be back home in two hours.” “Liam,” Fay purred, grabbing his hand. “Come back with me.” “I need to stay here and take care of Grace.” “But I’ll be scared,” she whined. “It’s so chaotic here.” Liam hesitated for only a second before agreeing. He never said no to Fay. He always told me he had no feelings for her, yet he never refused her anything, always speaking to her with that gentle tone he reserved just for her… and for me. I used to tell myself it was just part of his ‘mission.’ I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Liam stepped out to finalize the flight plans, leaving Fay and me alone. She walked to my bedside and jabbed a finger directly into one of my surgical wounds. “Stop pretending,” she hissed. My eyes snapped open. Fay smirked, her voice dripping with scorn. “Look at the state of you. I heard ten men had their fun with you. Honestly, I’m surprised you still have the nerve to be alive.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Even so, Liam won’t divorce me to marry you.” I knew she was in love with him, desperate to be his wife. As expected, her face twisted in fury. “So what? He’s disgusted by you now. Do you know why he sent me in here?” she leaned in close. “He knows you’re resistant to normal sedatives. He had me bring a special sleeping drug, something to knock you out cold. That way, when my team announces that we developed the cure, you won’t be able to say a word.” “What?” I was stunned. That cure was the culmination of two months of sleepless work by my twenty-person team. It was a world-changing breakthrough. It was supposed to be the achievement that would launch the careers of so many brilliant, unknown doctors on my staff. How could Liam just give it to her? “You can’t steal our work!” I tried to push myself up, but Fay had already pulled a syringe from her purse. She plunged it into my IV line without another word. “From now on, Grace, everything that was yours is mine,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Including Liam.” Fay’s drug didn’t work as intended. Less than an hour later, I woke up, burning with a fever. Liam and Fay were gone. My colleague, Maya, was by my side. “They’ve already left for the airport,” she told me. I nodded, then managed a weak smile at her full-body protective gear. “What’s with the getup? Is the virus making a comeback?” Maya bit her lip, her expression grim. “Dr. Grace… we just got your test results. You’ve been infected.” I knew. I had assumed they’d given me the cure immediately upon my arrival. It seemed Liam had ‘forgotten.’ “The terrorists injected me,” I said, my voice steady. “Just give me a dose of the cure now. There’s still time.” Her face fell. “There’s no cure left in the hospital.” After our last patient had been cleared, the entire stock had been packaged and shipped to the next outbreak zone. There wasn’t a single dose left. The world went white. Without the cure, I was going to die. But there was a sliver of hope. Someone found a flight leaving in an hour for the city where the cure was. A few colleagues bundled me into a car. At the airport, however, officials took one look at my condition and refused to let me board. They wouldn’t take the risk. As despair began to set in, Maya spotted Liam. She knew he had a private jet. She ran to him, quickly explaining the situation, begging him to fly me to the neighboring city for the life-saving injection. Liam glanced over at me, his face an unreadable mask. “I’m taking Fay home now. I don’t have time.” Maya was stunned. “But… her life is on the line! Without the cure, she will die! Liam, she’s your wife!” He scowled. “Stop the drama. I had Fay give her the cure at the hospital.” He looked past the crowd, his eyes meeting mine. “Grace, I know you’re jealous, but this isn’t the time for games. I’ll come back for you after I get Fay home. Just wait for me.” With that, he turned and walked toward his jet with Fay in tow. His retreating back was a blade in my heart. He thought this was a game. He thought I was faking. But I wasn’t. I was really going to die. A primal need for survival forced my mouth open. “Liam!” I screamed his name. He turned back. “Please,” I sobbed, tears blurring his distant figure. “Please, just take me with you. I want to live. I don’t want to die.” For a second, I saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. He took two involuntary steps toward me. Then, Fay shrieked and collapsed to the ground. Liam’s body moved before his brain could. In a flash, he had scooped her into his arms and was sprinting up the stairs of the jet. The last words I heard from him were, “You won’t die, Grace! I promise I’ll be back!” I don’t want you to come back. I want to live. Please, I want to live. The plane took off, and with it, my last sliver of hope vanished into the sky.

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The morning of my wedding, just as we were about to leave for the church, my mother decided to add a last-minute condition to the marriage. My fiancée, Mindy, furious and humiliated, called the whole thing off and married my cousin instead. In the awkward, painful aftermath, my childhood friend, Isabella, suddenly reappeared. She agreed to marry me, and my mother, miraculously, waived any financial demands. I was married. Three years later, my cousin James and his wife Mindy topped the local rich list. I became a stay-at-home dad. During the annual holiday feast at my mother’s house, I overheard a conversation that shattered my world. It was my mother and my wife, Isabella. “You were brilliant, Mom, thinking up that last-minute demand for money. It was the perfect way to make Mindy’s family back out. Now Leo could finally marry the woman he truly loved.” A pause. “But if James ever finds out you manipulated him into marrying me just so Leo could have you… will he ever forgive you?” … I had just gotten back from the market with groceries, and I froze outside the patio door, listening. My mother’s voice was nonchalant as she spit out a sunflower seed shell. “I’m his mother. I gave birth to him, I raised him. What’s there to forgive? I could tell him to stay single his whole life and he wouldn’t dare say a word.” She sighed, a theatrical sound. “The one I feel for is you, dear. You were in love with Leo too, but you gave up your own happiness for his, willing to marry James just to clear the way.” My wife, Isabella, sighed back. “It was a worthy sacrifice for Leo’s happiness. He’s so pure and kind-hearted; I couldn’t bear to see him struggle through life.” Her voice was laced with a dreamy satisfaction. “Knowing he could marry his true love, into a family of immense wealth and live a life without a single worry… that was all I ever wanted.” My mother patted Isabella’s shoulder. “And now, everything has come full circle. Leo and Mindy have a beautiful son, so handsome and bright. Mindy’s family was so thrilled with the good genes they gave him a ten-million-dollar bonus. They have three nannies. He’s set for life.” Isabella’s smile was audible in her voice. “I know. Did you see how happy he looked today? Even though Mindy was busy, she drove him and the baby over herself. It just proves we made the right decision.” A wave of nausea washed over me. I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out. So that was the truth. My mother had always loved my cousin more than me. And my own wife… her heart belonged to him, too. So what was I? A placeholder? A complete and utter fool? These were the two people I loved most in the world, the people I trusted implicitly, and they had both betrayed me for someone else. Suddenly, the weight on my back shifted. My daughter, asleep in her carrier, woke up and began to cry. I had gone grocery shopping alone, with my one-year-old strapped to my back. I did it because I felt sorry for my mother, living alone all these years, and I didn’t want to burden her. But clearly, her heart ached for a different child entirely. “You’re back?” My mother and Isabella peered out from the living room. “Did you get the crab? It’s Leo’s favorite.” “And the organic yogurt for little Alex?” Neither of them moved to take the heavy bags from my hands. I carried the groceries into the kitchen and quickly unstrapped my daughter, setting her down to mix her a bottle. In the living room, I could hear my mother and Isabella cooing and laughing, all three of them doting on James’s son. The sound was a knife in my gut. I pressed a hand to my chest. It hadn’t been long since my surgery. And here I was, looking after my daughter, and now expected to cook a feast for them all. A familiar burn started behind my eyes. I’d always known my mother favored my cousin, but I never imagined the depths of it. Isabella noticed me in the kitchen and called out, a perfunctory kindness in her tone. “Take your time, James. No rush. We can eat later.” My mother beamed. “See? Bella takes such good care of you! You chose the right wife.” This was her idea of being cared for? Empty words, followed by absolutely no action. My daughter finished her bottle and started tugging at my pants, her arms raised. “Up, Dada, up.” “Go to Mommy, sweetheart. Daddy has to cook.” She shook her head, her little face crumpling as she clung to my leg. She and Isabella weren’t close. Isabella rarely spent any time with her. My mother frowned from the doorway, her face a mask of annoyance. “Bella’s not feeling well. Don’t tire her out. Just carry the baby yourself.” Not feeling well? I glanced into the living room, where Isabella was bouncing James’s son on her lap, dangling a brand-new toy in front of his face. She looked perfectly fine. If she’d given even half that energy to our own daughter, maybe my little girl wouldn’t be so clingy with me. With a sigh, I strapped my daughter back onto my chest and started prepping the vegetables. My back screamed in protest. My stamina had been shot ever since the surgery. Now, with this new, crushing weight on my heart, the physical pain felt a thousand times worse. This house, this family… there wasn’t a single person here who loved me, who protected me, who even saw me. I washed the vegetables, my tears silently mingling with the water. Was this it? Was this my life? I was only twenty-eight. Was I supposed to endure this for another fifty, sixty years? A bitter resentment churned in my stomach. I refused. After a few minutes, my daughter started crying again. What toddler wants to be tied down? I had no choice but to take her into the bedroom and try to rock her back to sleep. As she gradually quieted in my arms, memories flooded back. When I was a kid, only my dad would comfort me. My mom was always over at my uncle’s house, fawning over James. “James is just so handsome, a little prince. Not like Leo, so scruffy and messy.” I was messy because I never had clothes that fit. James and I were the same age, but my mother always bought new clothes for him first. I only got them after he’d worn them out or grown tired of them. They were always too short, too tight. But she only saw me as sloppy, lacking class. My grades were better than James’s, but that never earned me any praise. “For a man, what matters is earning potential. Good grades don’t mean anything.” Later, when I started dating and brought Mindy home, the first thing my mother did was drag James over to meet her. I knew James asked Mindy out a few times behind my back, but she’d turned him down. When I mentioned it to my mother, she accused me of being petty. “James likes her, Leo. Just let him have her.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was the first time I ever defied her. Mindy and I were getting married. But on the wedding day, my mother got her way after all. She made her move, demanding an exorbitant sum of money from Mindy’s family. They could have afforded it, but Mindy saw my mother for what she was: a bottomless pit of greed. Refusing to be taken for a fool, she walked away in a rage. I begged her to stay, but it was useless. The invitations were sent, the reception was booked. And then James stepped forward, offering to marry Mindy with no financial demands, even increasing the customary gifts. Just like that, he stole my bride. And it was all my mother’s design. Her phone, charging on the nightstand, lit up with a text from my uncle. “Sis, thanks for having James over for the holiday. Appreciate you looking after him.” My eyes welled up. That was how a parent showed love for their son. Whenever I went to my uncle’s house, my mother’s only instruction was, “Make yourself useful. Don’t just sit around. You look after them, you hear me? Don’t embarrass me.” I thought of her Facebook profile. It was a shrine to James. “James, 18: My boy got into college! So proud! Got him a new MacBook!” I got into college too. My mother did nothing. I was the only kid in my dorm without a computer until I worked enough part-time jobs to buy my own. “James, 22: Graduated! The sky’s the limit for my brilliant boy! Here’s a $20,000 graduation present!” I had a job lined up before I even graduated. My mother said since I was earning money now, she didn’t need to give me an allowance anymore. Later, when James married Mindy, my mother posted again. “James, 25: A match made in heaven! So happy these two soulmates found each other!” When I married Isabella, my mother claimed she was too sick to attend the ceremony. All these years… it was like James was her real son, and I was nothing. The more I thought, the more the grief choked me, and tears streamed down my face. The silence from the kitchen finally registered. They realized no one was cooking. My mother stormed into the bedroom and saw me still holding my daughter. “What are you doing? Get out there and cook! It’s late! Do you want James and the others to starve?” “Shh,” I hissed. I had just gotten the baby to sleep. I didn’t want her to wake up. “Don’t you ‘shh’ me! Who does she think she is, a princess? I can’t even talk in my own house?” My mother deliberately raised her voice an octave. Startled by the sudden noise, my daughter woke up and started wailing again. Something inside me snapped. “Mom, this is your house. If you’re hungry, you can cook.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She swung her hand and slapped my arm hard. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, ordering your own mother around. Everyone knows you’re the best cook. We were all counting on you!” Her voice was shrill. “Now put that child down and get to the kitchen.” I kept trying to soothe my daughter, but she wouldn’t stop crying. My mother tried to take her, but my daughter clung to my neck, refusing to let go. Of course she did. My mother never showed her any affection. She’d just plop her on the floor and ignore her, not even blinking if she fell and hit her head. Isabella came in. “Honey, give her to me. You need to get dinner started. James just said he’s getting hungry.” That sent my mother into a panic. The thought of her precious nephew being hungry was a catastrophe. “Oh, no, we can’t have that! He’s so thin, he’ll waste away if he gets too hungry. I’ll get him some snacks to tide him over. Oh, my poor boy.” I passed my daughter to Isabella, ignoring her protests. I went back into the kitchen. The moment the smell of cooking oil hit me, a wave of nausea rose in my throat, and I started to dry heave. It had been less than two months since my lung surgery. The doctor’s orders were explicit: stay out of kitchens, avoid dust and fumes, and rest. But clearly, rest was not on the menu today. My mother saw me clutching my mouth, not moving, and smacked me on the back of the head. “What’s wrong with you? Are you doing this on purpose? You barely visit all year, and now you’re too good to lift a finger?” I clutched my mouth, the pain making it hard to speak. “My lungs… they haven’t healed. It hurts.” My mother’s eyes bulged. “So what? When I was sick, I still had to work!” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “So because you suffered, I have to suffer too? Because you didn’t marry a rich man, you can’t stand to see me have a good life? When you were sick, Grandma didn’t help you, so now you want me to live through your misery? Does my pain make you feel better?” She flew into a rage, her arm a blur as she slapped me across the face, again and again, until I stumbled and fell to the floor. “You ungrateful brat! How dare you lecture me! I’ll beat the disrespect out of you!” Isabella and James rushed in and pulled her off me. “Auntie, it’s okay,” James said smoothly. “If Leo doesn’t want to cook, I can help.” My mother and Isabella both leaped to stop him. “No! You’re too delicate for this kind of work.” “He’s right, the fumes in here are terrible for your lungs. You should go back outside.” So they knew. They knew the risks. It just didn’t matter if it was me. James smiled his sweet, innocent smile. “Well, then I guess we’re counting on you, Leo. Thanks.” They went back to the living room, laughing and chatting as if nothing had happened. My mother shot one last venomous look at me on the floor. “Get up and cook. Stop playing dead.” Her voice was cold. “You can’t compare yourself to James. He was born for great things. You were born to struggle. A man has to know his place.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood and pushed myself up. A sharp pain shot through my chest. The doctor said to avoid stress and strong emotions. Was the surgery failing? I glanced into the living room. Isabella’s eyes were locked on James. They looked at each other as if the rest of the world had melted away. Fine. This house, this woman… I was done. Let this be our last meal together. After tonight, we go our separate ways. After I finally got a few dishes on the table, I went to wash my hands. James followed me into the kitchen, crossing his arms. “You know, cousin, you’re only two months older than me. Funny how different our fates are.” I knew where this was going. I ignored him. “Mindy loves me. Your wife, Isabella, loves me. You’ve really made a failure of your life, haven’t you?” he continued, his voice dripping with condescending pity. “And your daughter… I bet she’ll inherit your pathetic luck. Destined to serve my family, just like you.” My head snapped up. Now he was talking about my daughter. I glared at him. “What the hell do you want, James?” His eyes slid over to where my daughter was playing on the floor. A strange, predatory smile twisted his lips. “My little Alex has some trouble with his eyes. We’re looking for a cornea donor. Your daughter’s look perfect.” He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Auntie already agreed. And so did Bella, of course.” A white-hot rage, pure and blinding, exploded in my chest. They were monsters. My daughter was barely a year old. I lunged toward the living room to confront them, but James blocked my path. He shoved me, hard. I lost my balance and crashed forward, my chest slamming into the sharp corner of a table. The spot where they had operated erupted in excruciating pain. Suddenly, James threw himself to the ground and started shouting. “Ow! Leo, why did you hit me? Just because I didn’t help you cook, you had to attack me?”

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1 For three years I stood by my husband guarding the Northern Frontier. Upon our return, he brought only his deputy’s widow and children. “He died saving me,” my husband claimed. “Caring for them is my sacred duty.” He gave me a wooden hairpin while installing them in the General’s mansion. When frontier wars raged, they feasted in luxury while I fled through wilderness with our children. Enemy scouts slaughtered them while I foraged. When General Joseph arrived, he shed no tears. “The title needs an heir,” he said. “Liz’s son will do.” “Don’t worry,” he added. “Even if I marry her, I’ll always love you most.” I drew my dagger and ended it all. Then I awoke—back on the day my children would die. … The moment I realized I had been reborn, I dropped the basket and sickle in my hands. I quickly disguised my two children, and together, we slipped out the back of our small dwelling. Perhaps they had grown accustomed to this life of constant flight and hardship. They were obedient, quiet, and cooperative. Their very maturity, born of suffering, only deepened the well of my hatred for Joseph. I had once promised him that I would never return to the Capital without a letter from him. This time, for the sake of my children’s lives, I would break that cursed vow. I sold the jade pendant he had given me when we were betrothed—our token of true love—and scraped together enough money for the long journey. After more than two weeks of jolting travel, we finally stood before the imposing gates of the General’s Manor. “Insolent beggars! The General’s Manor is no place for you to linger! Be gone, before our swords lose their patience!” The guards, assuming we were peasants seeking alms, moved to drive us away. They only stopped when I produced the official token of the General’s household. “Wait here. I will inform the General and his lady.” The guard took my token and disappeared inside. Half an incense stick later, a familiar voice, laced with annoyance, drifted from within. “How could a beggar have the General’s token? Did you even…” Lady Liz’s voice died in her throat the moment she saw me. I, too, stared at her, momentarily stunned. Her skin was fair and delicate, her gown fashioned from shimmering silks from the South. Her hair was a cascade of expensive pins and jewels. My children and I were dressed in coarse, patched tunics. Our skin was rough and chapped from the harsh frontier climate. No wonder the guards had mistaken us for beggars. In three years, aside from the cheap wooden pin he’d given me at our parting, Joseph hadn’t sent us a single coin, not a single morsel of food. All his thoughts, all his resources, had been lavished upon Liz and her children. Liz was clearly thrown by my sudden appearance. Her lips opened and closed, but no words came out. It wasn’t until Joseph appeared behind her, his face a mask of impatience, that the tableau broke. His eyes widened in shock when he saw me and the children. “Aurelia! What are you doing back in the Capital?” he hissed, grabbing our arms and frantically pulling us inside the manor. “We had an agreement! I told you I would write when it was time for you to return! Why didn’t you honor our arrangement?” I ignored his questions, my brow furrowed. “Why did the guards at the gate call Lady Liz ‘my lady’?” Joseph flinched, his gaze darting away from mine. Liz, who had followed us in, quickly interjected. “Aurelia, dear sister, don’t misunderstand. It’s just the servants. They speak out of turn.” She added, her voice dripping with false humility, “The only true lady of this manor is you.” I could hear the bitter resentment simmering beneath her words. Joseph nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s right. The servants are foolish. Aurelia, you know my heart belongs only to you.” I was too weary to expose his lie. I simply led my children deeper into the manor. Just then, a small boy dressed in rich brocade ran out from one of the inner rooms. He threw his arms around Joseph’s legs. “Father!” he chirped. “You promised you would teach me swordsmanship today!” I recognized him at once. It was Liz’s younger son, Conrad. Three years ago, he had been a scrawny, timid child. Now, he was the very picture of a pampered young nobleman. My own children, by contrast, were little more than skin and bones. To get a single mouthful of food, they had to walk miles with me every day, digging for wild vegetables. Swordsmanship? Even learning to read and write was an impossible luxury. Liz, seeing the storm gathering on my face, quickly pulled Conrad away. Joseph came to me, taking my hand in a placating gesture. “Aurelia, please don’t be upset. The boy fell terribly ill a year ago, and all he did was cry for his father. You know it’s because of me that he has no father. I felt so guilty… I let him call me ‘Father’ to comfort him.” I remained silent. My silence made him nervous. “Aurelia, you’ve always been the most understanding of women. Surely you wouldn’t be angry with a child?” 2 In my last life, Joseph had used those exact same words. Five years ago, the enemy launched a surprise attack on our camp. It was his deputy, Liz’s husband, who had thrown himself in front of Joseph, saving his life. With his dying breath, the man had entrusted his wife and children to Joseph’s care. From that day forward, he brought Liz and her children to live with us. At first, he and Liz maintained a semblance of propriety. Any needs she or her children had were communicated through me. He doted on our own children. Liz and I even managed a cordial relationship. But somewhere along the way, his focus shifted entirely to her. If Liz or her children so much as coughed, he would shamelessly stay by their side all night. Yet when my own children needed their father, he would always use the excuse of military duties. Then came the King’s order for him to return to the Capital. He told me that Liz, a widow with two young children, would face gossip and hardship if left alone. He reminded me of his deathbed promise to his deputy. He would take them back to the Capital first, he said, and send for me and our children later, when things were settled. I understood that a debt of life was paramount. I agreed without hesitation. I never imagined that his “later” would mean three full years. I never imagined he could be so heartless as to completely abandon his own flesh and blood, while cherishing another man’s. I had written to him, my letters filled with hopeful questions about when he would send for us. I never received a single word in reply. In my last life, I understood his burden. I sympathized with his difficult position. I was grateful for the sacrifice Liz’s husband had made. So no matter how hard life on the frontier became, I gritted my teeth and endured it with my children. Every time they asked when their father was coming, I would invent excuses for him. During our time on the run, I would rather eat wild roots with them than sell the jade pendant he had given me. And what was my reward? The cold corpses of my children and a letter of divorce. Even the title of Young Lord, which rightfully belonged to my son, was to be stolen by hers. How could I accept that? How could I not hate him? So, in this new life, I would rewrite our destiny. Just as I was about to speak, Liz’s soft voice cut in. “Brother Joseph, Sister Aurelia, perhaps you can have your private conversation later. The children are hungry. Let us eat first.” The staff had no idea I was coming today, yet the dining table was laden with roasted fowl, fish, and glistening meats. This, clearly, was their everyday fare. My children’s eyes lit up at the sight of the feast. They began stuffing food into their mouths without a shred of decorum. Their manners were crude, uncultured. But I did not stop them. I knew how long it had been since they’d had a full meal. But some are not so understanding. “Mother, why are we eating with three beggars? It’s disgusting!” Liz’s older daughter, Celia, glared at my children with open contempt. I had no patience for it. I slammed my chopsticks down on the table with a loud crack. “Who are you calling a beggar?” Seeing my fury, Liz quickly scolded her daughter. “Celia! How dare you speak to the lady of the house that way? Apologize at once, or you’ll have no dinner.” Celia’s face was defiant. “Why should I apologize? I’m not wrong!” “Fine, I won’t eat! I’m sick of this food anyway!” With that, she stormed off. Liz offered me a perfunctory apology, then took her son Conrad’s hand and followed her daughter out. Joseph, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, looked furious. After the meal, he had a maid take my children for a bath. Once we were alone in the dining hall, he finally spoke. “Aurelia, when are you and the children returning to the frontier?” I gave him a strange look. “Why would we return? We have no intention of going back.” The moment the words left my mouth, I heard the sound of a teacup shattering just outside the hall. I looked up to see Liz’s retreating back. A flicker of worry crossed Joseph’s face, and his tone became frayed with impatience. “What do you mean you’re not going back?” “Aurelia, we had an agreement…” I cut him off. “Joseph, you have killed countless enemy soldiers. Their families see my children and me as targets for their revenge. And how am I, a lone woman, supposed to raise two children on the frontier? If you send us back, we will either be murdered by your enemies or starve to death.” My voice hardened. “And do not forget, they are your flesh and blood.” Joseph frowned. “I sent men to protect you. I sent money and grain every month. How could you not be able to care for the children?” 3 “When did you ever send men to protect us? When did you ever send us money or food?” “Do you have any idea that for the past year, my children and I have been hiding from your enemies, living on nothing but wild vegetables?” “You’re disgusted by how our children eat, by their lack of manners? Have you ever once stopped to consider why they are this way?” My barrage of questions silenced him. After a long pause, he finally mumbled, “I’ll go find out what happened.” He turned and strode away. That afternoon, Joseph came to my room, his face a mask of embarrassment. He explained that he had given Liz control of the household finances. The responsibility of caring for me and the children had been delegated to her as well. But, he claimed, she had been so overwhelmed with managing the manor that she had simply… forgotten about us on the distant frontier. “Forgotten?” The excuse was so absurd I almost laughed. “Did she truly forget about three living, breathing people, or did she see an opportunity to eliminate us so that she and her children could take our place?” My tone angered him. “Aurelia, the fault lies with my negligence. Blame me if you must, but Liz is innocent.” “She has to manage this entire manor for me and look after her two children. It hasn’t been easy for her.” His words were the final straw. “You say it hasn’t been easy for her? Then what about the three years of suffering my children and I have endured?” “If life in the General’s Manor is so difficult for her, why don’t you send her and her children back to the frontier?” Seeing my refusal to back down, Joseph’s anger flared. “Can you stop being so unreasonable?” “And don’t you forget,” he spat, “if it weren’t for Liz’s husband, I would be dead!” I let out a cold laugh. “And don’t you forget, if it weren’t for my father taking you into his army, you’d still be begging for scraps somewhere!” He fell silent. The room was thick with tension.

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The day before my wedding, my best man, Nicholas, hit and killed my father with his car. My fiancée, not only did she not blame him, she posted a picture of their marriage certificate online. I dragged Nicholas to court. I crashed their wedding, demanding justice, and became a laughingstock. At my lowest point, my childhood friend, Rose, proposed to me in front of everyone, promising to be my harbor for life. I said yes. I handed the accident case over to her, trusting her completely. She told me Nicholas was in prison, and I believed her. But in the third year of our marriage, I overheard a conversation between her and her lawyer. “Ms. Monroe, you married Julian just for a pardon letter? For a traffic accident? Was it really worth throwing your own life away?” “It was the only way. By marrying him, I could write the letter in his name, as his family, and set Nicholas free.” “As long as he’s happy abroad, that’s enough. As for me… it doesn’t matter.” So, the marriage I saw as my salvation was nothing but an elaborate lie. The pardon letter, written in my name, and Nicholas’s freedom—that was all she ever wanted. It was me. I was the one who needed to leave. 1 In her office, Rose gazed at a photo of Nicholas on her computer screen, a photo taken somewhere beautiful and far away. Her smile was a fragile, heartbreaking thing. “It’s been three years,” she murmured. “Seeing him happy is enough, even if I’m not the one who gave him that happiness.” “As for Julian… I’m giving him the rest of my life. That should be enough to make up for it. It’s over.” The company’s legal counsel was practically vibrating with frustration. “Ms. Monroe, the company is finally stable. You can’t play games with a homicide case! If our competitors find out about this, it won’t just be you—the entire Monroe family enterprise will be ruined!” “The fact is, Mr. Vance intentionally killed him. Why are you wading into this mess? He doesn’t even love you!” Rose’s face hardened. “That’s enough,” she snapped. “I told you never to bring this up again. I don’t believe Nicholas killed him on purpose. It was an accident. I handled Mr. Jiang’s funeral arrangements myself. I’ve done right by the Jiang family.” Her voice dropped, becoming a fierce, determined whisper. “To save him, I’d give anything. Not just this company. My life.” The lawyer’s voice rose with urgency. “And what about Julian? He’ll find out eventually! The moment he decides to visit Nicholas in prison, your entire plan will fall apart! You used his name to free the man who killed his father! What do you think that will do to him?” Rose was silent for a moment, her fingers reaching out to enlarge the photo on the screen. “Then he’ll never know,” she said finally. “It’s been three years. Nicholas should be getting out soon. Make the arrangements. And remember, don’t let Julian find out.” “Ms. Monroe, as your lawyer, I must remind you: the law has a long reach. You can’t do something like this and not leave a trace. For a murderer, you’re hurting an innocent man. If Julian finds out, you’re finished.” A tear traced a path down my chin. I was shaking so hard the lunchbox I was holding nearly slipped from my grasp. Footsteps approached. I scrambled into the stairwell, my heart hammering against my ribs. So, my father’s fatal accident was never even a real case. Nicholas was never in prison, paying for his crime. He was living it up, free as a bird, in some foreign paradise. And the architect of this whole deception was the woman I loved, my wife. Her humility, her quiet strength, her patient endurance—it was all a performance, all to save the man she truly loved. For three years, I had been living in her beautifully crafted lie. I thought I had found happiness, but I was in hell. The irony was suffocating. I stumbled down the stairs and stood outside the gleaming office building, waiting. For five hours. Finally, the last light in the building winked out. Her silhouette appeared in the doorway. The moment she saw me, her face softened with concern. She took my hand. “You’re here! Why didn’t you come in? How long have you been waiting?” “Not long. I just got here,” I lied. “I know you’ve been busy, so I brought you some soup. Your secretary said you were in a meeting, so I came back out.” “Don’t do this again,” she chided gently. “You’re not well. I’d be heartbroken if you tired yourself out.” She leaned in, pressing a soft, familiar kiss to the corner of my mouth. The gesture was as tender as always, but for the first time, I felt no warmth. A person could really do this. For someone else, they could go to such lengths. She led me to the passenger seat of her car. As she started the engine, she spoke, her tone casual. “By the way, Nicholas should be getting out of prison soon. You two used to be close, and he’s served his time. Besides, the company is working on a lot of projects with the Vance family now, so maybe—” “It’s fine,” I cut in. “It’s all in the past. I won’t cause any trouble. Don’t worry.” She let out a visible sigh of relief, a smile touching her lips. “Thank you for being so understanding, darling. I’m so lucky to have you.” I turned my head to look out the window, silent tears tracing paths down my face. Back at home, while she was in the shower, I opened her laptop. The password was Nicholas’s birthday. The desktop wallpaper was a stunning photo of a beach in the Maldives. That’s where Nicholas had been living for the past three years. I logged into her social media. The profile banner was a photo of her and Nicholas, smiling together. She was only following one person. I clicked on it. The feed was a shrine to Nicholas’s life abroad. The watch on his wrist was the latest model from a brand owned by Monroe Corp. The suit he wore was from Monroe Corp’s newest campaign. Even the villa he was tagged in was a Monroe Corp hotel property. A hotel that had been established three years ago. The only overseas project the Monroe family had ever undertaken. My hand trembled as I clicked on her transaction history. There was only one recipient: Nicholas Vance. A million dollars a month, every month, for three years. I scrolled through the records, my heart turning to ice. I remembered the single word in her social media bio: Waiting. I had asked her about it once. She’d brushed it off, saying it was something she’d written a long time ago. Now, I understood. In three years of marriage, besides the wedding photo on the wall, we didn’t have a single picture together. No matter how much I begged, she’d always say we saw each other every day, so there was no need. Now I knew. It wasn’t that there was no need. It was that I wasn’t a need for her. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and closed the laptop. I bought myself a one-way ticket out of the country, for a flight three days from now. And I filed the paperwork to cancel all my official documents. Three days to say goodbye to three years. It was enough. I set a countdown as my phone’s wallpaper, a constant reminder. When she came out of the bathroom, I was already in bed, pretending to be asleep. She didn’t say a word. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, as I was getting ready, my phone buzzed. Rose’s voice, laced with confusion, followed immediately after. “Julian, what documents are you canceling?” I quickly snatched the phone from her. “It’s nothing,” I said smoothly. “My ID expired. I just made an appointment to get it renewed. Don’t you have that project meeting today? You should get going.” She didn’t seem to suspect anything. She just nestled into my arms, her warmth a familiar, painful lie. “Thank you, darling. I’m so lucky to have such a thoughtful husband.” I smiled, saying nothing. “As a reward,” she murmured, “how about your wife gives you a big present tonight?” “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be waiting at home.” She was willing to do anything to keep me from causing trouble for Nicholas. This three-year charade was finally coming to an end. The moment she left, I went to the government office and filed the rest of my cancellation papers. Then I went to see a lawyer. When I asked about the pardon letter, he confirmed that a letter from a family member carried legal weight. It was a done deal, irreversible. I didn’t press further. I just had him print out two copies of a divorce agreement. With the papers in hand, I went to Rose’s office. As I walked in, I overheard some employees gossiping. “Is that Ms. Monroe’s husband? I heard he just got back from abroad. That charisma, that physique… no wonder Ms. Monroe is so smitten. I mean, even I’m feeling it!” “It has to be him. That watch he’s wearing is the new Patek Philippe, one of only ten in the world. I saw Ms. Monroe looking at it in her office several times. She even bought him that… so sweet.” “You don’t think that hotel abroad was built just for him, do you? I heard they were childhood sweethearts. You couldn’t even write this stuff in a movie!” I stood outside the door to the top-floor office. I could hear a familiar voice from within. “These past three years… have you been okay?” “Yeah, great. Waking up to the ocean every day, the air just smells like freedom. And I haven’t even thanked you yet. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be—” “Don’t say that. It’s all in the past. I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Helping you… was like helping myself.” Nicholas’s laugh was confident, affectionate. “You haven’t changed a bit. If Julian knew you were secretly helping me, he’d probably lose his mind.” “This watch is too much, I can’t accept it. You should give it to Julian. If I take it, I’m afraid he’ll sue me again.” Classic Nicholas. Taking everything for himself while pretending to be the magnanimous one, shifting all the blame onto me. Three years ago, at the wedding. I had exposed him as a murderer, turning against him and his new bride—my ex-fiancée—completely. But every guest in that room had sided with him, calling me unreasonable. I became a joke. Rose’s arrival had been my only salvation. And now, she was the one who had pushed me into the abyss. Her secretary, rushing to deliver a contract, threw open the door before I could move. Rose’s eyes widened in surprise. “Julian? When did you get here? Don’t get the wrong idea. Nicholas just got out, we were just catching up, that’s all…” “Julian. Long time no see,” Nicholas said, standing up. He was wearing a new, custom-tailored suit from one of Monroe Corp’s brands. His skin was glowing, his body fit. He looked nothing like a man who had just been released from prison. I forced a smile, pushing down the knot of pain in my chest. “It’s fine. I was just in the neighborhood. Since you’re busy, I’ll head home.” Rose, thinking I was angry, chased after me, explaining frantically. “Don’t be like that. I was just asking him how he was doing in prison, that’s all…” “It’s been three years, shouldn’t we let bygones be bygones? Didn’t you say it was all in the past?” Seeing her so flustered, I had to laugh. To save Nicholas, she had sacrificed her own marriage, playing a part for three years. Now that he was safe, who was she performing for? “Yes, it’s in the past. Don’t worry. I’m not an unreasonable person. I keep my word.” “You go back to work. I’ll be good and wait for you at home.” The relief on her face was palpable. She had her secretary personally escort me downstairs. Before I left, she reminded me about the Vance family’s banquet the following night, a celebration for Nicholas’s return. He was the president of their company now, he had an image to maintain. The official story was that he’d been studying abroad. No one mentioned prison. I nodded and said I understood. I wouldn’t cause a scene. Only then did she seem to relax.

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I died. I died on the way back for my husband’s birthday. The car crash mangled my body beyond recognition, but perhaps because of some lingering attachment, my soul drifted back home. And there I saw him, Aiden, leading another woman through our front door. With them was a little boy who was the spitting image of him. I watched them eat a cheerful family dinner. I watched the boy knock over the Lego castle I’d spent a year building. I watched as Aiden took call after call, people trying to break the news of my death, and his face remained a mask of indifference. It wasn’t until he saw the package I’d sent him that something finally, terribly, broke. My name is—was—Agnes. The accident stole my life, but it couldn’t sever my obsession. My soul now wanders the halls of the home that was once my sanctuary, a place now tainted with the scent of strangers and betrayal. Aiden ushered Zoe, the woman he’d always wanted, inside. Trailing them was a boy of about three or four. The moment I saw the child’s face, the heart that had long stopped beating seemed to clench. So that’s why he’d agreed to marry me so readily all those years ago. His true love was already carrying his child. “Come on in, sweetheart,” Zoe said, smiling as she ruffled the boy’s hair. He bounded over to Aiden, his voice a pure, innocent chime. “Daddy!” A genuine, unguarded smile spread across Aiden’s face as he swept the boy into his arms. Watching the three of them, a perfect picture of a happy family, my lingering attachment began to curdle into a bitter, gnawing resentment. I followed them inside. Every piece of furniture, every painting on the wall, had been chosen by me. “Where’s Agnes?” Zoe asked, sinking into the sofa as if she owned it. Aiden set the boy down and opened the fridge, pulling out a slice of cake. My cake. The last one. “She’s on a business trip. Won’t be back for a while.” He handed Zoe a bottle of milk. “In that case, can Leo and I stay here for a bit?” Zoe’s voice was velvet, her eyes flicking toward the boy. She added, as if it were an afterthought, “He’s been asking for his daddy so much lately.” Aiden chuckled and crouched down in front of Leo, whispering something in his ear. The boy immediately scrambled up and darted towards the stairs. “Leo, slow down!” Zoe called after him. “And what about you?” Aiden’s voice dropped, and he moved towards Zoe on the couch, leaning in close. “Did you miss me?” A blush crept up Zoe’s neck. She gave a shy nod, and in the next instant, his mouth was on hers, her bright red lips silenced. Their hands intertwined as they lost themselves in the kiss. My suspended soul died a second death. I tried to leave, to flee this place, but every time I tried, I found myself drawn back, tethered to Aiden’s side. No peace, not even in death. “Don’t,” Zoe murmured, turning her head away, her face flushed. “Leo might see.” Aiden froze for a second, then pulled back, straightening the shirt I’d given him for our anniversary. “Later, then.” As the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, Zoe smiled. “Time flies. I’ll go make dinner.” But Aiden caught her, pulling her into an embrace. “No, I’ll cook. You’ve had a long day.” She turned in his arms and gave him a quick, sweet kiss. He paused, surprised, then took control, deepening it into something more. In all the years I’d known him, I had never once seen him cook. Not once. In the beginning, he’d complained about my cooking, so I secretly spent a fortune on classes to improve. The thought of him ever making a meal for me was an impossible fantasy. While Aiden went to the kitchen, Zoe headed upstairs. Remembering my Lego castle, I drifted up after her. She ran a hand over the intricate spires of the model on the desk. “Leo,” she said to the boy playing a game on a tablet nearby. “Want to live here for good?” Leo nodded enthusiastically. Zoe pointed a finger at my creation. “Mommy doesn’t like this.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the boy walked over and shoved it. The castle I had pieced together for a year shattered, a cascade of plastic bricks crashing to the floor. The noise brought Aiden running from the kitchen, spatula still in hand. “What was that?” he demanded, his brow furrowed. “It was me! I bumped it by accident,” Zoe said instantly, pulling Leo into a protective hug, her voice trembling with false remorse. “No, it wasn’t Mommy! It was me! I did it!” Leo burst into tears, looking up at Aiden. In the end, Aiden couldn’t bring himself to scold the boy. He just told him to be more careful. Zoe stepped over the scattered pieces, walked up to Aiden, and draped herself over his arm, her pitiful expression melting his anger away in an instant. “Dinner’s ready,” she announced. “Come and eat.” And then I saw it. Behind Aiden’s back, Zoe gave Leo a triumphant thumbs-up. My gaze fell to the plastic wreckage on the floor, and a sharp, phantom pain shot through my chest. Weren’t you supposed to feel nothing when you were dead? Weren’t you supposed to be free? Then why did my heart still ache so terribly? I reached down, trying to pick up a piece, but my hand passed straight through it. I was three years younger than Aiden. His parents had died saving my father, and my mother, out of a sense of profound debt, brought him into our home. He’ll be your husband one day, she told me. I was ten years old. I took her words as gospel. From that day on, I devoted myself to him, right up until the very end, when I was rushing back to celebrate his birthday. His birthday was easy to remember. It was our anniversary. The seventh. “Aiden,” Zoe said over dinner, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Where are we going for our anniversary tomorrow?” For the first time, Aiden was silent. He never let Zoe’s questions hang in the air, but this time, the silence stretched. “Wherever you want to go,” he finally said. “Anything you want.” Every year before, I had planned everything for our anniversary, his birthday gift included. He never had to lift a finger. Not that he ever appreciated it. He’d stand me up every time, leaving me waiting alone. The thought stung. Had he ever stood Zoe up? Later that night, after Zoe was asleep, Aiden went out to the balcony for a cigarette. He pulled out his phone, the screen glowing in the dark. Two minutes until midnight. I knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for my text. The first “Happy Birthday” of the day. I had sent it every single year, without fail. He, on the other hand, never got my birthday right. It was always a day early or a day late, a careless afterthought. The gift was always the same, too: a tube of lipstick. The clock on his phone ticked from 11:59 to 12:00. Then 12:01. 12:02. No new messages appeared. He switched his phone to airplane mode, then switched it back. He did this three times. Still nothing. He blamed the network, he blamed his phone, but it never once occurred to him that something might have happened to me. He didn’t even bother to send a single message. I was always the one to initiate. The cigarette burned down to the filter, searing his lip. He swore, flicking it into the darkness, and then, with a casual swipe of his thumb, he blocked my number. His duty done, he slipped back into bed, curling up against Zoe’s warm back. A cold curiosity bloomed within me. I wanted to know what he would do when he finally found out I was dead. The next morning, as Aiden carried breakfast out from the kitchen, the doorbell rang. “Who the hell is it this early on a weekend?” he muttered, annoyed, and went to get the door. It was a courier. He signed for the package. It was my birthday gift to him. A pair of custom cufflinks. Aiden tore open the package, his expression shifting to one of confusion as he saw the velvet box inside. The cufflinks I had chosen so carefully. In my naivete, I thought such a thoughtful gift might convey the depth of my love, might make him cherish our marriage a little more. Now, he barely glanced at them before tossing the box onto the coffee table. There was no fondness on his face, only irritation. “Aiden, who was it?” Zoe asked, coming down the stairs. “A package from Agnes,” he said flatly. “What is it?” she pressed, sidling up to him, a vinegary note in her voice. She had a way of prying, of turning every question about me into an accusation. “Nothing,” he said, not indulging her as he usually would. Zoe’s expression flickered, but she quickly pasted on a smile. “Oh, right! You promised you’d take me and Leo out today. When are we leaving?” At the mention of an outing, Aiden’s mood brightened. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Wherever you want to go. I can drop everything for you and my son.” “Really? That’s amazing! I’ll go pack right now!” Zoe squealed, dashing off to the bedroom. Aiden watched her go, a faint smile on his lips, but I saw a flicker of something else in his eyes—a deep, weary boredom. When you’re with her, do you ever think of me? On the coffee table, the cufflinks I had pinned so much hope on looked pathetically small. A testament to my shattered love, a mockery of my wasted life. The sun streamed through the window, but my soul felt darker than ever. I watched their smiling faces and felt the bitter sting of irony. Why marry me, only to betray me? He could have just said no. I had asked him that once. His answer was a single, devastating line: “My family owes yours a debt. I can’t go back on my word.” And so, you felt entitled to hurt me without limit. Aiden, I wish we had never even begun. Just as they were about to leave, his phone rang. It was the police department, calling to inform him of my death. “Yeah, what is it?” Aiden answered, his tone clipped with impatience. He hated being interrupted when he was on his way out. A solemn male voice came through the line. “Am I speaking with Mr. Aiden Sterling? I’m calling to inform you that your wife, Ms. Agnes Vance, passed away in a car accident a week ago. We need you to come to the city morgue to identify the body. Please accept our condolences.”

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I am the dedicated stan photographer for the celebrity actress, Rosalind Jones. But more than that, I am her husband of four years, a secret hidden from the world. Her life was a whirlwind of scandals, but I knew it was all part of a carefully crafted persona, an expensive image her company had built for her. I never let it bother me. Until the day her first love, Caden, returned to the country. It was our fourth wedding anniversary, and for the first time, she stood me up. As I left our meeting spot, I tossed the diamond necklace I had bought for her into a trash can. I pulled out my phone and booked the next available flight. With my camera in hand, I flew away. At first, Rosalind thought I was just throwing a tantrum, angry that she’d missed our date. I sighed and forwarded her the photos a friend in the paparazzi had just sent me. In the picture, she and Caden were locked in a passionate kiss. In our home. A few minutes later, my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. I let out another long sigh. And sent one last message: “Let’s get a divorce.” 1 A fine mist was falling from the sky, the cold droplets trickling down my neck and making me shiver. I stood in the middle of the open-air plaza, not bothering to seek shelter from the rain. I was only worried she wouldn’t be able to find me. Half an hour ago, Rosalind had called to say something urgent had come up and she’d be late. Every year, no matter how busy we were, we spent our anniversary together. But now, as the minutes ticked by, there was still no sign of her. I couldn’t resist pulling out my phone. “Did you see the news? Rosalind has a new scandal with some hot young thing! She’s my idol, seriously. Never gets involved with anyone over twenty-five,” a girl nearby gushed to her friend, her face a mask of admiration and envy. I looked up from my phone and smiled grimly. In the entertainment world, Rosalind was known as the Unsinkable Rose, a flower that thrived in the ruins. She was audacious and beautiful, possessed of a reckless courage. She was always at the center of some new gossip, and it seemed every billionaire, top-tier idol, and rising star had at one point or another fallen for her charms. Her dating advice had become gospel for countless women. “Finding a man is like sending out résumés. If one doesn’t work out, move on to the next. Be bold, don’t be afraid. One of them is bound to stick.” “Be brave and express your love. Make the first move. If he doesn’t say no, keep going. If he seems uncomfortable, apologize immediately and then make one last, outrageous request: ‘Can I have a hug before I go?’” I thought back on it. The girl was right. None of Rosalind’s rumored flings had ever been over twenty-five. I fell silent. I just turned twenty-six this year. I searched for the latest scandal the girl had mentioned. A photo from the airport immediately popped up, showing two people locking eyes across a crowded terminal. One was Rosalind, stunning in a trench coat and red lipstick. The other was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a black windbreaker and sneakers. The young fans around them were snapping pictures, ecstatic about the fresh gossip. But they didn’t know what I knew. Rosalind had never looked at any of her rumored lovers with such a tender, surprised gaze. I knew this man. Rosalind had told me he was like a younger brother to her. But he had once sent me a message, claiming to be her first love. What their relationship truly was didn’t matter anymore. The look in her eyes said it all. I glanced at the time the article was published. So, her “urgent business” was picking Caden up from the airport. Then I noticed something else. Pinned to the collar of Caden’s jacket was a small, pink peach-shaped brooch. I froze. No wonder she had switched things up this morning, spritzing on a peach-scented perfume. It wasn’t a mistake made in a rush. She had completely forgotten that I was allergic to peaches. 2 I ripped off my damp mask and threw it into the nearby trash can, along with the gift box. Suddenly, I could breathe again. The world felt fresher. Just as I was about to leave, a small, fluffy dog nudged against my leg. I looked down. It was an adorable little thing, its round eyes staring up at me. It seemed to sense my mood, its gaze a mixture of comfort and affection. I knelt and stroked its curly fur, a genuine smile finally breaking through my gloom. This little dog didn’t understand my pain, but it offered a pure, uncomplicated comfort. It was more than I could say for the woman who was supposed to be my wife. “Grape Cooper?” It was named after my favorite fruit. Interesting. I let go of the name tag on its collar, my smile widening. “Grape! Oh, I’m so sorry!” A young woman wearing sunglasses, a mask, and a hat—dressed like she was about to rob a bank—bowed apologetically. She scooped up the dog and fled as if she were a thief. I stood there for a moment, stunned. My hand was still holding what she had pressed into it. I opened my palm. It was allergy medication. I stared after her retreating figure, a strange feeling blooming in my chest. I pulled out my phone, opened a travel app, and, without even looking at the destination, booked the next available flight. I have no family, no real friends. For all these years, Rosalind has been my only tie to this world. Now, even that was gone. I was finally, completely free. Before boarding the plane, I let Rosalind’s calls go to voicemail, one after another. I listened to each ring, a silent farewell to the past six years of my life. When the last call ended, I blocked her number and deleted all her contact information. 3 It was only after she had dropped Caden off at his hotel that Rosalind remembered Julian. Today was their wedding anniversary. They were supposed to celebrate together. But Caden had called her unexpectedly, telling her he was on his way back to the country. He had been a rising star a few years ago, but at a crossroads in his career, he had chosen to go abroad to study. His years overseas had not been kind to him. Netizens mocked him for turning his back on his home country, jeering: Guess the foreign dream didn’t work out, huh? Rosalind had been worried about him. She decided to go to the airport to meet him. With her star power, she figured, no one would dare say anything nasty to his face. With everything going on, her anniversary plans with Julian had completely slipped her mind. She pulled out her phone, which she’d been too busy to check earlier. There wasn’t a single missed call from him. She glanced at the puddles on the street. She knew she was in the wrong, so she decided to be the bigger person and call him. The call went straight to voicemail. Rosalind frowned for a moment, then her expression cleared. “Miss Jones, where to now?” the driver asked. “Times Square.” No matter how late she was, as long as she showed up, Julian would never stay mad. That was the lesson of the past six years. Julian loved her, adored her. The weather was bad, and it was late, but it didn’t matter. Rosalind checked her reflection in a small mirror, fluffing her hair with a confident smile. If he was angry, she’d hug him. If that didn’t work, she’d kiss him. Julian always forgave her. She bought a cup of hot ginger tea on the way. The weather was unusually cold today, and she shivered as soon as she stepped out of the car. A flicker of concern for Julian sparked within her. She set the tea aside and checked the time. She hadn’t realized it was almost eleven o’clock. She’d thought it was seven or eight at the latest. A sudden, uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. She told the driver to hurry. Her calls to Julian still went unanswered. She frowned. He was really taking it too far this time. So she stood him up. Did he have to make her worry like this, deliberately avoiding her calls? When they arrived, the normally bustling Times Square was deserted and quiet. Rosalind jumped out of the car, her eyes scanning the empty plaza. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Her face darkened instantly. Julian hadn’t waited for her. In six years, that had never happened before. A sanitation worker walked over to a nearby trash can and began rummaging through it. Suddenly, the woman let out an excited cry. Rosalind looked over and saw her holding up a delicate diamond necklace. It was very familiar. It was the anniversary gift she had seen when she snooped through Julian’s phone a few weeks ago. He had actually thrown it away. A cold, mirthless smile touched Rosalind’s lips. She decided then and there that this time, it wouldn’t be her coaxing and coddling him. This time, he would be the one begging her for forgiveness. 4 On the plane, I opened my camera out of boredom. It was still filled with the photos I had taken of Rosalind at her shoot this morning. Flicking through them one by one, I had to admit, she had a face that could captivate any man. With that face, she had conquered the entertainment industry. And with her carefully crafted “man-eater” persona, she had tapped into the rebellious desires of countless young women, turning them into her most fervent fans. In this business, a female fanbase was everything. Rosalind’s value skyrocketed. I suddenly remembered when she had first entered the industry. She had a gambling-addicted father who, after racking up massive debts, had killed himself, unable to face the pressure. But his death didn’t erase his debts. Rosalind, his only remaining family, became the target of his creditors. When a woman has nothing but her beauty, that beauty becomes a dangerous poison. The creditors, the directors, they all saw her as prey. I never doubted that Rosalind would eventually become a huge star. But whether she would get there through clean means or by wading through murky waters, I didn’t know. She was my girlfriend. I had to protect her. So, I used all my talent to shoot a special series of photos for her. That stunning portfolio went viral online, and soon, clients were lining up to hire her as a model. Naturally, with her unique ability to attract fans with a single glance, she was signed by the country’s top entertainment agency. She became an actress. Later, she had told me, in that sweet, coquettish way of hers, that she loved herself most through the lens of my camera. So, I turned down all the lucrative job offers that came my way and became her exclusive photographer. Looking now at the photos I had taken—in freezing winters and scorching summers, pushed to the edge of rowdy crowds just to get the perfect shot—I felt like a fool. 5 As I deleted the last photo of her from my camera, the plane began its descent. The signal returned, and several new messages popped up on my phone. I was surprised. I had blocked Rosalind. Who else would be messaging me? I opened the messages. “This is Caden. Rosalind said you might have left because of me, so she asked me to explain.” “Rosalind and I are just like brother and sister.” “She was just worried something might happen to me when I got back today, that’s why she was late for your date.” “She went to find you as soon as she remembered, but you were already gone. She’s really angry. You should come back and calm her down.” “She’s at my place, throwing a fit and smashing things.” “Julian, you’re being really immature. If it were me, I would never let her get this upset.”

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On the day of the birthing, I watched through half-closed lids as my cousin, Pom, swapped my egg with hers. I feigned sleep, letting it happen. I let her take my child to be broken. And I continued to nourish her egg with my own heart’s blood, day after day, night after night. In the end, her egg hatched a Celestial Phoenix, a prodigy of immense power, cherished by my husband and me. Mine hatched a common sparrow, dull grey and devoid of magic, its tongue clipped short by Pom’s own hand, its body defiled. When the day of the selection for the new Phoenix Ascendant arrived, my cousin fell to her knees in tears, claiming the children were switched at birth. A slow smile touched my lips. “I’ve been waiting for this day, too.” I was in the courtyard, guiding Niamh through her morning practice, when Pom arrived with her retinue. “Dearest cousin,” she chirped, her voice dripping with false concern. “You work the poor girl so hard. She’s only a child.” She rushed to Niamh’s side, dabbing sweat from her brow, fussing over whether she was thirsty, or hungry, or tired. I offered a noncommittal smile. It had been this way for a century, ever since she’d stolen my child. She seized every opportunity to be near her true daughter, masquerading as a doting aunt, whispering that I was too stern, too demanding, that I didn’t know how to raise a fledgling. My gaze drifted to the girl trailing behind her. My own daughter. Her clothes were rags. She flinched from my gaze, her body a roadmap of blue and purple bruises. There wasn’t a spark of magic in her. I am a Phoenix. My husband is a Phoenix. Yet my daughter was a flightless, grey sparrow. She tried to smile at me, revealing a dark, empty mouth. Her tongue had been severed, leaving her to speak in a wet, slurring whisper. “Greetings to my lady aunt.” Ash. That’s the name Pom had given my daughter. Ash. Pom paused, seeing my lack of reaction. A flicker of secret, cruel delight danced in her eyes before she turned back to Niamh, her hands clutching her daughter’s. “Is your training going well, my sweet Niamh? My family has a Heart-Lotus that can help you withstand the coming trials. I’ll have it sent to you tomorrow.” Her voice was a coo. “Don’t you ever be a stranger to your auntie. In my heart, you are my own dear daughter.” Niamh, her chin high with a practiced, gentle pride, answered, “Thank you, Aunt Pom. I will strive to be worthy of our name. I have already ascended to the rank of a Celestial Phoenix.” At this, Pom’s face bloomed with triumph. Of course, it did. I had fed Niamh with my own life force for a decade while she was still in the egg. Since she’d hatched, she’d been nurtured with the rarest of artifacts and elixirs. Her innate talent was undeniable, a rising star among our kind. Perhaps buoyed by the thought that she was the true mother of such a prodigy, Pom puffed out her chest, then turned. With a vicious tug, she dragged my daughter forward by her hair. “Look at your cousin Niamh,” she spat. “Now look at yourself. If I’d known you’d turn out like this, I would have smashed your egg and been done with it.” My daughter, Ash, whimpered, her voice a choked gasp of “It hurts.” The sound only made Pom pull harder. “Don’t you dare shrink from me.” She yanked until a clump of dark hair came away in her fist, the roots glistening with blood. She held it out for me to see, dangling it in the air between us. “Let this be a lesson, cousin,” Pom said, her eyes boring into mine. “This is how you handle vermin.” Niamh frowned slightly at the display. Pom immediately noticed, rushing to soothe her. “Don’t worry, my sweet. The little wretch deserves it. You two are nothing alike.” She shot another venomous glare at Ash. My daughter scrambled to her feet, quickly wiping the blood from her scalp and bowing her head. “Lady Niamh,” she mumbled, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” That was her first instinct. Apologize to Niamh. She had learned long ago that her own suffering would only end when Niamh was no longer upset. The apology earned her a savage kick to the stomach. “Who gave you permission to call her ‘Lady Niamh’?” Pom snarled. “You are not worthy. You will call her ‘Your Grace.’” That evening, when I asked where Ash was, Pom was peeling grapes for Niamh, her head bowed in concentration. “My greatest mercy was not strangling her at birth,” she said without looking up. Her gaze flickered to me, heavy with meaning. “A common sparrow has no right to live among the Phoenix. As her mother, I live in constant shame. I should have offered my own life to atone for the disgrace.” I pretended not to understand the barb, letting her savor her petty victory. At the banquet that night, Pom was a whirlwind of devotion around Niamh, arranging her cushions and serving her the choicest morsels. Niamh loved the shimmering river-sprites, but their bones were notoriously fine. Pom forwent her own meal to painstakingly debone the fish for her. Meanwhile, my own daughter was chained to the leg of the table. She licked her lips, her eyes fixed on the platters, and whispered, “Mother… may I have a piece of bread?” Pom’s face contorted in rage. She shot up and struck Ash across the face, twice, the sound cracking through the hall. Then she scraped the leftovers from everyone’s plates into a wooden trough and shoved Ash’s head into the slop. “Eat!” she shrieked. “Go on, eat! Have you never seen food before?” My daughter’s face was smeared with filth, tears and snot streaking through the grime. Her eyes, wide and desperate, found mine, pleading for help. I took a slow, deliberate sip of the golden Emberwine. Exquisite. The scene had turned Niamh pale. Noticing her daughter’s discomfort, Pom immediately yanked Ash up by her chain. “You’ve upset your cousin, you little beast. You’ll pay for this.” Ash’s face was a mask of numb resignation. She knew what awaited her at home. New torments, new instruments of pain. The next day, Pom arrived as promised with the Heart-Lotus. My daughter was not with her. As if terrified I might miss the point, she stared directly into my eyes as she spoke. “Last night, I had three brutes ‘discipline’ that unruly thing for her lack of manners.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “She’s just a mongrel bird. It doesn’t matter. What matters is our Niamh.” She leaned in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Isn’t that right, cousin?” I nodded. Beside me, my husband, Kaelan, shot me a look of deep disapproval. He had always been a man of rigid, tiresome morality. My assent seemed to thrill Pom. The thought of us—mother and daughter, both twisted around her finger—was her sweetest nectar. She presented the Heart-Lotus to Niamh like a holy relic. “Niamh, my love, this is the greatest treasure of my lineage. Consume it, and the trials will be as nothing to you.” Niamh hesitated, her eyes flicking to me. The gift was extravagantly precious. Pom, panicked that Niamh might offer the treasure to us, her parents, grabbed her hand. “This is for your own good. Don’t you mind anyone else. Anyone who would deny you this has a heart as black as pitch.” With that, she urged Niamh to shift into her Phoenix form to begin the ritual of absorption. Pom’s gaze was feverish as she admired the magnificent creature, but then her eyes narrowed. She had spotted a single, missing feather from the tip of Niamh’s tail. Her finger shot out, pointing at my face, her voice sharp with accusation. “How could you be so careless? A feather is missing, and you didn’t even notice! What kind of mother are you?” I raised an eyebrow. “Your own daughter is nearly plucked bald by your hand, and you’re having a meltdown because Niamh shed a single feather? Perhaps you should save your hysterics for your own child.” She trembled with fury at my dismissive tone, but she was powerless. Then, a new, venomous thought seemed to occur to her. A cruel smile spread across her face as she activated a communication crystal. “Scar the little wretch’s face,” she commanded the voice on the other end. “Niamh has been injured. The worthless creature’s bad luck must have tainted her.” A moment later, a thin, piercing scream echoed from the crystal. Ash’s fledgling voice, crying out in agony. “Help me… I’m sorry, please, save me…” Pom listened, her expression one of pure ecstasy, as if hearing a celestial symphony. Niamh, as always, remained silent on such matters, and I remained impassive. After severing the connection, Pom’s mood was visibly improved. My daughter’s screams were her favorite medicine. “Niamh is destined to be the Phoenix Ascendant, cousin,” she said sweetly. “You really should be more careful.” Niamh gave her aunt a reproving look. “Aunt Pom, the feather fell out by accident. It will not affect my power. There is no need for such alarm.” Tears of frustration welled in Pom’s eyes. “How can it not matter! You must cherish your body! Cousin, Kaelan, quickly! You must give Niamh more of your heart’s blood to restore her!” I narrowed my eyes, and she shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, forcing a dry laugh. “I am only concerned for Niamh’s well-being.” She quickly ushered Niamh into the house. “Come, my dear. Let your auntie help you absorb the Heart-Lotus. Then you will be unstoppable. And on the day you become the Ascendant, I have a great secret to share with you.” As the Heart-Lotus began to merge with Niamh’s essence, I quietly closed the door for them, a chilling coldness settling deep within my eyes. Yes, I thought. Some secrets were long overdue for a reckoning. The closer we came to the great selection ceremony, the more frequent Pom’s visits became. But I never saw my daughter again. Kaelan asked after her once, and Pom replied with a saccharine, venomous tone. “Why, brother-in-law, do you miss the little stray? Shall I send her to you? She could warm your bed as a concubine.” Kaelan, silenced and disgusted, could only sigh in frustration. Finally, the day of the ceremony arrived. Beings from every corner of the realm gathered. Niamh, radiant in a gown of iridescent feathers, descended from the sky like a living rainbow. My daughter was dragged behind her, a chain hooked through her collarbones, led like a dog. A long, dark trail of blood marked her path. Just as the proclamation of the new Ascendant was about to be made, Pom fell to her knees, holding aloft a glowing Stone of Lineage, her face a mask of anguish. “A mistake!” she wailed. “It was all a terrible mistake! Cousin, Ash’s blood… it does not resonate with the stone! It proves she is not my child!” She choked on a sob. “Under duress, the old healer confessed! She switched the eggs at birth, too terrified of your wrath to admit her crime!” “Cousin!” she cried, clutching at the hem of my gown. “I am returning your daughter to you! Niamh… Niamh is mine!” Her performance was spectacular, a portrait of heartbroken motherhood. But the assembled elders were not convinced. “Niamh is a Celestial Phoenix. She is without a doubt the child of Lord Kaelan and Lady Yennis,” one declared. “You are a common nightingale. How could you possibly birth a Phoenix?” “Niamh has been raised in grace and power to become the Ascendant,” another added. “This… Ash… we hear she has been utterly defiled. How can there be an exchange?” “Everyone knows Niamh is the apple of Lady Yennis’s eye.” But a few dissenting whispers rose from the crowd. “You know… the wretch does resemble Lady Yennis more…” Ash lifted her scarred face, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before she dropped her head again. My husband, Kaelan, looked back and forth between the two girls, his expression a storm of confusion. I raised a hand, calling for silence. A faint smile played on my lips. “If that is the case,” I said, my voice clear and calm, “then let us switch them back. Niamh is, indeed, your daughter.” Pom’s sobs caught in her throat. She had an entire arsenal of pleas and arguments she hadn’t even needed to use. Kaelan rushed to my side. “Yennis, how can you make such a decision alone? Think of all the love, the power we have poured into Niamh! I will not allow you to be so reckless!” The flicker of hope in Ash’s eyes died, turning to grey despair. Tears silently tracked paths through the grime on her face and fell to the dusty ground. But my voice was firm as I addressed the assembly. “It is true. Everything my cousin says is true. Ash is my child, and Kaelan’s.” I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle over the stunned silence. “After all, I was the one who watched her switch the eggs.” Ash’s eyes shot up, blazing with a renewed, desperate light. She took a tiny, shuffling step toward me, her mouth opening, the word Mother forming on her ruined tongue. Kaelan broke out in a cold sweat. “Yennis, we prayed to the ancestors for a hundred days to be blessed with our precious daughter. How could you possibly have watched her be stolen and done nothing?” He spun, his eyes wild and furious, scanning the crowd. “Who did this to you? Who is controlling you?” I pushed his hand away. “There is a simple way to settle this,” I said softly. “Bring the Stone of Lineage.” Ash eagerly held out her scarred arm, her eyes fixed on me. Kaelan winced at the sight of her wounds. A new cut was made, deep and red. Before the eyes of all, Ash’s blood merged perfectly with mine and Kaelan’s on the stone’s surface. The truth crashed down upon him. Kaelan stared at Ash’s mangled form, and a raw, guttural cry tore from his throat. His eyes turned blood-red with fury. He drew his sword and, in a flash of silver, ran it through my shoulder. “Yennis, why?” he roared, his voice cracking with agony. “Our daughter was tortured, right before your eyes, and you just watched? What is your heart made of? Stone?” I clutched my bleeding shoulder, saying nothing. When Ash heard that I had known all along, she finally broke. A terrible, ragged sobbing shook her thin frame. She dragged her broken body across the ground, crawling to my feet. Her voice was like sandpaper. “Mother… why?” she rasped. “Why didn’t you claim me? Was I not good enough? I can be better, Mother, I can change. Please… don’t throw me away.” Silence was my only answer. Her tears stopped. Her grief curdled into a century of pure, undiluted rage. With a snarl, she sank her teeth into my leg, biting down with all her might, as if she could drain all her pain and betrayal into me. Blood seeped through my gown, but no one moved to help me. They stared at me as if I were a monster, a creature of unnatural cold. A mother who would allow her own child to be tortured for a hundred years deserved no sympathy. Fine. If no one would help me, I would solve this myself. I looked down at the creature latched onto my leg, my expression turning from impassive ice to a cruel, chilling smile. I grabbed her by the hair and hauled her up from the ground. My hand closed around the fragile column of her throat.

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I got into a fight with my husband and checked into a hotel. I didn’t expect to wake up the next morning and be infamous. A video had gone viral overnight. In it, my face is flushed, my eyes glazed, as I dance wildly with eight different men in a hotel room. Samson, my husband, was incandescent with rage. He slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side. “So this is what you meant by ‘cooling off’?” he spat, his voice dripping with disgust. “You’re filthy.” I couldn’t explain the marks on my body. Humiliated and furious, I called the police. They told me the video wasn’t a deepfake. They said they found my DNA, mixed with that of the men from the video, in the trash can. I had no defense. In the eyes of the world, I was a whore. My parents, both respected lifelong teachers, couldn’t endure the onslaught of online harassment and public shame. They took their own lives. And me? I was beaten to death by the furious wives of the men from the video. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand it. I was alone in that hotel room. Nothing happened. How did I wake up to a world where it had? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I checked into the hotel. 1 “Mia, honey, don’t be angry anymore. I’ve told you a hundred times, I have no idea who she is. The first time she messaged, I thought it was you testing me. I haven’t replied to her since.” Hearing Samson’s familiar words, I realized I’d been reborn. In my past life, I’d found texts on his phone from an unsaved number, messages that just said “Thinking of you,” sent day after day. It led to the biggest fight of our lives. I didn’t buy his excuse that he’d blocked her, but she just kept using new numbers, so he’d given up. It was the first real crisis of trust in our three-year marriage. That night, I’d packed a bag and stormed out, telling him I needed to go to a hotel to think. The next day, the video that destroyed my life went viral. Seeing me standing there now with my suitcase, silent, Samson finally sighed in defeat. “Where do you want to go? I’ll drive you.” His weary resignation sent a chill down my spine. He’d said the exact same thing in my last life when I’d threatened divorce and said I was leaving. Back then, I’d wanted to go to my parents’ house, but he’d talked me out of it, saying it would worry them. That’s why I’d made the last-minute decision to go to a hotel. How could such an impromptu choice have led to such a horrific outcome? I hesitated, then looked at Samson. “I’m going to my parents’ place,” I said. “Just tell them you’re away on a business trip for a while. They won’t suspect a thing.” Samson nodded, taking the suitcase from my hand. “Okay. To be honest, I wouldn’t feel right with you staying anywhere else.” I watched him closely, but his reaction seemed genuine. He drove me to my parents’ house without another word of protest. The more normal he acted, the more confused I became. After he left, I watched my mother in the kitchen, bustling about as she prepared my favorite meal. My eyes burned with tears. They had spent their entire lives as revered public school teachers, only to end them by choice, unable to bear the public scorn and self-blame after my scandal broke. As their only daughter, the shame I brought upon them… How much pain, how much despair must they have felt? My father found me staring into space. “Did you and Samson have a fight?” he asked gently. “You need to work on that temper of yours, Mia. You can’t keep bullying him. He’s a good man, he puts up with a lot from you.” In my parents’ eyes, Samson was the perfect son-in-law. Good to me, and good to them. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and forced a smile. “Not at all. He’s just away for work, so I thought I’d come home and spend some quality time with you two.” Last time, one night in a hotel destroyed my family. This time, I was staying right here. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 2 Even though I was home, I barely slept. The events of my past life replayed in my mind on a relentless loop. I got up at dawn, before my parents were awake, and went for a run to clear my head. When I got back, I had breakfast and went back to my room to try and get some sleep. I was shaken awake from a hazy doze by Samson’s furious voice. “Mia Wallace! So this is what you meant by ‘cooling off’? Eight men in one night? You’re fucking disgusting!” Hearing those exact words a second time, my eyes flew open. “Wh-what are you talking about?” The words came out in a tremor I couldn’t control. All of Samson’s usual gentleness was gone. He slapped me, hard, across the face. “You dare ask me what I’m talking about? See for yourself! The video is all over the internet. I can’t even show my face in public!” It was just like before. A single video, and he condemned me without giving me a chance to speak, nailing me to a cross of public shame. He threw my phone at me. I saw the same video as last time, and my body went rigid, my hands and feet turning to ice. The comments from strangers dragged me back into the nightmare. “Wonder whose daughter she is? Or whose wife? If she were mine, I’d strangle her.” “What a slut. And those guys aren’t picky. Even a toilet would puke her back out.” “That tongue looks pretty talented. I wouldn’t even let her lick my toilet clean, it’d get the porcelain dirty.” “I heard her parents are teachers. Can’t believe they raised a tramp like this. Who’d let them teach their kids now?” Someone had doxxed me. My home address, my personal information, even the schools where my parents worked. My phone began to blow up with a flood of harassing messages. “Hey, what’s your rate?” “You always seemed so stuck-up. Never knew you were such a freak in private. Wanna hook up?” “Wanna be my ‘lunch break buddy’? Stairwell, copy room… your choice.” “I’ve got ten bucks. And ten friends…” … A wave of nausea washed over me as I read the filth. How could this have happened? I was home all night. I never left. I wanted to get my parents to vouch for me, but they must have gone out grocery shopping. They weren’t home. No matter how much I explained, Samson wouldn’t believe me. With a trembling hand, I called 911 again. The police took us to the hotel to investigate. The result was identical to my past life. The security footage was crystal clear. It showed me checking in alone in the middle of the night. About an hour later, a series of men began arriving at my room. I was the one who opened the door for each of them. With every man, I was either a whirlwind of passion, throwing my arms around their necks, or I was posing seductively in the doorway. There was no sign of coercion. This continued until five in the morning, when the footage showed me checking out, looking exhausted. “The security footage and the video online show no signs of tampering or editing.” Hearing the officer’s words, Samson gripped the edge of a table, his knuckles turning white. He finally lost control, his eyes bloodshot as he roared at me. “Mia, it’s all right there on camera! What could you possibly have to say for yourself? How could you be so cheap? You didn’t just cheat on me, you buried me in a septic tank!” I bowed my head, fighting for control, forcing myself to calm down. I couldn’t panic. Panicking would only lead to more mistakes. Then I saw a small red bump on my hand from a mosquito bite, and I gasped. 3 “Look!” I cried out. “There are no marks on my body! If that was really me in the video, with that many men, it’s impossible for there to be nothing!” I rolled up my sleeves and pant legs, exposing as much of my skin as I could to prove my innocence. In my last life, after I checked into the hotel, my body had been covered in the tell-tale marks of a rough night—scratches, bruises, love bites. They had even found my DNA inside used condoms in the trash. Back then, even I couldn’t be sure of my own innocence; I’d thought maybe I’d been drugged or controlled somehow. This time, I hadn’t gone to the hotel. Even with the video evidence, my body was clean. It was the only proof I had. Samson saw my unmarked skin, and his brow furrowed for a moment. But everyone else just looked at me with smug, knowing smirks. I thought they didn’t believe me and was about to demand a female officer perform a full-body examination when a sneer came from the crowd. “Did the star of the show party too hard and forget? In the video, you specifically told the men not to leave any marks, or you’d sue them.” “Yeah, that was probably your plan to claim innocence all along, right? Too bad someone posted the whole thing online. Hilarious.” “Playing the victim after being the whore. Classic. We can clearly see the tattoo on her ankle and the mole on her arm in the video. They’re exactly the same as the ones she’s showing us now. Guess she didn’t take a good look at her own masterpiece, huh?” Their words were like a bomb going off in my head. I hadn’t looked closely at the video this time; I was just in shock that it existed at all. Why was it different from last time? In the previous life, the “me” in the video had been wild, covered in marks. I looked at Samson in confusion. He just turned his face away in disgust. Even if the video could be faked, the DNA couldn’t. No matter who was trying to frame me, I wasn’t at the hotel last night. There was no way my DNA would be in that trash can. But the officer’s next words plunged me into despair. “Ms. Wallace, our forensics team has already collected and tested the items left in the room. We have confirmed the presence of your DNA mixed with that of several different men.” He paused, his voice grim. “Furthermore, we’ve traced the original upload of the video. It was sent from your phone.” Samson’s breath hitched, and he let out a choked, furious laugh. Every eye in the room was on me. Greed, judgment, shock, ridicule… In that moment, I was right back in my first life, drowning in that same helpless despair. Before I could even process it, a hand shot out and slapped me so hard I fell to the floor. “You’re the bitch who seduced my husband and made this disgusting video? I’m going to kill you today!” The woman lunged at me again, but a police officer grabbed her. “What are you doing? You’re the police! She’s the one who committed this depraved act! You should be arresting her!” she shrieked. “And you,” she spat at me, “don’t get too comfortable. The other wives are on their way. You like playing with men in bed so much? Today, we’ll make sure you can’t get out of it.” 4 I tried desperately to explain. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!” “I was at my parents’ house all night! I never left! My parents can prove it!” But people only believe what they want to believe. My frantic denials just sounded like desperate lies. They even started calling my parents accomplices, accessories to my depravity. A crowd was gathering, drawn by the commotion and the online gossip. “I know her,” a woman chimed in. “I saw her coming home early this morning. She was walking funny, her legs were all shaky on the stairs. I thought to myself, ‘Wow, kids these days are really out of shape.’ Turns out she was just worn out from… other activities.” “Her parents are teachers, can you believe it? Like father, like daughter, I guess. A rotten apple doesn’t fall far from a rotten tree.” I looked up at the speaker. It was Mrs. Davison, one of my mother’s colleagues. They’d always been rivals for a promotion. Of course, she’d be here to kick me while I was down. “No, that’s not it! My legs were sore because I went for a run this morning! I…” “Bullshit, you little whore!” another woman shouted. “First you say you were sleeping at home, now you say you were out for a run. You can’t even keep your lies straight.” “Disgusting. To party that hard and then have the nerve to call the police. I bet she’s got diseases.” “You like showing off, huh? Well today, we’ll let you show everyone what a cheap piece of trash you are, for free.” A group of women surged forward, grabbing at my clothes, hitting and scratching me. The police barely managed to regain control. An officer looked at me, his face cold. “Whatever your motives were, you are now severely disturbing the public order. I suggest you apologize to these families and try to de-escalate the situation.” I finally understood. In the face of what they saw as absolute proof, any attempt to defend myself would only make me look guiltier. But I hadn’t done it. If I apologized now, I’d be sealing my own fate, throwing myself into the abyss. I smoothed my messy hair and spoke with a newfound resolve. “The person in that video is not me. I will not apologize.” “Officer, this has escalated from online harassment to physical assault. If you close this case by assuming I orchestrated all of this, the person who is actually trying to destroy my life will get away with it.” My voice grew stronger. “Have you considered the consequences for me if I apologize? It would be a confession. I would rather die than suffer such an unjust accusation.” The officer studied me for a few seconds, his expression hardening. “We have verified the video and security footage. They are authentic. The DNA results are from an accredited lab. They are not fake.” He leaned in. “If the person in that video isn’t you, then who is it?” That was the question I was asking myself. Who would orchestrate such an elaborate plot just to ruin me? I didn’t understand it in my last life, and I was just as lost now. Flashes of ideas went through my mind, but I couldn’t grasp anything concrete. Seeing my silence, the crowd erupted again. “The evidence is irrefutable and she’s still trying to lie!” “If she’ll do eight men today, she’ll do eighty tomorrow! A hundred! How many families will she destroy?” “Yeah, they should test her for every disease in the book! She’s probably trying to get revenge on society!” “Her poor husband. Marrying such a filthy, unstable woman. He’ll be the town joke for the rest of his life.” The police, unable to control the mob and faced with my refusal to confess, made a decision. An officer took my arm. “You’re coming with us.” This was how it happened before. I was taken away, detained for fifteen days for disturbing the public order and distributing indecent material. By the time I got out, my parents were already dead in their home, their bodies undiscovered for days. Before I could even arrange their funerals, I was found by the enraged families—who had since learned I was “diseased”—and beaten to death. Was I destined to repeat the same fate? I refused to accept it. If I couldn’t find the person who did this to me, what was the point of being reborn? As they led me towards the police car, I replayed the events of both lives in my head. Just as my foot was about to step into the vehicle, a spark ignited in the darkness of my mind. I spun around, my eyes scanning the crowd, and yelled. “I know who’s in the video!”

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