Category: English

One day he’s biting my collarbone, the next it’s my inner thigh. I finally broke down, sobbing into my pillow. “Why do you keep biting me? Do you seriously hate me that much?” I didn’t get an answer until I stumbled across a post on a popular campus confession board by my “ice-cold” roommate. 【My roommate is so cute. I really want to wait until he’s asleep, crawl into his bed, and then…】 01 “Ow, it hurts.” I lay face-down on my bed, muffled sobs escaping as I buried my face in my arms. There was a fresh, damp bite mark right on the sensitive skin of my upper thigh. It stung like crazy. “Why do you keep doing this?” I asked, my voice thick with tears. “What did I even do? Do you just despise me?” The culprit’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared down at the mark he’d left. He reached out, his hand surprisingly gentle as he ruffled my hair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you that much. Let me see the bruise.” He’d apologized a dozen times before, but it never stopped him from doing it again. Every time, his excuses were weirder than the last. The first time was over the summer. The dorm AC was broken, and I was doing laundry in just an oversized t-shirt after my shower. When he walked in and saw me, he pinned me against the bathroom door and bit me. The second time was because I mentioned a girl in our Psych 101 class was pretty. He tackled me onto my bed and bit me again. And today, Lucas’s reason was the strangest of all. It was because I told him I wanted to move out. I couldn’t figure out which part of that sentence offended him, but he’d bitten me harder than ever today. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t dare. According to the other guys in our hall, Lucas Vance was a “Legacy” kid. His family had basically funded the new campus library. He was exactly the kind of person someone like me—a scholarship kid living on a tight budget—should never provoke. I didn’t get it. If he was so rich, why was he slumming it in a dorm with me? Unlike him, I was working two part-time jobs just to survive. I figured if I moved further away, he’d finally run out of chances to treat me like a chew toy. I’d spent months saving up for a deposit on a studio apartment, and today I’d excitedly told him I was finally leaving. Instead of being happy to see me go, he looked furious. But here’s the thing: outside of the biting, he was actually… nice to me. During midterms, he’d take me to a private study room in the library and tutor me in my weakest subjects. When I had nightmares and was too scared to sleep, he’d let me squeeze into his bed so he could comfort me. He was cold and distant to everyone else, but he was always around me. He was the campus heartthrob—perfect hair, perfect GPA, a star athlete. People said just being his friend was enough to make you “socially relevant” for a year. I usually tolerated his weirdness because he was my friend, but today it just hurt too much. Lucas lifted my ankle, inspecting the bite mark on my thigh. He leaned down and blew softly on the skin. “It’ll stop stinging in a minute.” His hand was large, wrapping easily around my ankle. I couldn’t pull away. “Do you bite other people too?” I asked, wiping my eyes. Lucas smirked. “Only you.” “Why?” I sniffled. “Do you just hate me that much? Why only me?” He let out a low, melodic laugh and leaned closer. “You idiot. I definitely don’t hate you.” I didn’t believe him. I figured he was just lying to keep his “toy” around. “Fine,” I grumbled. “I forgive you this time. But don’t do it again.” He wiped a stray tear from my cheek and asked casually, “By the way, that apartment you mentioned… where exactly is it?” 02 That night, I got a text from my prospective landlord. It was a place I’d found through an upperclassman—close to campus, great price, perfect for me. I was supposed to move in next week. 【Hey, sorry, but the unit was just rented out to someone else who offered a much higher price upfront. I’m returning your deposit and adding a $2,000 “inconvenience fee” for the trouble.】 I was stunned. The room was only $800 a month. I’d only paid a small deposit. Now, the guy was just handing me two grand for free? Is there such a thing as a landlord this nice? For a broke student, this was a win. But I’d already told Lucas I was moving. If I stayed now, he’d think I was lying. I pulled up a local Reddit-style campus board to see if there were any other listings. That’s when I saw a trending post. 【I bit my roommate and made him cry. What should I do? The more he cries, the more excited I get. How do I make it up to him?】 The comments were wild. 【Easy. Make him cry in a different way…】 【”Roommate.” Sure, bro. (Laughter.jpg)】 【Stop talking and just kiss him. Shut him up so he can’t cry.】 (Liked by OP) The description of the “roommate” was starting to feel hauntingly familiar. My heart started pounding. I clicked on the user’s profile and saw a post from 5:00 PM today: 【My little roommate isn’t being good lately. He keeps trying to move out. How should I punish him?】 A pinned comment under the post read: 【If he tries to run again, make sure he doesn’t have the breath to run.】 My phone felt like it was burning my hand. I almost dropped it. Just then, Lucas spoke up from across the room. “What’s wrong, Liam? You look pale.” “Nothing… it’s nothing,” I stammered. I told myself to stay calm. I hadn’t proven it was him yet. But the location tag, the biting habit, and the timing of my apartment falling through—everything lined up. What did Lucas want with me? I started spiraling, imagining a thousand horror-movie scenarios. Lucas’s gaze stayed steady and warm. “Tell me if you feel sick, okay?” I nodded quickly. After he left the room, I kept scrolling. Someone had asked: 【What if he actually manages to find a place?】 The OP replied with a simple smiley face: 【I won’t let him.】 It wasn’t a coincidence. Lucas was the one who killed my lease. I couldn’t understand it. If he hated me so much that he wanted to “punish” me, why keep me around? But my gut told me one thing: I had to get away. I couldn’t stay in this room. I just had to be smarter next time. I wouldn’t tell him when I found a new place. I’d wait until winter break, move all my stuff out in secret, and by the time the next semester started, I’d be a ghost. I clenched my fists. It was a foolproof plan. 03 For the next week, I acted like a normal roommate during the day. At night, I checked the board religiously to see if the OP had posted again. I even made a burner account just to follow him. The next Wednesday at 11 PM, a notification popped up. 【Roommate is so cute. The lights are about to go out. I really want to wait until he’s asleep, crawl into his bed, and then…】 I was taking a sip of water when I read it. My hand shook, and the glass slipped. Ice water drenched my entire bed. Crap! I tried to dry it with a towel, but it was useless. The mattress and the sheets were soaked. It was November, and the dorms were getting chilly. I only had one set of bedding. The other guys in the hall came over to check on the noise. “What happened? Anyone got a spare blanket?” Everyone shook their heads. I was close to tears. The dorm doors were locked for the night; I couldn’t even go to a hotel. That’s when Lucas spoke up. “You can just crash in my bed tonight. It’s fine.” I froze. The other guys nodded. “Yeah, Liam, it’s your only option.” How did things end up like this? I tried one last time. I looked at our other roommates, Ryan and Dave. “Can’t I squeeze in with one of you?” Ryan scratched his head. “I would, man, but Dave and I both kick in our sleep. You’d wake up covered in bruises.” Dave laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, and I snore like a chainsaw. Lucas is a quiet sleeper, and his bed is way bigger. Just go with him.” There was no escape. “Is there a problem, Liam?” Lucas asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes were dark. “Are you avoiding me?” “No! No, Lucas, it’s not that,” I lied, my voice shaking. “I just don’t want to be a bother. I know you like your space.” Lucas smiled. “Don’t worry. You’re not a stranger.” I had no choice. When the lights went out, I climbed into Lucas’s bed. I had followed his posts to protect myself, but instead, I’d walked straight into the lion’s den. I lay there, stiff as a board. The bed was bigger than mine, but sharing it with him made the space feel tiny. I could feel the heat radiating off his body. He smelled like fresh soap and cedarwood. It was actually a really nice smell. And, I had to admit, his mattress was way more comfortable than my cheap one. The perks of being rich, I guess. But all I could think about was the post. Crawl into his bed, and then… I turned my back to him, holding my breath. Lucas didn’t move. He was a perfect sleeper, staying on his side of the bed. Slowly, I started to relax. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Lucas wasn’t a bad guy. Eventually, the sounds of Ryan and Dave snoring filled the room. I drifted into a haze, my eyes growing heavy. Then, I felt it. Something bit my ear. A warm mouth closed over my earlobe, and a tongue flicked against the skin. I was wide awake in an instant, a jolt of electricity shooting through my body. 04 I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep my breathing steady so he wouldn’t know I was awake. Lucas must have thought I was out cold. He grew bolder. He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around me from behind. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and kissed the skin. “Silly Liam,” he whispered, his voice so low I could barely hear it. “You have no idea. You’re even more vulnerable with your back to me.” I didn’t understand what he meant, but I found out a second later. I shivered, trying to stay still. Why was he doing this? Was he planning to “backstab” me? To leave marks where I couldn’t see them? It didn’t feel like a prank. It felt like… something else. I grew up watching those teen dramas where the rich kid bullies the scholarship kid just because they can. I’d always tried to stay under the radar. But I’d tried to leave, and Lucas had dragged me back. I felt a surge of tears. I was so scared, but I couldn’t make a sound. If I spoke, he’d know I was awake. How would I look him in the eye tomorrow? I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t understand him. Suddenly, Lucas kissed my cheek and whispered, “I like you so much, Liam.” I froze. He isn’t straight? His hand started to wander, and I couldn’t help it—my body jerked. The movement was too obvious. My mind went blank. I was a goner. I’d failed at the one thing I was supposed to do: act asleep. But then, a desperate idea hit me. I’d seen enough horror movies to know how people act during night terrors. I curled into a ball and started mumbling. “No… stop… help me…” I broke into a cold sweat, waiting for his reaction. Then, two warm hands covered my back. Lucas patted me gently, his voice soft and soothing. “It’s okay, Liam. Don’t be scared. I’m right here.” Even though he was the source of my panic, his voice actually made me feel safe. I felt a weird sense of security, like no matter what he did, he’d never actually let me get hurt. My heart rate slowed, and eventually, I actually fell into a deep sleep.

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Donovan Hayes had been caught cheating for the ninth time. I’d finally snapped, burying a kitchen knife in his chest. He spent three days and three nights fighting for his life in the ICU. The first thing he did when he woke up was ask for a divorce. The day I signed the papers, he didn’t dare look me in the eye. I didn’t offer a single word of protest. After the divorce was finalized, I methodically destroyed everything tied to Donovan. I didn’t even spare the long-forgotten, joint social media archive we’d created back in high school. Staring at the grainy, naïve photo of us, him with his arm slung around me, I slowly typed out a message: [Donovan, you will never deserve happiness.] My phone immediately vibrated with a reply: [Who is this? How dare you say that?] [I swear I will give Ella happiness.] The message stopped my breath. I stood there, stunned, and in the sudden silence of my apartment, I couldn’t help but remember. The seventeen-year-old Donovan, who had once stood in front of me, shielding me from the world, had sworn he would give me happiness. … 1. I stood rooted to the spot for a long time. That joint social media archive—the one seventeen-year-old Donovan had proudly made public—was now scrolling with familiar, yet alien, messages. [Who’s messing with D’s girl?] [Yeah, everyone knows D loves Scarlett to death.] Reading that line, I felt a sharp, hollow emptiness in my chest. The phone rang again, the poorly timed call cutting through the silence. It was my lawyer. “Scarlett,” her voice was clipped, professional. “They presented crucial evidence in court. They’re claiming Mr. Hayes is not solely responsible for the adultery.” “Instead…” “They’re claiming it was mutual.” I froze. The lawyer cleared her throat, her voice dropping to an uncomfortable whisper. “Mr. Hayes is arguing that you both cheated. And that your partner… was Rick Song, your former stepfather.” “He’s submitted records detailing the communication between you two over the years. And… records of your past sexual assault.” “He says you were guilty of marital infidelity, and that your relationship with him was never ‘pure’ even back then.” The world tilted. A sudden, high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Seventeen-year-old Donovan might have loved me to death. But thirty-two-year-old Donovan, because of one woman, was tearing me apart, hoping I would simply vanish. I wiped the tears from my cheeks, bit back a sob, and typed out my reply: [This man, the one you say loves Scarlett to death, will cheat on her, force her to abort her child, drag her into court, and swear to make her miserable for the rest of her life.] The contact immediately flashed with a friend-add request. [You’re lying. Who are you? I will only ever love Scarlett. I would never make her suffer!] I endured the ache in my throat, looked down at the court summons Donovan had sent, and took a short video. Whether this was a cruel prank or truly seventeen-year-old Donovan, I sent the clip anyway. [Seventeen-year-old Donovan. I am thirty-two-year-old Scarlett.] [The future you will fall madly, tragically in love with another woman.] [You will be caught cheating countless times, you will lose a child with her, and then you will force me to abort mine. When I finally stab you, you will take me to court and swear to put me in jail.] [So, if you truly want Scarlett to be happy…] […Please never love her.] The video lingered in the chat window. For a long time, no reply came. I switched off my phone and let out a long, shaky breath. My eyes fell on the court summons lying on the floor. I remembered the look in his eyes—pure contempt—as he’d held Ella, addressing me. Scarlett, even you, if you hurt Ella, I will make you pay the price. 2. This was the eighth year of Donovan’s betrayal. It was the third year of our court battle. Court summons were stacked around the house, every single one repeating the same message: “You must pay the price for hurting Ella.” But hadn’t he once held my hand and promised to protect me forever? My heart twisted in a sudden, sharp spasm. The familiar ringing in my head returned, and the old pain flooded my memory. On my seventeenth birthday, my stepfather first cornered me in the dark. I was trembling, gripping a knife, ready to trade my life for his. But that night, Donovan snatched the knife from my hand. His eyes were red-rimmed as he plunged it into the bastard. Blood stained his thin school uniform as the police led him away. Even then, he was desperately trying to reassure me: “Scarlett, don’t be scared. I’ll make that scum pay.” He went to prison for me for three years. The day he was released, he held me tight, his eyes still red. “Scarlett, if you don’t mind what I’ve done, will you marry me?” So, we had no diamond ring, no wedding. We just shared a bowl of bacon at a no-frills, old-school diner. He picked every piece of bacon out of his plate and put it in mine. We looked at each other, eyes wet. Twenty-one-year-old Donovan, just like his seventeen-year-old self, swore he would give me happiness. From then on, he buried himself in work. When he drank so much for a client he bled internally, he just squeezed my hand tighter. “Scarlett, I promise I will make you happy.” And he did make a lot of money. He gave me the wedding we missed and finally slipped the diamond ring we couldn’t afford onto my finger. I thought this man would be my forever. But he broke his promise. He fell for the perpetually smiling intern. From the first time he brought her home for dinner, to the ninth time I caught them in bed, Donovan always played it cool. “We’re just colleagues, don’t overthink it.” Don’t overthink it gradually became don’t interfere. He came home less and less. When I asked, he’d only say, “I’m too busy with work. Do you enjoy managing my life so much?” I kept lying to myself. The man who swore to give me happiness wouldn’t betray me. Until they used our own bed, right beneath our oversized wedding photo, for their latest tryst. All my self-deception shattered like glass, shards piercing my heart. I fought back the numbness and finally screamed my question: “Why? You swore you would make me happy!” Donovan didn’t answer. He just watched my hysterics, then said coldly, “I was never going to love anyone forever, Scarlett. Stop making a scene.” In that moment, I felt hollowed out. He seemed to have forgotten he was the one who had guaranteed my lifelong happiness. Later, he was caught cheating again and again. And when Ella accidentally miscarried, he cried until his eyes were raw. He looked at my growing belly, clutching my hand. Seventeen-year-old Donovan had dreamt of us having a baby. But twenty-seven-year-old Donovan, because his beloved Ella had lost her child, forced me to abort mine. “Ella lost our baby. You having yours will only make her sad.” The moment I lost my child, all the suppressed pain erupted. Finally, the ninth time I caught them, I took a knife to Donovan’s chest and then slowly slashed my own wrists. We were both rushed to the ICU. The first thing he did upon release was file for divorce. He was red-eyed when he signed the papers, afraid to look at me. But as he walked away, with Ella on his arm, he muttered something through gritted teeth. I was too numb to hear it clearly. It wasn’t until he demanded I leave with nothing and dragged me into court that his words echoed back to me. Scarlett, you must pay the price for the hurt Ella has suffered. The tears I’d been holding back spilled, splattering onto my phone screen. The screen lit up again. It was a flood of messages from seventeen-year-old Donovan: questions, anguish, and finally, a firm declaration: [I will prove it to you! I will give Scarlett happiness!] I smiled bitterly. Seventeen-year-old Donovan loved me far more than I had ever imagined. But thirty-two-year-old Donovan loved me far less than his younger self could ever conceive. 3. Looking at the blinking notification, I let out a long breath and switched off the phone. Over the next few days, our chat history became a record of his teenage romance. Knowing that we were destined to break up only made seventeen-year-old Donovan love me harder. He began documenting every small moment they shared. Today, it was the strawberry lollipop he’d smuggled into her pocket. Tomorrow, it was Scarlett concentrating on her math homework in the sunlight. And the perfectly recorded breakfast: a carton of strawberry milk and a hard-boiled egg he’d already peeled. The lens never lies when you’re in love. Just like now, Donovan was announcing his impending fatherhood with Ella to the entire world—hiring a publicist, getting custom announcements, and searching for the perfect name. In the photos, he held Ella’s stomach, looking blissfully happy. I believe in true love. But true love is momentary, and it changes. If seventeen-year-old Donovan met the present-day Ella, he would be equally smitten. She was younger, kinder, shared his career goals, and had all his interests. And I? I was left with only a broken, ugly promise. I spent the next few days working with my lawyer, collecting evidence. Meanwhile, the public outrage on social media exploded. [Seriously, how can someone fall for the person who assaulted them? That’s sick.] [I heard it was her stepfather. No wonder the husband divorced her. What kind of man could live with that?] When a reporter cornered Donovan for an interview, he gave a cold answer. Scarlett, this is what you owe Ella. Yet, the pop-up on my phone showed seventeen-year-old Donovan’s defiant commitment: [Scarlett, I swear I’ll give you happiness.] Seventeen-year-old Donovan would fight the world for me. Thirty-two-year-old Donovan gave me up for his world. That night, I lay silently in bed. The years of emotional destruction suddenly rushed back like a tidal wave. The next day, the media tracked down my home address. Facing the woman they labeled a “shameless whore” for my association with my stepfather, my house was besieged by reporters. “Slut,” “pervert,” and every other foul word imaginable rained down on me. My already ruined life just got a lot worse. Donovan gave another sweeping statement to the press: Scarlett, we are adults. We must take responsibility for our mistakes. Seventeen years ago, I went to prison for you once. Now, it’s time for you to take responsibility for your actions. But on my phone, seventeen-year-old Donovan messaged: [Scarlett, I told my girl that we’ll get married, and she didn’t believe me!] A sharp, painful jolt in my brain. Suddenly, a strange, disjointed memory filled my mind: a smug, seventeen-year-old Donovan telling me he had met my thirty-two-year-old self. I shot up in bed. I finally understood. The two timelines were connected. The past could alter the present. If I could stop seventeen-year-old Donovan from delivering that birthday gift, he might never have found out about my stepfather’s abuse. If he hadn’t found out… would Donovan and I have never gotten together in this timeline? My hands, gripping the phone, started to shake. I began to tentatively ask young Donovan to send me small, inconsequential things. Suddenly, a vase of dried-up preserved roses—objects I had meticulously destroyed—appeared in the dusty junk room. Lying in bed, I smiled, and then the tears started to flow. One week. I had one week before the court date. If I could just prevent seventeen-year-old Donovan from saving me, all this present misery could end. 4. So, for that last week, I frantically planned how to make Donovan miss my birthday. On my phone, he was happily sending pictures of the gifts he’d prepared: the preserved roses, a teddy bear, and Scarlett’s favorite strawberry lollipop. He grumbled: [Scarlett’s been acting weird lately. Does she think I forgot her birthday?] I didn’t tell him that seventeen-year-old Scarlett was suffering, soaking herself in a bathtub, letting her skin wrinkle and redden, unable to face the world. [She hates birthdays because her parents divorced on that day. Leave her alone.] He swore: [I will make sure she loves every birthday from now on.] I whispered a bitter, “Self-absorbed,” to myself. The day before my birthday, he messaged me drunk: [Thirty-two-year-old Scarlett, why did the seventeen-year-old you just try to break up with me?] I didn’t tell him that seventeen-year-old Scarlett had lost the will to live and felt she didn’t deserve a boy as good as Donovan. [You aren’t good enough for her. Stop bothering her.] He sobbed out a few replies: [You’re lying! We get married later!] [I swore I would make her happy!] My hand clenched around the phone, my body trembling with the effort to hold back my pain. He was more stubborn than I had anticipated. [Seventeen-year-old Donovan, if you want to be with Scarlett forever, go wait on the Brooklyn Bridge for a snowstorm on her birthday. She will accept your declaration, and you’ll be happily together forever.] I didn’t tell him it wasn’t going to snow that night. Messages popped up instantly: [Really?] [But you said we couldn’t be together?] Swallowing the sourness in my throat, my hands shook as I replied: [I didn’t lie. I was just testing you. You passed.] I closed the phone. The messages stopped. It turned out seventeen-year-old Donovan loved that silly girl much, much more than I thought. But there was no snow forecast for the Brooklyn Bridge. Just like there was no future for me and Donovan. I just wanted to give Donovan his life back. And to finally release myself. I felt a profound guilt for lying to the boy. That night, a sparse, chilling rain fell outside the window. I didn’t sleep. The next day, my lawyer accompanied me into the courtroom. Inside, Donovan was wearing his preferred white shirt, though it was now under a severe, dark charcoal suit. The memory of the teenage boy was entirely hidden. Three years hadn’t changed his face, but his hatred for me seemed to have been cemented. He saw me, his lips twitching rigidly, but his throat bobbed, and he didn’t say a word. My phone vibrated with a message from seventeen-year-old Donovan: [I’m at the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s not snowing yet. When are you coming?] [You promised me we would be very, very, very happy, right?] I looked at the brutal adultery evidence presented to the court, the tears pressed painfully behind my eyes, but I still managed to reply, my hands shaking. [Yes, you will be very happy.] [You will live in a beautiful house, own a cat, and have two adorable children.] But that person wouldn’t be me. I slowly closed my eyes, leaving the final words unsaid. I listened as Donovan, in painstaking detail, tore open all my old wounds for the court. “Scarlett, you must pay the price for hurting Ella.” “Now, everything has to end.” I stood paralyzed, the weight of all my past sorrows crashing down. Then, a flicker caught my eye. Outside the window, a few, fragile flakes of snow began to drift down. My phone immediately popped up with a new message: [Scarlett, tell me where you are!] [They said the police caught you. Don’t scare me, please!] In the courtroom, I felt dizzy. Blood seeped through my clothes, and I collapsed onto the floor, a pathetic, ruined heap. I saw the countless self-inflicted scars snaking up my arms, and in my peripheral vision, I saw Donovan staring tenderly at Ella. I knew it was over. Seventeen-year-old Donovan had ultimately failed to become Scarlett’s teenage hero. But looking down at my phone, the screen scrolling with frantic messages, the newest one, sent just a minute ago, read: [Thirty-two-year-old Scarlett, I finally found you.] [Why did you lie to me back then? Why did you make me miss Scarlett, so I could never see her again?] I looked up in terror, locking eyes with Donovan. His face was scarlet, hollowed out, as if his soul had been ripped away. “Scarlett,” he whispered, his eyes blazing, “Why did you lie to me back then?”

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My husband, Albert Thorne, was lauded as a philanthropic icon. He was constantly “mentoring” troubled young women through his foundation, often providing them with “transitional housing.” At first, I managed to swallow my jealousy and play the supportive wife. But gradually, he began bringing those girls home. They would occupy the guest wing, borrow my clothes—sometimes even my favorite pajamas—and one night, he woke me up at 2 AM, commanding me to go out and buy a forgotten item for the girl in the next room. In that moment, I knew the careful, fragile scaffolding of our marriage was rotten to the core. On our fifth wedding anniversary, I asked him for a divorce. His response was a cold, condescending chuckle. “You’re not a kid anymore, Penny,” he said, his voice dripping with superiority. “A thirty-year-old woman needs to be realistic. You won’t find better than me. You won’t find another Albert Thorne.” I wiped the tears from my eyes, slipped off the simple silver band that had once meant the world, and dropped it into the kitchen waste bin. “You’re right,” I replied, my voice steadying. “I may not be young anymore, but I’m old enough to know when to cut my losses and exit a dead-end street.” 1 After tearing up the divorce papers, Albert Thorne spent the entire night chain-smoking in the great room. He walked into our master suite early the next morning, attempting a placid air as he urged me to be reasonable. “Sherry is only staying here for a few days, Penny. If you’re divorcing me because of her, you need to understand that’s completely irrational.” Meeting his gaze—a look so devoid of warmth, so steeped in poisonous dismissal—my heart plummeted, chilling my entire body. My mind raced, circling back to the countless snapshots of different girls on his phone. Lately, though, he seemed to have settled on a single obsession. The buzz around his company was deafening: he was infatuated with his ninety-ninth mentee, Sherry Greene. He hadn’t just given her an office. He’d customized a lavish private lounge in the executive suite, ordering an eight-foot, custom-made luxury bed from overseas, all to cater to her “delicate needs.” Everyone below the C-suite was placing bets on how long this seemingly naive, wide-eyed girl could keep Albert away from home. They were already calling her the future Mrs. Thorne. Mid-discussion, Albert’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and the urgency in his posture was unmistakable. He grabbed his jacket and rushed toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back to me. “Penny, you need time to calm down. I’ve already contacted my private physician to set you up with a good therapist.” A single, silent tear traced a path down my cheek. I had lived with him in a scorching hot, rickety studio apartment built on the roof of a six-story building during his lean years—a summer so miserable it made me want to jump off the fire escape. I hadn’t been sick then. Yet now, after he’d built his empire and amassed a fortune, I was suddenly the hysterical, spiraling madwoman in everyone’s eyes. My phone vibrated twice on the nightstand, displaying a chain of incoming photos. A taunting message sat at the bottom. “Penny, do you think Albert was just being nice? He says I look like a princess in this dress.” In the frame, Sherry, draped in an extravagant white gown, was clinging to Albert’s neck, a look of smug triumph radiating from her face. My fingertips dug into the back of my phone, turning white. So, Albert had time for a wedding photo shoot despite his impossible schedule. He looked even more distinguished and handsome in a tuxedo than I had ever imagined. We had been married for five years and never taken a single wedding picture. In the beginning, it was truly about money. Albert had made me a promise. “Penny, the minute I land my first big paycheck, I’m going to make you the happiest bride in the world.” “You love diamonds, right? You said they represent forever. One day, I will commission a diamond-encrusted gown just for you.” “I’ll hold you to that,” I’d laughed, sweet and naive. As his business grew, so did his late nights and absences. That cherished photo shoot became a hollow phantom memory. I let out a harsh, self-deprecating laugh, and this time, the tears flowed unchecked. Albert Thorne, you broke more than a few promises. 2 I waited until three in the morning, and the front door opened, just as I’d known it would. Sherry was practically carrying a thoroughly inebriated Albert. “Darling, hold on, please. We have company.” I looked up, catching Albert wrapping Sherry in a deep, desperate kiss. Seeing my icy expression, Sherry immediately pulled back and offered a shaky apology. “Oh, Penny. I… I didn’t know you were here.” Her words were so ridiculous, I almost laughed. My voice was a block of ice. “I’m in my own home. Do I need to schedule an appointment with you?” That one sentence was enough to make her eyes well up. Albert instantly noticed her distress. He slowly and deliberately kissed her tears away, then turned to me, his anger immediate and protective. “Look what you’ve done. You scared the girl to tears. You really are something else, Penny.” I bit my lip, forcing back the burning in my own eyes. “Albert, please… can you stop bringing other women into our home?” He knew I had a debilitating need for cleanliness—especially in matters of the heart. I couldn’t tolerate a speck of dust, or any kind of stain. Yet, he constantly chose to wound me. Sherry, moments ago pliant and limp in his arms, now looked like a startled deer. She glanced at me with timid eyes. “Penny, I know you hate me. I’ll leave right now.” But she hadn’t taken a single step before Albert pulled her back, holding her tight. “No! I forbid you to go anywhere.” Meeting my gaze, Albert’s tone hardened with impatience. “It’s pouring outside. Where exactly are you trying to send her?” I clenched my fists, barely resisting the urge to walk over and slap them both. “I don’t care where she goes. But one thing is clear: I forbid her from stepping foot into the master bedroom. She will not contaminate my bed.” Feeling utterly shamed, Sherry wrenched herself free and ran out of the house. “Are you always this aggressively petty?” Albert shot me a vicious glare, then hurried out after her. The next day, filled with dread, I went to the hospital for my follow-up appointment. The doctor told me I was pregnant. My immediate reaction was: “This child cannot stay.” The doctor frowned, bewildered. “Ms. Davis, your husband has a low sperm count. You know better than anyone how difficult it was to conceive. Why the sudden change of heart?” Against the doctor’s pleading advice, I clutched the ultrasound photo and was drawn, as if by an invisible string, to Albert’s office. His executive assistant cautiously intercepted me, stammering that Mr. Thorne was meeting with a crucial client and couldn’t be disturbed. The façade of professionalism shattered the next second, broken by Sherry’s high-pitched, triumphant laugh from inside the office. “I know, it must be tiring standing guard for them for so long.” I gave the assistant a wry, self-deprecating smile, crumpled the sonogram into a ball, and pushed the door open. The sight that greeted me—a sordid, ugly spectacle—sent a sharp, agonizing shock through my heart. Seeing me, both of them instantly scrambled into a panic. Albert, however, quickly regained his composure, coolly adjusted his clothes, and instantly reverted to his usual impeccably dressed, innocent persona. “I’ve had a bad back lately from all the overtime. Sherry was just giving me a massage. It’s not what you think.” I didn’t want to hear his flimsy excuses. I threw the crumpled paper ball at him. “I’m pregnant. When are you going to end things with her? I refuse to bring a child into the world while you’re entangled with this little harlot. It will be severely damaging to their psychological health.” “What? You’re pregnant?” Albert excitedly unfolded the paper. He rushed over and embraced me, his voice booming with sudden happiness. “Penny, thank you! My parents have been waiting for a grandchild for years. You are a hero to the Thorne family!” I knew Albert desperately wanted children, which was why, despite his low fertility, I had endured the painful monthly fertility shots. Just as I started to believe he might finally settle down and return to our family, Sherry’s mocking voice rang out from behind me. “So what? Just a pregnancy? Big deal.” 3 She pulled her own sonogram from her purse, giving Albert a playful, knowing wink as she handed it to him. “I wanted to surprise you, but I guess my plans got ruined. So, I’ll announce it early! Darling, I’m younger than Penny. I have a much better chance of giving you a son. You’ll let me keep the baby, right?” Albert was so overcome with joy, he looked like he’d forgotten his own name. “Of course! You and Penny are the two women I love! Both of you pregnant at the same time—this is the greatest gift Heaven could give me!” He instinctively pushed me away, bent down, and scooped up the shoeless Sherry. “How many times do I have to tell you the floor is cold? You silly girl never remembers.” Sherry hooked her arm around his neck and stared directly at me, a flash of brazen triumph in her eyes. “Penny, my baby is almost three months along. If all goes well, I’ll give Albert a son before you do. Then your child won’t have to waste money on clothes—they can just wear my son’s hand-me-downs.” I froze, my limbs rigid and useless. I was turning to stone right there. Albert lovingly nudged her nose with his finger. “Sherry, you are always so sweet.” Lost in his delusion, Albert reached out to stroke Sherry’s belly, then turned back to me with a beaming smile. “Now, you two can go through your pregnancies together, sharing tips and experiences. Thanks to me, you won’t be lonely. You even have a pregnancy buddy!” He was clearly thrilled with his own masterpiece, dismissing all the doctors who had diagnosed his infertility with a sneer. He immediately pulled out his phone and posted on social media. “To all the naysayers who said I couldn’t do it—you just got slapped in the face! Next spring, I’ll be the father of two. What can I say? I’m just a humble guy.” Before I had even left the company parking lot, my phone was blowing up with congratulatory messages. The extended family group chat was in chaos. Some fawned over me, complimenting my capability: “The Thorne family’s eldest daughter-in-law, you are truly amazing! Twins in one go!” Others pestered me for tips, hoping to have two children at once. Ignoring everyone, I calmly typed out a message and sent it to the chat. “I think there’s a misunderstanding. Albert has fertility issues; I only have one child in my womb, and it cost me thousands in hormone shots just to keep it. However, the mistress he keeps outside, who is much younger, managed to conceive his child in three months and has guaranteed a son. If you have any questions about fertility, please direct them to her. She is clearly more experienced.” Albert’s parents, the senior Thornes, were honorable, old-school people who valued their family name above all else. They also knew I had been the steady anchor who had enabled Albert’s success. They flew in from their retirement home, immediately ordering Albert to cut off all contact with Sherry. Sherry was instantly terrified and burst into tears, clutching her stomach and crying out in pain. Mrs. Thorne, a woman who recognized a performance when she saw one, spat a furious denouncement. “You little tramp! Our family will never acknowledge a loose woman like you. Take your little bastard and get lost!” Unable to tolerate the insult, Sherry dropped to her knees and begged me for mercy. “Penny, I know you told them. But I don’t blame you. I was too foolish, thinking I could have Albert’s love like you do. I’m not worthy. I’ll go now.” Wiping her tears, she stood up dramatically and marched out. Albert, his eyes full of anguish, chased after her. He pulled her into his car and spent several minutes comforting her before returning, redirecting his entire reservoir of fury onto me. “Penny, go outside, get on your knees, and apologize to Sherry!” 4 I met his eyes, unyielding. “Albert Thorne, did you lose your brain in Sherry Greene’s uterus when you cheated? I am your wife. She is your mistress. Why should I apologize to her?” He laughed, a cold, desperate sound, his eyes burning with malice. He spat his final threat: “Fine. Then don’t blame me for making you a living widow for the rest of your life!” After that fight, Albert moved out, beginning his brazen, shameless cohabitation with Sherry. Every single day after that, Sherry relentlessly rubbed Albert’s favor in my face. A stream of photos flooded my phone—snapshots of them in front of their new lake house. “When I’m upset, he goes against his own parents for me. He bought me this villa to keep me safe from everyone.” “His entire photo library is just me, Penny. He has no room for any other woman.” “The nursery is all set. He says he only loves the baby I’m carrying. He said the other one is just a dog we’re raising.” My eyes burned, but no tears came. I had cried enough tears for Albert in the eight years we’d been together. From now on, I would never cry for him again. That afternoon, I called a cab to the clinic and firmly scheduled the termination. As my body rested on the cold steel of the operating table, a profound sadness washed over me. “Ms. Davis, are you absolutely ready?” the nurse asked, triple-checking, worried I might regret it. “Yes. Please hurry. Every second I remain in this suffocating marriage is a second too long.” As the anesthetic entered my veins, I felt incredibly heavy and tired, drifting into a long, vivid dream. I was seventeen again. Albert was waiting for me outside the dorm, sheepishly handing me a thermos of warm milk he’d been hiding in his jacket. Then it was the first snow after college graduation. All the roads were blocked. Albert and I walked hand-in-hand to the courthouse. He bought a bundle of roadside roses from an elderly couple and swore an oath on his heart that he would only ever share his life with me. Those times were difficult, but so sweet. Within a few years, he went from having nothing to building a commercial empire, finally fulfilling his promise of a financially secure life. And then, he cheated. A sharp, intense pain jolted me back to reality. I opened my eyes. It was over. I asked the nurse for the tiny, underdeveloped embryo. It had a chance at life, but Albert had destroyed it all. “My baby, Mommy loves you. But Mommy needs to learn how to love herself first.” As soon as I got home, Albert called. “Sherry said your pearl necklace was beautiful, so I let her borrow it. Turns out the quality was trash; she accidentally yanked it too hard and it broke. She feels terrible and wants to apologize.” “If you’re free, come over to the lake house. And while you’re at it, make a fruit cake and bring it with you. It’s Sherry’s birthday, and she loves your baking.” Shocked, I rushed to the dresser. The necklace was gone. It was my mother’s last possession. “Hello, Penny, are you listening to me?” Albert demanded, his voice impatient. A white-hot rage flared up in me, overriding my usual meekness. I screamed into the phone: “Albert Thorne, you selfish bastard! Do you have any conscience left? That was my mother’s legacy! My last memory of her! How dare you just hand it over to Sherry?” Even over the phone, I could feel his dark scowl, devoid of any hint of apology. “Penny, who are you raising your voice at? It was a worthless string of cheap beads! I’ll transfer some money to your account later. Buy a new one.” “Instead of throwing a tantrum, you should be in the kitchen baking the cake.” I stumbled and fell, catching sight of the signed divorce papers lying on the floor. “Fine,” I said, steadying my voice. “I’ll make the cake. But you have to agree to one thing.” 5 Albert was silent for a few seconds, then sighed wearily. “Just spit it out. How long do I have to spend dragging myself to your high school alma mater this time?” My heart sank. I wanted to correct his arrogant assumption, but Sherry’s sugary voice cut in first. “If Penny doesn’t want to do it, it’s fine. I don’t have to eat it.” Her feigned virtue was sickening. The next moment, Albert readily agreed to my request. “Fine, I’ll go with you. But this is the last time. Penny, honestly, you’re becoming so childish.” When I arrived, Sherry was already waiting outside, eager to show off her new mansion. “Oh, Penny, I’m so sorry you had to bring it yourself. It’s all Albert’s fault. He keeps saying yours tastes better than any caterer’s.” I gave her a flat stare and tossed the cake in her direction. “Then savor it. Because you won’t get another chance.” A smirk flashed in Sherry’s eyes. “Penny, you’re joking. All I have to do is say the word, and Albert will order you to bake me another one. He makes you look worse than a maid, honestly.” Albert heard the commotion and walked out, immediately rushing me along. “The cake’s here. You can go now.” I calmly pulled out the divorce papers. “Sign this, and I’ll disappear instantly. You won’t have to chase me away.” Albert’s mouth twisted into a cynical smirk. “So it was always about money and power, wasn’t it? I finally see your true colors, Penny. You’re a materialistic woman.” Assuming the documents contained a request for company stock, he signed his name without so much as a glance at the contents. The heavy weight on my chest finally lifted. As I turned to leave, I held out my hand to Sherry. “My pearl necklace. Hand it over.” A flicker of malicious cunning crossed her face. She leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. “You should have been quicker. I flushed that trash down the toilet ten minutes ago.” Shaking with cold fury, I raised my purse strap and swung it at her head. She screamed, outraged, spitting insults. “Bitch! Old hag! You actually hit me! Albert won’t forgive you for this!” I ignored her completely. She wasn’t worth my attention. But I wouldn’t let her get away with it. I raised my hand and delivered a sharp, echoing slap across her cheek. “That one is for being a home-wrecker and destroying a family the minute you walked out of college!” I slapped her again. “And that one is for theft—for destroying something irreplaceable. You deserve that!” “And this one—”

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My sister started dating a wealthy young heir, but their romance was brutally crushed by his older brother. That brother looked down on us, calling my sister a gold digger and a “pick-me girl.” I was so furious that I created a fake account to catfish him, intending to teach him the pain of unrequited love. After six months of online dating, this uptight, old-fashioned man was calling me “baby” and asking to meet up. I laughed coldly, blocked him, and disappeared. I thought we would never cross paths again. But as fate would have it, my sister ended up marrying the heir anyway. At the wedding reception, I heard a familiar voice and was too scared to lift my head. Then I saw my sister and her husband walk over and call that man “Uncle.” Uncle? I was so shocked I dropped my chopsticks. 1 I ducked under the table to pick up my chopsticks, using the tablecloth to hide my horrified expression. How could he be the uncle? That voice was unmistakably the man I had catfished for six months—Adrian Thorne. Six months ago, my sister brought her boyfriend, Leo Thorne, home to meet the family. But Leo’s older brother, Adrian, intervened and broke them up. This guy was obsessed with controlling his brother’s life. He claimed my sister wasn’t good enough for Leo, calling her a gold digger who was only after the Thorne family fortune. My sister came home crying her eyes out and broke up with Leo. I couldn’t stand seeing her like that. So, Adrian Thorne, the “bro-con,” dared to insult my sister? I decided to teach him a lesson. I created a fake persona—a girl selling artisanal tea online—and got Adrian’s contact info. I messaged him every day, playing the long game. Adrian was a tough nut to crack—a total prude at first. But eventually, he fell for my charms, calling me “baby” and sharing his deepest thoughts. Until recently, when he asked to meet in person. I gave him a sob story about being insecure and unworthy of him. Adrian insisted he didn’t care about looks or status; he just loved me. Ironically, when it came to his brother Leo, he demanded a match of equal status. But for himself? Love was all that mattered. The hypocrisy! He was clearly targeting my sister. Enraged, I insulted him, blocked him, and vanished. I thought the prank was over. Adrian got his heart broken, and we were even. Who knew that Leo and my sister would get back together and actually get married? I was at the wedding, sitting at the main table for the bride’s family. Next to us was the groom’s family table. Since I sat down, I hadn’t dared to look up or glance around. I even feigned a sore throat to avoid speaking. I had sent Adrian photos before, but they were heavily edited—smaller face, bigger eyes, taller nose. As long as I kept my mouth shut, looking at that face that even my sister wouldn’t recognize, he surely wouldn’t know it was me. Trembling, I waited as the wedding moved to the reception phase. The bride and groom were going table to table for toasts. “Wishing you a lifetime of happiness.” Hearing that familiar deep voice, I almost buried my face in my soup bowl. My sister and Leo both called him “Uncle”! No, no, something must be wrong. maybe I heard it wrong? Once they moved on, I glanced sideways. I only saw the man’s back. He was in a sharp suit, expensive watch, his back straight, radiating a dark, intense aura. After the toast, an elder at the table teased him. “Your nephew is married. When do you plan to settle down?” “Don’t bring it up,” a young man next to him whispered sympathetically. “Uncle Julian finally opened his heart, but it turned out to be a catfisher selling tea. She blocked him, and he’s still fuming…” “Ethan.” The man at the head of the table spoke, his voice laced with displeasure, warning him to stop. Wait… Julian? I turned my head, cold sweat dripping down my back. This man… wasn’t Adrian Thorne. Tonight was a family dinner for the Thornes. My sister had given me photos beforehand to memorize the key family members. My despair peaked. I catfished the wrong guy! 2 During our six-month “relationship,” “Adrian” (who was actually Julian) had sent me countless voice notes. Towards the end, he wanted to be on the phone constantly, even while sleeping. I would recognize that voice even as a ghost. Seeing the opportunity to break his heart, I told him I fell for someone else—a new boyfriend who was much better. I called him old. I said he probably smelled like mothballs. I called him ugly—that’s why I never video chatted. I said his muscles looked like he chugged protein powder. And! I told him he was… small. I felt great after the tirade, then blocked him and ran. My face went pale as I recalled this. I was doomed. Not only did my revenge fail, but I also dragged my sister into this mess. My sister told me the Thornes were old money. The patriarch had three sons, but the favorite was the youngest, Julian Thorne. He was the current CEO of Thorne Enterprises, holding immense power in the family. If he found out I was the one who humiliated him, my sister’s life in the Thorne family would be hell! I was pacing anxiously but couldn’t tell my sister. I did this behind her back. Plus, knowing wouldn’t help. She might give it away. Since our parents died, my sister and I relied on each other in foster care. We refused to be separated. She was so good to me. Now she was a university professor with a good marriage. I couldn’t ruin this for her. Julian Thorne absolutely could not find out it was me. At the dinner, I finally saw Julian’s face clearly. One word: Hot. Two words: Extremely Hot. I had toyed with such a gorgeous man and turned him into an enemy. I just hoped he wouldn’t recognize me. I played the mute, obedient girl. Julian’s cold gaze swept over me once, then moved on. He didn’t recognize me. I sighed in relief and sat down, keeping my head low. Since I was the bride’s only relative, Leo’s family was quite interested in me. “Have you found an internship yet?” Leo’s mom asked. “Do you want to come to Thorne Enterprises?” Thorne Enterprises? That was Julian’s company. No, no way! But Leo’s mom was staring at me warmly. I couldn’t signal my sister. I opened my mouth, almost forgetting my “mute” persona. “Sure,” my sister answered for me, smiling. “Thank you, Mom.” NO! This was walking right into the lion’s den! At the table, CEO Julian Thorne watched silently, tacitly approving. After dinner, I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I decided to avoid the Thornes as much as possible. Before leaving, my sister pulled me aside. “You were acting weird today. What’s wrong?” I waved my hand, texting her that I just felt sick. She was relieved and told me to rest. I managed to fool her. But the tricky part was the internship. Thorne Enterprises was an industry giant. An internship there was gold on a resume. If Julian wasn’t involved, I’d go in a heartbeat. But if he recognized me… After agonizing for days, I made up my mind. It was just a three-month internship. Thorne Enterprises was huge. How could a lowly intern run into the CEO? I just needed to survive three months, then disappear. 3 It’s easy when you know people inside. I got in quickly. I was nervous for the first few days. But as I predicted, an intern only dealt with their mentor. The highest-ranking person I saw was the department manager. Let alone the CEO, I didn’t even see the General Manager. I relaxed. However, working at a top firm wasn’t easy. The workload was insane. My proposals kept getting rejected. The department head was constantly yelling. The atmosphere was tense. In the cafeteria, my lunch buddy whispered gossip. “Do you know why it’s been so tough lately?” He was an intern from my batch. “Why?” I asked, curious. “Because…” He looked around and lowered his voice. “The CEO got dumped.” My spoon clattered onto my plate. “Really?” “Yeah. Online dating. He got scammed.” I drank my soup, hiding my face. “Where did you hear that?” “The CEO had his assistant investigate an account. Word spread. Everyone knows.” My buddy looked puzzled. “With his status, he could have anyone. Why online date? And get scammed? If the girl knew who he was, she’d regret it for life.” Yeah, I was regretting it! I blamed myself for not being careful. I meant to find Adrian, but got this titan instead. I asked cautiously, “Did the assistant say what the CEO plans to do if he finds her?” “Call the police, obviously. That tea girl must have swindled a lot of money. It’s enough for a prison sentence.” That was nonsense! I admitted my motives weren’t pure. I pretended to sell tea to annoy him. But my friend’s family actually sold tea. Julian insisted on buying it, paying ten times the price. Aside from that, I returned every cent he gave me when we “broke up.” I told him my new boyfriend was possessive and wouldn’t let me spend another man’s money. Although the Thornes were rich, I was terrified Adrian (who I thought it was) would sue me over the money. I just wanted to break his heart. Ideally, since I deleted the account, Julian shouldn’t be able to trace me. Just survive three months… “Stella, take this file to the CEO’s office.” I took the folder from my senior colleague, wanting to cry. Why was there always a hurdle! In the elevator to the top floor, I psyched myself up. Just dropping off a file. Easy. Keep playing mute. I arrived terrified, but the office was empty. Julian wasn’t there. His secretary asked which department I was from. Since he wasn’t there, I didn’t need to be mute. I answered, she logged it, and I was free. After a few times, I relaxed. Once again, I went to drop off a file. I greeted the secretaries and heard a familiar voice from the inner office. “Let her in.” Me: “…” Heart in my throat, I walked in like I was marching to my execution. I placed the file on the desk. Julian extended a hand—long fingers, well-defined knuckles—and took it. He started reading without a word. Seconds ticked by. I calmed down a bit and peeked up. I met his upturned phoenix eyes and quickly looked down. After a suffocating silence, Julian asked, “How is it going at the company?” I had just spoken to the secretaries outside. I couldn’t play mute! I squeezed my voice, whispering, “It’s good.” I glanced up and added, “Mr. Thorne.” “Good?” Julian chuckled coldly. “You’re here delivering files because everyone knows about our relationship. You call that ‘good’?” What relationship? Don’t spread rumors! I panicked and forgot to squeeze my voice. “What relationship do we have…” Before I finished, I realized he meant my connection to my sister and Leo. “Hehe.” I recovered. “I didn’t tell anyone…” I barely got in as a nepo baby; I wanted to keep it low profile. But apparently, they sent me to deliver files because they knew I was connected, hoping I’d shield them from his temper. Julian frowned slightly, studying me. “Call your manager up here.” I fled like I’d been pardoned. I don’t know what Julian told the manager, but no one sent me to deliver files again. Another crisis averted! 4 On my last shift before the holiday, I was thinking about dinner while waiting for the elevator. Ding. The doors opened. I looked up and saw Julian in a suit. What?? Why was he taking the employee elevator instead of his private one? Julian stared at me. “Not getting in?” I stepped in stiffly. The doors closed. We continued down. The tall man next to me made the cramped space feel tiny. A pleasant scent filled my nose—his cologne. Memories of the scandalous photos he sent me surfaced. First, hands and arms. Then, chest and abs. Then… I recalled his voice asking, “Do you like what you see?” My face burned. The oxygen in the elevator felt thin. Why was this elevator so slow? “Stella.” “Hmm?” I instinctively responded, turning to meet Julian’s probing gaze. He squinted. “You seem… afraid of me?” “I…” I tried to be calm. “You’re the boss, and an elder. I… respect you.” Beside me, Julian said coolly, “Then don’t look like you have a guilty conscience.” “We haven’t met before, have we?” My back felt hot, goosebumps rising. “No, never.” “Oh.” Julian responded indifferently, as if asking casually. Ding. The elevator stopped. A crowd poured in. Good news: I wasn’t alone with Julian anymore. Bad news: I was shoved into the corner, pressed against him. Why was the universe torturing me? I cursed the person who gave me the wrong number a thousand times. Finally, the ground floor. “Goodbye, Mr. Thorne.” The crowd dispersed. I tried to slip away. I took two steps and felt a sharp tug on my scalp. I turned around. My hair was tangled in Julian’s suit button! Kill me now! My face was stiff. Nothing could shock me anymore. I stood close, untangling my hair from his button. Luckily, it was just a snag, not a knot. I felt a gaze I couldn’t ignore. I looked up. Julian’s eyes were lowered, his cold gaze resting quietly on my collarbone. In the struggle, my collar had shifted, revealing some skin. There, sat a small red mole. It was visible in the photos I had sent him.

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The payroll file accidentally landed in the company group chat. Even though the finance team recalled it within seconds, I saw it. The intern’s salary on the spreadsheet was blinding. Ninety thousand dollars. Triple my own. I stared, slack-jawed, then slowly looked up at the young man across the desk from me, who was currently slacking off. After a moment’s thought, I quietly closed the project file I’d been checking for him. Then, with a strange sense of calm, I printed out my letter of resignation. Three years of my life, poured into this company, and I was worth less than a “walk-on intern,” Brody Hall, who had joined us three months ago. If he were a hard worker or a technical genius, I might have swallowed it. But Brody spent most of his time at his desk, glued to his screen, playing games. Like right now. Headphones on, tuned out from the world. I’d called him out on it a few times and flagged it to our Director. No change. I finally gave up. I figured, with an attitude like that, he must have some killer skills, right? Wrong. He couldn’t even write a simple API call without instruction. I had to walk him through reading system logs, step by painful step. It was honestly easier to do the work myself. I prided myself on being reliable, a bedrock for the engineering team. And yet, his paycheck was three times mine. I felt like an absolute fool. I joined NovaTech fresh out of college three years ago. I was fueled by that young, fierce belief that you fight for the dream, even if the conditions are tight. I led the charge on the company’s first few successful projects. I lost count of the all-nighters I pulled or the keyboards I wore out. Now, NovaTech was booming. We’d moved into a sleek new office tower and hired dozens of new employees. And me? I felt forgotten, stuck with a salary that hadn’t kept pace with my contributions or the company’s growth. It wasn’t just the money. It was the principle. The blatant, stinging unfairness. Clutching the printed resignation, I strode directly to the Director’s office and pushed the door open. Victor Kemp, our Technical Director, was smiling broadly at his screen, no doubt basking in the glory of some recent product launch. My heart sank a little, but my spine straightened. I knew what I had to do. Victor looked up, the smile dissolving. “Jas Clarke? What’s up?” I placed the resignation letter squarely on his desk. “Victor, I’m quitting. Per company policy, I will complete my full four-week handover.” Victor blinked, momentarily stunned. “Quitting? But things are great. What’s the issue? Are you having trouble? Did you… hear some office gossip?” My voice was so calm it surprised even me. “I saw the intern, Brody Hall’s, salary. It’s triple mine.” “That’s the only reason I’m leaving.” Victor’s face immediately hardened, then he adopted his patronizing look, the one that said, you don’t understand how the real world works. “Jas, salary is confidential. Whatever you saw, it has to be a misunderstanding.” I gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Then tell me, Victor. What is Brody’s salary?” Of course, he wouldn’t tell me. His tone became impatient. “Look, Jas, you’re one of our earliest hires and a core developer. I get that you’re upset. But the company follows standard pay practices. We’ve given you raises every year for the past three years—more than most of the veterans. As for Brody, he’s a high-achieving graduate. We can’t bring in top talent without offering a premium. You can’t let your personal feelings stall the company’s growth.” The sheer audacity of his speech made my blood run cold. “Victor, my contribution to NovaTech over the past three years is undeniable. Do you honestly think an eighty-thousand-dollar annual salary is appropriate for a Senior Systems Architect?” (I translated the original’s 10,000 RMB to $80k as an equivalent feeling of underpayment in a high-cost US city.) “Every time I’ve asked for a fair raise, you’ve fed me lines about the company’s ‘tight margins.’ I was a team player. And this is the result? Brody’s ‘high-achieving’ status hasn’t translated into any actual competence. If that’s your definition of talent, then let me go. I’ll make room.” With every sentence, Victor’s complexion darkened. By the end, he was practically yelling. “What is this? Are you threatening the company?” I scoffed. “Me? A disgruntled developer? I couldn’t threaten a start-up. I’m simply informing you of my career move. This is a notification of resignation, Victor, not an application for one. You don’t need to approve it. Besides, I’m saving the company a boatload of money. You should thank me.” With that, I turned and walked out, not looking back. As I opened the office door, Brenda, our financial administrator, was lurking outside. She saw me, her face pale, her eyes darting away. I walked past her without a word. Once she slipped into Victor’s office, I paused outside, curious, and leaned a fraction closer to the door. I heard Brenda’s emotional voice from inside. “Victor, is Jas really leaving? We don’t have anyone who can pick up her projects!” Victor’s impatient reply cut her off. “So what? The sky is going to fall because one female architect left? She’s been phoning it in for years, anyway. Her heart hasn’t been in it. Who cares if the code works? We need vision and disruption! Getting rid of the old guard is the best thing for the company’s bloodline. Tell HR to go out and hire a few more people like Brody. Money is not an issue!” Back at my desk, a tight knot of suppressed rage twisted in my stomach. I glanced up. Brody’s desk was empty. Gone fishing, as usual. My eyes fell to his computer screen. He hadn’t locked it. Not only that, he’d left his private messenger chat open. A message from a friend was pinned to the top. Chad: Bro, this gig is insane. Triple the salary to play XBox, and you got some corporate grandma cleaning up your messes? Seriously, her rent is probably half your paycheck, and she thinks she’s your boss? GTFO. A sudden, sharp clarity hit me. I finally understood why Brody had been so curious about my life when he first joined—asking about my neighborhood, my commute, even my favorite coffee shop. I thought he was just being friendly, a naive new hire. He was just gathering intel, feeding his friend ammunition to mock me! My hands clenched, my nails digging painful crescent moons into my palms. But the anger, pushed to its absolute limit, paradoxically left me feeling cold and focused. I sat back down, neatly compiled a comprehensive handover document, and then boxed up my few personal items. I was done. I would leave today. As I reached the main hallway, I saw Brody walking back from the designated smoking area, heading toward Victor’s office. He looked surprised to see me, a faint, fake smile on his face. “Hey, Jas, leaving early today?” I gave a curt nod. He didn’t move, blocking my way. “Hey, so, that system I asked you to check over? Is it solid? You know, I’m presenting it to Mr. Elias next week. It’s my first big project here, can’t mess it up.” I stopped, considering him for a moment. I asked him, my voice serious: “Brody, Victor gave you this project because he believes you have what it takes to own it. Do you believe that? If I hadn’t helped you, do you have the ability to complete this system yourself?” Brody’s face flushed with a mixture of shame and instant defensive anger. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I called you ‘Jas’ as a courtesy. Don’t start thinking you’re hot stuff. I finished this system myself! You just checked the code. Are you trying to steal my credit?” My teeth ground together. Good. The mask is off. He wasn’t even bothering to pretend anymore. “If you’re so terrified of me stealing your credit,” I shot back, a thin, cold smile curving my lips, “then why did you ask me to check it in the first place?” Brody immediately choked, sputtering a denial, unable to meet my eyes. I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and walked away. That night was the first genuinely restful sleep I’d had in months. When I woke up naturally the next morning, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I finally realized just how much the job had cost me. I didn’t rush to find a new job. Instead, I decided to take the time to center myself. I started cooking—trying new recipes, buying cute pottery and colorful linens for my apartment. I also resurrected a travel plan I’d put off for years: a solo hiking trip into the Blue Ridge Mountains. While I was collecting trail maps and gear recommendations, my former coworker, Sarah, messaged me. Sarah: Jas, you really left? Sarah was one of the few long-time employees. She’d been on an offsite meeting when I resigned. Jas: Yep. I’m out. Sarah: Was it that new intern that finally broke you? I felt a pang of curiosity. Jas: More or less. How did you guess? Sarah then spilled everything that had happened since I left. Apparently, not long after my departure, Brody presented his project to Mr. Elias, the CEO. Victor was right there beside him, giving a hyperbolic, non-stop pitch. Sarah: Victor was practically crowning Brody the next Elon Musk. You know Mr. Elias doesn’t understand the tech. He instantly greenlit the project—said we were going ‘all-in’ on resources and fast-tracking the launch! Reading the messages, I felt strangely detached. I was even a little amused. Because I knew… It wouldn’t be that simple. I’d seen Brody’s project. Honestly? It was a mess of bugs and poor design. It was miles away from being a production-ready system. I messaged Sarah back: Jas: When is the next review? Sarah: Next week, I think. Mr. Elias said he’s bringing in a major venture capitalist to watch the final demo. I smiled. Jas: Make sure you don’t book any vacation time next week. There’s going to be a show. Then I returned to plotting my mountain route. A week later, I was deep in the Appalachians. The crisp air and the vast landscape had already cleansed the shadows from my mind. I took out my phone to snap a photo for my private feed when I saw a flurry of messages from Sarah. Sarah: JAS! YOU’RE A GODDESS! Sarah: How did you know the project was going to fail?! Sarah: It crashed mid-demo, right in front of the VC! Mr. Elias was furious and just walked out! The investor heard you had resigned and literally pulled the plug on their entire investment. We’re talking millions lost! Sarah: And you will NOT believe this—Victor just SCREAMED at Brody in front of the whole department! And then Mr. Elias called Victor into his office and reamed him out! Those two idiots! It’s insane! I laughed out loud, a full, unrestrained sound of pure vindication. I quickly typed back: Jas: Please tell me you recorded it. Sarah: You know I did! The video Sarah sent showed Brody, head bowed, standing like a shamed child as Victor pointed a finger inches from his face, bellowing. Watching their misery, I felt an exhilarating rush. The next second, a call came in from an unfamiliar number. I answered without thinking. It was Brody, his voice tight with panic and on the verge of tears.

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My New Year’s Day blind date opened with a demand: two kids in three years. My response? “Are you in a rush to die?” That was enough to make him storm out. But when I went to pay, the waitress informed me that my date hadn’t just skipped out on the bill—he’d added a table’s worth of limited-edition specials before he left. “The total comes to $3,800, miss. How will you be paying?” I tried calling Mark, but his phone went straight to voicemail. He was ghosting me. Left with no other choice, I gritted my teeth, paid the bill, and sent a text message wishing his entire family a very special kind of hell. I had just gotten home that evening when the police showed up at my door. “Mark is dead. And you were the last person to see him alive.” 1 The words hit me like a physical blow, and for a second, my mind went completely blank. My first thought was a chilling one: Did my curse actually work? “Dead? How did he die?” “Based on our preliminary investigation, Mark hanged himself in his home. A neighbor found him and called it in. The medical examiner places the time of death about an hour after you two parted ways.” I met Detective Miles’s gaze, a cold dread creeping up my spine. “So you think I killed him? Officer, you’ve got the wrong person! I’m innocent!” I pleaded. “I admit, things got a little heated at dinner, but we’re adults. I wouldn’t kill him just because I was angry. Besides, there are cameras all along my route home. I didn’t have the time to kill him.” “Are you sure it was just ‘a little heated’?” I nodded without hesitation and recounted our conversation. Detective Miles cut me off. “But according to our information, that meal cost you over three thousand dollars, and you paid for it all yourself. Witnesses at the restaurant said you were yelling at him quite fiercely.” “Damn right I was yelling!” I shot back. “He deliberately ordered a ton of expensive food before he left, sticking me with the bill. What, I’m not allowed to be angry about that?” Sensing my agitation, he tried to calm me down before sliding a bank statement across the table. “Half an hour ago, Mark’s entire bank account was emptied. The funds were transferred into your account. This would have been approximately ten minutes after he died.” He leaned forward. “We checked the street cameras. There’s a fifteen-minute gap where you were in a CCTV blind spot just before you entered your building.” I froze. “So what are you suggesting? That in those fifteen minutes, I went to his house, overpowered a grown man, staged a suicide, and then just casually walked home like nothing happened?” The timeline was absurd. No normal person could move that fast. Detective Miles seemed to realize this, too, and shifted gears, asking me how Mark and I met. Being treated like a murder suspect was starting to wear on me. “It was a blind date,” I said, my voice tight with frustration. “You know how it is, Detective. Once you pass thirty, the dating pool shrinks. I wasn’t looking for a whirlwind romance, just someone reliable to build a life with.” “So I asked my best friend, who runs a matchmaking agency, to keep an eye out for any high-quality candidates.” “She introduced me to Mark six months ago. He was a manager at a big tech firm, made over $40,000 a month, owned his house, his car… On paper, he was perfect. We’ve been seeing each other for the last six months.” I let out a long, weary sigh. “But today, I was planning to officially break up with him. He must have thought I was going to propose, because he launched into this whole list of demands.” Detective Miles tapped his pen on the table. “You said Mark met all your criteria. So why were you breaking up with him? Or was this about his money from the very beginning?” I hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing my face. He saw it and pounced. “You’re the prime suspect in his death. The only way we can find the real killer is if you tell us everything.” I sighed. “His resume was perfect, but he was… rigid. Like I told you, he wanted me to quit my job after we got married, have two kids in three years, and be a perfect little housewife. We weren’t even officially a couple, and he was already trying to check my phone and control who I saw.” “I tried to end it three months ago. He begged me, promised he would change. He didn’t.” I chose my next words carefully. “And in terms of intimacy, there was an urgency to him that was unsettling. I even suspected he had a violent streak. Once you see red flags like that before you’re even married, why wouldn’t you leave?” The detective seized on my last point. “You suspected he had a violent streak?” I nodded. “I was almost certain of it. He was just good at hiding it.” He continued to grill me with questions. Thankfully, I was able to find a shop owner on the street who remembered seeing me during that fifteen-minute CCTV blind spot, confirming my alibi. With a perfect alibi, the suspicion on me temporarily lifted. As I was leaving the station, I met his appraising stare. “From the look on your face, you seem disappointed that I’m innocent.” Detective Miles just stared back at me, his voice flat. “I trust my gut.” I let out a dismissive laugh. “Your gut? Then maybe you should break that bad habit, Detective. Cases are solved with evidence, not feelings.” 2 A heavy rain had begun to fall. I pulled the umbrella I’d packed out of my bag. For once, the weather forecast got it right. On the way home, I couldn’t stop thinking about why Mark would die. A flicker of guilt sparked within me. Could my rejection have hit him so hard that he decided to kill himself? But he never seemed that emotionally fragile. I got home, my mind a storm of questions, and went through the motions of getting ready for bed. As I reached for my towel, the small embroidered whale on it sent a jolt through my brain, like a bolt of lightning. I suddenly remembered something from a month ago. I’d seen a series of strange scars on Mark’s arm. At the time, he’d brushed it off, saying he’d just scraped it. I didn’t think much of it. But now, recalling the image, I realized those marks weren’t from a scrape. They looked like they were carved with a knife. And the shape… it was a spouting whale. A gut feeling told me this could be the real reason for his suicide. I threw my clothes back on and rushed back to the police station. This time, a female officer took my statement. I carefully explained my new theory. After she finished her notes, she took a call, then offered me an apologetic smile. “Ms. Jensen, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit longer. Detective Miles and his team have found a major breakthrough.” Her words made my heart hammer against my ribs. A sense of foreboding washed over me. Half an hour later, Detective Miles returned with several other officers, their coats soaked from the downpour. His eyes immediately locked onto mine. I met his gaze calmly and spoke first. “What did you find, Detective?” Before he could answer, a younger officer next to him gave me a reassuring smile. “We found something that might explain why Mark committed suicide. My colleague said you suspected he might have been involved in one of those ‘Blue Whale’ online groups, the ones that manipulate people into self-harm?” I nodded. He held up a phone. “The M.E.’s report just came in. There are healed scars on Mark’s forearm, consistent with long-term self-injury. We also found this burner phone. Based on the chat logs in this group, it looks like he was being manipulated by this Blue Whale organization, step by step, towards suicide.” “But why?” I asked, confused. “Why would they do that?” The young officer’s voice was filled with disgust. “They’re lunatics. They have this twisted belief that life is suffering and only death can wash away your sins. It’s an illegal cult. They used to target teenagers a few years back, but after a major crackdown, they disappeared. I can’t believe they’re back.” I stared at him, letting it sink in. “So… you’re saying Mark was brainwashed by this group into killing himself?” “Absolutely,” the officer said with conviction. “These people are masters of manipulation.” Hearing that, a wave of relief washed over me. “I hope you catch them all,” I said earnestly. “What they’re doing is monstrous.” But just then, Detective Miles spoke, his voice cutting through the room. “Ms. Jensen, I still think there’s more to Mark’s death.” I turned to him, puzzled. “But you’ve ruled it a suicide, haven’t you?” He looked me straight in the eye. “The Blue Whale challenge has always targeted minors. Mark is the first adult victim we’ve ever seen. Don’t you find that a little strange?” My expression remained perfectly calm. I offered a small smile. “A strong sense of suspicion is a good quality in a detective, I suppose. But like I said before… you need evidence.” With that, I opened my umbrella and stepped out into the storm. The cold rain lashed against my face, the drops stinging my skin. I looked out at the torrential downpour and lowered my eyes. A storm like this could wash away so many things that were never meant to remain. And so could time.

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At a party, we played Truth or Dare. I lost. I chose Dare. “Call your ex.” My boyfriend, Carter, had a cigarette dangling from his lips and chuckled, “She doesn’t have an ex. I’m her first love…” “I do.” Carter froze, his smile vanishing. In front of everyone, I dialed that number I knew by heart. Half an hour later. The aloof and legendary Liam Sterling pushed open the door to the private room and beckoned to me. “Wendy, come here.” Chapter 1 Carter took me to a gathering with his friends. After dinner, everyone suggested playing Truth or Dare. Carter lost the first round. He chose Dare. A guy sitting by the door got excited. “Let’s play big. Young Master Carter, call your ex. Dare or not?” The atmosphere instantly ignited. Amidst everyone’s jeering, Carter rubbed my hand. He had a pair of peach blossom eyes that looked affectionate even when looking at a dog. He asked me, “Babe, can I call?” I knew he had an ex-girlfriend. After all, Carter was the campus hunk of A University; his dating history was always under scrutiny. “Sister-in-law, gotta have some game spirit~” Under everyone’s expectant gaze, I smiled and nodded. “It’s fine, go ahead.” “Sister-in-law is generous!” Carter smiled, pinched my cheek, and took out his phone. The call was picked up after three rings. “Bella, I’m drunk. Come pick me up.” Carter gave the address and hung up without waiting for a response. He tossed his phone onto the table casually and went back to playing with my hand. My hands were soft and pale. Carter loved to knead my palms whenever he had nothing to do, playing with them tirelessly. His friend mocked him, “Young Master Carter, you that confident your ex will show up?” He scoffed, his tone full of confidence. “With my understanding of her, she’ll be here in ten minutes.” Then he glanced at me sideways, afraid I might be unhappy, and added, “Babe, don’t be mad. It’s just a game.” Eight minutes. His ex-girlfriend arrived. Red wavy hair. Hot body. A completely different type of woman from me. She opened the door and immediately spotted the conspicuous Carter. Her eyes lit up. When her gaze swept over me beside him, she paused abruptly. There was a hint of coquettish blame in her eyes as she looked at Carter. “Carter, you playing me?” The guy to Carter’s right quickly gave up his seat. “Sister Bella, sit here.” Bella seemed to know everyone present and sat down without hesitation. Carter freed a hand to place a glass of alcohol in front of her. “Knew you love this. Here, saved it for you.” Bella didn’t say much. She downed the glass in one go. “Sister Bella is mighty!” The crowd cheered continuously. Bella poured herself another full glass, turned to look at Carter with a beaming smile. “Carter, shall we go?” Carter’s hand had let go of mine at some point. He clinked glasses with Bella, playing drinking games and rolling dice. It made me, the “good girl,” look out of place. I was severely allergic to alcohol; my juice glass was already empty. Carter was having too much fun. He started putting his arm around shoulders. But not my shoulders. Seemingly blinded by alcohol, he naturally draped his arm around his ex-girlfriend’s shoulder. She didn’t seem to mind, letting him do it. The people around didn’t seem to think anything was wrong either. Until the drinks went round again, and we entered the next round of Truth or Dare. Unfortunately, I lost. Everyone let loose in this round. They jeered at me: “Old rules, call your ex.” Carter was already sitting back beside me, his face flushed with alcohol. Hearing this, he chuckled, “She doesn’t have an ex. I’m her first love.” “Babe, I’m your first man, right?” Although he was asking me, his face held absolute confidence in himself. Because I had always maintained a good girl image in front of everyone. So everyone believed Carter’s words without a doubt. “Then Sister-in-law has to drink these three glasses!” “Sister-in-law is so innocent, Young Master Carter, you’re lucky.” “Drink up! Drink up!” Carter’s eyes crinkled in a smile; he was in a good mood. “I’ll drink this for her…” He started to stand up to take the glass. I suddenly reached out to stop him. Amidst the noise of the crowd, I spoke slowly, “I do.” Carter froze, suspecting he heard wrong. “What did you say, Babe?” The room went silent instantly. I blinked, my tone serious. “Carter, don’t drink yet. I haven’t lost for sure.” Carter’s smile vanished for some reason. Bella burst out laughing. She patted Carter’s shoulder. “Carter, it’s just a game. Have some spirit.” “Besides, I’m quite curious what your little girlfriend’s ex looks like.” Under everyone’s playful and curious gazes. I took out my phone, pulled a number out of the blacklist, and dialed it. The phone rang for quite a while before being picked up. I spoke first: “I drank alcohol. Can you come pick me up? I’m at…” I gave the address. Before he could speak, I hung up first. Carter stared at my dark phone screen and laughed. He patted my head, his face returning to his unruly smile. “Babe, no need to find a random person to bluff. Not having an ex isn’t embarrassing.” “I’ll drink this for you.” Carter looked pleased, picked up the three glasses on the table, and downed them all. Chapter 2 No one took this interlude seriously. Next round, Bella was eager to try. “Bella, I advise you not to play. You’re a black hole for games,” Carter said familiarly. Bella refused to accept it and glared at him. “Watch me win!” Sure enough. Bella lost. “Sister Bella, Truth or Dare?” Bella glanced at Carter and shrugged. “My ex is already here. I choose Truth.” Carter’s friend’s playful gaze circled the three of us. “Then I’ll just ask something random. Sister Bella, do you still like your ex?” This question was anything but random. Bella didn’t speak for several seconds. “I forfeit.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. She poured three full glasses and started drinking. The hand playing with my hair suddenly stopped. From the moment Bella fell silent, Carter’s gaze had been fixed on her. Watching her drink glass after glass. His eyes were dark; no one knew what he was thinking. I pulled my hair out of his hand and handed him my empty cup. “Carter, pour me some water.” Carter snapped back to reality. He grabbed a cold beer nearby and filled my cup. I looked at the cup quickly forming condensation droplets and didn’t make a sound. Carter’s friend tried to break the awkward atmosphere. “Come on, come on, next round…” Just then. The door to the private room was pushed open. Liam Sterling, dressed in business attire, appeared at the door. His cool gaze landed on the beer still emitting cold air in front of me. Liam’s face was stern. Under the surprised or confused gazes of everyone present, he looked at me calmly and beckoned. “Wendy, come here.” Chapter 3 Liam’s arrival shocked everyone. Basically, everyone at A University had heard of his fame. Liam was a legend at A University. Superior background, top-tier IQ and EQ. He founded his own tech company right after graduation. In just two years, the company’s market value broke 100 million. His net worth rose with the tide, becoming a new tech tycoon in the business world. You could say. He was the idol of the junior boys. The ideal partner for the junior girls. Even though he had graduated two years ago, the legends about him in school never faded. Every freshman would be educated by seniors about his legend. There was a topic on the school forum: “Who do you want to date most in school?” Liam’s name still topped the list. Even Carter, known as the campus hunk for his looks, could only settle for second place. But Liam was rarely on campus during his studies, so no one could verify the truth about his love life. Now that he suddenly appeared at the door, no one recovered. Except Carter. Connecting it to the call I just made, he suddenly wrapped his arm around my shoulder possessively. Looking at Liam, he asked coldly, “Who did you say you’re looking for?” Liam’s gaze lingered on my shoulder for a second before returning to my face. “Wendy, come here.” Although there were no actual weapons, the air was filled with tension. I wanted to go back, so I picked up my bag to stand up. But I couldn’t move. Carter wouldn’t let me up. I turned to look at him. “Carter, I want to go back.” Carter’s handsome face radiated a chill. He gritted his teeth and asked me word by word, “Babe, you really have an ex?” I found his anger quite baffling. He has an ex, I have an ex. Isn’t this normal? Who made the rule that he has to be my first love? “Carter, you’re a sore loser.” I swear. My voice was very soft and gentle, just stating a fact plainly. But Carter suddenly acted like a cat stepped on his tail. He pushed me away, looking exasperated. “Yes, I’m a sore loser. Then go! If you leave, don’t come back.” Knowing Carter for six months, dating for three. This was the first time I found Carter so emotionally unstable. His extreme reaction puzzled me. I took a step back and waved at him. “Then I’m leaving. Bye.” Just as I was leaving the room. A crisp sound of a shattering glass came from behind, along with Bella’s scream, “Carter, your hand!” I wanted to look back, but was blocked by Liam’s tall figure. He turned my head forward, his tone flat. “Watch where you’re going.” I followed Liam to his car. Liam opened the back door directly, gesturing for me. “Get in. I’ll drive you back.” I shook my head, taking a step back to maintain a proper distance. “No need, I can take a taxi myself.” “Sorry about just now. I lost a game.” “I couldn’t find anyone to call in a hurry, so…” To avoid misunderstanding, I explained simply. Actually, I lied to Carter. I didn’t have an ex. Liam… I glanced at him. At most, he was a stranger I had a crushed on without fruition. Liam listened, his face still cold. “Get in.” I hesitated. Liam didn’t leave either, quietly waiting for me. His personality had always been decisive. If I didn’t get in, he would stand there waiting forever. So I got in. But as soon as I got in, I realized there was someone in the passenger seat. A young, beautiful girl. Thinking of a certain possibility. My heart constricted, and I suddenly wanted to open the door and get out. But I heard the sound of the locks clicking. Liam was already in the driver’s seat and had locked the back doors. The car slowly merged onto the main road. The woman in the passenger seat suddenly turned and waved at me: “Are you President Sterling’s sister?” Sister? I looked up at the rearview mirror. Meeting Liam’s cool gaze. Sensing he was about to speak, I beat him to it. “Yes, I am.” Liam froze, looking deeply at me through the mirror. “Girls should be careful going out alone at night,” the woman said friendly. I lowered my eyes and nodded subconsciously. Soon, we arrived at the woman’s home. She waved goodbye to Liam and me. “President Sterling, see you tomorrow. Sister, bye-bye.” I forced a stiff smile and responded politely. Only Liam and I were left in the car. The car merged onto the main road again. Silence filled the air tonight. “Are you dating him?” Liam suddenly blurted out an inexplicable sentence. I paused, taking a moment to realize he meant Carter. Speaking of Carter. I suddenly remembered he seemed injured before I left. I wondered if it was serious. Hearing no response for a long time, Liam asked again, “When did you start dating?” “Three months ago,” I whispered, looking out the window. Liam fell into a long silence. I didn’t want to talk much either. So we were silent the whole way. Until we reached the gate of A University. I thanked him and got out. “Wendy.” Liam suddenly called me. I stopped and looked back. Liam’s hands were on the steering wheel, his handsome face hidden in the dim car. He asked me: “Are you serious about him?” “His emotions seem a bit unstable.” His eyes were calm, but held a probing meaning. I suddenly found it funny. I didn’t understand what standing he had to ask me this question. “Yes. Whether before or now, I am very serious.” “He chased me hard for three months. I agreed.” “Unlike someone, whose heart is harder than iron.” Silence. Slam— I closed the car door hard. Chapter 4 Liam moved next door to me when I was in ninth grade. We were neighbors facing each other. He was the boy next door. Very good-looking. Tall and handsome. High IQ. And he didn’t mind that I was dumb. When I came home with failing grades again. My mom sighed, then dragged me by the collar to the Sterling house. She placed me in front of Liam. “Liam, I’m troubling you with this girl of ours.” By then, Liam had already been admitted early to A University. And I was facing the stressful high school entrance exams. Liam’s gaze lightly swept over the test paper in my hand. The bright red “25” fell into his eyes. He frowned. Seeming unable to comprehend how someone could fail such simple math problems. I stared unblinkingly at his handsome face. Forgetting to breathe for a moment. My pale cheeks suddenly turned red. Like a ripe apple. Ninth grade was stressful. The Sterlings had moved here for a while, but this was my first formal meeting with Liam. Before, I always heard my mom talk about how excellent the neighbor’s son was, how good a person he was. Seeing is believing. “Brother Liam, you are really good-looking.” My mouth ran ahead. My brain chased behind. Before I could react, my inner thoughts blurted out. The girl’s directness came suddenly. Liam paused abruptly. His pale pink lips curved into a small arc. I stared blankly, foolishly. For the next two months. He transformed into the cold and ruthless Teacher Liam. Forcing my grades from “bottom tier” to “excellent tier.” My mom was thrilled. Whenever Liam came home for holidays. She dragged me to visit. Sometimes with cookies I baked. Sometimes with cake I made. Sometimes with nothing but a book of wrong answers. Liam was used to it. Seeing the notebook in my hand, he took it and started flipping through. “You can’t do any of these?” Long time no see, my heart jumped for joy. My gaze couldn’t bear to leave him. But on the surface, I nodded seriously. “Yes, Brother Liam, can you teach me?” Liam nodded. Started going through them one by one for me. The incandescent light shone on his clean face, his thin lips opening and closing. I secretly observed him. Half listening, half in a trance. When he finished correcting the errors, he asked me, “Did you understand everything?” My ears turning red, I nodded like a chicken pecking rice. … Just like that, spring went and winter came. I chased his footsteps and got into A University where he was. I always called him Brother this, Brother that. I looked forward to sharing even the tiniest things with him. Sometimes Liam was busy. He would reply briefly late at night. The next day, seeing his reply when I woke up, my mood would be beautiful all day. A girl’s secret crush quietly sprouted and grew into a small tree. One day. I couldn’t hold it back. I confessed to him. Liam’s expression was unexpectedly calm, as if he had predicted it. His eyes looking at me were only slightly warmer than looking at a stray cat on the street. He said: “Wendy, do you know what ‘like’ is at your age?” “Your feelings for me might just be habit. A child’s crush doesn’t count.” “And I believe falling in love isn’t worth my precious time and energy right now.” A few sentences pushed me into the abyss. A crush that ended without starting. Declared over.

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Since I was little, my mom always taught me: “Date the hot guys, marry the reliable ones.” So at 24, I started dating Carter Brooks. Carter, a veteran player. His motto: “Among all of them, I love you the most.” And me? A master of manipulation and acting innocent. My motto: “I can’t sleep because I can’t sleep with you.” Everyone around us thought we were a perfect match. But a month ago, my mom was diagnosed with early-stage lung cancer. In the hospital, I saw so much loneliness and death, and suddenly, I really wanted to settle down. I was ready to break up with Carter. Chapter 1 Carter hated answering calls, but finding him wasn’t hard. He had a reserved booth at “The Pulse,” the hottest club in the city. 365 days a year, he was there for 360 of them. He was tall and handsome; in a crowd, I could spot him at a glance. Right now, he had just lost a game and was drinking a shot with a young girl next to him, arms interlinked. Seeing me, the girl said innocently, “Sis, we’re just playing a game, you don’t mind, right?” “Of course not. You’re so cute, why don’t you move in with us?” My invitation was full of warmth, but all I got was an eye roll from her. I looked at Carter with a wronged expression. “Carter, does she hate me? Maybe I should just leave.” “But it’s raining outside, and I didn’t bring an umbrella. How about… let this brother here walk me out.” I pointed to a young man sitting nearby. Regular features, fair skin, wearing a sleeveless tee showing off solid arms. Carter shifted his gaze to the guy, looking him up and down. Scaring the guy into waving his hands frantically. “Sis, don’t play me. Everyone knows Carter loves you the most, spoils you the most.” Hearing this, Carter’s mood improved a bit. He took the glass and downed it in one gulp. Pushing aside the girl next to him, he stood up and pulled me into his arms. “I’m out. Your sister-in-law is jealous, gotta take her home to calm her down. Drinks are on me tonight.” “Long live Carter and Sis!” Amidst the cheers, Carter walked out with his arm around me. In the car. He turned to look at me now and then. “Really mad? You know I’m just playing around. Among all of them, I love you the most.” He repeated this line every month. I was tired of hearing it. If I wasn’t such a sucker for good looks, we would have broken up ages ago. He looked at me with those eyes that looked affectionate even when looking at a dog, leaned close to my ear, and whispered, “Babe, what perfume are you wearing today? Smells so good. Babe, I want to…” “I want to break up.” I interrupted his spellcasting. He froze slightly, a smile still on his lips, raising an eyebrow. “Babe, what role are we cosplaying this time?” Occasionally we played role-playing games between couples. Seeing I wasn’t speaking, he teased, “CEO vs. Secretary? Passenger vs. Flight Attendant? Patient vs. Nurse?” “…” “Carter, I’m serious!” My face was solemn. He also put away his smile, playing with a lighter in one hand, the other resting on the seat back. The four words “Rich Playboy” were embodied vividly in him. He said, “Fine, Maya, give me a reason to convince me.” “There are too many women around you outside.” He replied, “Has anyone appeared in front of you? Or did you catch me in bed? Maya, I need hard evidence.” Thinking about these 3 years, I really didn’t have hard evidence! “I want to get married.” They say players fear the shackles of marriage the most. I expected him to relent. But he said casually, “Pick a date, I’ll go with you to get the license.” To him, marriage was just two pieces of paper. Concepts like mutual support and sharing weal and woe were bullshit. I had to continue, “My mom told me to find someone reliable.” He tossed the lighter aside, smiling wickedly. “Then I’ll go ask Mama Jiang where I’m unreliable.” My mom just got out of the hospital, I didn’t want to disturb her, so I refused repeatedly. “No no no, I was joking.” He pulled me back into his arms and kissed me satisfactorily. “I knew it, babe was just teasing me.” Chapter 2 At night. His phone vibrated on the bedside table. I glanced at it. It was Chloe. His “white moonlight”—his first love. Listening to his friends, back then it was only because Chloe went abroad that I got my turn. “Carter, your phone is ringing.” He came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel from the waist down. Water droplets hadn’t been wiped off, sliding down his neck… He wasn’t just handsome; his body was top-tier too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been stuck for 3 years. I swallowed, buried my head in the quilt, and pricked up my ears to eavesdrop. “Hello?” “Today?” “Okay, I’ll pick you up.” He hung up and kissed me on the cheek. “Babe, I have something to do tonight. Be good at home.” A man, 1 AM, on the phone with his first love, not coming home. I had to go catch them in the act. As soon as he drove out of the garage, I followed him. Arriving at the destination. I waited for a full hour before knocking on the door. The woman wore a white spaghetti strap dress, a braid falling on her shoulder, pure and lovely. In contrast, I looked like a vicious woman, holding a camera, filming right in her face. “Maya, crazy about catching cheaters?” Carter came out of the bathroom, still in the clothes he went out in, not a single wrinkle. I frowned. Shouldn’t be. Carter usually starts at 2 hours for a case. Looking at the camera in my hand, Carter said dissatisfiedly, “Maya, delete the video.” He reached out for my phone. I protected the phone in my arms, shaking my head to refuse. “You said breaking up requires hard evidence.” “Does this count?” “In the middle of the night, you wouldn’t just be using her toilet, right?” Facing my questioning, Chloe suddenly started crying. Damn! I’m Carter’s official girlfriend, the one who should be crying is me, right? Chloe pinched Carter’s cuff, whispering, “Carter, sorry to cause you trouble.” I laughed in anger. When this grandma was acting like a tea master (innocent manipulator), you didn’t even know where you were. I pulled Carter’s other cuff, aggrieved, “Carter, hit me or scold me today if you want, I just want to know, between her and me, who do you love most?” He broke away from Chloe’s pull, hugged me, pinched my waist, and whispered to me. “Babe, stop making a scene, delete the video, be good.” I thought I was winning against Chloe. Turns out, he just wanted me to delete the video. I squeezed out a few tears, murmuring, “So Carter chose her, right?” I could see Carter’s patience was reaching its limit. “Go home first, I really have something to do.” I took advantage of the momentum and continued to attack. “Sorry, I’m too clingy. But don’t worry, won’t happen again.” He held my wrist, gradually increasing the force. Chloe smoothed things over from the side, “Carter, maybe you should go back first, I can handle it alone.” Hearing this, Carter turned to me and said, “Maya, playing around usually is fine, but you crossed the line today!” Tone wasn’t too good, a bit of a warning. Sure enough, no matter how skilled a tea master is, she can’t compare to a sentence from the white moonlight. I shook off his hand and deleted the video in front of him. Left without looking back. I moved back to my own home that night. But my heart still felt a bit blocked. Maybe he said he loved me most hundreds of times, cast too much magic, and I believed it was true. But looking at it now, he loves Chloe, at least a bit more than me. Chapter 3 After breaking up with Carter. My mom was very happy. After all, since the surgery, she had been hoping for me to settle down. She sent me to a matchmaking agency that day. “Miss Jiang, this is the $1888 package, this is the $3888 package, this is…” “Get the most expensive one for my daughter.” “Mom, you still need money for treatment later.” “At my age, I’ve seen through life and death. Your lifelong event is more important. We want the most expensive one.” The matchmaker smiled so wide her face almost cracked. After collecting the money, she took out a stack of profiles and told me, “Miss Jiang, these are the highest quality ones we have.” The photos on the profiles were basically unwatchable. My mind was full of Carter’s bewitching face. “Miss Jiang, your phone is ringing.” The matchmaker reminded me. The flashing screen showed the name Carter. “Hello?” “Maya, did you f*cking delete it!” Hearing his rage, I felt quite relieved. I did delete the video last night. But I was still angry, so I retrieved it from the recycling bin and sold it to a gossip news agency for $2000. Now the headlines of major media outlets. #Second Young Master of the Brooks Family, Night Meeting with Beauty #Illegitimate Daughter of the Chen Family Ascends So Chloe was an illegitimate daughter. No wonder Carter kept asking me to delete the video. I said innocently, “Carter, I just saw the news too. But I clearly deleted it, how did it get leaked?” “I’m really so stupid, can’t even do this small thing well.” “Making Carter worry again.” Carter laughed angrily on the other end, completely forgetting the fact that we broke up last night. “Where are you, I’ll pick you up.” I reminded him, “Carter, we already broke up. Besides, I’m really busy right now.” “Maya, I didn’t agree to the breakup.” Scumbags are like this, thinking about the white moonlight while wanting to eat swan meat. Seeing I wasn’t speaking, he continued asking, “Busy with what?” “Busy with blind dates!” Hanging up the phone, I pointed randomly at the matchmaking profiles. Chapter 4 The blind date location, I set it at a place Carter frequented. No other meaning, just wanted to disgust him a bit. The man in front of me had exquisite features, on par with Carter. A bit like a substitute for the lost love. “Handsome, hello, I’m Maya.” He smiled and shook my hand, “Hello, Caleb.” Caleb? This name sounded familiar. He stood up gentlemanly and pulled out the chair for me. Manners were gentle and elegant. After I sat down, I went straight to the topic. “Maya Jiang, 29, single-parent family, own apartment and car, have savings, had 3 relationships.” “So Carter Brooks is your first love?” How did he know Carter? Back then I lied to Carter saying he was my first love, how did he know too? I was still puzzled. Carter rushed out from behind, grabbing Caleb’s collar. Veins popped on his hands. I tried to stop him, hearing him excitedly say, “About Chloe, I explained to you, I’ll find a way to retract the video too!” Damn, I thought he was impulsive for me. Turns out it was for his white moonlight! I was being sentimental. I continued sitting and drinking coffee, ate melon for half a day before understanding. I went to the wrong booth. Mine was 608, this is 806. Caleb is his brother, no wonder the name sounded familiar. Unlucky enough. I took my bag, planning to sneak away, but was caught by Carter. “Carter, what are you doing, I have things to do!” He ignored my struggle and forced me into the car.

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1 At Thanksgiving dinner, my brother publicly accused me of being the fraud. He slammed a DNA report on the table, shoving it toward me. “Look, Audrey! Faye is the real Blackwood daughter! You’re an imposter—what right do you have to sit here?” Then he pulled Faye forward. Her face was the mirror image of our mother. Everyone froze. As I reached for the report, text appeared over Faye’s head, visible only to me: 【Female lead returns to her wealthy family for a sweet romance with the fake young master?】 【Not yet. They still think they’re siblings.】 【Feel bad for the side character—she’s the biggest victim, mistaken for the fake heiress and sent to suffer with the Nolans.】 Faye and I looked like twins, with identical birthdates on our IDs. A slow smile spread across my face. “Ever think,” I said, “that you might be the real imposter?” … I was Audrey Blackwood, the cherished daughter of a wealthy family. Everyone adored me. Everyone except my brother, Adrian. He’d spent his entire life trying to get rid of me. When he was three, he swapped me with the nanny’s daughter. My parents found out and tanned his hide. When he was five, he abandoned me in a park, only to nearly get kidnapped himself before the police saved him. When he was fifteen, he hired some punk to hit on me, but the guy turned out to be into men and ended up harassing Adrian for three days straight. After that, he’d actually calmed down for a few years. I thought he’d finally accepted me as his sister. I guess I was wrong. On Thanksgiving, of all nights, he decided to give me the surprise of a lifetime. “Mom, Dad,” Adrian announced, standing abruptly. “Tonight, I’m exposing Audrey Blackwood for the fraud she is. She doesn’t deserve a single bite of this family’s food!” He produced a small, decorative hammer from his pocket—one of the table setting pieces—and shattered my wine glass. Red wine and shards of crystal sprayed across the tablecloth. My mother gasped, rushing to dab at my dress with a napkin. My father slammed his hand on the table, his brow furrowed with rage. “Adrian, have you lost your mind? Who gave you the right to treat your sister like this!” Adrian shot me a look of pure contempt before turning to the doorway and leading a girl inside. She was wearing the couture gown I was supposed to get for my eighteenth birthday. Around her neck was the sapphire necklace Mom gave me, and on her wrist, the emerald bracelet from Dad. My gaze snapped to the culprit. “Adrian, are you insane? First you smash my glass, and now you’re giving my things away to strangers?” He threw the DNA report at me, the pages fluttering onto my lap. “I can do it because Faye is the true Blackwood heiress, Mom and Dad’s real daughter!” he declared, his voice ringing with triumph. “You’ve stolen the first eighteen years of her life. A few trinkets are nothing! Besides, they were always meant to be hers!” With a flourish, he pushed Faye in front of our parents so everyone could get a clear look at her face. Mom and Dad both stared, stunned. The resemblance between Faye and our mother was uncanny. Mom has aged gracefully, looking like she’s barely in her thirties; seeing her and Faye face-to-face was like looking in a mirror. And me? Standing beside them, I suddenly looked like the odd one out. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I reached for the report Adrian had thrown at me, but then the text appeared over Faye’s head again: 【Finally, a fresh take on the ‘switched-at-birth’ trope. The real heiress returns and sparks fly with the fake young master.】 【Real Heiress vs. Fake Young Master. I ship it.】 I jerked back in shock, and the comments vanished. I rubbed my eyes. Leaning forward again, they reappeared. 【Is that the real heiress’s unlucky sister?】 【The side character has it rough. One DNA test and the whole family turns on her. The female lead resents her, the fake young master torments her, and her parents grow distant. She gets sent to the Nolan family to be tortured, only to find out it was all a huge mistake. Who wouldn’t turn into a villain after that?】 Real heiress? Fake young master? Unlucky victim? The flood of information left me reeling. Adrian, mistaking my silence for guilt, moved to shield Faye protectively. “Don’t even think about trying anything,” he snarled at me. “If you dare to hurt Faye, I’ll make you regret it.” He locked his eyes on mine. “Remember this: Faye is my real sister, connected by blood. You? You’re just a cuckoo who’s been living in her nest.” And then it all clicked. The fake heiress was actually the fake young master. Adrian was the cuckoo. 2 The comments said I’d be mistaken for the fake heiress, becoming the next victim of Adrian’s stolen identity. I wasn’t about to let that happen. In a move so fast it was a blur, I spun around, grabbed the DNA report, ripped it into a dozen pieces, and tossed the confetti into a nearby wastebasket. I turned back, spreading my hands innocently. “You’re going to need some proof for an accusation like that, Adrian,” I said calmly. “What makes you so sure I’m the fake one?” 【Is she a paper shredder? How did she tear up a whole report that fast?】 【The fake young master’s face is beet red, but am I the only one who finds this satisfying?】 【But now the female lead is even more convinced she’s the evil fake heiress.】 I risked a glance at Faye. Her eyes were red-rimmed, making her look like she was on the verge of tears, but the look she gave me held a sharp glint of suspicion and hostility. Yep, she definitely saw me as the enemy. Adrian, meanwhile, was frantically digging through the trash, trying to salvage the shredded paper. He spent a few moments trying to piece it together on the floor before giving up in frustration. He couldn’t even reassemble the cover page. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. If our parents weren’t here, I had no doubt he would have already tried to punch me. “Even without the report, I know Faye is a Blackwood,” he insisted, his voice tight. “The moment I saw her, I felt this connection. I just knew she was my sister!” He pointed a trembling finger at me. “And you! An imposter is an imposter. Don’t think destroying the evidence will let you keep squatting in this house!” I let a small, knowing smile play on my lips. “We’ll see who the real imposter is.” Adrian thought I was talking about Faye. He shot me a venomous glare before turning to comfort her. “Don’t worry, Faye. She can’t steal your identity. Your big brother will always have your back.” Faye’s voice was a choked whisper. “Okay. Thank you, brother.” Then she looked up, her eyes shimmering with tears as she faced my parents. “Dad, Mom… I know this is hard to accept, but I really am your daughter.” 【She looks so vulnerable and scared. She must be afraid her parents will choose the side character over her.】 【But the side character is innocent too! She’s also a real heiress. Why do they have to pit the sisters against each other?】 【Isn’t there a plot hole? If the female lead was switched with the fake young master, she’d be the same age as him. Why does everyone think she was switched with the other sister?】 【The female lead was undocumented as a child. When she was finally registered for school, her birthdate was just made up. It was just a coincidence that it ended up being the same as the side character’s.】 I see. Thanks for clearing that up, invisible commentariat. Looking at Faye, my mother’s heart seemed to shatter. Her eyes welled up as an undeniable sense of familiarity washed over her. It was as if Faye truly was her own flesh and blood. She couldn’t stop herself from stepping forward and taking Faye’s hand. Feeling the calloused skin of her palm, a wave of pain and regret hit her. Suddenly, Mom remembered I was still there. If I really wasn’t her daughter… she’d still raised me for eighteen years. How could she choose? They were both precious to her. She turned to my father. “Honey, no matter which of them is our biological daughter, let’s adopt the other one. We’ll raise them both.” “No!” Adrian immediately shot down the idea, his face a mask of disgust as he looked at me. “Mom, she’s a thief! She stole everything that should have been Faye’s. If I hadn’t found Faye, she might have spent her whole life suffering in poverty!” He gestured between us. “While she was living in luxury, Faye was enduring hardship after hardship. I won’t allow her to stay in this house. In fact, she needs to get on her knees and apologize to Faye!” Compared to me, Faye was painfully thin. My gown hung loosely on her frame, and her hair was dry and brittle with split ends. It was clear she’d had a difficult life. The comments above her head exploded: 【How dare the fake young master say that? He’s the real thief! He should be the one kneeling and begging for the female lead’s forgiveness! His real parents beat and abused her. She got into a top university, but they forced her to drop out and work as a hostess in a club.】 【But the male lead is innocent too! He didn’t ask to be switched at birth. And he does a lot to make it up to her later.】 【He’s only saying this now because of the misunderstanding. From his perspective, letting the ‘fake heiress’ stay is unfair to the female lead. He’s not wrong from his point of view.】 【But he’s the one who benefited from it all!】 … The commenters were at war, but my attention was fixed on two phrases: “beaten and verbally abused” and “forced to drop out and work as a hostess.” My own sister had lived like that for twenty years? Suddenly, I understood Faye’s hostility. If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t be able to forgive someone who had stolen the happy life that was supposed to be mine. But the person she should hate isn’t me. It’s Adrian. I gave Faye a long, meaningful look before speaking calmly. “If I’m the fake heiress, you won’t have to kick me out. I’ll leave on my own.” Adrian scoffed. “Then you’d better start packing.” He turned to our father. “Dad, we have to do another DNA test tomorrow. We need to give Faye the certainty she deserves and make this imposter face reality.” That was exactly what I was waiting for. My father first agreed to Adrian’s suggestion for a new test. Then, his voice sharpened as he addressed his son. “Adrian, you are the heir to the Blackwood family. Where is the composure that comes with that title? And regardless of the test results, Audrey is your sister. Now, let’s eat.” The ever-perceptive butler had already instructed the staff to clear the cold dishes and bring out a fresh course. Adrian let out a cold snort and pulled Faye to the table, directing her to the seat I had just vacated. “Faye, you sit here.” Just as he was about to sit next to her, I slid into the chair myself, bumping him aside. Adrian’s face darkened. “Audrey!” he hissed. I cleaned my ear with my pinky. “What? Are you the only one allowed to get close to her?” He glared. “Don’t think sucking up to Faye is going to convince us to let you stay!” A flicker of something unreadable passed through Faye’s eyes. She glanced at me discreetly before starting to eat, taking small, careful bites. It was obvious she had crammed on table manners. My mother watched me with an approving smile. My father, however, addressed Adrian. “You’re the older brother. Set an example. Be more tolerant of your sister.” Grumbling, Adrian had no choice but to take the seat next to me, shooting daggers at me for the rest of the meal. I acted as if nothing was wrong, happily eating and serving food to my parents and Faye. The rest of Thanksgiving dinner passed in a strangely tense atmosphere. That night, Faye was given a guest room in the mansion. Adrian was not pleased. “Faye has been lost to us for so many years, and the first night she’s home, you put her in a guest room? That’s just cold.” He pointed toward my door. “Audrey’s room is the biggest and has the best view. She needs to give it to Faye!” Faye gently tugged on Adrian’s sleeve. “It’s alright, Adrian. I’m used to small spaces. The guest room is wonderful, really. I’m fine there.” But as she spoke, her eyes drifted to the framed photo on my nightstand—a picture of Mom and Dad kissing my cheeks, my own face beaming with joy. In her gaze, I saw a cocktail of envy, sadness, and longing. I sighed, pushed Adrian out of my room before he could argue further, locked the door, and pulled Faye onto my large, soft bed with me. Faye’s eyes went wide. She instantly yanked her hand away from mine, jumped up, and fled into the ensuite bathroom to wash up. I’m not sure what went through her head, but she did end up sleeping in the same bed with me that night. She kept a wide distance between us, her back turned to me, her head buried under the covers. She was like a hedgehog, curling into a tight ball at the slightest touch, hiding her soft belly. I knew she wasn’t asleep. “I’m eighteen,” I said into the quiet darkness. “What about you?” 3 The next morning, my father pulled some strings and found a private clinic that could run a DNA test on short notice. As our Maybach pulled up to the clinic’s entrance, a figure suddenly darted in front of the car. The driver slammed on the brakes. Faye, sitting across from me, was thrown forward. I reacted instantly, catching her and pulling her into my arms. She blushed, a flicker of surprise on her face. Once she was steady, I looked through the window. The comments were back. 【Didn’t the side character live with the Blackwoods for half a year before her adoptive family dragged her away? Why are the abusive adoptive parents showing up now?】 【The female lead didn’t send money home, so her adoptive parents went to the club looking for her. They found out the fake young master took her, and when they heard the Blackwoods were doing a DNA test, they rushed over to stop them, terrified his identity would be exposed.】 【Oh no, the side character is screwed. After she’s taken back by the Nolans, she gets sold off to some old cripple to be his wife and bear his children!】 My hands tightened into fists. I peered out the window. A middle-aged couple was blocking our way. The man was splayed across the hood of the car, while the woman frantically rattled the door handle and pounded on the window. “Child snatchers!” she shrieked for all to hear. “Give me back my daughter! Everyone, come see! The rich are stealing people’s children!” Faye’s face turned deathly pale. Adrian’s expression was thunderous. He grabbed me by the collar, dragged me out of the car, and shoved me toward the screaming woman, Brenda Nolan. “You want your daughter?” he spat. “Here she is! She’s your daughter. Faye is the precious gem of the Blackwood family!” Brenda froze for a second, but she quickly realized the Blackwoods hadn’t figured out the whole truth. She immediately burst into crocodile tears and lunged for me. “So you’re my real daughter! Come on, let’s go home with Mom.” I sidestepped, and she stumbled past me, nearly smashing her teeth on the pavement. “The DNA test isn’t even done,” I said coolly. “Who knows if you’re really my mother?” Hearing this, Brenda waved her hands frantically. “Oh, that’s too expensive! We’re simple people, we can’t afford things like that. Just test Faye. If she’s a Blackwood, then you must be my daughter.” With that, she and the man, Rick, planted themselves by the entrance, refusing to come inside. They were terrified I’d drag them in for a test too. “Your parents are just dripping with desperation,” Adrian sneered at me before taking Faye’s arm and leading her into the clinic. We paid for a rush job, and the results came back quickly. Two reports. One for Faye and my mother, the other for Faye and my father. Both confirmed a direct biological link. She was their daughter. There was no question of her being an illegitimate child from one side. My mother hugged Faye, both of them sobbing. My father watched his long-lost daughter with a look of profound heartache. Adrian, clearly disappointed by my calm reaction, started his victory lap. “Audrey,” he began, a cruel smirk on his face. “Oh, wait. I should call you Audrey Nolan now, shouldn’t I?” If I were you, I’d be crawling back to that gutter with your hick parents right now instead of sticking around to be humiliated! Brenda and Rick chose that moment to reappear, dabbing at their dry eyes and begging me to acknowledge them. I just shook my head. “I’m not your daughter.” Brenda collapsed to the floor, wailing and beating the pristine tiles. “What a cruel fate! To give birth to a daughter who won’t even recognize her own parents! What are we supposed to do in our old age?” Rick, a brutish-looking man, jabbed a finger in my face. “You ungrateful brat! I bet you just can’t stand to give up the good life. You’re planning to cling to the Blackwoods, aren’t you?” Adrian stood off to the side, arms crossed, enjoying the show. I just tilted my head and gave him a sweet smile. “The fake heiress is an ungrateful brat, you’re right about that. But I’m not the fake heiress.” Adrian’s amusement vanished. “If it’s not you, then who is it?” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you ever considered that you might be the cuckoo in the nest?” A second later, my father’s voice boomed from behind me. “Adrian, you’re the one who was switched at birth.”

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My husband, Damon Blackwood, had a standing quota with his little bird. The Canary’s Contract: twelve nights a month. This month, swamped with work, he’d only managed eleven. The little bird, Ainsley Shore, threw an all-day tantrum—no food, no drink, just pure, streaming, theatrical tears. Damon, desperate to placate his mistress, came begging to me, the wife. “Ellie, just a quick call. Explain to her that this month was entirely hers. Tell her I haven’t been near you—it’s just one sentence.” He wasn’t wrong. Intimacy between us had been dead for years. Since his first affair three years ago, I’d developed a visceral, agonizing aversion to his touch. The moment he tried to come near me, I was seized by panic, by a crushing sense of suffocation. He’d tried a few times, and each time ended with me fighting for air. He never dared touch me again after that, yet he still insisted I was the only woman he ever truly loved. But he never stopped cheating. I dialed the number. My voice was calm, almost flat. “Damon belongs only to you, Ainsley. And that’s how it will be.” When I hung up, Damon looked relieved, then slightly wounded, mistaking my lack of fury for jealousy. He tried to soothe me, his eyes full of that familiar, fake tenderness. “You know I still care about you, too.” But I don’t want you anymore, Damon. We’d been separated—under the same roof, but separated—for almost two years. The courts would grant the divorce soon. The little bird wasn’t so easily convinced. She didn’t believe me. She sent Damon right back. He shuffled back into the living room, defeated, at his wit’s end, and started working on me again. I cut him off, getting straight to the point. “Damon, what exactly do you want me to do?” Seeing my steady demeanor, the absence of the raging fury he expected, he let his guard down and spoke his worst thought aloud. “Get a doctor’s check. There are specialized physicians for this,” he said, all business. “Don’t worry, I’ll hire a female doctor. A thorough, internal examination—that will prove we haven’t been intimate.” He paused, softening his tone, trying to coax me as if I were a difficult child. “The girl’s got a one-track mind; she won’t believe it otherwise. Just humor her.” He lifted his hand, a glint of patronizing affection in his eyes, reaching out to pat my head. “You’re the sensible one, Ellie. Unlike her, who just throws tantrums.” A wave of nausea crashed over me. I flinched back instantly, an instinctual retreat, moving as far away from him as possible. A dense, sharp pain bloomed in my chest, and the familiar crushing sensation of panic began to tighten around my lungs. I was long past caring, but for him to ask me—his wife—to subject myself to a medical exam for the sake of his mistress, the ultimate humiliation, was a fresh, gut-wrenching betrayal. My gesture, recoiling from him as if he were toxic waste, used to hurt him deeply. But after years of it, he had grown accustomed to the rejection. He even stepped back voluntarily this time, careful to maintain a safe distance. “Just treat it like a regular physical,” he pleaded softly. “Don’t let it stress you out.” The bile rose in my throat, acrid and sharp. I clutched my chest, letting out a short, cynical laugh. “Damon Blackwood, you are unbelievable. You’d be doing me a favor if you just gave me what I want. Let’s get the divorce finalized!” I finally yelled. He knew he was in the wrong, so he didn’t push. His voice softened again, attempting to soothe the tantrum he himself provoked. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Ellie. You are and always will be the most important person to me.” “Just calm down.” He always said that. He always said I was the most important, yet he was utterly incapable of staying off the Canary’s bed. He was banking on his wealth and power, certain that I would tolerate this pathetic throuple. After all, I had fought tooth and nail for the title of Mrs. Blackwood. He was convinced I could never let go of this life of ease and luxury. What modern-day Cinderella willingly walks out of the gilded castle? What he didn’t know was that this Cinderella had already stockpiled her exit funds. I was financially free and had been for months. Then, his phone exploded with a relentless series of calls. The ringtone was customized—a jarring, saccharine pop song titled “The One.” The ringtone Damon had set for Ainsley Shore. Even in the middle of our heated argument, he answered her. I heard Ainsley’s tear-choked, spoiled voice, demanding attention. “Damon! I gave you my youth—I was only eighteen! You’re a liar and a cheat! You promised me twelve times a month and swore you wouldn’t touch the wife! I’m your caged bird, but you’re a fraud! We’re over! I won’t let you hurt me again!” Ainsley was the most demanding and least afraid of his mistresses. He’d spoiled her rotten. It was sickening. I remembered when his mother—his very traditional, deeply respected mother—passed away unexpectedly last year. Damon, as the only son, was supposed to keep vigil. But Ainsley, drunk and hysterical, had cried and begged him to come to her. He’d left the wake for his own mother, delegating the duty of watching over her body to me, his wife, while he went to console his mistress. That night, Ainsley had sent me a photo—a provocative, taunting picture. “He was so tired after coming for me a few times tonight that he passed out. Sorry you have to handle everything at the Blackwood house alone.” No one knew how I survived that night. The pain was so profound it bordered on a physical collapse. Before Ainsley, Damon had been genuinely devoted to his mother. From that night on, I knew his affair wasn’t just about sex. He was in love. He loved her so much he was willing to trample my dignity into the dirt for her. The sound of his voice, strained and harsh, snapped me back to the present. “You are impossible! Fine, you don’t believe me? The doctor will examine her tomorrow! Will that finally satisfy you?” I hadn’t even refused the examination—I had demanded a divorce. Yet, he agreed to the disgusting demand just to shut her up. The next morning, Ainsley showed up with a male physician she’d brought from outside. Damon was shocked. “Absolutely not a man! Only a female doctor!” he barked, his face tightening with a sudden, possessive jealousy. For all his continuous cheating, he still kept a fierce grip on me. If I so much as had a longer-than-necessary conversation with a male colleague, his temper would flare. A classic case of “Do as I say, not as I do.” Ainsley’s face hardened. “How do I know a female doctor wouldn’t be on her payroll? What if you two are conspiring to deceive me?” He, of course, indulged her. “Then you find the female doctor! You hire her yourself!” She pouted, agreeing with ill grace. Did they truly think I was a doormat? I walked straight up to Ainsley and slapped her. Hard. “You trash!” I hissed, savoring the shock that stole the breath from her lungs. “What right do you, a glorified mistress, have to dictate the intimacies of my marriage?” The act of violence was a rush of clean, pure malice. To twist the knife, I deliberately added, “And for your information, Damon didn’t make his quota because he was too busy with me. We slept together seven times, and the man was exhausted!” The massive number of seven nights hit Ainsley like a thunderbolt. She instantly dissolved, tears streaming, and she screamed at Damon. “She admitted it! Why are you still trying to deny it?” I’d done it. I’d successfully enraged them both. Damon glared at me, his face crimson. “What the hell are you saying? Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?” Ainsley ran off, clutching her stinging cheek. Damon instantly chased after her, his priority clear. What was truly pathetic and darkly ironic was that as he ran to console his mistress, he paused just long enough to bark an order at the butler. “Make sure the Madam takes her medicine!” Ever since my aversion to his touch began, he had spent a fortune on various treatments, insisting the doctors could “fix” me. He often reassured me, “It’ll get better. Once you’re well, we’ll have our baby.” He didn’t know I had poured every single pill and drop down the sink. I hadn’t taken a single dose. I was counting the days until my freedom. On the way to an appointment to finalize my travel documents, I was intercepted by Damon’s people. I was held in the house and forcibly strapped onto a cold, hard examination table. Five female doctors. They roughly bound my arms and legs. As I thrashed and screamed, a video call rang on one of the doctor’s phones. The next second, Ainsley’s voice filled the room. “Make sure you check carefully!” “Miss Shore, we are professionals. We will be thorough.” I was overcome with blinding rage. “Ainsley Shore, you deserve to burn in hell! And you, Damon Blackwood! You’ll rot!” I knew he was with her. And sure enough, his voice came through the phone, steady and controlled. “Ellie, Ainsley is pregnant. I’m 35. Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” His meaning was crushingly clear: Cooperate. Since he was 25, Damon had yearned to be a father. Early in our marriage, we had conceived once, after years of his fertility treatments, as his sperm count was low. That brief time was the happiest of my life with Damon. But when I was nine months pregnant, he met Ainsley. Young, vibrant, beautiful. One motorcycle ride, and he was completely gone. Three days later, I saw the photo she’d posted online—the two of them on the bike, a thousand comments calling them a gorgeous, destined couple. The shock sent me into premature labor and a devastating difficult birth that cost us the baby. The loss of our child did not bring the prodigal husband home. He cried, yes, and promised me, “It was an accident. We’ll have another.” Damon didn’t know that in that moment, my hope, and my love for him, finally died. Now he had another chance at a child, and he would stop at nothing to secure it. His words sliced into my deepest wound. He knew the depth of my grief, yet he was asking me to endure this humiliation for his and Ainsley’s baby. I screamed, my voice raw, “You heartless monster! If you let them touch me, I will hate you for the rest of your life! You can’t do this to me!” Ainsley’s voice cut in, impatient. “I’m not listening to them argue, Damon!” Damon’s patience finally snapped. He spoke to the doctors, his voice cold. “Give the Madam a sedative.” He hesitated for a second, then addressed me, trying to be placating. “Just for a moment, Ellie. It won’t harm you. Be a good girl. Try to understand my position.” I continued to struggle wildly, but I froze when I saw one doctor pick up a long, thin speculum and reach for my clothes. Then another needle, sharp and cold, plunged into my arm. My struggling soon faded. I was numb, drowsy, sinking into a void. In that fading awareness, I realized the phone line to Ainsley was still open. The doctor was still conducting the invasive examination. The phone was near my ear, broadcasting an insidious conversation. Damon’s voice was strained, laced with a forced control. “You’re pregnant, you can’t. Be patient, I’ll make it up to you after the baby is born.” “No! I won’t hold back. Just be gentle. Even if I’m pregnant, twelve times a month can’t be skipped,” Ainsley whined, her voice sickeningly sweet and demanding. Then, she changed tactics. “You always say you love me, but what about her? Why won’t you leave her?” I wanted to know the answer too, listening through the fog of the drug. Damon’s voice remained even, chillingly detached. “Are you stupid? Divorce means splitting my assets fifty-fifty. I haven’t touched her in years; it’s practically a divorce already. Remember, I’m a businessman. Everything is a cost-benefit analysis.” He’s such a convincing liar. He told her he couldn’t afford the divorce. In reality, he had transferred the vast majority of his wealth into my personal accounts, legally notarized and untouchable. I’d even tried to force his hand by deliberately leaking corporate secrets to his rival, costing Blackwood Industries billions and nearly bankrupting him. He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t even filed charges. He had just placated me. I finally saw the truth: he truly loved me, and he truly loved Ainsley. He was greedy. He wanted his anchor at home, and his thrill outside. He wanted us both. The doctor finally spoke, removing the phone from my ear. “Miss Shore, we’ve examined Mrs. Blackwood. She hasn’t been intimate recently. In fact, there is no evidence of sexual activity in the last four years.” Ainsley’s satisfied sigh was audible. “Thank you. I’m wiring you an extra bonus.” They packed up and left. As the sedative wore off, a deep, pervasive throbbing started in my lower body. A smell of iron and blood filled the air. I tried to move; the sharp pain that followed was excruciating. My backside was slick with sticky blood. This hadn’t been a sterile, scientific check. This was a brutal act of torture. A blinding, terrifying hatred consumed me. I lay there for hours, drenched in cold sweat, until the pain was manageable. In that moment of total brokenness, an outrageous, earth-shattering idea bloomed in my mind. Dragging my ravaged body, I stumbled to the garage. I found the ignition, and I set fire to the ten-million-dollar mansion—the “Cinderella’s Castle” Damon had built for me. The flames were a blinding, crackling gold. I stood at a distance and watched it burn. And as I watched, I started to laugh. I laughed at ten years of marriage, a decade-long farce. I laughed at the thought of the “prince” who had thrown the glass slipper at his Cinderella. And I laughed because, in that moment of fiery, glorious madness, I was finally breaking free. I was becoming my own person. Damon didn’t receive the news until the house was nothing but a scorched, smoking skeleton. That day was also the initial hearing for my divorce case. My lawyer was there representing me. Damon was on his way back when his lawyer called. The news hit him like a lightning bolt. “Why didn’t you tell me she filed a second time?” he thundered at the lawyer. The lawyer stuttered. “Mrs. Blackwood said… she said you knew.” He hadn’t. He thought I had acquiesced after my initial failed attempt at a divorce years ago. He thought he had bought my silence. He hadn’t realized I was still fighting, using his chronic adultery and our two years of separation as grounds. Damon hung up the phone, completely stunned, and frantically tried to call me. No answer. When he arrived, witnessing the ruin of the castle he’d built, his knees buckled. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Firefighters were beginning the cleanup. Damon struggled to his feet, trying to push past the yellow tape and the first responders. “Sir, you can’t go in there.” He kept shoving. “My wife is inside!” “We checked, sir. The house was empty. Just property damage.” The tension in Damon’s body instantly eased. He let out a great, shuddering breath of relief. His legs felt solid again. He even managed a weak, relieved smile. “Good. As long as she’s safe.” “Mr. Blackwood, we found a lead on the Madam’s whereabouts.” Damon’s right-hand man rushed up, shoving a phone with a video on the screen into his hand. Damon grabbed the device. The images he saw made his eyes go bloodshot. This was worse than the shock of the fire and the lawsuit. His hand, holding the phone, trembled violently. His aide was terrified, barely breathing. Damon had never seen the CEO this enraged—veins bulging in his forehead, a murderous fury radiating off him. The video showed me, dressed to the nines, sitting in a man’s lap, laughing and flirting with the young male model.

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