Category: English

The notification for my annual bonus hit my phone while I was entertaining the 120 client heads responsible for ninety percent of my company’s revenue. When they learned that I, the man who managed every one of their accounts, had received such a paltry sum, the mood at the table soured instantly. Meanwhile, my colleagues were blowing up the company group chat, ecstatic about their $25,000 bonuses. I finished my dinner with quiet composure. Seven days later, my contract expired, and I walked away. My boss’s scream was so raw it nearly shattered the phone: “Why? Why did they all pull their funding!?” 1 Seven Days Until Contract Expiration. The banquet was held at The Pinnacle Club, the city’s most exclusive hotel. Light from the crystal chandeliers scattered like crushed diamonds, illuminating the impeccably dressed faces at every table. Seated here were the heads of the 120 partner firms who were the lifeblood of Innovatech Solutions, accounting for ninety percent of our revenue. And the person responsible for managing all 120 of these client relationships was me, Alex Simpson. Glass in hand, I moved effortlessly between tables, exchanging pleasantries with every executive I knew. Many of them I’d worked with since my first year at the company; our relationships had long since transcended a simple client-vendor dynamic. “Alex, for our group’s new project next year, it has to be you. I don’t trust anyone else,” said Mr. Roberts, the procurement director of a nationally renowned corporation, clapping me on the shoulder. I smiled and nodded. “You can count on me, Mr. Roberts. As long as I’m here, your business is my business.” Just then, my phone began vibrating insistently in my pocket. Excusing myself to the restroom, I found an empty corner in the hallway and lit up the screen. It was the company-wide Slack channel, currently a flood of celebratory notifications. “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan! Thank you, Innovatech! The $25k bonus just landed! Let’s kill it again next year!” That was Jessica, a colleague whose primary job consisted of reformatting my project reports and putting her own name on them. “Wow! You rock, Jessica! I got $25k too!” “Me too! The company was so generous this year!” “Mr. Sullivan is the man! Hard work pays off!” … The screenshots of the $25,000 wire transfers were like a series of silent slaps across my face. Expressionless, I scrolled past the glaring images and opened my banking app. A single new transaction was listed. Amount: $950.00. Not a single cent over, no congratulatory note. Just a cold, clinical number, the kind of sum you’d give an intern for their trouble. I stared at the number for a full ten seconds. There was no anger, no disappointment. The last ember of hope I’d been nursing for this company finally died, leaving behind nothing but cold, numb ash. I should have known. Back at the main table, the atmosphere was still lively. I put my professional smile back on as if nothing had happened. Mr. Roberts, seated next to me, was clinking glasses with someone and accidentally bumped my phone. As I instinctively lit the screen to put it away, the number—$950.00—flashed in the corner of his eye. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He set down his glass and asked, seemingly at random, “Alex, your company did great this year. The bonuses must be pretty good, right? Your colleagues seem thrilled in the group chat.” I met his gaze directly and calmly spoke two words. “Nine-fifty.” The lively table fell silent, as if someone had hit a mute button. In that brief second, all sound vanished. The executives closest to me had heard the number. Their expressions were a kaleidoscope of emotions: from initial surprise to disbelief, and finally, to a shared, knowing anger. These were sharp people. They understood immediately. The key employee who provided them with year-round, dedicated service and secured ninety percent of the company’s revenue was given a measly nine hundred and fifty dollars, while office workers whose names they didn’t even know were pocketing twenty-five thousand. The implication was clear. The mood turned awkward and tense. I, however, acted as if I were oblivious. I picked up my glass, stood, and offered the silent table a perfectly composed smile. “Gentlemen, thank you all for your support this past year. I’d like to propose a toast. I’ll drink to that.” I drained my glass in one go. The sharp burn of the liquor felt as though it was incinerating years of frustration and fatigue. I quickly steered the conversation toward next year’s market strategy, using my professional expertise to force the dinner back on track. But the damage was done. A thorn was now lodged in everyone’s mind, and no matter how I tried to liven things up, a subtle but distinct chill remained. The clients began exchanging frequent glances. I saw sympathy, indignation, and something else… resolve. The dinner ended abruptly. As the guests filed out, Mr. Roberts was the last to leave. He paused beside me, his experienced eyes studying me intently. He lowered his voice, speaking just loudly enough for me to hear. “Alex, you’ve been wronged. This place isn’t worthy of you. If you ever decide to make a move, you call me first.” A warmth spread through my chest. I gave him a solemn nod. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts.” After seeing the last guest off, I went home to my empty apartment. Instead of my usual routine of firing up the laptop to deal with work emails, I made myself a cup of tea. There was no anger, no sadness. When you’ve completely given up on something, emotions become an unnecessary luxury. I opened my computer, ignored the work I had to do, and created a new document titled “Handover Checklist.” Methodically, I began listing every workflow, every client’s basic information, and the framework of every project. My thoughts were terrifyingly clear. Then, I looked at the calendar on my wall. A date seven days from now was circled in red. Beside it were two words: Contract Ends. My gaze was calm and resolute, like a general about to press the launch button. Finally, I opened my phone and found the contact for a headhunter I had added a month ago. Back then, he had asked if I was open to new opportunities. I had replied, “I’m stable for now.” Now, I deleted that message and typed a new one. “I’m ready to talk.” 2 Six Days Until Contract Expiration. I walked into the office and was hit by a wave of cloying, giddy energy. Everyone was beaming, flush with their huge bonuses, chattering about European vacations and new cars. Jessica minced past my desk in a pair of new, fire-engine-red heels, a ridiculously oversized luxury handbag dangling from her arm. She stopped intentionally, placing the bag on the corner of my desk with a practiced casualness. “Ugh, what an impulse buy,” she sighed dramatically. “This bag isn’t even that nice. What do you think, Alex?” Without looking up from the handover document on my screen, I gave a flat reply. “It’s fine.” Jessica’s smile faltered for a second before she raised her voice, addressing the office. “Hey everyone, to celebrate our amazing year, afternoon tea is on me! Top-shelf stuff, order whatever you want!” “Wow, you’re the best, Jessica!” “Thanks, Jessica!” A crowd quickly formed around her, happily tapping away on their phones, their laughter turning the small office into a marketplace. Not a single person asked me what I wanted to drink. I was invisible, automatically excluded from a celebration I had made possible. At three o’clock, our boss, Marcus Sullivan, appeared, his trademark paunch preceding him, his face aglow. “Alright, everyone, settle down!” he boomed, clapping his hands. The room quieted, all eyes turning to him with adoration. “This year, our company achieved unprecedented success! And it’s all thanks to the hard work of every single one of you here!” His voice resonated as his gaze swept over Jessica and the other high-bonus recipients with an approving smile. “I’ve always said that at Innovatech, we reward our hardest workers! If you put in the effort, the company will see it! Next year, I want you all to keep it up, and we’ll double those bonuses!” He painted a grand vision of the future, his shrewd eyes somehow managing to perfectly avoid my corner of the room, as if the person responsible for ninety percent of the business didn’t qualify as a “hard worker.” After his speech, he beckoned to me. “Alex, my office.” I rose calmly and followed him. Once the door was closed, Sullivan’s smile faded into a more serious, paternal expression. “Alex,” he began, pouring me a glass of water himself, “don’t overthink this year’s situation. I know your contributions were immense. The company sees that.” I held the glass, saying nothing, letting him perform. “But you need to understand, your success is largely due to the company’s platform. Without the Innovatech name, how would these major clients even know who you are? Jessica and the others may not have your sales skills, but they put in a lot of effort coordinating things internally and managing processes. They deserve credit for their hard work, too.” He launched into his favorite manipulation tactic. “Your bonus was a little low, I admit, but it was a comprehensive decision. You’re still young; you need to think long-term. Next year, if you keep up this momentum, I promise you, your bonus will be the biggest one of all.” I nodded, displaying the perfect amount of gratitude and obedience. “I understand, Mr. Sullivan. I’ll keep working hard.” He was clearly satisfied with my “understanding” and “compliance.” He believed he had thoroughly tamed his most valuable workhorse. He clapped my shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Keep up the good work. The company won’t let you down.” As I walked out of his office, I heard snickering from the breakroom. It was Jessica and a few others. “See? Alex is just born to be a workhorse. Does the most work, gets the least pay, and a few empty promises from the boss are enough to keep him happy.” “Exactly. Does he really think those clients are loyal to him? It’s all about the company’s reputation. Without this platform, he’s nothing.” “Serves him right. His competence just makes the rest of us look bad.” I walked past them without a change in expression and returned to my desk. Their venomous words were like the buzzing of flies, unable to stir any emotion in me. I opened an encrypted folder on my computer. Inside was a fifty-page document titled “Core Client Relations Bible.” It contained far more than just contact information and contracts. It detailed the complex internal politics of each company, the personal preferences of key decision-makers, their psychological bottom lines in negotiations, and even sensitive information like which private schools their children attended. It was the culmination of years of my hard work, the true key to maintaining those 120 client relationships. Calmly, I encrypted the core sections of the document, bundled them into a single file, and uploaded it to my private cloud server. Once it was done, I felt a massive weight lift from my shoulders. Just then, Sullivan strode out of his office, radiating confidence. “Great news, everyone! We just landed a new project! The client specifically requested our strongest team! Alex, this one’s yours. It’s a long-term account. I want you to make it our flagship project for next year!” All eyes turned to me, a mixture of jealousy and schadenfreude. I looked up at Sullivan’s smug, expectant face and, for the first time, refused him directly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sullivan.” My voice was quiet but crystal clear. “My employment contract expires in six days. I can’t guarantee the continuity this project requires. For the client’s sake, I suggest you assign it to someone else.” The office fell dead silent. 3 Five Days Until Contract Expiration. The calm was shattered by a frantic phone call. The system for Sterling Corp, our largest and longest-standing client, had suffered a critical bug, bringing their entire production line to a grinding halt. The tech department had been scrambling for two hours, but they were completely stumped. As the nominal account manager, Jessica had been torn to shreds over the phone by Sterling’s Head of IT. All she could offer were meek repetitions of “we’re working on it,” utterly clueless about the actual problem. Finally, Sterling’s call went directly to Sullivan’s cell phone. The voice on the other end was ice-cold, delivering an ultimatum. “Mr. Sullivan, I don’t care what your internal issues are. I want Alex on this, now. If this isn’t fixed in two hours, we’re not only terminating our contract, but our legal team will be pursuing you for breach of contract.” The color drained from Sullivan’s face. Sterling Corp’s account represented nearly twenty percent of the company’s annual revenue. Losing them would be like losing a limb. Sweating profusely, he abandoned all pretense of authority and scurried over to my desk, his voice uncharacteristically meek. “Alex! Alex, it’s an emergency! Sterling’s system is down, you have to fix it, now!” The entire office watched, their expressions a mix of emotions. I didn’t make any demands or play hard to get. I simply closed my laptop. “This will be my last official duty.” With that, I put on my headphones and began remotely accessing Sterling’s server. Sullivan and a crowd of tech staff hovered behind me, holding their breath. Jessica stood on the outskirts, her face pale, her eyes filled with resentment. Lines of dense code scrolled rapidly across my screen. Drawing on my five years of experience with the client’s system, and a contingency plan I had privately developed after foreseeing a potential vulnerability during the last upgrade, I quickly pinpointed the root of the problem. It was a deeply hidden database interface conflict, a latent issue left behind by an unauthorized modification made by one of Sterling’s own IT staff. Our tech team, unfamiliar with the client’s full system architecture, would never have found it. My hands flew across the keyboard—modifying code, rebooting services, clearing caches. My movements were fluid and precise. An hour later, I took off my headphones. “It’s fixed,” I told Sullivan. Almost simultaneously, my phone rang. It was Sterling’s Head of IT. “Alex! Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver! The production line is back up!” He sounded immensely relieved. Then his tone shifted, becoming more pointed. “Man, let me be frank. A talent like you is wasted at a company like Innovatech. They don’t deserve you.” I just smiled. “You’re too kind.” With the crisis averted, Sullivan let out a long sigh of relief. But the look he gave me was no longer one of gratitude. It was tinged with fear and resentment. He had just realized that the employee he thought he could control at will possessed a power he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Jessica, sensing his mood, sidled up to him and whispered, “Mr. Sullivan, don’t you think this is a bit suspicious? Our entire tech team couldn’t figure it out, but he solves it in an hour. What if he did this on purpose? To hold the company hostage and negotiate better terms?” Her words landed on fertile ground. Sullivan would rather believe in employee sabotage than admit his own management and judgment were flawed. The suspicion in his eyes deepened. I couldn’t be bothered with their drama. The problem was solved; my job was done. I printed out a document, walked to Sullivan’s desk, and placed it in front of him. “Mr. Sullivan, this is my work handover checklist. Please review it and designate a successor.” Sullivan picked it up and skimmed through it. It listed only the 120 client names, standard contracts, and publicly available contact information. As for the truly vital intelligence—the client relations bible, the network maps of key personnel, the nuanced communication strategies built on personal experience and trust—none of it was there. It was a handover checklist that was procedurally perfect, but practically worthless.

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I was on the long flight home from Tulum, scrolling through my feed, when I saw the two live photos my husband had posted. Declan never posted on social media. Never. I tapped one of the photos open. A woman’s cloyingly sweet voice—the kind that stuck to the back of your throat—lilted in the background. “Oh, Declan, thank you for taking me to such a fancy restaurant.” I heard my husband’s low, soft chuckle. “Whatever makes you happy.” I froze for a few seconds, the sound echoing in the luxury cabin. Then, I double-tapped the screen. Liked by Ada Wells. The post vanished less than a second later. I smiled, a cold, brittle thing that didn’t reach my eyes, and dialed his number. 1. “Baby?” Declan’s voice, now back to its familiar, gentle cadence, answered instantly. My eyes were dead calm. “Declan Finch,” I said, my voice as flat as the runway I was about to land on. “I don’t care where you are or what you’re doing. You have three minutes to be home and waiting for me.” A beat of silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Then, he simply said, “Understood.” My black Maybach pulled into the circular driveway of our Beverly Hills villa. I stepped out and walked straight into the house. Declan met me in the foyer, a practiced smile on his face, reaching smoothly to take my designer travel bag and jacket. “Welcome back, darling. How was the trip?” I ignored him. I walked past, went to the custom bar, and poured myself a glass of water. Only after draining the glass did I turn to face him, my gaze finally settling on his face. “Explain.” He paused, lowering my coat onto the nearby settee. “There’s nothing to explain, Ada. As you’ve obviously seen, I’m seeing someone else.” His admission—I’m seeing someone else—was delivered with the same casual tone he used to ask if I’d had lunch. The air went silent. I let out a single, incredulous laugh. “Declan Finch, do you even hear yourself right now?” He looked at me, utterly devoid of panic, and said only one thing. “Ada, I’m just exhausted.” The two words landed like a blow to the chest. Silence. I picked up the heavy crystal ashtray from the marble console and hurled it at him. He didn’t flinch. It caught his temple. Blood instantly bloomed across his forehead. I stared, my voice low and dangerous. “I’m giving you one chance. Say that again. Correctly.” Declan slowly raised a hand, wiping the blood smear away from his brow. He looked up at me, his eyes clouded with a chilling weariness. “Ada, I’m genuinely exhausted from being with you.” Exhausted? He said he was exhausted? After ten years together? My hands clenched into fists, my voice trembling. “Declan, we’ve been together since we were fifteen. Married for three years. You think this is some kind of—” “I’m not kidding, Ada!” He cut me off, his eyes finally showing a flicker of pain, a deep, frustrated red. “For the last decade, every time you’ve been angry, I’m the one who groveled and begged, regardless of who was right.” “You mentioned, once, that you loved that rare, high-altitude orchid, and I nearly died trying to retrieve it from the Himalayas for you. But when I came back, your focus was only on the flower and the story, not the man who was in the ER.” “At Charles’s fundraising gala, I had one extra glass of champagne, and you publicly smashed the entire bottle on the floor in front of all my colleagues and walked out, without a second thought for my humiliation.” “And a month ago, because I was busy working and missed our anniversary dinner, you showed up at the office and stormed into my board meeting, acting like a lunatic.” Each sentence he spoke was steeped in bitter resentment. He was bleeding, yet he was listing my sins, detailing his pain. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t. The boy who, at fifteen, climbed the fence in a blizzard to buy me tampons. The young man who proposed to me in front of the whole university at eighteen. The husband who wept with choked-up emotion on our wedding day. Now, every word was a stone thrown at me. My eyes burned, and my body began to shake—from fury, or perhaps from hurt. Declan wiped the blood from his cheek and continued, his voice softer now. “Ada, the night you left the office after that meeting—that was the first time I didn’t immediately chase you down to apologize. I walked the docks alone all night, until dawn. That’s when she showed up.” When he spoke of her, a gentle light touched his features. “Her name is Sherry. She’s a nurse. She’s not gorgeous, but she’s kind and empathetic. She listened to me, like a therapist. She comforted me.” “In the time we’ve spent together, she’s made me coffee, she brings me lunch, she reminds me to rest. Being with her, I realized for the first time that I could be taken care of. I learned that women don’t have to be like you.” My eyes were bloodshot. “So, you love her?” “Yes.” He nodded without hesitation. “Ada, I love her.” “And me?” I lunged forward, grabbing his silk tie and jerking his face down to mine. “Declan Finch, what about me?” He looked at me. There was no love left in his eyes. Panic, cold and sharp, finally pierced me. I threw my arms around him, holding him tightly. “Husband, please, don’t do this. Don’t say you love her. You love me. You only love me.” I couldn’t let go of him. I couldn’t let ten years end like this. But Declan didn’t melt into me like he always did. Instead, he slowly, painstakingly, detached my hands, finger by painful finger. I shook my head violently, tears blurring my vision. His next words felt like a handful of needles plunged into my heart. “Ada, if you want to blame someone, blame yourself. You pushed me away, little by little.” He seemed to remember something. “But don’t worry. You’ll still be Mrs. Finch. You’ll still be the wealthy socialite who can go wherever she wants, worry about nothing. But I will no longer be the Declan Finch who loved you.” He picked up his jacket and walked toward the door. “Declan!” I ran after him and bit down on the skin of his neck, hard, channeling all my fury and panic into the pressure of my teeth. He didn’t move. Only when I tasted the metallic tang of blood did I release him. I kept my grip on his arm. “If you walk out that door, don’t you ever think about coming back!” Declan pulled his arm free. “I won’t.” He left. He walked out and didn’t look back. I screamed after his retreating form. “Declan Finch! I swear I will destroy her! I will not let her get away with this!” 2. Sherry Jenkins. A nurse. Thirty-five. Divorced. A full ten years older than Declan. And a divorced woman. I stared at the photos in my hand. Dark hair, round face, slightly sallow complexion. Utterly unremarkable. Plain. This is who you fell for, Declan? I squeezed the file in my hand until the paper crinkled, my eyes burning with a bloody shade of red. The doorbell rang. “Ma’am, Ms. Jenkins is here.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. My carefully sculpted, beautiful face was now an expressionless mask of icy scorn. I turned back. The woman standing there was wearing simple, light blue scrubs. I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “What is your relationship with Declan?” Sherry’s expression was calm, almost annoyingly serene. “Mr. Finch and I are just friends.” “Friends?” I scoffed, looking her up and down with open contempt. “And what exactly do you think you are? That you’re worthy of being his ‘friend’?” Sherry’s brow furrowed slightly. “Ms. Wells, I told you, we are friends. It’s not like you think I was trying to have—” “Smack!” Before she could finish, I slapped the entire file of investigation documents against her face. “This is your ‘nothing’ relationship? This is your ‘friendship’?” “Ms. Jenkins, you’re positively filthy. Sleeping with a man you call your ‘friend’.” Sherry paused, absorbing the three rapid-fire insults, and then let out a light, mocking laugh. “Ms. Wells, I didn’t believe a word Declan said about you, but now that I’ve met you, I finally understand.” I froze. She continued, a triumphant gleam in her eye: “He said you were selfish, self-serving, jealous, and nothing but relentless tantrums. He said the ten years he spent with you were the biggest regret of his life. A total waste of time.” No woman can hear her husband and his mistress casually dissect her character without reacting. My nails dug into my palms, but I didn’t even register the pain. Sherry curled her lips into a smirk. “Ada Wells, so what if I was with him? Declan’s heart belongs to me now. He treats me like gold. Do you honestly think throwing me out will bring him back to you?” “He doesn’t love you anymore, Ada!” She emphasized the last phrase, spitting it out like a curse. I suddenly laughed, the sound hollow. “Oh, really?” I took a slow, deliberate step toward her, my face darkening. “Then today, I’ll show you exactly what I can do.” I gave a cold smile and clapped my hands once. The door opened. Two of my security staff came in carrying a chair and a long, lacquered walking stick from the hallway. Sherry’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” I curled my red lips. “Showing you how I deal with trash.” “Get her!” The guards immediately grabbed her arms and quickly strapped her into the chair. Sherry struggled wildly. “Ada, let me go! If Declan finds out, he will never forgive you!” Hearing Declan’s name only stoked my fury. I snatched the heavy stick from the guard and brought it down on her body. “Ah!” Sherry screamed in pain. My eyes were scarlet with rage, and I kept striking her, again and again. “You have no right to threaten me!” “Filth is always filth! Did you think you were some kind of savior?” “Even if Declan were standing here, I would still beat you!” It only stopped when Sherry was unconscious and slumped over the ropes. I threw the stick down and issued a final, cold command. “Take her. Dump her right in front of the entrance to the Finch corporate tower.” When the horrible, chaotic scene was finally over. My hands were shaking violently, refusing to steady. I curled up on the sofa, my face pale. I waited from day into night. I didn’t move from that position. I wanted, more than anything, to know what Declan’s face would look like when he saw his mistress. Suddenly, the front door was kicked open. I lifted my head. Declan stood in the doorway, wearing a black trench coat, his face a mask of violent fury. My heart fluttered. I shifted my numb body, managing a weak smile. “Come to avenge your little mistress?” That was all it took. He rushed forward, his bloodshot eyes blazing, and seized my throat. “Ada Wells! Who gave you the right to touch her?!” “Did you really think I was soft?” “Did you think I wouldn’t hurt you?” Three ice-cold questions crushed the air from my lungs. I wasn’t sure if the choking pain was from his grip or my broken heart. But I glared at him and forced the words out. “I did touch her. And you can just go to h—Ah!” He abruptly lifted me and shoved me away. My back slammed into the solid wall. The impact felt like it shattered my ribs. Declan walked toward me, step by heavy step, his eyes burning red. “Ada, did you know Sherry was pregnant with my child?” 3. A child? I snapped my head up. Ignoring the blinding pain in my back, I scrambled up and lunged, grabbing his tie with both hands. “What did you say?” “Declan, what the hell did you just say?” When I was twenty, I had an accidental pregnancy. I’d run to him, ecstatic. But he told me he hated the idea of children because of his own troubled childhood, and that he wanted us to be child-free. I was heartbroken, but I agreed. I went through with the procedure. Later, I even voluntarily underwent a tubal ligation—I got my tubes tied—to ensure I wouldn’t pressure him again. And now? Now he was telling me he’d gotten her pregnant? “You heard me!” Declan shoved me back, screaming at me. “It wasn’t that I hated children! I just hated the idea of you giving birth to my children!” “You’re selfish, jealous, and cruel! One of you is enough! I didn’t want a second one!” I froze in place. His eyes were still red. “Ada, if you had a problem, you should have come after me! Why go after Sherry?” “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that child?!” “You killed my child—my child with Sherry—and I swear I will make you pay.” “Guards!” Declan’s voice was arctic as he gave the command to my staff. “However many times she struck Sherry, double it. Apply the beating to her.” The guards immediately came forward and held my arms. My eyes instantly went bloodshot. “Declan Finch, you touch me and my parents will end you!” He spun back, marched toward me, and clamped his hand hard around my jaw. “Look at yourself, Ada! Look! You’re nothing but an expensive parasite, a spoiled leech who only knows how to consume the people around you and depend on others.” “Without me, without your parents, you are trash!” “A person like you, if you weren’t rich, would be doing the most disgusting, low-class things imaginable!” With that, he let go of my face and turned to walk out. I recovered, my eyes locked on his retreating back. I didn’t say another word. I took all thirty strikes without a sound. Until I coughed up blood and finally passed out. The first thing I did when I woke up was ask the nurse’s station for Sherry Jenkins’s room number. I walked to the door and kicked it open. When I saw the scene inside, I couldn’t stop my fists from clenching. They hadn’t noticed me yet. Naked, intertwined on the hospital bed. Declan’s voice was husky and low. “Sherry, please give me another child. I promise I’ll protect you both this time.” “I’m so sorry. I didn’t protect you this time. But I swear, it won’t happen again.” I let out a low, cold laugh. I stood in the doorway, clapping my hands sharply. “Everyone! Come quick! We have a live show! Starring the Pediatric Nurse, Sherry Jenkins, and my husband, CEO Declan Finch!” 4. Medical staff immediately rushed over from the hallway. When they saw the tableau inside, people started pulling out their phones. The two entangled figures on the bed froze instantly. “Ah!” Sherry screamed and buried herself desperately in Declan’s arms. Declan saw me. His face turned to stone. He snatched the sheet and pulled it over Sherry. His clothes were scattered on the floor. Declan tried to cover himself and grab his shirt. I was faster. I kicked his shirt right out the door and into the hallway. Declan ground his teeth, incandescent with rage. “Ada Wells! What the hell are you doing?!” I ignored him. I walked to the bed and yanked the sheet right off Sherry. “Ah!” Her naked body was exposed to everyone. She dissolved into tears, trying to hide behind Declan. “Ada!” His eyes were spitting fire. I smiled at the gawking staff. “That’s Sherry Jenkins, everyone! Your Pediatric Nurse! Did you all get a good look?” “It really is Sherry.” “Holy cow, she’s divorced, right? How did she hook up with Declan Finch, the CEO of the Finch Group?” “I know! She’s not even that pretty, and I hear the Peds nurses say she has a terrible attitude. How did she do it?” “Tsk tsk. That’s the wife right there. Leaving a beauty like that for her?” “Haven’t you heard? The grass is always greener…” Sherry kept weeping and hiding behind Declan. Declan’s face was dark. He roared at the crowd. “Get out! Now! Or I swear I’ll make sure none of you work in this city again!” The crowd scattered, terrified. Declan Finch held sway in LA. Only the three of us remained. Declan stopped trying to cover himself, climbed out of bed, and quickly put on his clothes. Before I could mock him, he lunged, his hand swinging out without hesitation. “CRACK!” The force of the slap whipped my head sideways. “Ada Wells! Are you insane?!” He suppressed his fury, grabbing a fistful of my hair and forcing my head back so I had to look at him. The pain made my eyes water, but I didn’t make a sound. Declan didn’t feel satisfied. He shoved me toward Sherry. “Apologize!” Sherry was huddled in the corner, still sobbing dramatically. My eyes were blazing red. “Go to hell. Never.” At my refusal, Declan tightened his grip. “Ada! Apologize! Don’t make me say it a third time!” I bit down hard on my lip. Sherry reached out a trembling hand and grabbed his arm. “Declan, it’s okay. Ms. Wells is right to be angry.” Declan looked at her, then released me. “If Sherry weren’t so kind, I—” “AH!” Before he could finish, I snatched Sherry by her hair and started slapping her, hard and fast. “Oh, she’s kind! She’s lovely! She’s tender!” “She makes you, Declan Finch, forget your own name! She makes you yearn for her every day! She makes you want to die for her!” Declan seized my wrist, his rage reaching its peak. “Ada, I think you really are—” “CRACK!” I cut him off with a slap across his face. He was stunned. He hadn’t expected me to hit him. I used the moment to hit the other cheek. “Declan Finch! You’re disgusting! You’re a hypocrite!” “No wonder your parents hate you! No wonder you’re just the discarded son of the Finches! No wonder you’ll never measure up to your brother!” “Ada Wells!” Declan’s eyes turned a dangerous, bloody red, fixed on me. Those were the things he could never forgive. I didn’t care. I mustered all my remaining strength and delivered a final, stinging slap. “Declan Finch! Now, let me tell you precisely! It’s not you walking away from me! I, Ada Wells, am walking away from you!” “Whoever wants the title of ‘Mrs. Finch’ can have it. I, Ada Wells, no longer need it!”

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Before signing, the client asked for coconut pastries. I sent my boyfriend Todd to get them. Unexpectedly, the client bit into one and collapsed from an allergic reaction. Upon waking, he canceled our contract and awarded the million-dollar deal to Anna—the intern who rushed him to the hospital. Seeing months of hard work handed to someone else was devastating. Todd comforted me, saying it was just bad luck. Later, though, I overheard him bragging: “The client’s allergic to peaches. Good thing I added peach juice. Now Anna gets the job, a bonus, and her condo down payment.” His friend hesitated. “But Sarah visited 28 cities in 30 days for that project, even with a fever, to pay for her dad’s surgery…” Todd frowned impatiently. “She has my love. Isn’t that enough? Besides, she owed Anna.” My fists clenched. So, it wasn’t bad luck—it was his trap. He thought his fake love could mend my broken life and ease his guilt. Sorry, Todd. This ungrateful snake is no longer wanted. … I refreshed my social media feed, and a new post popped up. “La la la! My very first home, and it’s all mine!” The picture was of Anna, a smug grin on her face, holding up the signed deed to her new property. The comments were a flood of congratulations, but Todd’s was the most prominent. “Congrats, Machine!” A bitter smile twisted my lips. That was the nickname my colleagues had given me. In five years, I hadn’t taken a single day off. I was working on my laptop right up until the moment I was wheeled into surgery once. At my most exhausted, I had to take a video conference while hooked up to an oxygen tank. They all saw the woman who worked herself to the bone. They didn’t see the girl holding a family together on her own. After my father got sick, the responsibility of raising my younger siblings fell squarely on my shoulders. The six-figure medical bills were a weight that threatened to crush me. To raise the money, I worked day and night, blurring into one long, exhausting shift. I’d drunk so much with clients I’d thrown up blood, and I’d collapsed from exhaustion more times than I could count. Todd saw it all. When I couldn’t get a cab, he would be there in minutes to pick me up. When I came home late from a networking dinner, he’d have a bowl of soothing soup waiting for me. When a client gave me a hard time, he would find a way to step in and smooth things over. But it was this same man who stabbed me in the back when it mattered most. He knew how terrified I was of losing my father, yet he handed the fruits of my labor to Anna without a second thought. In his mind, Anna had nothing, and this condo was everything to her. But did he ever stop to think that not only did I not have a home, but I was about to lose the only father I had? Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. A moment later, my phone rang. It was my father’s doctor. “Your father just passed away.” His voice was heavy with regret. “I’m so sorry. If we had been able to operate sooner, there was still a chance he could have been cured.” I don’t know how I got through the funeral arrangements. Todd called several times during those days. I would just stare at his name on the screen, my heart numb, and let it ring. It was the first time I’d ever heard real panic in his voice. He cornered me the moment I stepped into the office. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “You never take time off.” He didn’t sound concerned. He sounded angry. Afraid, even. As if I’d slipped from his control. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. The old me would have poured my heart out to him. Not anymore. As I tried to walk past him, he grabbed my arm, his hot breath on my neck. “What’s wrong with you? It’s only been a few days, but you’re like a different person!” Before I could answer, Anna appeared, sidling up to him with a practiced pout. “Todd, sweetie, could you do me a huge favor?” His attention shifted to her instantly. “What is it? Take your time.” Anna bit her lip, her voice a mix of guilt and distress. “You know I just made the down payment on my new place last week? I thought I had enough for renovations, but I went way over budget. Now the contractor is demanding payment before they’ll start, and I don’t have a cent to my name.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. “I’ve asked everyone I know, but nobody can help me. I had no one else to turn to. Could you possibly…” “Yes.” He cut her off, his answer firm and immediate. He pulled out his phone and dialed, his voice unwavering. “I need you to list the house in Southwood. Right now. I don’t care about the price; I need it sold today.” He paused, listening. “That’s right. I don’t care how much of a loss we take. I need the cash. The faster, the better.” Anna dabbed at her eyes with a theatrical flair, her voice choked with emotion. “Oh, Todd, you can’t! That house is in a great neighborhood, its value is only going to go up. It’s a terrible time to sell.” She shot a timid glance in my direction. “Besides, that’s the house you bought to get married in! Sarah would never agree to this.” Todd stepped in front of Anna, shielding her as if I were a threat. His dark eyes bore into me. “What does it matter if she agrees? It’s not her house.” He looked at me, his expression hard. “Sarah, be reasonable. Anna’s all alone in this city, trying to make it on her own. We should be supporting her.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Besides, it’s not like we can’t get married if we’re renting. I’m still willing to marry you. What more could you possibly want?” I stood frozen, the blood turning to ice in my veins. In his eyes, I was the one desperate to marry him. His willingness to go through with it was a gift he was bestowing upon me. He seemed to have forgotten that he was the one who had begged me to be his girlfriend in the first place. And now, he was selling the house he’d bought for us, for Anna. The irony was almost too much to bear. I remembered my father lying in the ICU. The doctor had handed me a form, telling me to sign, that they’d have to stop treatment if I couldn’t pay. I had sobbed, begging Todd to lend me the money, offering to sign an IOU, to work for him for the rest of my life. And what had he said then? “The market is still rising, it would be a huge loss to sell now. And it’s our future home. It’s bad luck to sell it before we’re even married.” But now, for Anna’s renovation costs, he was selling it without a second thought, casually saying he didn’t care about the loss. Apparently, my father’s life was worth less than the cost of new cabinets for Anna’s condo. I stared straight ahead, my face a blank mask. “Sell it if you want. I don’t have an opinion.” A flicker of panic crossed Todd’s face. He started to say something, then stopped. I turned and walked away. I’d only taken a few steps when a warm hand closed around my wrist. Todd’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ll… I’ll clear my schedule this week,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ll make time to go see your dad. His biggest wish was to see us get married. We can talk about the wedding details then.” I looked at his earnest face and thought about how, in all the time my father was in the hospital, he had never once visited. Even when my dad had a moment of lucidity and asked to see him, Todd was always busy. Busy helping Anna move. Busy taking Anna’s dog to the vet. My father died without ever seeing him again. And now he was offering a visit like it was some grand gesture. The words felt like swallowing broken glass. “Don’t bother.” My voice was flat. “There’s no need.” I pulled my wrist free and walked away without looking back. Back in my empty apartment, my aunt called. A company down south was interested in me. They were offering triple my current salary. She wanted to know if I was interested. I accepted without a moment’s hesitation. There was nothing left for me in this city. The next day, I went to the office to hand in my resignation. As it happened, the boss was treating everyone to a farewell dinner for me. During the meal, someone suggested a game of “Truth or Dare.” Anna got dared to kiss someone in the room. Her eyes flickered toward me before she raised a finger and pointed it directly at Todd. “I choose Todd! It’s just a game, Sarah, hope you don’t mind!” The room went silent. Once, another girl had confessed her feelings to Todd right in front of me. Unwilling to be rude, he had awkwardly accepted the flowers she offered. The next second, I had snatched them from his hands and thrown them in the trash. Anyone who knew me knew I had zero tolerance for that kind of thing. I didn’t share. Now, all eyes were on me, waiting for the explosion. But I just lifted my water glass, drained it in one gulp, and started clapping enthusiastically. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” I chanted with a wide smile. “It’s just a game, don’t be a buzzkill!” My colleagues stared at me, dumbfounded, as if they were seeing me for the first time. Todd’s expression shifted from guarded curiosity to outright disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but my applause drowned him out. Anna, clearly not expecting this reaction, had a flicker of confusion cross her face before her coy smile returned. She stood on her toes and pressed a long, deep kiss to Todd’s lips. He froze, his eyes locked on me, a war of hesitation and guilt playing out on his face. Then, after a few seconds, he wrapped his arm around Anna’s waist and deepened the kiss. The two of them became more and more lost in the moment, their movements growing more passionate. Cheers erupted around them. But all I could hear was a dull ringing in my ears. I remembered a long time ago, a girl had snuck a kiss on Todd’s cheek when he was drunk. When I found out, I cried all night, my eyes swollen shut. Todd had held me and comforted me for an entire day. He bought me my favorite strawberry cheesecake, knelt in front of me, and swore, “Baby, I know how much trust means to you. I promise, I will never so much as touch another woman’s finger.” His eyes had been so sincere then, his voice so firm. He had made me feel so safe. But now, he was kissing another woman in front of me, all his promises forgotten. Even though I had already decided to let him go, the pain was still sharp enough to take my breath away. After three minutes, they pulled apart, their faces flushed. Anna wiped her lips. “Sorry about that, Sarah. Just a game, you know!” she said, her tone humble but her eyes glinting with triumph. Todd’s knuckles were white as he clutched the fabric of his shirt, bracing himself for the fight he was sure was coming. I calmly put down my chopsticks, picked up a napkin, and dabbed my lips. My voice was perfectly steady. “No problem at all. It’s just a game. The important thing is that everyone has fun.” I offered a gentle smile. The light in Todd’s eyes died. The tension drained from his body, replaced by an unmistakable wave of disappointment. He looked at me like I was a stranger. After my resignation was finalized, I packed my bags for the move south. I remembered there was one thing left behind: a wooden rocking chair, still at Todd’s house. It was the wedding gift my father had spent three months building for me. Now, it was the only thing I had left of him. I had to get it back. I went to the house and entered my birthday, our usual passcode. Error. I tried again, thinking I’d made a mistake. Still error. I didn’t try a third time. I switched to the fingerprint scanner. My print had been deleted. I was about to call Todd when I remembered Anna’s date of birth from her resume. On a whim, I punched it in. The door clicked open. I stepped into the living room and froze. Todd and Anna were both there. A romantic candlelit dinner for two. Champagne, cake, steak, and a trail of rose petals leading to the bedroom. They stared at me, stunned. Then, a slow, triumphant smirk spread across Anna’s face. She looked at me with such open provocation that for a second, I felt like I was the one who had been caught doing something wrong. Todd composed himself, but he couldn’t hide the panic in his eyes. “How… how did you get in?” The question was laughable. Deleting my fingerprint, changing the code—wasn’t it all to prevent this exact scenario? He didn’t need to go to such trouble. All he had to do was say the word “breakup.” It’s not like I would have clung to him. “I typed in a certain someone’s birthday, and the door just opened.” I let my gaze drift pointedly to Anna. She immediately shifted in her seat, forcing a smile. “Oh, that! I was just messing around with the code for fun, Sarah. Don’t mind me.” She glanced nervously at Todd. I ignored her. “And I suppose you deleted my fingerprint for fun, too?” “Sarah!” Todd’s roar was like a clap of thunder. I couldn’t tell if he was defending his new love or just lashing out in shame. “Is that enough? Do you always have to be so aggressive?” I looked at his face, twisted with a rage I had never seen before, and suddenly felt very, very tired. I turned to Anna. “Get up.” She looked at me, confused. I repeated myself.

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Everyone said I was the lucky one who picked up the engagement my sister didn’t want. No matter how much I flirted, Liam Sterling, with his prayer beads always in hand, wouldn’t even touch the hem of my dress. Until that night, I saw him kneeling by Sofia’s hospital bed with my own eyes. He took my comatose sister’s hand and pressed it against his burning desire, his voice hoarse. “Sofia, I only agreed to marry your sister so I could come see you every day.” The next day, I tore up the engagement contract. “I’m not marrying Liam Sterling. I’m going to marry Adrian Cross.” My mother turned pale. “Nora! Adrian Cross was mutilated by his rivals years ago! He’s a eunuch! He’s ruined!” I looked at her, my heart dead. “Mom, it doesn’t matter who I marry anymore.” Chapter 1 “I’m not marrying Liam Sterling. I’m going to marry Adrian Cross.” I put down my tea cup. My voice was soft but firm. My mom’s face changed instantly. She grabbed my arm. “Nora! Are you crazy? Adrian Cross… three years ago…” She lowered her voice, leaning into my ear. “He got his manhood chopped off by a rival gang! He’s a living eunuch! And I heard he became a psycho after that, beating people up for no reason. You’re walking into a death trap!” I gently pulled my hand back, forcing a bitter smile. “Mom, right now, it doesn’t matter who I marry. Besides…” I gestured toward the living room. “Do you think we can say no to the Cross family?” In the living room, my dad was pouring tea for two men in sharp suits, a fawning smile plastered on his face. “It’s a huge honor that Mr. Cross is interested in my daughter! But… my eldest daughter is currently in a coma, and my second daughter has been engaged to the Sterling family for a long time…” The man sitting in the main seat slowly put down his coffee cup. “It’s just an engagement. Cancel it.” My dad rubbed his hands together, sweat beading on his forehead. Although the Cross family held immense power, their reputation in the elite circles of New York was… well… “If Miss Nora agrees to marry,” the man suddenly said, “the Cross family is willing to offer the heirloom ‘Hexa-petal Crystal Herb’ as a betrothal gift. I hear this medicine works miracles for coma patients.” I saw my dad’s eyes light up instantly. “I’ll marry him!” I stood up abruptly, my voice startling everyone. Just like that, my marriage was settled. After the Cross family left, my dad frowned at me. “Nora, haven’t you always liked Liam? Why the sudden…” I didn’t answer. I turned and went back to my room. Ever since my sister fell into a coma, everyone said I picked up the engagement she discarded. I had loved Liam Sterling for ten whole years, but he was always cold to me. After my sister’s accident, the engagement fell to me. I moved into his villa as his fiancée with joy in my heart, thinking I could finally love him openly. But no matter how many times I tried to get close to him, he would only politely drape a coat over my shoulders and turn away. Until last night. Driven by some ghostly impulse, I followed him when he went out, all the way to the hospital. I will never forget that scene. He knelt by Sofia’s bedside, trembling as he pressed her lifeless hand against his hardness, groaning her name until his release. “Sofia, I agreed to marry your sister just so I could come see you every day.” In that moment, I understood. My ten years of devotion were nothing but a joke. Chapter 2 The Cross family’s miracle drug lived up to its name. Within three days, Sofia woke up. My dad was so happy he decided to throw a gala for her. I stood outside the hospital room, watching medical staff bustle in and out. I typed and deleted a message to Liam on my phone. “There’s a party at home tonight. Are you coming?” The message, as always, sank like a stone in the ocean. No reply. An hour before the party started, I finally couldn’t help but call him. His voice came through the receiver, cold and distant. “I’m in meditation. What is it?” “My sister woke up,” I whispered. Clatter! The sound of prayer beads hitting the floor came through the phone. His breathing clearly hitched. “I’ll be there.” See? As long as it’s about my sister, even the most ascetic “monk” will break his vows. Hanging up, I walked to the stairs and saw Sofia wearing the gown my best friend had designed specifically for me, chatting and laughing in the crowd. “Nora, I borrowed your dress. You don’t mind, right?” She twirled elegantly, the skirt fluttering. “I just woke up, didn’t have time to order a new one.” My mom tugged my sleeve carefully, whispering, “Your sister just recovered. Let her wear it.” I forced a smile. “Of course I don’t mind.” As I turned, I heard Sofia say to her friend, “This dress fits me better anyway, right? Nora is too skinny; she can’t fill it out.” I went back to my room in silence and changed into a plain white dress. My dad stood in the center of the ballroom, face glowing. “My Sofia is awake! From today on, Sofia officially takes over the family company!” The guests applauded. Sofia beamed. “Thank you, Daddy. I’ll run the company well.” “What about the second miss?” someone asked from a corner. My dad seemed to just remember my existence. “There’s a small shop in the south side…” Sofia suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, wasn’t that shop meant for my coffee shop project? I even had blueprints drawn up last time…” My dad immediately corrected himself. “Then the one in the north…” I gripped my wine glass. “No need. I don’t want it.” My dad had always favored Sofia. Even though my mom was his lawful wife, she lived like a shadow. One look from Sofia, and my dad would give her his heart on a platter. I’ve seen my mom cry secretly at night, seen her smile apologetically while being scolded, seen her unable to even speak properly in front of my dad. As the party reached its climax, the butler announced loudly, “Mr. Sterling has arrived!” Liam walked in wearing a black suit, followed by two servers carrying a gift box. They opened it to reveal the deed to a luxury resort. “Congratulations on Miss Sofia’s recovery.” “This is too precious…” Sofia feigned refusal, but hugged the deed tightly to her chest. The room buzzed. “Looks like the engagement is going back to the rightful owner soon.” “She was the original fiancée anyway. Returning it to the original owner is normal.” “The second miss is in an awkward spot now…” I walked to the balcony alone. The night wind couldn’t blow away the irritation in my heart. Suddenly, the sound of high heels approached from behind. Chapter 3 “Sad?” Sofia walked over, swirling her champagne, a blatant smirk on her lips. “While I was in a coma, you had a good time, didn’t you?” “Dad said it was the Cross family’s medicine. But don’t expect me to be grateful.” “Remember this: you only deserve to live in my shadow.” She leaned into my ear. “Just like when we were kids, you only got the dolls I was tired of playing with.” As soon as she finished speaking, she suddenly splashed the champagne all over her own face. “Ah!!” The scream attracted everyone’s attention. Before I could react, Liam rushed over and shoved me hard. “What are you doing?!” I stumbled backward, knocking over a table. Glasses and plates shattered on the floor, sharp shards slicing my calf. Looking up from the mess, I met the gaze of the entire room—some mocking, some pitying. “Nora, are you crazy again?!” My dad’s face was livid. My mom hid behind the crowd, afraid to look at me. Sofia was nestled in Liam’s arms, smiling triumphantly at me. The look in Liam’s eyes was one of thick, unadulterated disgust. My eyes burned. I turned and left. As I turned, I stepped on glass shards, but I kept my back straight, refusing to let anyone see my pathetic state. I went to my best friend Harper’s house and stayed for a few days. Hearing everything, Harper stomped her foot in anger. “Even if Liam is a block of ice, you don’t have to marry that cripple from the Cross family!” “You did so much for Sofia, and he didn’t even say thank you? Some ‘saint,’ he’s just a…” She suddenly stopped. At the entrance of the gallery, Liam was carefully escorting Sofia inside. Sofia wore a yellow sundress, looking as innocent as a daisy. “This painting is beautiful!” She pointed at the one in front of us. “Liam, buy it for me.” Harper immediately blocked her. “We saw it first!” Sofia’s eyes reddened instantly. Liam’s face went cold. “Give it to Sofia.” “Why should we?” Harper trembled with rage. I pulled her arm. “Let’s go. I don’t really like it anyway.” For the entire afternoon, Sofia followed us like a shadow. In the end, Liam bought every single painting in the gallery. Just as we were leaving, the crystal chandelier suddenly fell! A child was standing right under it. In the nick of time, I rushed over and pushed the frozen child away. As agonizing pain hit me, I saw Liam hesitate. “Liam…” Sofia suddenly held her forehead weakly. “I’m so scared! I feel dizzy…” Liam supported Sofia and turned away without hesitation. When I woke up, Harper was cursing with red eyes. “Liam Sterling is a beast!” I opened my phone with a pale face. On social media, Liam was admiring flowers with Sofia. “Don’t cry, Harper,” I whispered. “Did you forget? The one I’m marrying… is Adrian Cross.” She cried even harder. Chapter 4 To keep my mom from worrying, I lied and said I went on a trip. In reality, I spent three days alone in the hospital. The day I was discharged, Liam actually contacted me, asking to meet at the most expensive revolving restaurant in the city center. He pushed a delicate gift box toward me. Inside was a light blue silk scarf. “I will fulfill the engagement, as long as you stop targeting Sofia.” I laughed at myself. “No need. It was originally my sister’s…” “Sofia wasn’t feeling well that day…” He explained, which was unprecedented. Before he finished, Sofia appeared in her high heels, carrying the latest designer bag on her shoulder. That scarf was just a freebie that came with her bag purchase. “Nora,” she hooked her arm intimately through Liam’s, “I specifically asked Liam to pick that gift for you. Do you like it?” Her bag and the scarf were the same color, stinging my eyes. I forced a smile, digging my nails into my palms. When I got home, I saw my mom limping down the stairs, holding onto the railing. “Mom!” I rushed to support her, feeling a bruise on her wrist. “Did Sofia push you again?” My voice trembled uncontrollably. Over the years, Sofia always called my mom a homewrecker and even got physical, even though my mom married in three years after her biological mother died. Bang! The front door was pushed open. Sofia walked in and tossed her bag onto the sofa. “Sofia, why did you push my mom?!” I couldn’t hold back. “Who told her to be a mistress?” She raised her hand and slapped my mom. My brain buzzed. By the time I reacted, my hand had already slapped Sofia across the face. “I’ll say it again! My mom is not a mistress! My mom married in three years after your mom died!” I was shaking all over. My mom pulled me back in a panic. “Stop arguing, stop arguing, we’re all family.” Sofia sneered. “Who’s family with you, you bitch?” She backhanded my mom again. My mom stumbled into the wall, a bright red handprint appearing on her face. I snapped. But my raised hand was stopped mid-air by a sharp shout. “Nora?! What are you doing!” I looked up. Liam stood at the door, holding the shawl Sofia had left behind. Sofia’s face changed instantly. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “Liam, my sister is trying to hit me…” Watching him hold her tight, seeing the disgust in his eyes directed at me, I suddenly found it hilarious. As they left, I clearly heard Sofia whisper in his ear, “See? Like mother, like daughter…” On the opening day of the resort Liam gave to Sofia, my dad coldly ordered me to attend. “You embarrassed us at the last party. Go play a piece on the piano today,” he said, brooking no argument. “Don’t shame the family.” I sat at the piano, fingers moving mechanically over the keys. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sofia glancing my way. Just as the last note faded, Bang! The piano cover slammed down without warning. Excruciating pain shot through my ten fingers instantly. “Ah—” My vision went black from the pain. Instinctively, I looked toward Liam nearby. But Sofia grabbed his arm. “Ignore her. She’s been like this since she was little, screaming over a bug.” She shook his arm coquettishly. “Let’s go see the fountain.” Before I fainted from the pain, all I saw was their retreating backs. When I woke up, my mom was sitting by the hospital bed with swollen eyes. “Nora, the Cross family sent the best hand surgeon.” She tremblingly stroked my bandaged hands. “Mom thinks… maybe the Cross family isn’t as scary as the rumors say.” “Where are Dad and my sister?” I asked softly. My mom lowered her head. “Your dad went with Sofia to buy a yacht… said it was to celebrate the resort opening…” I didn’t speak, but tears fell uncontrollably. Besides my mom, it seemed no one in this world truly cared about me. Maybe leaving was the best choice. The day I went to Liam’s villa to pack my things, I rang the doorbell, but no one answered. Habitually, I entered the old passcode, but it didn’t work anymore. I called Liam. As usual, no answer. Just as I was putting down my phone, a social media notification popped up. His account, which hadn’t updated in three years, posted a beach photo. In the corner of the photo, a flash of a yellow skirt stung my eyes. I stared at the screen until my vision blurred. Trembling, I tried entering Sofia’s birthday. Click. The door opened. In the empty villa, a phone suddenly rang. “What is it?” Liam’s voice came through, cold as always. “Here to pick up some things,” I said calmly. “No one’s home.” “Mm.” He paused. “I’m with Sofia looking at shops for the resort.” His tone held a hint of impatience. “About the engagement, I keep my word.” Then he hung up. A string of prayer beads rolled out of a drawer, making a crisp sound on the floor. I squatted down, looking at this “gift” he had casually tossed to me, and suddenly laughed until I cried. I deleted all photos of him and his contact info from my phone, then went straight to the airport. “Window seat?” the check-in agent asked. “No need,” I whispered. “There’s nothing left to see here.” Liam Sterling, goodbye forever.

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When I was five, my parents adopted the son of their late best friends. We grew up side by side. For eighteen years, I called him “brother.” He spoiled me with a decade of unconditional indulgence. He told me that under his protection, I could do whatever I wanted, forever. Until that stormy night, when a moment of impulse led to a night of reckless passion. Fighting back my shyness, I confessed the love I had hidden for years. But in his eyes, I saw nothing but undisguised mockery and disdain. “People like you, Harper… you think you can get whatever you want so easily.” The very next day, he began a systematic series of blind dates, preparing for a business marriage. Later, a paternity test shattered my reality and stripped me of my identity. I returned to my biological parents and started a new life. But he threw everything away, chased after me with bloodshot eyes, and asked if we could start over. I shook my head calmly. “From the beginning to the end, our meeting was a mistake.” Chapter 1 “Harper, have you really decided to leave New York?” “Yeah. I’ll be gone before the holidays.” “They are your biological parents, that’s true. But I’ve raised you with such care all these years. You will always be my precious girl. If you stay with the Hayes family, your future will be brighter.” “I understand, Dad. Whether my last name is Hayes or not, you will always be my dearest father.” “Alright. We respect your decision. Go tell your brother.” “Thanks, Dad. I’ll let him know.” After hanging up, I drove straight to Hayes Corp. When I appeared outside Ethan Sterling’s office, his secretary looked surprised and stood up. “Miss Hayes.” “Is he in? I need to see him,” I said directly. “One moment.” The secretary dialed the internal line, announced me to Ethan, and then looked at me with an awkward expression after hanging up. “Ms. Vance is in there. Mr. Sterling asks you to wait outside for a while.” That “while” turned into two hours. From inside the office, the faint sounds of a woman’s laughter and a man’s low voice drifted out occasionally. The secretary’s team was used to it, but I sat there stiff as a board, a sharp pain spreading from my chest to my limbs. Finally, the office door opened. Ethan walked out, holding Serena Vance’s hand. The flush on her cheeks hadn’t faded, and her hair was slightly messy. A few strands fell loosely by her ear, adding to her allure. She looked shy, nervous, but mostly… sweet. Ethan’s tie was loosened. He looked distracted as he kissed her on the eyelids. “I’ll have the driver take you home. I’ll call you tonight.” Only after Serena entered the elevator did Ethan deign to look at me. Neither of us spoke. The air felt solid, suffocating. After a long silence, I surrendered first. “I came to resign.” I handed him the envelope. Ethan frowned, his eyes cold. “Harper, stop playing these hard-to-get games. Even if you aren’t Dad’s biological daughter, I still treat you as a sister.” Under his scrutiny, I kept my expression flat. I didn’t look away. “Think whatever you want. I quit.” “Stop being a brat. I won’t approve your resignation.” I laughed softly, my eyes full of irony. “I thought you’d be eager for me to get lost, so I wouldn’t ruin your engagement.” Ethan scoffed. “You aren’t important enough to influence my decisions.” I nodded, expressionless. “Then please, Mr. Sterling, be generous and let me go.” We were once the closest two people in the world. Now, we stood on opposite sides, every word a thorn. Ethan stared at me in silence for a long time before finally signing the letter. “As you wish.” We were siblings by bond, raised together. But now, we treated each other worse than strangers. Chapter 2 Night fell. Outside, a hurricane battered the windows, making terrifying noises. A crack of thunder, and the villa plunged into darkness. I curled up in the corner of my bed, fear clinging to me like a shadow. Forgetting everything else, I tremblingly dialed Ethan. My voice was thick with tears. “Ethan, I’m scared. The power is out.” Ethan’s voice was cold and impatient. “Enough, Harper. I told you, that night was just an accident.” “Even if you use the same excuse to shamelessly seduce me again, I won’t indulge your tantrums anymore.” The light in my eyes dimmed. I couldn’t believe he thought of me that way. Before I could explain, he hung up. When I called back, it went straight to voicemail. Then, a text came from Serena: [You aren’t a Hayes anymore. Know your place. Stop guilt-tripping Ethan.] She sent a photo. It was Ethan, standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, wearing a bathrobe. His back was broad and straight. It was the apartment Ethan had said he would never bring another woman to. My heart sank violently, falling into an endless ice cavern. Tears fell silently. The tenderness and trust of the past were gone. When I was five, a ten-year-old Ethan was brought to the Hayes estate by my parents. Later, my mother died in a car accident. My father, unable to bear the memories, lived abroad for most of the year. From the time I could remember, my world consisted only of the nanny and Ethan. Growing up together, time wove countless warm memories into our lives. The way he used to look at me was always full of gentleness and indulgence. When I smiled, the corners of his mouth would lift unconsciously. He used to say my happiness was his whole world. When I acted out, he would watch quietly, his eyes full of tolerance. When I was wronged, he would protect me at all costs. Any whimsical wish I had, he would move mountains to fulfill. Other heirs from wealthy families started dating or arranging marriages at his age. But he always said, “I can’t bear to leave Harper alone at home. I’ll wait until she gets a boyfriend.” First love bloomed. I had never seen a man better than Ethan. My feelings for him had long surpassed those of a sister. Sadly, all that beauty came to a screeching halt on that rainy night. If I hadn’t been so bold, taking advantage of his drunkenness for a night of indulgence… When I woke up the next day, I couldn’t suppress my joy. I traced the outline of his face, my eyes full of attachment. The madness and blur of the previous night were still vivid. His brows, his eyes, his lips—everything made my heart race. Fighting my shyness, I confessed. But in Ethan’s eyes, I saw panic and regret. He frowned. “Enough, Harper. You are just my sister. I am good to you because your last name is Hayes. The Hayes family saved me.” The very next day, he started dating frequently, stepping onto the path of an arranged marriage. I watched him bring home woman after woman. Some glamorous, some elegant. I didn’t believe he was heartless. I thought he cared too much about societal judgment, afraid of disappointing Dad. I thought he wanted me to give up, to bury my feelings. I even thought he was suffering alone for the sake of responsibility. Until he met Serena Vance. Only then did I realize that the looks I thought were filled with deep affection were just my own delusions. Chapter 3 After he started appearing everywhere with Serena, I refused to give up. I asked him why it couldn’t be me. He looked at me with a mockery and disdain I had never seen before, his tone icy. “Harper Hayes, people like you… you think you can get whatever you want so easily.” “In this world, not everyone has to revolve around you.” My world collapsed in that moment. The cold words from the person I loved pierced my defenseless heart like bullets. He was the one who promised me a lifetime of peace countless times. He said that with him, I could do whatever I wanted, that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. But in the end, he was the one who hurt me the deepest. He warned me coldly, “Harper, pretend that night never happened. I am your brother, nothing more.” Yet, after saying those words, when I was struggling with a major project at the company and being blocked by senior executives due to my lack of experience… Ethan secretly assembled an elite team to strategize for my nearly failing project, providing resources and support. He specifically demanded that no one tell me about his involvement. When I accidentally found out, I rushed to his office to confront him. If he rejected me, why work silently behind my back? Why protect my dreams? But Ethan said coldly, “Harper, you are a Hayes. I’ve been in this family for eighteen years. I won’t allow anyone to walk all over a Hayes. I did it for the family, not for you.” “As for why I hid it? I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea again.” In that moment, I understood. It was all my own wishful thinking. He was good to me simply because I carried the name Hayes. To repay my parents’ kindness, he obeyed my every whim. I mistook it for love and shamelessly fell for him. I wondered if, deep down, he felt that sharing such a “secret” with me was disgusting and shameful. He pointed indifferently at the door. “Get out. Don’t come into my office without official business.” I looked at the sofa where my dedicated nap pillow still lay, then at the cold, completely unfamiliar man in front of me. My fantasies and expectations shattered completely. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I turned around, dazed, and walked out on shaky legs. In my panic, I bumped into his secretary. The invitations in her arms scattered all over the floor. I bent down to pick them up. When the familiar gold lettering caught my eye, my heart skipped a beat. I stared at every word on the invitation. Every stroke seemed to mock my unrequited love. Tears finally broke free, falling onto the card, blurring Ethan’s name. So, he and Serena were already getting engaged… He cared for me out of duty. I was just a passerby in his life. Now that he was about to walk down the aisle with someone else, my existence was a burden. A stain. From this moment on, for the sake of the Hayes family’s dignity, I had to accept reality and let go of this impossible love. Just as I was preparing to pack up my feelings and go back to being Ethan’s obedient sister, a paternity test stripped me of my identity. My father, while abroad, met a female student who looked exactly like my mother did when she was young. Coincidentally, she was born on the same day as me. I don’t look like my parents. But it was just a lack of resemblance; no one had ever suspected that a dramatic “switched at birth” scenario could happen to us. But Dad secretly did a DNA test. The results were a blow to the head. The parents I had called Mom and Dad for over twenty years weren’t mine. My biological parents were a couple of scholars I had never met. My real last name should be Yeager. The true Hayes daughter was someone else. The person Ethan owed his gratitude to was someone else. The moment I realized this, I suddenly felt a sense of relief. Everything with Ethan, even our meeting, was based on a mistake. I decided to swap our lives back. I made up my mind to leave this city and never see Ethan again. Chapter 4 The Yeagers—my biological parents—had arranged everything for me in San Francisco. The real Hayes heiress would return to the family after finishing her studies abroad. As an executive at Hayes Corp, I had to stay for a month after my resignation was approved to hand over my work. Ethan didn’t come home. I knew he was staying at the penthouse apartment Dad gave him for graduation. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows there was beautiful, overlooking the entire city at night. When he renovated it, he kept a bedroom and walk-in closet just for me, promising he wouldn’t bring anyone else up there. Back then, at eighteen, I naively thought that one day I would move into the master bedroom. But now, it welcomed its real mistress. Ethan didn’t know I was leaving the family. He thought my resignation was just a tactic to force him to change his mind. Dad wanted to transfer me to the Hayes branch in San Francisco and promised that I would always have a share of his inheritance. I refused. I contacted Liam, a senior from my university days who was doing well in San Francisco, and asked him to recommend me for a job. Liam took advantage of a business trip to New York to meet me. Talking about our field, we hit it off. The atmosphere was harmonious. Liam joked that with my experience as a Hayes executive, I could get a job anywhere. Amidst our laughter, my gaze inadvertently swept toward the restaurant entrance, and I froze. It was Ethan. Serena stood beside him, her makeup exquisite, clinging affectionately to his arm. Ethan saw me at the same time. His face darkened instantly. He shook off Serena and stormed over to me. “What are you doing here?” When he saw clearly that the person sitting opposite me was Liam, his face got even uglier. Serena, not understanding the tension, smiled and took Ethan’s arm again. “Harper is on a date too? What a coincidence. Is this your boyfriend?” Her smile was gentle, but her eyes were full of hostility. Liam looked slightly awkward but braced himself to greet Ethan politely. I remembered then—Liam had pursued me in college. Ethan had warned him with righteous indignation: “Don’t harass my sister! I have to personally approve her future boyfriend, and you aren’t even close!” Before I could speak, Ethan yanked me up, his eyes full of aggression. “Harper Hayes! Is this all you’ve got? Finding this kind of second-rate guy just to provoke me?” My eyes reddened with anger. I wanted to say, Insult me all you want, but show some respect to my friend. But meeting his cold, disdainful gaze, I suddenly couldn’t say a word. No matter how I explained, I would only look more pathetic in his eyes. Why humiliate myself? Liam didn’t take the bait. He explained gently, “You misunderstand. I’m just meeting Harper to talk about work.” “Work?” Ethan scoffed coldly. “Let me remind you, you are a director and executive at Hayes Corp. If you leave, there’s a non-compete clause. You can’t go to a competitor anytime soon. I won’t make an exception for you on this.” I gritted my teeth, unwilling to tangle with him further. I nodded expressionlessly. “Understood.” Ethan paused, frowning as if he wanted to say more. But Serena laughed charmingly, shook his arm, and whined. “Come on, Ethan, I’m starving. Harper is a grown woman, it’s normal to have a boyfriend. Let’s not disturb their date.” She looked like a caring sister-in-law, but the chill in her eyes was impossible to ignore. Hearing she was hungry, Ethan let it go and led her into their reserved private room.

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My dad wanted a divorce due to Mom’s cheating. They fought hardest over who’d keep me. Though he’d married into her wealth, he took a job to seek custody. Leaving on a trip, he begged Mom to care for me, his five-year-old. Once he left, she called her lover and went to cook for his cat. She left me with only instant ramen and bottled water. Five days later, feverish, I took the wrong medicine. My heart beat unevenly. I called Mom, gasping, “I’m sick… took wrong medicine. I think I’m dying.” Her voice was groggy and annoyed. “Like your father—a liar. I’ll be back in days. Just sleep.” Nauseous, I pleaded, “Mommy, please, I really—” The phone clattered as she tossed it. A man’s voice asked, “Your kid says he’s dying. Not scared?” Casually, she replied, “Don’t believe him. Honestly, his death would solve problems. He’s why our divorce drags on.” I recalled Dad’s breakdowns over her cheating. He was right: only my death would free him. … With my last ounce of strength, I crawled into bed and grabbed the family photo from the nightstand. I held it close, tucked under the covers. In the photo, Dad is kissing my cheek, his face beaming. Mom is looking at us both with so much love. Dad told me this picture was from when I was two. That was before her first love came back into her life. Back then, all her love was here, in this home. He came back when I was three. After that, the way she looked at me and Dad was distant, distracted. But she always said she loved me. That I was the continuation of her life. Especially after the doctors told her an old injury meant she could never have another child. I was her only one, her everything. Even when Dad offered to walk away with nothing, asking only for custody of me and offering her full visitation rights, she refused. My tears fell like fat raindrops onto his picture. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. A crushing weight settled on my chest, and I whispered with my final breath: “Goodbye, Daddy.” As my eyes closed, I saw him again, kneeling in front of my mother. “I’m begging you! Just give me the boy!” “You don’t love us. Stop torturing us.” He was sobbing, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Her face was a mask of impatience. “What do you mean I don’t love you?” “You’re the one who can’t appreciate a good thing when you have it!” “If you really loved our son, you’d want him to have a complete family!” “He is my son. I will never give him to you!” Dad’s despair turned to rage. He scrambled to his feet. “You love him? You love our son? Bullshit!” He hated it most when she claimed to love me when her actions showed anything but. He, who was always so gentle, had started screaming in their fights. He brought up every old wound, every single one of her failings. “You love him? He was hospitalized with pneumonia for a week, and you never even showed your face! Where were you? You were in the Arctic, watching polar bears with your lover!” “And you didn’t just not come back, you took every penny we had and spent it on that man!” “You always wanted to know where the money for Leo’s hospital bills came from, didn’t you?” “I’ll tell you! I sold myself! I spent six hours with some old woman so I could pay for our son’s treatment! Are you happy now?!” “I hate you! I hate that you don’t love him but you keep pretending you do!” “I’ve raised him since he was born. Why don’t I have the right to take him with me?” That was the day I understood why Dad always took such long showers. The sound of the water covered the sound of his crying. I would always ask him why his eyes were red, and he would always smile and say I was imagining things. I had begged her, too, hoping to stop his pain. “Mommy, please say sorry to Daddy. Please don’t make him cry anymore.” Her expression soured. She scooped me up, wiping my tears with a rough hand. “Stop being so dramatic, you’re scaring him!” she snapped at my dad. “I’ll say this one last time. Give me custody, and I’ll sign the divorce papers right now. Otherwise, we stay like this. Stop making our lives a living hell over every little thing.” Dad wouldn’t let it go. He grabbed her arm, desperate. “Jessica!” “You say you love our son. What have you ever done for him?” “You cook for your lover’s cat, but has our son, your five-year-old son, ever had a single meal that you’ve made?” “You even stole the birthday money I was saving for him to buy cat food for that man’s cat!” “You buy that man clothes, gifts, you even buy clothes for his damn cat. Has our son ever worn a single thing you bought for him?” These scenes played out every few days. And every time, Mom would just shut down, sighing impatiently. “Go on, throw your fit. No one is listening.” Every argument ended the same way: with my dad screaming into a void, a one-man tragedy. I had tried, too, crying my own eyes out, whispering to her in secret. “Please divorce Dad. He has to take pills just to sleep now.” “He’s always sick, and he never eats. He’s in so much pain.” “Mommy, even if I live with Daddy, I’ll still love you.” “Please, Mommy. Just let me go with him.” Her eyes would turn red, but she would blink back the tears, her large hand gently stroking my cheek. “Your father is just throwing a tantrum,” she’d coo. “Mommy can’t bear to let you go with him. He married into our family. How could he possibly support you?” “We’ll always be a family, okay?” Dad heard that. The truth was, Dad had always worked, but it was at my grandpa’s company. Grandpa watched him like a hawk and only paid him a pittance. Last year, Grandpa drove the company into bankruptcy and couldn’t handle the failure; he jumped from a building. Mom was living off her savings, so Dad stayed home to take care of me. But now, to win custody, he had immediately found a new job. He would cup my face in his hands, his eyes shining with a desperate hope. “Leo, son, just wait until Dad’s job is stable. Then I’ll file for divorce.” “Once I have a steady income, the court will have to give you to me.” “Just give me a little more time, okay?” And every time, I would smile and tell him he could do it. I’d overheard the adults talking. Before I was born, my dad had been a brilliant man, full of talent and promise. After they married, he gave it all up to take care of me and Mom, content to be a nobody at Grandpa’s company. In my memory, he was always busy, from sunrise to sunset. He cooked every meal. He took care of my sick grandparents. Any spare moment he had, he spent reading me stories or playing with me. I often saw him so tired he could barely stand. After he got the new job, he was gone before I woke up and came home long after I was asleep. It only gave Mom another reason to complain. “You’re neglecting your family for some stupid job!” He was done fighting. He just focused on his work, on earning that steady paycheck he needed to take her to court. Mom, of course, didn’t change at all. When she was in a good mood, she might pick me up for a few minutes before putting me down to giggle at her phone, texting that man. She’d kiss my cheek and say, “I just love my big boy so much.” I couldn’t remember any other warm moments with her. Mostly, I just remembered her screaming at Dad about the divorce, smashing things, and me wailing in a corner, terrified. But it was okay now. I was dead. They wouldn’t have to fight over me anymore. Dad came home that night. My soul lingered in the house, a silent observer. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s home!” He was dusty from travel, pulling his suitcase behind him. In his other hand, he held a new capybara toy and a bag of my favorite snacks. I ran to him instinctively, wanting a hug, but my arms passed right through him. My transparent spirit drifted through his body. I remembered then. I was already dead. Dad looked around at the messy living room, at the ramen wrappers and empty water bottles littering the floor. The air was stale and smelled sour. He was a neat freak. He fanned the air in front of his nose and set down his suitcase, walking further into the house. “Leo? Leo, Daddy’s home,” he called out, looking around. He muttered to himself, “It’s only been a few days, and this place is a pigsty. What kind of mother is she? And she thinks she can fight me for custody?” I floated beside him, reaching out to take his hand. Just like when I was alive, when his big hand would swallow mine as we walked. Only now, I couldn’t feel its warmth. I looked up at his face. “Daddy, I’m dead now.” “You can divorce Mommy.” “You don’t have to fight with her anymore.” He couldn’t hear me. He went to the bedroom, still looking for me. And then he saw my small form, lying in the bed. A happy smile spread across his face. He tiptoed over, his eyes soft with love. He watched me for a long moment, then blew a gentle kiss in my direction, careful not to wake me. My nose stung, and tears fell like broken pearls. I cried and hugged his legs. I knew with absolute certainty that he was the only person in the world who truly loved me. And I loved him most of all. I wanted him to be free, but I was terrified that finding me dead would break him completely. In that moment, I finally understood what he meant when he used to say, “You’re my only weakness.” Back then, I would tell him to stay away from Mom, thinking naively that if he did, he wouldn’t be sad, that he’d be able to sleep at night. He would just hold me tight and say, over and over, “Daddy will get you out of here. I will never leave my baby boy.” But Daddy, I’m sorry. I left you. He quietly closed the bedroom door and went to the bathroom, the room furthest from mine, to call Mom. The phone rang for a long time before she answered. He covered his mouth, his voice a furious whisper. “Where the hell have you been?” “Were you with him again?” “Jessica, you are so heartless!” “How could you leave our son home alone?” He was trying so hard to keep his voice down, but his face was red with rage. Mom’s voice was, as always, annoyed. “I have my own life, you know!” “Stop looking for reasons to start a fight!” “Leo is five years old. He’s a good boy. He can be alone!” “If you can’t stand it, then quit your job and come back to take care of him yourself!” Beep. She hung up. Dad furiously redialed, but she had turned her phone off. Tears of rage welled in his eyes. He clutched his chest, wiping his face again and again. A choked sob escaped him, twisting his features in pain. I held him, my transparent arms wrapped around him, whispering, “Daddy, don’t cry. You can leave her now.” His shoulders shook in my ghostly embrace. Finally, his eyes red and swollen, he started cleaning the house. Just like he always did, quietly picking up the pieces. And just like I always did, I followed him around like a little shadow. When the house was clean, he opened the fridge and found it empty. He was about to figure out what to cook for me when his boss called. He needed a proposal drafted, immediately. Dad dropped everything, sat at the living room table, and opened his laptop. I rested my chin on the table, watching him work. A moment later, his phone rang again. It was Grandma. “How long are you going to waste your life on her?” “It’s not like you can’t have other children. Just give her Leo and get the divorce over with!” I’d heard these words so many times I could recite them myself. As always, Dad’s voice was firm. “This is my business. Don’t worry about it. I am not giving her Leo.” Grandma’s voice rose. “You think I want to worry? That heartless Jessica, she mortgaged the house you live in! She bought that lover of hers a luxury car!” “That man came to show it off to your father and me. Your father got so angry he had a heart attack!” “He’s been in the hospital for five days! I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!” The news hit Dad like a physical blow. He never imagined she would be so cruel. A sharp pain shot through his chest, and he weakly patted it with his hand. After a few minutes, he picked up his phone and called a woman. “I can be your lover. But I want a divorce, and you have to help me get custody of my son.” The woman on the other end laughed and readily agreed. I remembered her. She was ten years older than my dad. My dad, who was so clean and proud, how could he be with someone he didn’t love, just for me? I stomped my ghostly feet. “Daddy, I’m dead! Just go look in the room!” “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do anymore.” Dad sat in a daze for a long time. His phone vibrated again. It was his boss, summoning him to the office for an emergency meeting. He hadn’t eaten all day, and his stomach ached with hunger. He only had time to swallow half a glass of water. He grabbed his briefcase and rushed out the door, calling Mom one last time. “I’m going to the office. You get your ass home and watch Leo right now.” “If I get back and he’s still alone, I swear I will go find that man and I will make you regret it.”

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Ethan’s first love was accidentally locked in the office. To punish me, he locked me in an abandoned cold storage unit to reflect on my actions. “You need to taste what Lily went through, so you’ll learn your lesson!” He locked me inside with only a bowl of water. But he didn’t know it wasn’t abandoned. After he left, the unit turned on. I froze, trembling uncontrollably, crying for help until my bloody handprints covered the door and walls. Seven days later, he wanted an apology and had the unit opened. He found a frozen corpse. 1 Ethan checked the time after a busy day. “It’s been three days. Has Chloe admitted her mistake yet?” “That woman is stubborn!” His first love, Lily, entered with chicken soup. “Ethan, let it go. She didn’t mean to.” “Three days is enough.” Ethan’s expression softened when he saw her. “You’re too kind. If Chloe had even a fraction of your understanding, it would be great.” “Don’t be mad at her. She just cares too much about you.” Hearing this, Ethan took out his phone and called his subordinate. “Has Chloe admitted her mistake?” “No, there’s no sound from inside. Mr. Ethan, could something have happened?” “What could happen? Since she won’t admit her mistake, let her stay there!” Hanging up, he returned to his cold demeanor. Lily looked smug beside him. Ethan, you’ll never get my response. Because I’m already dead! I died three days ago. That “abandoned” cold storage unit turned on after they left. I was trapped inside, crying out to no avail. At first, there were voices outside. I banged on the door and begged, but got only indifference from the guards. “Mr. Ethan said you need to reflect in there, ma’am. Please don’t make it difficult for us.” “No! Please, the unit is on! Someone help!” But there was no sound outside anymore. They left. At first, I was calm, looking for a way out. But as the temperature dropped, I couldn’t think. I ran in circles to generate heat. In the end, I couldn’t run anymore. I felt frozen stiff. I curled up in a corner, hoping to get warm. This place was originally for seafood storage. After the goods were moved, only shelves remained. I piled the shelves in front of me, hoping to block the cold air. But it was useless. The moment I realized I was dying, my heart went cold bit by bit. When I saw my own corpse, I was shocked! The frozen me in the corner, eyes full of despair, door and walls covered in bloody fingernail marks. Just as I was about to go over, a force sucked me out, and I ended up beside Ethan. Hearing his words now, I found it ridiculous. Ethan, I reflected with my life. I hope I never have to see you in the next! I stood by, watching Ethan and Lily look into each other’s eyes. Lily handed him her phone. “Ethan, I booked tickets for the art exhibition. Come with me tomorrow!” “Okay. It’s late. Go rest.” Lily took his hand. “I’m afraid of the dark. Stay with me.” Ethan reluctantly agreed. I forgot, Lily lived in our house. After returning from abroad, the first thing she did was contact Ethan. Using the excuse of being unfamiliar with the place, she asked to move into our home. Ridiculous. She was local. Five years abroad and suddenly she’s unfamiliar? When I objected, Ethan looked impatient: “Chloe, her parents aren’t here. Do you know how dangerous it is for a girl to live alone?” I knew. Before marriage, I also lived alone in a rented apartment. Ethan said to me then: “Chloe, girls should respect themselves. I don’t want to cohabit before marriage.” Now thinking about it, he played the double standard game perfectly. Ethan accompanied Lily to the guest room. It was called a guest room, but it was right next to our master bedroom. I originally intended it for the nursery. But as soon as Lily arrived, she said the room had good lighting and she liked it, so Ethan gave it to her directly. 2 I watched coldly as Ethan walked her to the guest room. Lily was about to leave when a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. With a crack of thunder, she screamed and threw herself into Ethan’s arms. Ethan stiffened, and Lily held onto him tightly: “Ethan, I’m so scared. Can you stay and keep me company?” Ethan’s hand lingered on her back for a moment, then he patted her, “Okay.” At that moment, I felt like a clown because I was also afraid of thunder. I remembered when I lived alone, a sudden heavy rain and thunderstorm came one night, and the power went out. I was so scared I almost cried. So I called him, wanting comfort. But what did Ethan say? “How old are you to still be afraid of thunder? Chloe, don’t use this method to get my attention. You need to know that you are an adult and independent. Be good, okay?” He hung up the phone, and that night I tightly wrapped myself in the quilt, relying on the phone flashlight to get through. I couldn’t fall asleep until dawn. Thinking back now, I was truly humble. Clearly, Ethan didn’t care at all. There seemed to be a wall between him and me forever. I laughed bitterly. Although I was dead, I was still afraid of the thunder. I hugged my arms and shivered. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t go anywhere. I could only stay and watch Ethan comforting Lily in his arms. And she shrunk into Ethan’s arms, her eyes sharp and proud. I sighed. Lily would always be the vermilion mole in Ethan’s heart. What was I? I shook my head and looked outside. Even in death, I was still afraid of thunder. Fortunately, this moment didn’t last too long. The thunder stopped after an hour, and Ethan left the guest room. Lily watched his back and smiled proudly, murmuring to herself: “Ethan. You will always be mine, no one can take you away!” I was a bit surprised to hear this. She still wanted Ethan even now. Then why did she leave back then? Ethan too. Since he couldn’t forget her, why did he marry me? After returning, Ethan acted uncharacteristically. He looked at my photo on his phone and said in a deep voice: “Chloe, I hope you can learn a lesson. If you soften up and admit your mistake, I’ll let you out!” Looking at Ethan’s face, I just felt ridiculous. Soften up? Admit mistake! What did I do wrong? I didn’t lock Lily in the office! But Ethan wouldn’t listen to my explanation at all because Lily acted like a green tea bitch, saying she didn’t blame me, so Ethan was certain I did it. He locked me in the abandoned cold storage unit, killed me, and now wants me to admit my mistake? Ridiculous. Ethan is also a smart person, being able to sit in the position of company president means he’s not brainless, but when it comes to Lily, he becomes deaf and blind. The next morning, the guards of the cold storage unit felt something was wrong and reported tremblingly: “Mr. Ethan, should we let the madam out? There’s no sound at all from inside, and a bowl of water can’t last for five days!” Ethan hesitated for a moment, then said coldly: “Without food or drink, a bowl of water is fine for ten days. Since she’s so stubborn, let’s continue. I want to see how long she can hold on!” “But, but there’s no sound at all from inside. We are worried, what if the madam…” “Don’t worry, Chloe is just pretending!” 3 Ethan’s sentence sealed my fate, so the guards didn’t say anything more. At this time, Lily walked in and heard him say this, a smile appeared on her lips, “Ethan, forget it, it’s been several days, I’m fine!” “No, she made you stay locked in the office for so long, she should be punished.” Lily had a smile on her face, but said: “Ethan, isn’t it too much? After all, she is your wife.” “She treated me… it’s also my fault, always troubling you, making her jealous. Just let her go!” Lily sounded nice, seemingly excusing me, but every sentence nailed me down. Ethan fell for it. “Lily, you are always soft-hearted. Fine, for your sake, I’ll give her a chance!” Lily’s face stiffened, not expecting Ethan to say this. “What’s wrong?” Seeing her expression changed, Ethan asked: “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, just thinking that I haven’t seen her for days, better bring a doctor along!” Is Lily that kind? I doubted it. But she was right, bring a doctor to confirm my death. To save trouble later. Ethan, I looked forward to you finding out the truth, really wanted to see your expression when you know I’m dead. Ethan took a deep breath and held Lily’s hand, “If only she had a fraction of your understanding.” “Ethan, she is your wife after all.” Ethan’s eyes were complex, and I sneered. I never intended to fight Lily for anything. Wife? This title was ironic. Even without this so-called reflection, I planned to divorce him. I really had enough. It’s just a pity about that little life. I involuntarily touched my lower abdomen, feeling pain in my heart. At this time, Ethan’s face darkened, and his voice was unquestionable: “No need, you don’t need to plead for her. Chloe is just putting on an act!” “Every time it’s either this pain or that pain, or saying she didn’t do it. I’ve seen through her!” “None of you are allowed to plead for her!” “Unless she apologizes, she is not allowed out!” Hearing this, Lily seemed relieved and stood aside without speaking, while I was a little stunned. Ethan, so this is what I am in your heart. A sting in my heart. Fortunately, I’m dead, I don’t care anymore. Ethan finally remembered me and took people to the abandoned cold storage unit. When they got to the door, the guards were trembling, “Mr. Ethan.” “Has Chloe softened up yet?” “Mr. Ethan, no. We asked through the door, no response from inside.” “Madam, could something have happened?” “I’m worried…” Ethan snorted coldly: “What’s there to worry about? Just playing tricks!” “Open the door! I want to hear this woman apologize personally!” Lily smirked, and the guard quickly went over. They were dumbfounded when they opened the door of the cold storage unit. Ethan’s voice came from behind, “Let her come out!” “Mr., Mr. Ethan, the cold storage… the cold storage seems to have started!” Ethan walked over, “What started? You want to shirk responsibility, right!” At this time, he was standing at the door, and the cold air from inside continued to pour out, making people shudder! Ethan’s face turned pale, “Chloe, don’t think I’ll forgive you just because you turned on the cold storage. Get out here!” Silence. Everyone around looked at each other. Ethan was furious. After hesitating for a long time, he said coldly: “Bring her out for me!” As soon as the voice fell, several people rushed in. When they saw the frozen corpse curled up behind the shelves, they were terrified! “Madam… Madam froze to death!” 4 Ethan flew into a rage, “Nonsense! How could she die!” He rushed in, and vaguely saw a person curled up behind rows of shelves. Ethan trembled. I followed him. Although I was prepared, seeing my own corpse still scared me. I opened my eyes and looked straight ahead, staring at him, my face covered with frost, and my ten fingers were full of dried blood. There were traces of my struggle everywhere on the ground and walls. The moment our eyes met, Ethan staggered twice and knelt down in front of me with a thud. He stretched out his hand trembling, wanting to touch but daring not. “No, this is not her, impossible!” “The cold storage unit was abandoned, how could she freeze stiff!” “Get the surveillance video for me, see what happened!” He turned his head and saw the bloody handprints on the wall, his lips quivered, he stood up and rushed to stroke the wall, then looked at me in the corner. Although my hands were frozen hard, they were still bloody, all ten fingers covered in blood. Ethan went mad, suddenly rushed forward and hugged me, “Chloe, you did it on purpose, didn’t you? This is all fake, you are scaring me, aren’t you? Get up, get up!” “I don’t believe you just left like this, Chloe, hurry up, I don’t blame you anymore, I won’t punish you anymore, you don’t need to reflect, quick! Get up!” “Speak to me!” He pulled and dragged me frantically, but my body was frozen stiff. Being pulled by him, I hit the ground with a thud! Ethan staggered twice and fell to the ground. Lily outside the door was so frightened that her face turned pale, then a trace of calm flashed in her eyes, “Ethan, she’s dead, you need to restrain your grief.” Ethan turned his head to look at her, and roared the next second: “She’s not dead! How could she die, impossible!” The doctor he brought came forward directly, shook his head and said: “Mr. Ethan, there are no vital signs.” At this time, the guard ran over in a hurry, “Mr. Ethan, the surveillance was destroyed, but our people have been guarding outside the gate!” Ethan was stunned. If so, it meant that when I went in that day, it was already a functioning cold storage unit! His eyes were about to burst as he looked around: “How did you guard it!” He took off his clothes and wrapped me up, hugging me and rushing out! “Chloe, I’ll take you to the hospital, you won’t die!” “If you can’t be saved, I’ll make all of you be buried with her!” Ethan went mad, stepped on the gas pedal and rushed out, heading straight for the hospital! I followed all the way, seeing him hysterical, couldn’t help sighing. “Ethan, what are you pretending for now? When I begged you heartbrokenly to investigate the truth, you just didn’t believe me and insisted on punishing me.” “Now that I’m dead, what deep affection are you acting here? So boring!” A touch of mockery appeared on the corner of my mouth, watching Ethan holding me rushing into the hospital, the doctors were all shocked by him! “Hurry up and save her! Hurry up!” The doctor saw him holding the frozen me over, his pupils tightened instantly. After confirming that I had no vital signs, he shook his head: “Sorry, the patient has died.” “Nonsense! She was obviously still breathing, why don’t you save her!” “Why!” Ethan made a scene in the emergency room. Helpless, the hospital could only call the police. When the police arrived and saw me, they were also incredulous, because I was frozen to death alive. It’s summer now!

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I had been roommates with Asher Hayes for three years. I had met several of his ex-girlfriends. One day, he laughed and said, “Someone confessed to me today.” I wasn’t surprised. He had always been popular. But then he added: “It was a guy.” 1 He was squeezing my knuckles as he said this. My hands were smaller than his, and paler. But they were still a man’s hands—bony knuckles, veins visibly protruding beneath thin skin. I pulled my hand back. Looking at my reddened fingertips, I asked softly: “A guy?” Asher was good-looking. His features were sharp, with a cold, wild edge. But not aloof. He played hard, had tons of friends. He attracted everyone, men and women alike. Men hitting on him wasn’t uncommon. He usually ignored it; this was the first time he brought it up himself. Asher leaned back, looking like he was recalling something. The smoke he exhaled blurred his sharp profile: “Yeah, he looked okay. His eyes… were pretty nice.” Others at the table started jeering: “What? Did Ash finally swing the other way?” Asher tapped the ash off his cigarette, laughing: “How is that possible? No matter how good-looking, it’s still a dude. I’m not into that.” Everyone laughed. I forced a smile along with them. Right. Asher wasn’t into that. He never had been. 2 I was always slow on the uptake when it came to Asher. I couldn’t pinpoint when it started. Maybe it was because he knew I was lactose intolerant. Because he was the only one who called me during holidays. Because he carried me down six flights of stairs when I had a high fever. Always going to class together, eating together. Or maybe just because… He was Asher. Seeds germinate silently in the soil. By the time you notice, the vines have already entangled everything. We left for class together. At the fork in the road, he bumped my shoulder. “Let’s grab dinner tonight.” “With my girlfriend.” There was always someone by his side. I blinked slowly. And nodded. 3 Her name was Chloe. Tall, fair, with beautiful almond eyes. They looked good together. I avoided her watery gaze and ate quietly. When asked, I’d say a few words. Chloe didn’t eat much. Asher was busy chatting. In the end, I ate until I felt sick. Chloe said there was a light show by the riverfront, she wanted to see it. So I said goodbye to them. And walked back to campus alone. December. Winter in the South was just starting to feel chilly. I pulled up the hood of my hoodie. Walked slowly. After a few steps. I squatted down, unable to bear it. Gulped down a few mouthfuls of cold air. Before standing up to continue walking. 4 Morning. Asher knocked on my bunk: “Get up, or we’re gonna be late.” I didn’t have early classes on Wednesdays, but I usually went out with him for breakfast. He went to class; I went to the library. I exposed half my face from the blanket. “I want to sleep a bit longer.” Asher nodded and left first. “Wait for me after class then, we’ll get lunch.” At noon. We weren’t together; he left with Chloe. I only returned to the dorm when the library closing bell rang. Asher wasn’t there. He didn’t come back that night. 5 Time drifted to the end of the semester. Asher finished his exams and saw Chloe off to the airport. He came back to school and stayed an extra day. The next day, he took me to the station. He pushed my luggage, taking long strides. Greeting people intermittently along the way. I followed behind him. Staring at his back. Watching him stop, turn around, and wave at me. Telling me to walk faster. The winter sun shone on his defined face. Handsome, unrestrained. I lowered my head. My pace remained slow. The city had two high-speed rail stations, one near, one far. I chose the far one. Ten miles; with traffic, it could take forty minutes. Soft female vocals played in the car. Asher focused on the road ahead. Lyrics about unrequited love played. Before the next line came out. I skipped to the next song. Traffic was smooth. We arrived in twenty-five minutes. Asher flicked the brim of my hat. Leaning his arms on the steering wheel, he turned to smile at me: “Go on. Remember to miss me.” Every time he said this. I would nod. Hand on the door handle. My hand slipped twice before I pushed the door open. Before entering the station, I looked back. The car was long gone. 6 Second semester of senior year. Asher and Chloe broke up. Drunk, Chloe vomited by the roadside. She squatted on the ground. Face buried in her arms, crying. I hesitated for a few seconds. Went up and placed a bottle of water and tissues by her feet. Found a spot five meters away and sat down. She stifled her sobs. Only faint whimpers blew into my ears with the cold wind. Later, she finished crying and staggered away. I followed, watched her enter the dorm building. Turned and left. Chloe and Asher were over. She would soon forget Asher and find a new boyfriend. Asher would forget Chloe too, and meet a new girlfriend. They would all start over. Keep moving forward. I looked down at my elongated shadow. What about me? 7 The graduation party. Asher got drunk. I carried him to the sofa. Turned him on his side. In case he threw up, so he wouldn’t choke. I sat directly on the carpet. Examined him in the dim light. His eyelashes were neither long nor curled, nose bridge high, cheeks a bit flushed. Lips slightly parted, glistening. I could smell the alcohol on him. I grabbed a cushion and pressed it on my lap, looking away. A few minutes later, I looked up again. Called him softly. “Asher.” He was drunk, sleeping like the dead. Whatever I did, he wouldn’t know. Like a petty thief convincing himself. I slowly leaned in. Called out again: “Asher.” I watched the distance between us shrink. Twelve inches. Eight inches. … The dead-asleep person suddenly turned over. I sat in the darkness. My heart, which had been in my throat, dropped. Dropped into some bottomless abyss.

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Everyone agreed on one thing: I was the unwanted kid. My parents divorced when I was small. My father vanished, my mother remarried, and the only person who ever cared for me, my grandmother, passed away. The year she died, she left me a run-down shack and exactly $214.37. I survived on the kindness of neighbors to walk out of the deep country, and I financed my education with student loans. During my internship, I worked myself into the ground and secured a decent job, which turned into a full-time position upon graduation. I’ve been hustling ever since. This year, with the final holiday bonus check, I finally paid off every last debt. I had saved my very first nest egg. As the clock struck midnight and the fireworks exploded outside, ushering in the New Year, I made a promise to myself. My rotten life was over. The good one? It was finally my turn. 1 The day they buried my grandmother, everyone in Black Creek assumed my mother would take me with her. After all, I was only thirteen. In this world, outside of her, I had no one left. I thought so too. I packed my worn backpack and stood by the door, waiting for her to tell me it was time. Instead, she shouldered her suitcase, walked straight past me, and boarded the Greyhound bus. She didn’t look back until the bus vanished around the last dusty bend in the road. It was as if my arrangements—my life—had never once crossed her mind during her entire visit. I walked back into the small, dimly lit house and, by pure instinct, called out: “Grandma, I feel sick.” The house answered with a dead, hollow silence. That was the moment the realization hit me: Grandma was buried under the cold, hard dirt. From now on, I was the only thing breathing in this house. Fear, cold and sharp, rushed in like a tidal wave. What was I supposed to do? I sat on the front porch stoop all night. When the sun finally rose, I grabbed my backpack and went to school. My eighth-grade history teacher, a kind woman from the city, once told me that education was the only road out of the mountains. If my mother wouldn’t take me, I would walk myself. My classmates looked at me strangely. “Why are you still here, June?” “Are you really just… alone?” I didn’t want their pity, and I definitely didn’t want their mocking faces. I stood taller than my five feet and lied loudly. “Mom says pulling me out of Northwood Middle now would mess up the transfer credits. I’ll finish eighth grade here, then she’s moving me to the city.” It was a dignified lie. It sealed their lips. Life had to continue. I learned to build a fire in the old iron stove and cook for myself. I learned to haul water from the well to water the meager vegetable patch. I survived day after day on the last of Grandma’s flour and the sweet potatoes from the field. Until one night, I heard the sound of shattering porcelain from next door. My neighbor, Bella, was crying, and her father was yelling. They were fighting over the $100 needed for her GED study materials. I huddled against the wall, listening, a creeping dread chilling me to the bone. In two years, I would be going to high school. High school was in the county seat, and it wasn’t free. I had to pay tuition and buy books. If I couldn’t come up with the money, would I be stuck here? What then? Bella gave me the answer. The next morning, before the sun cracked the horizon, she was gone. She carried the faded backpack that used to hold her textbooks. Today, it held her few clothes. She was heading south to work in a construction site—to earn money for her family, specifically the money for her younger brother’s eventual wedding down-payment. Watching her silhouette disappear into the fog felt like a raw wound inside me. I couldn’t follow her path. I wanted to read. I needed to learn. But where would the money come from? The $214.37 Grandma left wouldn’t last the year. The only person who could help was my mother, Brenda. I remembered the time my little brother, Caleb, hugged my stepfather, Roy, begging for a new remote-control truck after getting a perfect score on a quiz. Mom’s eyes crinkled with love, and the next day, he had the most expensive toy on the market. What if I got a perfect score? What if I was the top student in the entire school? Would Mom, just for the sake of appearances among the extended family, throw a little tuition money my way? It was a lifeline, and I grabbed it with both hands. I attacked my books like a madwoman that semester. I studied during class, and at night, I did problem sets by candlelight. When I felt my eyes close, I pinched myself hard. At the final exams, I really did earn the top spot. The villagers were stunned. “The wild child with no oversight, pulling first place?” “Working the field and hitting the books—the girl’s got fire in her bones.” Marge Dawson, the mayor’s wife, a kind neighbor, leaned on the fence, cracking sunflower seeds. “Take that award to your mom, June. Maybe she’ll finally buy you a new coat for Christmas.” I looked down at myself. I was wearing Grandma’s patched-up, black denim jacket. The sleeves were frayed at the cuffs, the lining peeking out. I hadn’t had a new item of clothing since I was six, before Caleb was born, when Mom used to bring me a bright red dress for the holidays. It was long gone now. I had relied on hand-me-downs from cousins for years. But Grandma’s death had severed those family ties, too. I was facing the winter wrapped only in a dead woman’s clothes. As the holidays approached, the migrant workers started coming home. Bella returned, too, looking polished and wearing expensive-looking clothes. I spent every afternoon waiting beneath the old oak tree at the edge of the village. 2 On Christmas Eve, the snow was thick and heavy. My fingers and toes were numb. My eyelashes were covered in ice crystals. Finally, I saw a familiar, yet distant figure walking toward me, trudging through the snow. She was leading a small, neatly dressed boy. “June? Wake up.” My eyes snapped open. A blast of icy wind rushed down my collar. There was no mother. No brother. No new clothes. Only Bella’s anxious face. It had been a fever dream. I had been squatting too long in the cold and had caught a nasty bug. Bella sighed, pushing a few white pills into my hand. “Take these. For the fever. You can’t die out here, June. No one will even know to look.” I swallowed the bitter pills and looked out at the distant mountain range. “Bella, is the outside world beautiful?” Her eyes flashed with a brief, painful light before darkening. “For the rich, it’s gorgeous. Neon lights and endless parties.” “But for us? It’s shift work, assembly lines, and aching feet. Still better than begging the dirt for a living, though.” She looked at me, her expression serious. “June, don’t bother with high school. Come back to the construction site with me. They’re hiring, and they pay for room and board.” I clutched the rough fabric of Grandma’s jacket and shook my head. “I want to read. I want to go to school.” Bella chuckled, a dry sound. “With what money? No cash, no classroom, June.” I dropped my gaze. I didn’t want the construction site. Every girl who went to the construction site from our village came back two years later to marry and have kids. Bella was the same. The man she brought back would be her fiancé after the New Year. Once a girl married here, she was trapped. I refused to accept that fate. I wouldn’t trade one cage for another. Seeing my silence, Bella sighed again and walked back home. On New Year’s Eve, the sound of firecrackers shook the village. I sat alone in the empty house until the night was black, but my mother never showed. The last of the rice was gone. My stomach burned with a hunger that felt like fire. The scent of BBQ drifted over from the neighbor’s house, hooking into my soul like a claw. I pushed the door open and stumbled out. In the alley, a mangy stray was hunched over, tearing at a piece of bone with strips of gristle and meat still clinging to it. I stared at that bone. My throat tightened. I couldn’t stop the saliva from pooling in my mouth. My rational mind screamed at me that it was dog food. But instinct drove me. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then lunged forward, snatching the bone right out of the dog’s mouth. “June? What in God’s name—!” Marge Dawson, the mayor’s wife, had come out with a bucket of slops and saw the entire thing. I froze, the saliva-coated bone still gripped in my hand. My face was instantly on fire. I threw the bone back down in a panic, desperate for a hole to swallow me whole. Marge stood there for a long moment, then sighed, a sound heavy with sorrow. She went back inside and returned with a large bowl heaped with smashed potatoes, topped with a slab of sausage. “Eat,” she commanded. I forgot all pride and dignity, taking the bowl and devouring the food. After I ate, Marge led me straight to the mayor’s house. “This child has been alone for nearly six months, Mayor. I checked her pantry today—it’s empty. What is she going to do? You have to figure something out.” Mayor Dawson studied me, his face etched with concern. Finally, he spoke: “I’ll call her mother to come get her.” My heart seized up. I immediately stood straighter. What would Mom say when she picked up the phone? 3 The mayor dialed the number, but a moment later, the loud, tinny voice of the automated service filled the room: “We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service…” I stood there, stunned. My mother had changed her number. She had finally, irrevocably, cut the cord. The mayor put the phone down, looking troubled. “June, the Township Aid funds are limited.” “We have elderly folks who would starve without it. You don’t have local ties, and you’re an out-of-towner; the money… it’s hard to justify.” The room fell into a heavy silence. Finally, Marge spoke up. “Tell you what. If this girl agrees, she can come to my house every day for a bowl of smashed potato and gravy, and then she can visit the other homes for a side dish of vegetables or meat.” “There are dozens of families in this village. We won’t let her starve.” I sank to my knees and bowed my head to the floor. “Thank you, Ma’am. I will.” As long as I could live, as long as I could study, I would beg. For the next year, I carried my container through every alley and to every kitchen door. I learned to read faces. When someone was reluctant, I would politely accept the bread and eat it alone. By the time the next New Year came, I had learned not to expect anything. My life was a cycle of books and begging. On the day the high school acceptance letters were posted, my hands were shaking as I held the envelope. I got into the best high school in the county. But I couldn’t smile. Tuition plus room and board was over two thousand dollars a year. For a girl who survived on handouts, it was an astronomical sum. I sat on the stoop, staring at the letter. Give up? Never. Just as I ran out of hope, my mother came back. 4 My mother, Brenda, set down her suitcase and looked me over. “I can’t believe how tall you’ve gotten,” she said flatly. No matter how high I had built the walls around my heart, hearing that one familiar sentence caused them to crumble. Tears poured down my cheeks. I rushed over and wrapped my arms around her waist, trying to expel two years of loneliness and hurt in one massive sob. “Mom, I missed you so much.” Her body went rigid. She neither pushed me away nor hugged me back. When I finished crying, I wiped my eyes. My hand trembled as I pulled the warm, folded acceptance letter from my jacket pocket. “Mom, I got into the best high school.” “Could you… lend me the tuition? I promise, I’ll pay you back double when I start working.” She took the letter, glanced at it, and her face tightened. “What’s a girl need books for? Girls who read too much get ideas, and what good is an idea when you’re just going to settle down and raise a family?” A wave of cold dread washed over me. I stared at her, disbelieving. She lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. “I’m here to sell your grandmother’s shack. Your brother needs a down-payment for a starter home in a good school district.” “Money’s tight, June. You’re grown up now. It’s time to help out.” “Pack your things. My boss at the textile mill needs hands. I told him about you, and he agreed to hold a spot.” She hadn’t come back to help me read. She had come back to sell my inheritance to finance my brother’s education and then sell me into construction site labor. I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “I won’t go! I’m going to school!” My mother’s brow furrowed into a tight knot. She slapped her hand on the table. “You won’t go to the construction site? What, are you going to be a princess? Where do you think I’ll get the cash to indulge you?” I froze, completely helpless. The yard gate suddenly flew open. Marge Dawson strode in and immediately pointed a finger at my mother. “Brenda, have you no shame?” “This child grew up here like a stray dog, and you didn’t check on her once. Now you think she can earn a wage, you remember you have a daughter?” My mother scoffed, flicking her cigarette ash. “All the girls around here end up in the construction site. It’s the way of things.” Marge gave a nasty laugh. “But the other girls weren’t eating my pot roast!” “Other workers send money home. You disappear the moment your own mother dies. You just waited for this child to grow big enough to become your cash cow, didn’t you?” Marge planted herself in front of me, like an angry old hen protecting her chick. “You want to take her? Fine. Pay me back two years of food and support. I won’t charge interest. Just two thousand dollars.” My mother angrily stubbed out the cigarette, her face pinched. “I don’t have that kind of money right now.” Marge pointed to the door. “Then get out!” Neighbors, drawn by the yelling, started to gather, whispering and pointing fingers. My mother’s face turned the color of beet-red. She shot me a look of pure hatred, grabbed her suitcase, and scurried away. Watching her retreating back, I burst into tears again. Marge knelt down, patting my back. “June, don’t blame me for running off your mother.” I shook my head, wiping my face. “I don’t blame you, Ma’am. She was the one who abandoned me first.” In that moment, I finally accepted the cold, hard fact: I was an unwanted child. Marge sighed, looking at the acceptance letter in my hand, her face full of worry. “But June, I can’t help you with the tuition either.” “This village relies on what the land gives us. We only bring in about six thousand a year. Your uncle, the mayor, gives most of that to the families who need it more.” I stopped crying, my mind a terrifying blank. The tuition. Two thousand dollars. It was enough to crush an adult, and it was certainly enough to crush a thirteen-year-old girl. Just then, Bella came out of her house. She leaned against the doorframe and said in a low voice: “I have a way. It just depends on whether you’re willing to go through with it.”

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I was in the hospital for a month and had three surgeries. The doctors issued a critical condition notice twice, and both times, I was the one who had to sign it, alone, outside the ICU. Not a single phone call from my son. My texts vanished into a black hole. On the day I was discharged, I dragged my weak body back to an empty, silent apartment. The next day, my son finally called. His first words were: “Hey Mom. My father-in-law wants a new car. Can you wire me sixty grand?” I was stunned into silence for three seconds, then I said calmly, “Son, Mom is out of money.” “What do you mean?” His voice immediately shot up. “Your mortgage payment. I stopped it.” The other end of the line erupted. 1 In the sterile white corridor of the ICU, my fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. The pen weighed next to nothing, but in that moment, it felt as heavy as lead. “Family of the patient, please sign here.” The nurse’s voice was flat, the sound of someone who witnesses life and death as a daily routine. I looked up, my gaze drifting past her to the end of the long hall. In front of the other rooms, anxious family members huddled together, sitting or standing in worried clusters. But I, Evelyn, was completely alone. The harsh fluorescent lights stretched my shadow long and thin across the polished floor, like a giant, mocking question mark. A flicker of sympathy, almost imperceptible, crossed the nurse’s face. She lowered her voice. “Ma’am, is there any family we can call for you? The hospital chaplain, perhaps?” My throat was dry. I managed a smile that felt more painful than tears. “I have a son. I have a son.” The nurse’s expression turned awkward. She didn’t press the issue, just nudged the pen a little closer. I signed my own name. Each stroke felt like it was being carved into my heart. Back in my hospital bed, every cell in my body screamed in pain. I fumbled for the phone under my pillow. The screen lit up, showing the same familiar chat window. Mom’s sick, at City General Hospital. Could you come visit when you have a chance? The message sat there, unanswered. Beneath it, the word “Unread” felt like a tiny, sharp needle in my eye. Before the second surgery, my surgeon approached me with the consent forms, his face grim. “Mrs. Miller, this procedure is high-risk. We absolutely must have a signature from a next of kin.” I forced myself to sit up, my voice weak but firm. “My son is on a business trip. He’s on his way. I’ll sign for now. I take full responsibility for myself.” The doctor looked at my face, pale as a sheet of paper, and finally sighed, handing me the pen. Again, my own name: Evelyn Miller. There were three of us in the room. The lady in the next bed had a daughter who brought her different kinds of homemade soup every day. The woman in the bed across from me had a husband who never left her side. When mealtime came, the room would fill with the comforting aroma of real food. I opened the plastic container delivered from the hospital cafeteria. White rice, a few limp green beans, and two thin slices of mystery meat. I could hear the soft cooing from the next bed. “Mom, I made you chicken soup today. Drink up, it’ll give you strength.” I poked at my rice. A tear fell, unbidden, then another, splashing hot against the cold food. In the dead of night, a searing pain from my incision ripped me from a shallow sleep. Cold sweat soaked through my hospital gown. I curled up into a ball, like a small, abandoned animal. Once again, I reached for my phone and pulled up the number I knew by heart. Alex. My finger hovered over the call button for a long, long time. In the end, I let my hand fall, defeated. It’s been ten years, Evelyn. You should be used to this by now. After the third surgery, they sent me straight to the ICU. The second critical condition notice followed. When the nurse found me to sign it, I just looked at the paper and started to laugh. I laughed out loud, my shoulders shaking, laughing so hard that the young nurse just stood there, stunned. She probably thought I’d lost my mind. I was just wondering, if I really did die this time, would he come? Would Alex finally make the trip back home, the home he hadn’t returned to in a decade, just to claim my body? When my consciousness was at its foggiest, a warm hand took mine. “Evelyn!” It was Susan, my old colleague, my only true friend in this world. She looked at me, with tubes running in and out of my body, and burst into tears. “How much longer are you going to put up with him?” she choked out, her voice trembling. I shook my head, too weak to even speak. Susan, furious, snatched my phone and dialed Alex’s number directly. It rang for a long time, so long that Susan was about to give up when someone finally answered. The background was loud—music and laughter. It sounded like a party. “Yeah? Who’s this?” Alex’s voice was sharp with annoyance. “Alex! Your mother is in critical condition in the ICU, do you have any idea?” Susan yelled into the phone. “Look, I’m busy right now. Just text me whatever it is.” He hung up. Just like that. Susan was shaking with rage, about to call back when my phone chimed with a notification. It was a text from the bank. A transfer of $1,100.00 from your account ending in xxxx was completed on xx/xx. I stared at the text. It was the automatic transfer I had set up the month before, the day before I was admitted to the hospital. The money for his mortgage. Right on time. A chill, colder and more piercing than the 24/7 air conditioning in the ICU, shot through my bones. Susan saw it too. She grabbed the phone, her eyes red. “He remembers the day his mortgage is due,” she seethed, “but he can’t remember if his mother is alive or dead!” 2 I lay in bed that night, wide awake. The last ten years played over and over in my mind like a broken film reel. My son, Alex, hadn’t set foot in this home since he got married a decade ago. Christmas? He had to spend it with his in-laws. My birthday? He was taking his wife and kids on vacation. The excuses were always perfectly valid, leaving me with no room to argue. I still remember at his wedding, his father-in-law, Robert, clapping me on the shoulder and booming for all the guests to hear, “My dear Evelyn is a retired teacher! So cultured, with a great pension. Alex and Jessica are going to need your help to get by!” At the time, I brushed it off as polite wedding chatter and smiled and nodded. I never imagined it would become a ten-year prophecy. The first month after the wedding, Alex called. “Mom, we want to get some new furniture. Jessica found a set she loves from Restoration Hardware. We were thinking…” I didn’t hesitate. I transferred five thousand dollars. The next month, he called again. “Mom, we want to remodel the house. Jessica thinks the old style is so dated.” I transferred another ten thousand. I once tried, full of excitement, to visit their new home, to see the “Restoration Hardware style” that my life savings had paid for. I showed up with bags full of groceries and called Alex from the gate of their community. He stammered on the phone. “Oh, Mom, the house is a total mess right now, we haven’t finished unpacking. Don’t come up. Next time. I’ll pick you up next time.” That day, I stood outside that upscale gated community from afternoon until dusk. I watched as lights flickered on in one window after another, but not a single one was for me. In the end, I gave the groceries to the security guard and took the last bus home alone. For ten years, I was like a wind-up toy. Every month, on schedule, I transferred $1,100 for his mortgage. For holidays, a check for two or three thousand. For his in-laws’ birthdays, another thousand or two as a “gift of respect.” I scrolled through my mobile banking history, my finger swiping through page after page. Car for Alex: $30,000. Renovations for Alex: $15,000. Birthday gift for Alex’s father-in-law: $5,000. Wedding gift for Alex’s sister-in-law: $8,000. Tuition help for Alex’s father-in-law’s nephew: $3,000. Every transfer had a noble-sounding reason, and every reason revolved around his perfect, respectable family. Meanwhile, my own home, his childhood home, hadn’t seen him in a decade. Even when he did come back, it was just to pick up money. He never stayed, never even came inside. I remember it so clearly. Three years ago, on my sixty-fifth birthday. I spent the day before shopping, and I made a huge batch of his favorite lasagna. I worked up all my courage and called him. “Alex,” I said, my voice timid. “Tomorrow… it’s Mom’s birthday. Could you… could you come over for dinner?” There was a pause on the other end. “Oh, Mom, what a coincidence. It’s actually my father-in-law’s birthday tomorrow too. We’ve had plans for weeks. I really can’t get away.” After he hung up, I sat alone at the dining table, staring at the big pan of lasagna as it went from steaming hot to cold and stiff. It was only later that I found out from Susan, completely by chance, that it wasn’t Robert’s birthday at all. My son had lied to me, just to avoid coming home. Susan once sat down with a calculator and added it all up for me. “Evelyn, you get seven hundred dollars a month from your pension. That’s not bad. But where are your savings? You’ve given him everything! You’re still living in this thirty-year-old apartment from your teaching days. The paint is peeling off the walls, and you won’t even spend the money to fix it.” At the time, I had argued back, full of righteous indignation. “He’s my only son. If I don’t give my money to him, who else would I give it to?” Lying in this cold hospital bed now, those words sound utterly ridiculous. A nurse came in to change my IV drip. She saw my red-rimmed eyes and asked softly, “Ma’am, is the incision hurting again?” I shook my head and turned my face away. It doesn’t hurt. My heart went numb a long time ago. How could it possibly feel any pain? I was just remembering things. Things I had deliberately forgotten, lies I had told myself for years. 3 Susan came again the next day. She carried a large thermos filled with a bone broth she had been simmering all morning. She fed it to me spoonful by spoonful, as gentle as if I were a child. “Evelyn, your daughter-in-law… her name is Jessica, right?” she asked suddenly. I nodded. “In the ten years they’ve been married, how many times have you seen her?” I counted on my fingers, seriously. There was the wedding. Then the few times she came down to the car with Alex when I was dropping off money; she’d stand a few feet away and give a cool nod. All told, no more than five times. Ten years. Five times. I could barely even remember what she looked like. I only recalled her at the wedding, in her white dress, coming to serve me the traditional tea. She had smiled so sweetly. “Mom, we’re a family now. Alex and I will come visit you all the time.” Ten years later, that sentence had become the funniest joke I’d ever heard. The irony was, half the time Alex asked for money, the reason was related to Jessica’s family. “Mom, my mother-in-law hasn’t been feeling well, she’s in the hospital. As her family, we have to show our support.” “Mom, Jessica’s sister is getting married. As the brother-in-law, I can’t show up with a cheap gift, you know?” “Mom, it’s my father-in-law’s big birthday. We’re planning on getting him a nice watch. We were thinking…” I used to be so naive. I thought if I supported them without reservation, they would at least have some affection for me. I thought if I emptied my own pockets, I could buy my son a respectable life with his in-laws, could ensure his marriage was happy. But I never imagined that when I was critically ill, in the hospital for a whole month, Jessica’s family wouldn’t make a single phone call. Not one. It was as if I were a complete stranger. An ATM. Susan saw the distant look in my eyes and sighed. “Evelyn, do you know what Jessica tells people about you?” My heart clenched. “She complains to the neighbors in her community that her mother-in-law is eccentric and antisocial, that you’re impossible to get along with. She says that’s why they never visit.” Susan’s face was tight with suppressed anger. “My niece heard her with her own ears. They live in the same community. She thought you were some kind of monster-in-law!” I was floored. I had been a teacher my whole life. My reputation, my integrity, meant everything to me. I’d never said a harsh word to her. I’d barely even seen her. Where did “eccentric and antisocial” come from? Susan saw the color drain from my face and seemed to hesitate, as if she had more to say. I grabbed her hand. “Susan, what else? Tell me.” She paused, then finally said, “She also said… she said that you have a good pension and savings, so you’re supposed to be helping them. She called it an ‘investment.’ She said when you get old, of course they’ll take care of you, but right now, they’re young and under pressure, and as a mother, you just have to be understanding.” Understanding? Who was there to understand me when I was alone outside the ICU, signing my own critical condition notice? Who was there to understand me when I was in so much pain I couldn’t sleep, living on painkillers? Susan’s words were a dull knife, twisting in my heart. No blood, but the pain was suffocating. I suddenly remembered something. Last month, a week before I was hospitalized, Alex had called in a panic. He said Jessica was feeling unwell and needed ten thousand dollars for a minor surgery, urgently. I was so worried, thinking something terrible had happened to my daughter-in-law. Without a second thought, I transferred all the money I had set aside for my own medical bills. Thinking back on it now, was there ever a “minor surgery”? Or was it just another lie, cooked up to get more money? The door to my room opened, and an orderly helped a new patient in. She was an elderly woman with white hair. Her daughter bustled around her, efficiently making the bed, swapping the hospital sheets for fresh ones from home, and pouring a glass of warm water. The old woman beamed, comfortable and cared for. I quickly turned my head and stared out the window at the gray, overcast sky. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my face. 4 After a full month in the hospital, I was finally discharged. The doctor gave me stern instructions. It was major surgery, and my body was severely weakened. I had to rest at home, avoid any strenuous activity for three months, and come back for regular check-ups. I noted it all down, nodding. When I was handling the discharge paperwork, it was the same young nurse. She saw me struggling with my suitcase and couldn’t help but ask, “Ma’am, isn’t your family here to pick you up?” I stretched my lips into what I hoped was a decent smile. “I can manage. I don’t want to bother them.” The nurse’s expression flickered, but she didn’t say anything more. Susan had offered to drive me, but I refused. I needed to be alone. I needed to think. A month on the brink of death had clarified a lot of things for me. I hailed a cab. The driver was a kind, middle-aged man. He saw my pale face in the rearview mirror and started a friendly conversation. “Just got out of the hospital, ma’am? You don’t look too well. Make sure you get plenty of rest.” When we arrived, he insisted on carrying my suitcase up the stairs for me, all the way to my front door. I felt bad and tried to give him a generous tip for his trouble, but he just waved his hands, smiling warmly. “No, no, ma’am. You just take care of yourself. That’s more important than anything.” I closed the door and leaned against the cold wood, my nose stinging. A complete stranger, a taxi driver I’d never see again, showed me more concern than the son I had raised. When I opened the door to my apartment, a wave of stale, musty air hit me. A month of being empty had left the place coated in a thin film of gray dust, devoid of any signs of life. I shivered. If I had died in that hospital, how long would it have taken for anyone to find me here, in the home I’d lived in for most of my life? I dragged my weak body to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. The fruits and vegetables I had bought before my hospital stay had rotted completely, emitting a sickeningly sweet stench of decay. I squatted down, pulled out a trash bag, and started cleaning them out, one by one. With every rotten piece of fruit I threw away, my heart grew a little colder. The tears started again, dripping silently into the putrid mess. By the time I had cleared a small space to live in, the sky outside was dark. I was so exhausted I could barely stand. I found a packet of instant noodles in the cupboard and boiled some water. Huddled in my small kitchen, slurping the bland noodles, I started crying again. Just then, my phone rang, the sound jarring in the silence. My heart leaped. My first, instinctive thought was that it was Alex. I hastily wiped my tears and grabbed the phone. But the screen showed a text message from the bank. Dear Customer, the automatic mortgage payment from your account ending in 8888 has failed due to insufficient funds. This has resulted in a late payment. To avoid a negative impact on your credit score, please deposit the required amount as soon as possible. It hit me then. Before I went to the hospital, I had transferred the last of my money to Alex for Jessica’s supposed surgery. My own account was empty, not even enough to cover the mortgage payment. My first impulse was to call Alex and tell him to deposit the money immediately. But my finger froze over the screen. A thought, like a bolt of lightning, cut through the fog in my brain. Why was I the one panicking? He was the one living in the house. He was the one enjoying it. If the mortgage went into default, my credit would be hit first, but shouldn’t he be the one worried about it? Slowly, I put the phone down. I decided to do nothing. I would just wait. I wanted to see just how long it would take for him to remember this. To remember that he even had a mother. 5 And so began the longest wait of my life. I rested at home, clutching my old smartphone, refreshing the screen over and over again. Waiting for the call I had been waiting for for ten years. A day passed. Silence. Two days passed. Still nothing. Three days. Nothing but a few spam texts. It felt like I was conducting some kind of absurd experiment. The hypothesis: if I don’t initiate contact, how long will it take for my son to remember I exist? This was the first time in a decade I had ever done this. In the past, I was always the one who kept track of the dates, who worried he was too busy, too forgetful, or short on cash. I was always the one who called first, who transferred the money first. On the fourth day, the doorbell rang. My heart hammered against my ribs. I practically flew off the sofa. It had to be him! It must be! The bank’s warnings were serious. He couldn’t possibly be this careless! Clinging to a final shred of hope, I stumbled to the door and peered through the peephole. Standing outside was a delivery driver in a yellow uniform. In that instant, a tidal wave of icy disappointment washed over me, drowning me completely. Susan came to visit again. She brought fresh vegetables and meat from the market and went straight to my kitchen, moving with familiar ease. She looked at my gaunt, haggard face and sighed. “You’re still waiting for him, aren’t you?” I just gave her a bitter smile, unable to speak. At the dinner table, Susan suddenly became very serious. “Evelyn, I did some checking for you at the county records office. You’re not destitute.” I stared at her, confused. “You have three properties in your name.” “One is this old apartment we’re in now. It’s yours.” “Another is the house your parents left you. It’s downtown. It’s old, but it’s in a prime location.” “And,” she paused, looking me straight in the eye, “the mortgage you took out in your name to buy your son’s marital home… the title deed for that house is also in your name!” I was completely stunned. “That house… isn’t it in Alex’s name?” I whispered. Susan shook her head. “Absolutely not. I had my contact double-check. You are the borrower on the loan, and you are the sole name on the title. Alex is, at best, a tenant.” My mind reeled. I remembered when we bought the house. Alex had said that since he was just starting his career, he wouldn’t qualify for a large enough loan. But as a retired teacher with a stable income, I would be easily approved by the bank. At the time, all I cared about was helping my son settle down, so I agreed without a second thought. I never imagined that this casual decision, made only to help him secure a loan, would become my only lifeline today. Susan continued, “Think about it, Evelyn. Your pension is seven hundred dollars a month. If you weren’t paying his $1,100 mortgage, you could live quite comfortably. And that old house from your parents? You could rent that out for at least a few hundred a month.” I had never thought about any of this. For ten years, my only thought was: what’s mine is my son’s. But now, lying in that hospital bed, thinking about that cold text from the bank, thinking about his annoyed voice as he hung up on Susan… I started to wonder. I had treated everything I owned as his. But had he ever treated my life as if it were his own? On the seventh day, a second notice arrived from the bank. The language was harsher, explicitly stating that if payment was not made, legal proceedings would begin, and my credit score would be severely damaged.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389295”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel