Category: English

At my own engagement party. The new designer my fiancé’s company had just hired took a pair of scissors to my gown and cut it to ribbons. “Your neck is too short for a high collar.” “And your proportions are all wrong for this conservative cut. A hemline two inches below the hips would be much more suitable.” She held the scissors, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. “Ms. Preston, Mr. Bernstein assured me when he hired me that I would have the freedom to create anytime, anywhere. Consider this my wedding gift to you.” The crowd fell silent, stunned. My fiancé, Richard, rushed to my side, his voice placating. “She’s just a prodigy I scouted from design school. She’s young, Olivia. Don’t take it personally.” Seeing the protective glint in his eyes, I let out a bitter laugh. “Fine. This gown was designed personally by Catherine. It was custom-made for me and is valued at three hundred thousand dollars. Since you’ve destroyed it, you can be the one to pay for it.” Richard started to speak, but I cut him off before he could utter a word. “And by the way,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “The engagement? It’s off.” 1 “Pfft.” Ava, the designer, let out a derisive snort from the side, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Seriously, Richard? Your fiancée really knows how to make a mountain out of a molehill. It’s just a dress. Why the huge drama?” A flicker of irritation crossed Richard’s face, and his tone hardened. “Olivia, stop it. Ava’s design talent is praised by some of the most respected names in the industry. Giving her creative freedom is an investment in our company’s future. If you keep this up, I’m going to get angry.” He paused, then turned to Ava, his voice softening. “Ava, Olivia is a bit more… traditional. She doesn’t understand your creative process. Why don’t you apologize to her, and we can put this behind us.” Ava shrugged, hands spread in a gesture of mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I mean, I obviously did nothing wrong. Art is blameless, right? But since the boss is asking…” She plastered on a fake, saccharine smile and drew out her words with deliberate slowness. “Sooorry, princess. I guess I shouldn’t have failed to appreciate your… outdated—oh, I mean, traditional—approach to design. Are we happy now?” My face was a mask of fury, but Richard seemed satisfied with this resolution. “There. Now, Olivia, go change. The guests are waiting.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Richard, that was the most insincere apology I’ve ever heard, and you expect me to just let it go?” “Don’t push it,” he hissed, grabbing my arm. His grip was tight, a silent command to back down. I refused to move. He pulled harder, practically dragging me. I never thought he would treat me like this. My high heel twisted, and I stumbled, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. Riiip— The already tattered hem of my gown ripped completely, and the neckline was yanked askew, exposing a wide swath of my shoulder and collarbone. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. Richard froze for a second, then quickly shrugged off his suit jacket, intending to cover me. But then Ava let out a delicate little “hiss,” her voice high and sharp. “Achoo! Richard, is the air conditioning on too high in here? I’m freezing.” Richard’s hand, reaching for me, stopped mid-air. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned and draped the jacket over Ava’s shoulders, even taking a moment to carefully pull the lapels together. “You should have said something sooner if you were cold,” he chided her gently. It wasn’t anger in his voice. It was annoyance that she hadn’t told him what she needed, and even more, annoyance at himself for not noticing. I had always believed that I was the only one who received that kind of special, focused affection from him. Apparently, I was wrong. His love was cheap. My throat suddenly felt too dry to speak. “I’m not that delicate,” Ava said, snuggling into his jacket with a sweet, triumphant smile. She tilted her head back like a spoiled child. “Richard, you said you’d introduce me to Mr. Alistair today. Is that true?” Richard’s face softened into a doting smile. “Of course. Do you think I could have gotten him to come if it wasn’t for our engagement party?” So that was it. Mr. Alistair, a titan of the design world, a man nearly impossible to meet. Richard had moved mountains, using his status as my “future son-in-law,” just to get the old master to make an appearance. The engagement party I had been so excited for, the one I had planned for months, was nothing more than a career launchpad for Miss Ava. Of course. Everyone knew Olivia Preston was a sweet, pliable pushover. A few comforting words and I’d swallow any humiliation. What was a little hurt feelings in the grand scheme of things? Richard patted Ava’s back. “I’ll take you over in a minute. With my introduction, I’m sure he’ll offer you some guidance.” They started to walk toward the center of the ballroom. “Richard.” I called his name. He turned back, the tenderness on his face not yet faded. When his eyes landed on me, it twisted into a flicker of impatience. “What is it now? You’re a grown woman, do you need me to help you up? Get up and change. Don’t just sit there on the floor, it’s pathetic.” Hearing his words, I slowly pushed myself up from the ground. Then, I raised my left hand and pulled the diamond ring off my finger. The ring he had designed himself, the one he had chosen just for me. I placed it back in the palm of his hand. “The engagement,” I said, my voice steady, “is over.” 2 Richard stared at me for a few seconds, a look of weary frustration on his face. “What’s gotten into you today? You’re not usually like this.” He casually slipped the ring into his pocket and reached out, as he had countless times before, to pinch my cheek. “Olivia, I know you’re the most understanding person in the world. Stop acting like a child.” He lowered his voice, trying to coax me. “All our guests are here. Don’t make this difficult for me. Ava is incredibly talented, you’ve seen her work. It’s brilliant. Our goal is to make her the next Catherine. This is my business, my future. Just support me in this, okay?” The next Catherine? By shredding a gown handmade for me by Catherine herself? That’s how she was going to start her “path to stardom”? I looked at his handsome, familiar face, and my heart turned to ice. He said it all so matter-of-factly. My humiliation, my pain, meant nothing to him. Or perhaps, on his scales of importance, my feelings had always been lighter than dust. I’d just never had a reason to weigh them before. I was trembling with rage, about to refuse, when Ava’s sharp, indignant voice cut in. “Hey! Princess!” She stepped up beside Richard, her chin held high. “I already apologized! What more do you want? You rich girls are the absolute worst! It’s just a dress. I’ll pay you back. Do you have to be so relentless and embarrass your fiancé in front of everyone?” I gave her a cold stare. “Three hundred thousand dollars. How do you plan on paying for that?” She sputtered, “That’s extortion! You get some kind of sick pleasure out of bullying a recent graduate with big dreams, don’t you? You’re so out of touch with reality.” After her tirade, Ava turned to Richard, her voice dripping with undisguised grievance and entitlement. “Richard! If I had known your fiancée was this impossible, I never would have taken the job! The line of people wanting to hire me could stretch from my school all the way to Paris! I feel so suffocated here!” Her small frame was swallowed by his large suit jacket, her thick, curly hair framing a face with eyes now red and brimming with defiant tears. Richard immediately began to soothe her. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I didn’t handle it well. Don’t be angry. Didn’t you say you wanted to try the signature Beef Wellington at that revolving restaurant? I’ll take you tonight to make it up to you, how about that?” As he spoke, he pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. A moment later, my own phone buzzed. A bank notification: an incoming transfer of $300,000. The memo read: “Gown Compensation.” Only after he had done all this did Richard look at me again, the last trace of warmth in his eyes completely gone. “The money’s been transferred. I paid for it. Are you satisfied now? You’ve made your scene, you should have blown off enough steam. Ava and I need to go say hello to Mr. Alistair. Don’t keep the guests waiting.” He lifted his hand, as if to put it on my shoulder, but paused mid-air and let it drop. His gaze then shifted back to Ava, his tone softening once more. “Let’s go.” Ava let out a small, triumphant huff from her nose, clutching the suit jacket tighter as she turned to leave with Richard. As she passed me, she deliberately bumped my shoulder. It wasn’t a light tap. Caught off guard in my high heels, I stumbled back a step before catching my balance. I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms they felt like they might touch bone. The sharp pain was the only thing that kept me from screaming. I could hear Ava’s plaintive voice drifting back from the hallway. “Richard.” “Your fiancée is such a tyrant. Is it because she’s a rich heiress? I can handle her bullying me, but I’m worried she’ll treat you this way in the future.” Richard tilted his head, his voice low as he said something to her. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew they were meant to reassure her, to take her side. Then, I saw Ava look up at him, her smile radiant and blinding. From the corner of her eye, she shot a look in my direction—a final, victorious glance. I slowly unclenched my fists. Fine. Just fine. I pulled my phone from my purse, my own expressionless face reflected on the dark screen. “Mr. Alistair.” “Olivia, my dear! How is your father? I was just about to leave for your engagement party. I was hoping to see him as well.” “Mr. Alistair, the engagement party has been… postponed. There’s been an incident.” I gripped the phone tighter. “And there’s something else. A small favor I’d like to ask.” “Oh? Go on.” “Tonight, Richard Bernstein will be introducing someone to you…” 3 Even Richard would have found it hard to believe. That I, Olivia Preston, would be so vindictive toward some up-and-coming ingenue. Mr. Alistair’s critique at the party that night utterly humiliated Ava. The story spread through our entire social circle like wildfire. “This is nothing but a pastiche of imitation. You can’t even articulate the theme of your own work.” “Your fundamentals are abysmal. A child making clothes for a doll shows better stitchwork than this.” “Are you deliberately trying to insult my intelligence?” These comments, embellished by the gossips in attendance, became the season’s hottest joke. Richard’s grand “star-making” project, along with several key deals he was about to close, evaporated overnight. He was in a panic. He knew I was behind it. I was waiting for him to come and confront me. But the next afternoon, he showed up at my door, holding a limited-edition gift box from a top-tier jewelry brand, a placating smile on his face. I stared at him coldly for a long moment. “Come in.” He placed the box on the coffee table and opened it. Inside lay a diamond necklace, glittering under the light. “I was wrong yesterday. I let you down. This is for you, to apologize.” I sat on the sofa, not even glancing at the necklace. I just looked at him. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then sighed and sat down beside me. He tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away. He didn’t seem annoyed, just started talking. “Olivia, why do you have to go after a young girl like that? You could ruin her.” A scornful smile touched my lips. I asked him, point-blank, with no room for evasion. “This special attention you’re giving Ava… is it really just about admiring her talent? You graduated from Parsons, Richard. I don’t believe for a second you can’t see the truth.” His expression shifted. “Olivia, have you lost your trust in me? She’s seven years younger than me. I see her as a kid.” “Yesterday was a huge blow to Ava. She’s young, and talented people have their pride. I’m worried a fall like this will be too much for her to handle.” He watched my face, his voice growing more earnest. “So, I was thinking… could we borrow your family’s art gallery on the Riverside? I want to organize a solo exhibition for her as soon as possible. I’ll cover all the costs, for the venue, the setup, everything.” I finally looked up at him. The sunlight caught his face, still as handsome as the day I fell for him. But the Richard I loved would never defend someone else at my expense. And he certainly wouldn’t have such filthy thoughts about a ‘kid.’ “Richard, she ruined my engagement party. She publicly humiliated me and destroyed my gown. And now you’re asking me to use my family’s gallery, my family’s name, to host an exhibition for her? To prop her up?” The smile on his face faded. “Olivia, it was a misunderstanding. Ava apologized, and I compensated you. The important thing now is to solve the problem. Are you really going to stand by and watch a promising young talent be destroyed by rumors? That’s not good for the company, or for my career.” “Can’t you just be the bigger person and help me out this one time? We’re going to be family, sooner or later.” “Family?” I almost laughed out loud. Before I could speak, the living room door burst open. Ava stormed in. Her eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks staining her cheeks, her hair a mess. She didn’t even look at me, marching straight to Richard. “Richard! I’ve had enough!” “I’ve been winning awards my whole life! My professors called me a once-in-a-decade genius! I have never been so humiliated! Everyone is treating me like a joke! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about me behind my back?!” Richard stood up immediately, trying to calm her. “Ava, don’t get worked up, I’m trying to find a solution…” Ava violently shook off his hand, fresh tears rolling down her face. “What solution?! Richard, I’m telling you, even if you offer me a fortune, I don’t want to stay here anymore! You people make me sick!” She pointed a trembling finger at me, her eyes filled with venom, before turning back to him. “Don’t ever come looking for me again! I’m not good enough for you!” With that, she covered her face and ran out, sobbing, her retreat a picture of finality. “Ava!” Richard’s face contorted in panic. Without a second thought, he started to chase after her. “Richard.” I stopped him, my nails digging into my palms. He turned back. His face was a mask of urgency and impatience, his eyes holding a ferocity I had never seen before. My voice was quiet, even. This was his last chance. “If you walk out that door, we are really, truly over.” He stood there, staring at me for a few seconds, and then a cold, disappointed sneer twisted his lips. “You know what, Olivia? She has never once cried in front of me.” “Do you have any idea what a disgusting thing you’ve done?” “This exhibition is happening. Whether you agree to it or not.” He strode out after her. The living room fell silent. Slowly, I sank back into the sofa. I opened my hand. The pain in my palm seemed to spread, reaching all the way to my heart. 4 Ava’s fashion exhibition went ahead as scheduled. Because I allowed it. Richard, thinking he had won, ended our cold war and came to see me, even bringing Ava along. “Olivia, thank you for being so understanding. You’ll see, Ava is going to be a sensation. This will blow over all those earlier misunderstandings.” I sat in the large armchair in my study and gave them a detached glance. Understanding? I scoffed internally, my face remaining a placid mask. Ava presented a beautifully wrapped gift box to me with both hands. “Ms. Preston, I really want to thank you for generously lending us the gallery. This is a thank-you gift I designed especially for you. I hope you like it.” Inside the box was an exquisite gown. I looked at it, then lifted my eyes to meet Ava’s. “Miss Ava,” I said. “Since you designed this gown especially for me, you must have forgotten that I’m allergic to fiber blends. Are you careless, or did you choose this material on purpose?” The smile on Ava’s face froze. Richard frowned. “Ava was being thoughtful, designing a gown just for you. Why must you always assume the worst in people? An allergy? What a convenient excuse. You just have a prejudice against her!” Perhaps. A prejudice against stupidity and malice. I had worn the mask of a sweet, gentle woman for so long, they had actually started to believe I was the naive, easygoing heiress they could push around. I picked up the gown and, with a casual tug, ripped the fabric. The embellishments scattered across the floor. Then I tossed the ruined dress into the wastebasket in the corner. “I don’t need it,” I said. Ava’s eyes welled with tears. “You’re horrible!” Richard’s expression turned thunderous. But I never imagined he would actually raise a hand to me. I didn’t even see it coming. All I felt was a searing pain across my left cheek. My ears rang. The force of the slap sent me stumbling sideways. My cheek immediately began to swell. “Olivia! You’ve gone too far!” he roared. “The Prestons might have been rich and powerful once, but after your mother died and your father got sick, what’s left of your family?! Even if you were still that same heiress, you have no right to trample on someone’s kindness and dignity!” I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and tasted blood. “Richard, tell me, who is bullying whom here?” He ignored me, his chest heaving with rage. “To teach you a lesson, our engagement is postponed. Indefinitely! Until you learn what respect and an apology are!” He didn’t look at me again, grabbing Ava’s arm. “Ava, let’s go. There’s no point talking to someone this unreasonable.” The stinging in my cheek was a constant throb. I stood motionless in the silent room long after they had gone. As darkness fell, my phone screen lit up in the dim room. A new message from an anonymous number. An encrypted video file. I opened it. The footage was blurry but clear enough. A hotel room, clothes strewn on the floor, two entangled figures. It was Richard. And Ava. I watched it to the end, then turned off the screen. People who aren’t worth loving, along with their pathetic little affairs, deserve to rot in the ground together. In the days that followed, Richard threw all his resources behind Ava’s debut show. Subway light boxes, jumbo screens in commercial districts, trending topics online… ads for “design genius Ava” and her “subversive, brilliant vision” were everywhere. Ava’s social media was a constant stream of bragging. On the day of the exhibition, the Riverside Arts District was buzzing. The entrance to Ava’s gallery was flanked by congratulatory flower arrangements. She and Richard stood proudly at the door, giving interviews. And right across the street, a gallery that had been closed for renovations for weeks was finally unveiled. I stood at the entrance of the building, a structure that dwarfed Ava’s gallery, and looked up at the large letters on the facade. A slow smile spread across my face. CATHERINE: RETROSPECTION & REBIRTH · WORLD TOUR PREMIERE

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My grandma passed away, so I went to the bank to close her account. The final balance: forty-two cents. The teller flashed a practiced, plastic smile, pushing forty cents in dimes across the counter toward me. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we don’t have any loose pennies right now. Can we owe you the last two cents?” “No,” I said. “I’d like them now.” A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, and she sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Ma’am, you’re holding up the line.” The next thing I knew, she hit a button under the counter. A security guard materialized and politely “escorted” me out. I immediately got on my phone and filed a formal complaint. That night, she put me on blast on Instagram. “Just dealt with a total psycho who filed a complaint against me over two cents. She must be broke as a joke.” She attached a photo of the transaction slip, clumsily blacked out— But my Social Security Number was perfectly clear. Overnight, my phone was so overwhelmed with hate messages it became unusable. The next morning, I stood in front of the bank and dialed 911. “I’d like to report a crime. Someone has illegally disclosed my personal information.” I paused, my voice steady. “And while you’re at it, you should probably take a look at this bank’s books. I have a feeling my two cents aren’t the only thing they’ve ’rounded down’.” 1. The police were quick to arrive. As two officers walked into the lobby, the branch manager was in the middle of trying to placate me. “Miss Pierce, look, there’s really no need to make such a scene over a small matter like this.” “This was our mistake, I admit. We’re prepared to offer you five hundred dollars for your trouble. How does that sound?” I just stared at him, saying nothing. The officers approached me. “Ma’am, are you the one who called?” “I am.” I handed over my phone, open to the Instagram post from the teller, Jessica. The transaction slip was there for all to see, my SSN clear as day. “This woman, Jessica, one of your tellers, leaked my private information on social media,” I explained. “The comments section is already flooded with thousands of abusive messages directed at me. I’ve been doxxed, and my phone has been bombarded with threats.” The older officer’s expression hardened. He turned to the manager. “Get your teller, Jessica, out here.” The manager, a Mr. Evans, was a heavyset man whose face was already beading with sweat. He hunched his shoulders slightly. “Officers, please, there must be some misunderstanding. Jessica’s just a kid, fresh out of college. She was probably just venting after a long day, she doesn’t know any better.” “Leaking a citizen’s personal information isn’t ‘not knowing any better’,” I cut in, answering for the officer. “It’s a federal crime.” Mr. Evans’s face paled. A moment later, Jessica emerged from a staff hallway. She froze when she saw the police, but the moment her eyes landed on me, she put on a performance worthy of an Oscar, looking like the world’s greatest victim. “Officers, I… I was just complaining to my friends! I had no idea it was illegal!” she stammered. “I can delete the post! I’ll apologize to her!” She made a show of starting to bow toward me. I took a sharp step back, dodging the gesture. The younger officer, who had been taking notes, looked up at her. “Your actions are a serious violation of federal privacy laws and could constitute felony identity theft. Please come with us to the station for questioning.” Jessica’s knees buckled. “Wait… Mr. Evans, say something! Mr. Evans!” Mr. Evans was busy wiping sweat from his brow, trying to sweet-talk the officers. “Gentlemen, can’t we just handle this internally? We’ll come to a private settlement, I promise Miss Pierce will be satisfied.” “This is a criminal matter now. It’s out of your hands,” the older officer said flatly, waving his partner to take her away. As they led her out, Jessica started sobbing, snot and tears streaming down her face as she screamed at me. “You lunatic! Was it worth it? Over two cents! You’ll get what’s coming to you!” I ignored her curses and turned to the officer who had stayed behind. “Officer, besides the data breach, I have something else to report.” “Go on.” “I suspect this bank branch is systematically skimming small amounts of money from customer accounts.” Mr. Evans, who had just started to relax, went rigid. The officer looked at me. “Do you have any proof?” “Yesterday afternoon, your teller Jessica, while closing an account for me, explicitly stated that of the forty-two cents remaining, she would only return forty. The other two cents, she said, ‘didn’t matter’.” “I don’t believe this was an isolated incident. I believe it’s common practice at this branch. Two cents from thousands of customers can add up to a significant sum. The question is, where did that money go?” Mr. Evans immediately shot back. “That’s absurd! Our bank’s accounting is all computerized. Every single cent is accounted for. It’s impossible!” “Is it?” I challenged him. “Then let’s pull up yesterday’s cash flow records and the system logs right now. Let’s see if my two cents were the only ‘unimportant’ pennies that went missing.” The officer seemed to agree. He looked at Mr. Evans. “Sir, if you would please cooperate and show us yesterday’s records.” Mr. Evans nervously fumbled with his tie, pulling it askew. “Officer, accessing those kinds of logs requires authorization from corporate. A single branch doesn’t have that kind of authority…” “Don’t worry,” I interrupted, my voice cool. “I’ve already filed a formal complaint with the Banking Commission. I imagine their investigators will be here soon enough, with all the authorization they need.” Mr. Evans stared at me, his mouth hanging open, speechless. I held his gaze. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Sophie Pierce. I’m a financial auditor. And tearing through bank records is what I do best.” 2. Jessica was detained for five days and fined five hundred dollars for illegal disclosure of personal information. The very next day, I got a call from the Banking Commission. They had formed a special task force to investigate my claim of “systematic skimming of customer assets.” The bank’s corporate office reacted swiftly. Mr. Evans was suspended, and a Vice President named Coleman called me personally. His tone was incredibly apologetic, promising a full internal investigation and assuring me I would be given a satisfactory resolution. I hung up the phone, not believing a word of it. With institutions this big, the first instinct is always damage control. Sure enough, that evening, my phone began ringing off the hook. At first, it was blocked numbers. When I answered, I was met with a torrent of screamed obscenities. I enabled a feature to block all unknown callers. Then came Jessica’s friends and family. They’d somehow gotten my number and used it to find every social media profile I had. A woman claiming to be Jessica’s cousin sent me over a hundred voice messages. “How can you be so heartless? You got our Jessica thrown in jail, and you still won’t let it go?” “You’re going to ruin a young woman’s entire future over two cents? Are you even human?” “Have you ever heard of showing a little mercy? Or do you just want to destroy her completely?” And of course, there was Jessica’s boyfriend. He was more direct. “Listen up, you bitch. Drop the charges now, or I’ll find you and kill you.” He sent a selfie of himself holding a baseball bat. In the background, I could clearly see the entrance to my apartment building. I didn’t reply. I just screenshotted everything. Then came a text from Mr. Evans. “Miss Pierce, let’s be reasonable. Jessica has been fired. You got what you wanted. The bank is willing to offer you fifty thousand dollars to let this go. Think about it.” “If you keep pushing this, it won’t end well for either of us. You’re a young woman with a long career ahead of you. You understand.” The threat was clear. I screenshotted that too. They were working fast. New posts were popping up all over Instagram and Reddit. The headlines were all variations on a theme: “The Ice-Cold Auditor Who Drove a Bank Teller to Suicide Over 2 Cents.” “BREAKING: Teller in 2-Cent Dispute Attempts Suicide Amidst Relentless Harassment!” “Is the ‘2-Cent Avenger’ a Hero or a Monster?” The posts were written with dramatic flair, claiming Jessica had lost her job because of my complaint and, unable to handle my continued “persecution,” had slit her wrists and was now fighting for her life in the hospital. They included a photo of a wrist wrapped in bloody bandages, the person lying in a hospital bed. It was blurry, but the distinct purple-dyed hair was unmistakably Jessica’s. The comment sections exploded. “OMG, for real? Someone tried to kill themselves over two cents? This woman is a demon.” “This is terrifying. What kind of person does this?” “My friend is a nurse at that hospital. She said the teller lost a lot of blood, it’s really bad.” “So what if she’s an auditor? She’s just a bully on a power trip. People like her are the worst!” My name, my employer, even photos from my college yearbook were plastered everywhere. My phone was unusable. The receptionist’s desk at my company was flooded with angry calls. I stared at the venomous words scrolling across my screen, then calmly turned off my phone. Did they really think this would make me back down? I opened my laptop, navigated to an encrypted forum on the dark web, and posted a new thread. The title was: “$10,000 USD Bounty for Information on ‘Backdoors’ or Artificially Created Financial Loopholes in a Certain Commercial Bank’s Software System.” It was a long shot. But it was the fastest way I could think of to find out where the money went.

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My arranged fiancé, the heir to the family empire, kept a trophy girlfriend on the side, spoiling her rotten. Just as I was preparing to break off the engagement, I suddenly saw comments scrolling across my vision: [What did the Crown Prince do wrong? He just wants to get your attention.] [Don’t break off the engagement, baby! If you just shed a few tears, he’ll give you the world immediately.] I turned my head and looked out the window. The trophy girlfriend, wearing expensive jewelry, clung to Ethan Sterling’s arm with a radiant smile. Ethan lowered his eyes lazily, a look of casual indulgence on his face. I smiled and replied to my lawyer’s message: [Continue drafting the annulment agreement.] 01 As soon as I sent the message, the comments exploded: [How can you be so cruel? The poor Crown Prince is probably getting drunk at a bar right now…] [Sigh, the Crown Prince is just a bit proud and stubborn, and now he’s lost his wife.] [It’s fine. The Crown Prince will just bankrupt her family, then she’ll have no choice but to beg him obediently.] [Then she’ll have to fight other women for his attention every day. The Crown Prince will be so happy!] I stared at the comments, laughing coldly in anger. I looked sideways again, locking eyes with Ethan Sterling. He raised an eyebrow slightly, letting the girl continue to cling to him, showing no guilt at being caught. Seeming to notice my ugly expression, the corner of his lips quirked up. The trophy girlfriend Ethan kept was a small-time influencer. Walking together, they looked like a perfect match. Many people stopped to watch and take photos. The glass of the cafe I was in was transparent. I didn’t know if I had been photographed too. I cursed silently in my heart. Picked up my bag and called the driver. Changed the location for him to pick me up. Who knew, as soon as I stepped out, I bumped straight into Ethan. Me: ? “Did you walk this way on purpose?” I asked. “Paying that much attention to me?” Ethan smiled lazily. The girl beside him looked at me vigilantly but didn’t speak due to her status. Thinking of the comments just now, I felt annoyed. I tried to walk around them but was grabbed by the wrist. I turned back. Ethan lowered his voice: “Unhappy?” I glanced down at the girl hugging him. “Not unhappy. I wish you a long and happy life together.” After speaking, he still didn’t let go. The girl rolled her eyes. “Where did you come from? Still disturbing others shopping?” She shook the expensive bracelet on her wrist and looked at Ethan coquettishly. “Are you just jealous no one bought you one?” I said calmly: “Do you know I’m his fiancée?” She froze for a moment, then scoffed: “Family arrangement, what feelings are there? If Ethan really liked her, would he be with me?” Ethan sneered. Then he lowered his eyelids, his dark eyes staring straight at me. My expression didn’t change, and I nodded. Then I glanced at the hand still holding my wrist, with its distinct knuckles: “Let go.” Ethan didn’t move, looking at me: “Find another male partner for the banquet the day after tomorrow.” Hearing this, the girl was stunned for a moment. Then she sized me up, and after a while, giggled: “Oh, so you’re his fiancée. So what? Ethan will accompany me the day after tomorrow.” I calculated. The annulment agreement should be sent to the Sterling family tomorrow. “Okay,” I said. “Can you let go now?” Ethan paused, his face darkening. “Who will you find?” Several young men with good family backgrounds, looks, and figures flashed through my mind. I said sincerely: “Haven’t decided yet, but I can pick one out when I get home.” The silence in the air was palpable. Besides the bustling commercial street, various gazes were cast towards us. The comments popped up again: [Oh my god, the Crown Prince is pissed off.] [Crown Prince: Can’t you just cry and submit? Must you make me angry?] [Baby, act coquettish, cry! Don’t waste your beauty and the Crown Prince’s love for you!] [Seriously, don’t be stubborn, baby. If the Crown Prince goes crazy, who knows what he’ll do… Bankrupting your family and locking you up will make you behave.] “Chloe, well done.” Ethan ground his teeth, his voice dropping to freezing point. He let go of my hand. I stepped forward, looked at the necklace on the girl’s neck, and looked deeply at Ethan: “You said before you would give this necklace to me.” With that, I turned and left. Ethan chased after me, his tone unclear. “You still remember?” “But I don’t need it now.” “She acts coquettish with me, revolves around me every day… and calls me hubby.” Ethan’s voice was deep. So you gave her the necklace you promised me? My throat and stomach churned. The comments boiled over with this sentence: [He’s hinting at you!] [The Crown Prince finally couldn’t hold back, hehe. Baby, call him hubby once, and he’ll give you his life.] [The Crown Prince dreams of being called hubby by baby. He probably has to change the sheets when he wakes up…] I stopped, locked eyes with Ethan, and said word by word: “Right. In the future, I will act coquettish with other men and call other men hubby. Then he will also satisfy my demands.” “Say that again.” There was a coldness in Ethan’s voice I had never heard before. His big hand gripped my shoulder bone, with force as if trying to crush my bones. At this moment, the girl who followed timidly spoke: “Ethan, what’s wrong?” Ethan didn’t spare her a glance, still staring at me dead on. She pouted and glared at me: “Did you make Ethan angry? When Ethan is with me, he’s never unhappy.” I felt more and more disgusted inside. Turned my head away, not wanting to say another word. After a long time, Ethan’s hand dropped. He closed his eyes irritably, shrouded in gloom. “Even she knows not to make me angry, Chloe.” He left this sentence coldly and turned to leave. The girl immediately followed, coaxing him with a sweet voice. Their backs looked like a match made in heaven. Comments surged: [Baby just refuses to submit, pushing away the person who loves her with her own hands.] [Wouldn’t it be fine just to say a few nice words to the Crown Prince? Insisting on giving that white lotus a chance.] [I’m speechless. Look at the trending search! Passersby posted photos and videos online.] 02 After getting into the driver’s car, I opened my phone. By this time, several friends had already messaged me: [Oh my god, how are you on the trending search? That woman beside your fiancé is an influencer, did you know?] [Are you okay, babe? Someone just sent me photos. Why does Ethan Sterling parade his mistress in front of you? Scumbag!] [That influencer next to your fiancé says in her live streams every day that she has a man who loves her very much and buys her everything… turns out it’s Ethan Sterling.] [I’m speechless. Ethan Sterling didn’t even have a female mosquito around him before. We said he kept himself clean; why did he suddenly start keeping a little influencer?] I considered my words, replied one by one, and clicked on the trending search. Clear photos and videos captured the pulling and pushing between Ethan and me perfectly. The comments below were uniformly defending the influencer: [Is this woman just jealous of our Lily? Trying to seduce someone else’s boyfriend.] [Didn’t you see Lily’s boyfriend’s attitude towards her? So fierce. In contrast, he spoils Lily so much.] [This woman still lingered around them. After they left, she kept staring. Pretending to be deeply affectionate?] [Speechless, ahhh, green tea stay away, don’t seduce someone else’s boyfriend.] So my fiancé has already become someone else’s boyfriend. I curled up in the back seat, staring blankly into space. For this trending topic to stay until now, and even intensify, it definitely had Ethan’s authorization. Does he really like me as much as those comments say? If he likes me, would he tolerate people on the internet twisting right and wrong and endlessly abusing me? I closed my eyes in pain. After a long time, I dialed a number, my voice hoarse: “Get someone to remove the trending search, quickly.” The comments became active again: [Heartbroken for baby, can’t take it anymore. If only baby submitted and acted coquettish, it wouldn’t be like this now…] [A bunch of brainless netizens, just following the trend. Lily is the mistress! Pissing me off.] [The Crown Prince is indeed a bit excessive, but baby is too independent. He just wants to see baby rely on him and show she can’t do without him.] [Feels like this trending search is hard to remove. Someone is already shorting baby’s stocks. People from the Chloe Group saw it; it will definitely affect the stock market.] My gaze lingered on the last comment for a long time. Sure enough, not long after, the phone rang. The other end said helplessly: “Someone keeps buying the trending search. We are removing it here, but the effect is minimal.” I didn’t speak. The other end sighed, “Did you provoke someone? This trending search keeps refreshing and won’t go down. This is a big spender. Your fiancé isn’t removing it either? Just watching?” Because the person buying the trending search is my fiancé. But… soon he won’t be. My dad’s call came right after. His voice was full of anger: “Chloe! What’s going on with you? Do I need people to ask me? I didn’t even know!” I was silent for a moment. “Ethan cheated. Is that my fault too?” “Men cheating is common, but how could you let this kind of thing get out! And let that woman be safe and sound in front of you, showing off?!” My dad’s voice suddenly rose. I explained patiently, “Ethan bought this trending search, and he keeps the mistress. Dad, this has nothing to do with me. I’m already asking people to remove the trending search.” My dad sneered, “Not being able to control a man’s heart is your fault.” After saying this, he hung up. The car stopped steadily. The driver turned back to remind me: “Miss Chloe, we’re at the villa.” Like a walking corpse, I pushed open the car door and walked step by step towards the pitch-black villa. My dad’s words were so high-sounding. When he cheated and kept a bunch of people outside, he turned around and blamed my mom for being old and charmless. But he forgot who supported his business with all her dowry and who paid silently behind the scenes. 03 Late at night. I called Ethan. It connected almost instantly. “What?” His tone was lazy. “Stop buying the trending search,” I whispered. He paused on the other end, his tone rising, “Why so listless? Are you sad?” “What exactly do you want?” I couldn’t control it, my voice breaking. He didn’t speak. I said hoarsely: “Watching my identity get exposed, being called a mistress, Chloe Group’s stock price falling, are you happy? Are you satisfied?” When saying this, I couldn’t help trembling all over. How could there be such an unreasonable lunatic? After a while, Ethan spoke slowly: “Don’t cry, baby. Want to see me? I can come to you now.” I opened my mouth. But couldn’t make a sound. I stood on the balcony. The cool night wind blew past, cooling the tears that had just fallen. I was like a complete joke. Finally, only two difficult and dry words remained: “Don’t come.” Ethan repeated with unclear emotion: “Don’t come?” “What do you mean, Chloe?” His voice turned cold. “I don’t want to see you.” Using my last bit of strength, I hung up the phone. I lay back in bed in a daze, unable to sleep for a long time. The trending search still hung high. Relatives in the family WeChat group tagged me one after another, their tones full of blame. Until a cousin sent: [Let me say, cousin, if you can’t keep Brother Ethan, don’t hog the toilet. Don’t you know how much impact this has caused?] Once started, peers in the group chimed in. A younger cousin sent a facepalm emoji: [Too embarrassing, being ridden on the head by a mistress. If I were Cousin Chloe, I wouldn’t have the face to go out.] [Brother Ethan spent money on that influencer. Didn’t he spend any money on you, cousin?] [If not, just change the engagement partner, right? Anyway, Brother Ethan doesn’t like Cousin Chloe.] With the last sentence sent, the chattering group instantly fell silent. I smiled bitterly. I wished I could just change partners. But my dad was still in charge of the Chloe Group, and I was his only daughter. He wouldn’t be willing to let go of this opportunity to curry favor with the Sterling family. I muted the group messages and scrolled through my Moments. The first one was a group photo posted by a rich kid. Standing in the center were… Ethan and Lily. Ethan intimately held Lily’s waist, lazily raising an eyebrow at the camera. The former and a crowd of brothers toasted happily on both sides. What does it look like? Right, like an official announcement photo. I liked it and turned off my phone. Comments surged like a tide at this time: [Baby don’t be sad, the Crown Prince is faking it! We all know the Crown Prince loves you the most.] [Yeah, after his bro posted this, he checks every minute to see if you liked it.] [He really wants to see you. You rejected him tonight; he’s almost dying of sadness.] [Baby call him quickly, tell him you’re jealous, he’ll come to find you immediately hehe!] I closed my eyes numbly. Driving all these comments out of my mind. I didn’t know how long passed. I propped up my cold body, got up, and sent a message to the lawyer: [Give me the annulment agreement first. I’ll find a chance to give it to Ethan later.] I needed a day to transfer assets and couldn’t be disturbed by anyone. After attending the banquet, taking the early morning flight, I would fly to another country. By then, the annulment agreement would be in duplicate, sent to my father and Ethan respectively. Staying in the country, even if I refused to marry Ethan to death, I wouldn’t have a peaceful life; sooner or later, my dad would marry me off to someone else. 04 Everything went smoothly. … I even carefully selected a mermaid dress. Stepping into the banquet hall in high heels, I smiled. My friends came over to ask how I was doing recently. One even poked me with her elbow, “No male partner, right? I’ll lend you my brother.” I thought for a moment, “Forget it, I don’t think being alone is shameful.” “True, having a man around hinders our chatting!” she said smilingly. Suddenly, there was an uproar in the distance. We looked towards the source of the sound— Ethan in a silver-gray suit, looking lazy, with a faint smile on his lips. His arm was held by Lily, who also curved her eyes prettily. Ah… I thought Ethan said he would accompany Lily, meaning shopping or something. Turns out he’s accompanying her to this banquet. My gaze fell on Lily’s dress. Identical to my mermaid dress. When I ordered it, I was told there was only one in the country. The one on Lily… was shipped overnight from abroad? Ethan intended to embarrass me. Sure enough, as soon as Lily saw me, her face changed immediately. She bit her lip and turned to say something to Ethan before Ethan looked over unhurriedly. Lily walked over on her small heels, glaring at me with almond eyes: “Did you send someone to find out what dress Ethan ordered for me? Did you do it on purpose?!” Hearing the commotion, other scattered people at the banquet gradually gathered around. My friend was shocked: “Don’t talk nonsense…” Lily scoffed, “Just jealous that Ethan treats me well! This kind of method is really disgusting, and you don’t even look as good as me in it.” My friend said silently: “Better looking than you.” Lily was anxious, went back to Ethan and shook his arm, “Ethan, look at them!” Ethan’s eyes were pitch black, his gaze lingering on me for a long time. After a while, he hooked his lips and smiled. The comments suddenly became noisy: [Ahhhhh, the Crown Prince smiled! He thinks baby looks better!] [Eyes are the most honest indeed, hehe, Crown Prince and Baby forever! I bet on it.] [But wait a minute… The Crown Prince wants to stimulate baby, make baby go to him obediently and pitifully, wait a minute…] While I was still confused about the meaning of the last comment, the microphone suddenly rang. Everyone looked over. The senior secretary of the Sterling Group held the microphone and a card, saying: “Thank you all for coming to this banquet. There is an important matter I declare here—Mr. Sterling has decided with the board that 2% of the shares of Sterling Group will be gifted to Miss Lily for free.” The whole audience was in an uproar! I looked up sharply, in disbelief. Ethan held important shares, but I didn’t know exactly how much. But another 2%, given to an un-fiancée… even if only 2%, in the huge Sterling Group, the annual net income is a very considerable figure. He gave it to Lily. And had someone announce it at this time. Comments were scrolling crazily: [Here it comes, the crazy Crown Prince’s big move! Poor baby is being laughed at by everyone, can only obediently beg the Crown Prince!] [Yeah, then baby helplessly stays by the Crown Prince’s side, being endlessly demanded… so spicy.] [What is baby insisting on! The Crown Prince loves you so much, slap Lily quickly, then hold the Crown Prince and act cute.] Bearing everyone’s sarcastic and gloating gazes, I walked towards Ethan step by step. His gaze followed me tightly. I walked up to him. He lowered his eyes, a hint of an arc on his lips. I also curved my lips, words rolling out of my throat one by one: “The annulment agreement is already on the way. It won’t be long before it reaches your hands. Whether the cooperation with the Chloe Group continues is up to you to decide. “I’m out.” I locked eyes with Ethan. After saying the last sentence expressionlessly, I turned to leave. Ethan grabbed my wrist violently, his fingertips trembling slightly from too much force, “What do you mean? Chloe, what do you mean?” I didn’t look back: “Annulment. Don’t understand?” “I don’t agree!” He roared low, his voice tight, “Are you blaming me for giving the shares to someone else…” I frowned, “I have nothing to do with you. What does the whereabouts of Sterling shares have to do with me?” “Of course it does—” I turned around impatiently. The bottom of his eyes was a turbulent ink color, “As long as you want, everything is yours. No need for annulment.” Ethan’s gaze locked onto me tightly, his voice hoarse. I didn’t want to say more to him, “Let go.” “I won’t let you go.” He increased his strength, almost stubborn. I grunted in pain. At this moment, my friend blocked him, gnashing her teeth, “Ethan Sterling, you keep a mistress outside yourself, and won’t allow Chloe to annul the engagement? Does that make sense?” Lily screamed: “Who are you calling a mistress? Ethan loves me the most!” My friend sneered, “Then why isn’t he willing to let Chloe go and marry you instead?” Lily froze, looked at Ethan, choking with sobs: “Ethan, what are you doing? You didn’t like her anyway. Isn’t annulment just right?” Ethan didn’t look at anyone else from beginning to end. The corners of his eyes were slightly red, “Chloe, stop messing around. Shares, necklace, they are all yours.” “Why do you think I would care?” I asked back. I shook off his hand fiercely. Entangling with him further would only delay my schedule. I said lightly: “Wish you happiness, a long life together, and a son soon.” Ethan moved his lips. I took a step back, “Don’t stop me. Don’t make me look down on you.” Walking towards the banquet hall gate, the comments in front of me refreshed continuously: [Huh? What is this direction? Is it the grand finale? Isn’t baby going to live happily with the Crown Prince?] [The Crown Prince played too hard… Baby seems to be really jealous.] [Baby just annulled the engagement like this. Who knows what the crazy Crown Prince will do? Maybe kidnap baby tomorrow.] [What? Captivity play? Waiting…] Of course, I was afraid of Ethan going crazy, so now or never. In a few hours, I would cross half the globe to another country.

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A few years ago, my dad got wasted at a bar and let some “friends” talk him into buying a pre-construction condo. Later, once the building was finished, he took my younger brother, my grandma, and me to go see it. While we were walking through the place, my grandma—the woman who actually raised me—asked my dad who this condo was for. My dad, still in a generous mood from his lingering buzz, answered flatly, “It’s for her. It’s for the middle child.” Grandma smiled, finally satisfied. On the drive back, my brother was behind the wheel, and I was in the passenger seat. Suddenly, he spoke up. “Sis, don’t take what Dad said back there too seriously. He only bought that place because he was drunk and people were egging him on. He regretted it the next morning. A couple of days ago, he was asking me if he should flip it or try to rent it out. I told him to just sell it. It’ll cost fifteen grand just to furnish and fix it up, and renters will just trash the place. Right, Sis?” My heart went cold. I didn’t say a word. My brother was born in ’94. When he graduated college, my parents bought him a house and a car in the city. When he got married, they even bought a new car for his wife. Then there’s me, born in ’92. I have no house, no car. Even the money for my Master’s degree abroad was earned by my own blood and sweat, working two jobs in a foreign country where I didn’t know a soul. The hardest times were when tuition was due. I had to open half a dozen credit cards, maxing one out to pay the other in a desperate cycle just to stay in school. And here was my brother, who already owned everything, trying to snatch away the only thing our father had ever offered me—the first thing I would have ever received from them. But my brother was right. That condo never made it into my hands. Even now, my grandma still says to me, “Don’t be so hard on yourself out there. Your dad already bought you that place, so stop living so frugally.” Hearing her, I just think to myself: That place never belonged to me. Technically, nothing ever belonged to me. But I never corrected my dad’s lie in front of my grandma. I didn’t want to break her heart. Most people assume my parents favor boys over girls. But it’s not that. I have an older sister, five years my senior. Just like my brother, she was always the golden child. It was only me. I was the one living on the edges of the family photo. When I first wanted to go abroad for grad school, I asked my parents for support. My dad said nothing. My mom said, “Two years abroad? That’s going to cost a fortune. Just stay here and get a job. You can be close to your siblings, and we can help you out if things get tough.” Then she shifted her tone. “We paid for your undergrad. We’ve already done so much for you. Stop thinking about what this family can give you and start thinking about what you’ve given to this family.” I did what my dad did. I said nothing. I just sat there wondering: What exactly has this family ever given me? From the day I was born, they didn’t even give me a name of my own. 1 I was born during the strictest years of the birth control laws. My parents already had my five-year-old sister, so my arrival was a secret. When I was born, I didn’t cry. My dad took one look at me and said, “She’s not going to make it. Just bury her.” The midwife couldn’t stand it. She tried everything—shocking my body with cold and hot water—but I lay there as still as a piece of wood. Finally, she had an idea. She had my dad blow cigarette smoke into my face while hanging me upside down. Unbelievably, it worked. I lived. Who would have thought that the person who wanted me to live most wasn’t my father, but a midwife I didn’t even know? Because my existence was illegal, they couldn’t let anyone know about me. They bundled me up and snuck me out to the countryside to live with my Great Aunt. When my Great Aunt took me from my dad’s arms, he made it very clear: “We aren’t giving her to you. We’re just letting you raise her for a few years. We’ll come back for her.” They chose the five-year-old they already knew over the seven-month-old they didn’t. They sent me away. I spent my childhood in the country. My Great Aunt was amazing. She treated me like her own daughter. If her sons got something, I got a share too. Even though I don’t make a lot now, I still send her a few thousand dollars every year. When it was time for middle school, my parents suddenly decided to bring me back to the city. My Great Aunt’s eyes were full of tears as she patted my hand. “When you go back,” she whispered, “be good. Work hard. Do what they say. That’s the only way they’ll love you.” She turned to my parents and pleaded, “She’s been away a long time. She doesn’t know you well. You need to put in the effort to get to know her.” My mom only replied, “I don’t have time for that kind of drama.” Back in the city, the first thing they did was take me to the station to add me to the family registry. They didn’t even give me a new name. They just gave me my sister’s old one. They had gotten my sister a new identity and registry. I became the “replacement” eldest daughter on paper. My sister’s name was Chloe. My name became… Chloe. I didn’t understand. If my sister was the oldest, why did her new name mean “Little Rain,” while I was just “Rain”? I moved into my “real” home. I followed my Great Aunt’s advice. I was quiet. I was helpful. I did all the chores. But in my sister’s eyes, my helpfulness was just a desperate attempt to suck up to our parents. In her world, you could brown-nose anyone, but you shouldn’t have to brown-nose your own parents. I was sent to a boarding school. The first time I ever rode in my dad’s car was when he dropped me off. He promised to pick me up every Friday. But my mom told me, “Your dad is busy. He doesn’t have time to drive out there every week. Don’t you dare call him and pester him.” Was he really that busy? No. My mom just felt that I wasn’t worth his time. Later, when my brother started school nearby, my dad picked him up every single week. Suddenly, he had plenty of time for me, too—because I was the “buy one, get one free” passenger. One time, we were all going out. My mom said, “Wait a minute, your dad needs to go pay the insurance premiums for your brother and sister.” It turned out that when they bought health and life insurance, they only bought it for the two of them. Maybe because they never invested any time or energy into me, they never learned to value me. You love what you nurture. Like the Little Prince and his rose—he loved his rose not because it was the only one, but because of the time he spent tending to it. My parents never tended to me. And because they never loved me, I never learned how to depend on them. 2 My relationship with my sister was complicated—and by complicated, I mean we were strangers who shared DNA. The first year I moved back, we shared a room. I used to keep a diary with a little heart lock. Eventually, the locked diaries got too expensive, so I switched to a regular notebook. One afternoon, I woke up from a nap and saw my sister sitting at the desk, casually flipping through my diary. I jumped out of bed and snatched it away. I started tearing the pages out, one by one, right in front of her. “Psycho!” she yelled. No apology. Nothing. “You’re the psycho! You’re a thief!” I screamed back. The screaming woke our parents. My mom burst in, saw my sister sitting perfectly composed and me standing there, disheveled and shaking with rage. Without asking a single question, my mom pointed at me. “You country brat. You have zero manners. Look at your sister—try acting like a civilized human being for once.” That was the last time I ever fought with her. I stopped caring. I didn’t want to share a life, or a conversation, or a mall trip with her. We were just two people living under the same roof. My sister’s life was paved by my parents. After college, they got her a job as a teacher. When she decided she was too “short-tempered” for kids, she quit. My dad then pulled strings to get her a cushy office job at a major tech firm. “It’s great,” my dad said. “She’s indoors, no manual labor, perfect for her.” Whenever I was home from college, my mom made me escort my sister to and from work because she was “scared of the dark.” One night, my sister invited a colleague over for dinner. When the colleague tried to help clear the table, my sister stopped her. “Don’t worry about it,” she said smoothly. “We have someone specifically for that.” She meant me. When it was time for my sister to get married, my parents bought her a house and a car. She stayed at our parents’ place throughout her pregnancy so my mom could wait on her hand and foot. The day she brought the baby home from the hospital, everyone was crowded around the stroller. I stood on the outside of the circle, watching. “Your sister is still recovering,” my mom commanded, looking at me. “You’re going to help her with the baby from now on.” “I have to go back to school,” I said. “I’m not staying here.” “Summer break starts in a week!” my mom snapped. I didn’t argue. I just didn’t come home for the summer. I told them I found an internship, just so I wouldn’t have to be a full-time, unpaid nanny. After graduation, I moved to a different state for work. My mom would call occasionally with fake concern. “If you need anything, tell us. The family is here for you.” But if I ever actually asked for advice, she would just turn it around and blame me for whatever problem I had. She never asked if I liked my apartment or my life. She just wanted to sound like a good mother. On Mother’s Day, I texted her: Happy Mother’s Day. She replied: Same to you. Did she think I was a mother? No. In her mind, her only “real” daughter was the one who had already given her a grandson. 3 Like my sister, my brother got a house and a car when he married. When his kid was born, my mom called me. “The family is growing, and you haven’t even come to visit.” I took a twelve-hour train and a bus to get home. The first thing my mom said when I walked through the door wasn’t “Are you tired?” or “Have you eaten?” It was: “What did you buy for your nephew?” “I didn’t buy anything,” I said, annoyed. “Then just give him cash.” She immediately turned back to the crib, cooing at the baby. After the holidays, my brother and I were leaving the city together. My parents packed his trunk until it was bursting—pickles, milk, snacks, pots, pans, even towels. Everything he could ever need. Then my mom looked at me. “Do you want to take a watermelon?” I just laughed. She didn’t even give me the watermelon. I left empty-handed. As we got into the car, my mom told my brother, “When you get to the South Station, there’s a highway exit. Just drop your sister off there.” I wasn’t even worth the gas it would take for my brother to drive me to my actual door. I had to get out on the side of the road and find my own way home. My mom isn’t stingy with things—she’s just stingy with me. Everything she gives has strings attached. You have to beg. You have to smile. I’m too stubborn for that. One October, the fruit trees in my parents’ yard were full. They brought a basket to my brother’s house and told me to come by and grab some. After dinner, we all went to the mall to look at cars for my brother’s wife. “What do you think?” my mom asked me. “I don’t have an opinion,” I said. “I can’t afford a car anyway.” “Fine. Here’s some cash. Take the kids to the play area while we finish up here.” She shooed me away so they could finish buying a car for my sister-in-law. Shortly after that, I left the country for grad school. 4 I came back during the pandemic after finishing my Master’s. After a nightmare of expensive flights and two weeks of quarantine in a facility, I finally made it to my hometown. The “welcome home” wasn’t a hot meal. It was a shack in the back alley. As I got out of the car, my mom stood there in a mask, wielding a bottle of disinfectant. She sprayed me down from head to toe. I couldn’t see her face behind the mask, but the vibe wasn’t “I missed you.” It was “You’re a biohazard.” “If you don’t have anything important to do, don’t leave this room,” she said, locking the door from the outside. I looked around. The room was filthy. Muddy footprints on the floor. Thick dust on the table. They knew I was coming for 21 days—and they couldn’t even wipe a desk? There was an electric burner on the table and a pot covered in rust. In the corner was a box of Cup Noodles. The next day, she brought me some eggs and a cucumber. “Eat this. You need to lose weight anyway.” For the next few days, she would drop off a bowl of food, knock, and wait for me to grab it through a crack in the door. No conversation. The worst part? There was no bathroom. I had to use a public restroom in the building next door. I didn’t see my dad until the very last day of my isolation. He gave me a nod. “You’re back.” That was it. If I hadn’t been so “good” when I first moved back—if I hadn’t done all the chores and played the obedient daughter—would things be different? Probably not. As soon as I was allowed to leave, I booked an Uber to the city. It cost me eighty dollars, but I didn’t care. I just wanted out. That was the third time I left home. I stayed in the city with my best friend from college. We got an apartment and I adopted a dog—a little toy poodle I named Happy. Even with a Master’s degree, my lack of local experience and the job market made things hard. I applied to dozens of places before finding a basic 9-to-5 job with mediocre pay. But I didn’t lose hope. I worked my ass off. I wanted to be the most successful child in the family without a dime of their help. My first goal: buy a small house for my Great Aunt back in the country. I didn’t contact my parents for a year. They didn’t contact me either. I worked, I learned, I prepared for my next career jump. I lost weight. I built a life. My best friend—I call her my “sister” because she’s more of a sister than Chloe ever was—is always there for me. She thinks I’m too soft, that I let people walk all over me. She says I’m the kindest person she knows, but she worries I don’t know how to get angry. “I’ll be your backup,” she told me once. “If anyone messes with you, they mess with me.” We did everything together. Shopping, trying new restaurants, traveling. Everything I never did with my real sister, I did with her. “I feel more like your sister anyway,” she said. “You are my sister,” I replied. I couldn’t choose my family, but I chose my friends.

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I was filling out the discharge papers and paying the final hospital bill for my son’s born when a trending post flashed on my phone screen. “A neighbor I’ve met twice is badgering me to babysit her newborn, but my own daughter just gave birth this week. I don’t know how to refuse. Help me, internet.” The comments section was a chaotic mix of suggestions, but the author only replied to the one that stood out as brilliant. “Simple. Tell her you and your husband are retired and planning a grand, open-ended travel adventure. Move in with your daughter so the neighbor can’t track you down. You won’t return until the baby is old enough for daycare.” My eyes widened. Genius-level emotional intelligence. I thought, simultaneously shaking my head in judgment of the shameless neighbor. How can someone, after exchanging two polite nods, have the audacity to make such an absurd demand? Thank God my mom, Eleanor, had agreed to watch my son, Theo. I’d be able to return to my high-pressure job at the firm immediately. But when I opened the front door to my apartment, the silence hit me first. The place was empty. I called my parents’ home number and cell phones. No answer. Two hours later, a text finally pinged from my mom. “Jess, your dad and I decided to take advantage of our good health and hit the road for a while. We’re planning a big trip. We don’t have a return date yet, so I’m afraid I’ll have to put off helping with the baby. You’ll have to hold down the fort for now. You’re strong, honey.” My arms, cradling the sleeping Theo, went stiff. My thumb instinctively tapped the Instagram icon and opened the profile of my cousin, Briana. Sure enough, she had posted an update. The video showed my mother’s aging figure bustling in a gleaming, modern kitchen, cradling a pink, swaddled newborn. The caption read: “A kid with a mom is a treasure! Thanks to my amazing Mama for easing the load. Love you a million times over! #GrandmaGoals #SupportSystem” My eyes burned as I stared at the screen, reading the caption over and over in disbelief. Then Theo, nestled in my arms, woke up and began to wail, a desperate, hungry cry that yanked me back to the cruel reality of my apartment. The lights were off. The faucet was dry. The power and water had been cut off before I even came home—I couldn’t even make his formula. When I called my mom, the line rang for a full ten minutes before she picked up. Her voice was rushed and preoccupied. “Hello? Jess? What is it? Why are you calling me right now? I’m right in the middle of something.” I took a shaky breath, trying to keep my voice even. “Mom, what was the meaning of that text? We agreed three days ago—I’d check out of the hospital, drop the baby off with you, and head straight back to the office. The partners are waiting for me to join the meeting. What am I supposed to do now?” A two-second pause. Then, my mom’s tone dropped, hardening into the familiar, impenetrable wall of disapproval. “Jessica Lynn, get this straight. I’m your mother, not some hired nanny.” “I spent twenty-eight years raising you. It was exhausting. I finally retired, and I deserve to enjoy my life. And yes, I agreed to help, but I’m entitled to a little time to myself, aren’t I? A break?” Tears were blurring my vision. The answer to the trending forum post suddenly became horrifyingly clear. I, her biological daughter, was the “neighbor she’d met twice.” And Briana, the cousin she was helping, was the one she truly considered a daughter. The Golden Ghost she’d chosen over me. “How long until you’re back?” I whispered. “I have no idea! I just got to the first stop on our itinerary, and you’ve already ruined my mood. Forget sightseeing today. I’m checking into the hotel to rest.” My father, Robert, took the phone just in time. “Jess, your mother’s going through The Change, don’t take it personally.” He paused, and I could hear him taking a deep breath. “But don’t blame your dad for saying this—you delay your mom’s mood one day, we slow our trip one day. It means we come home one day later.” I understood. I was a nuisance, a burden that she even hated to hear on the phone. Then, I heard Briana’s soft, concerned voice in the background. “What’s wrong? Is Jess mad that you came to see me? Maybe I should call and apologize.” My mom’s cold voice cut her off. “Don’t bother. I don’t need her permission to go wherever I please.” “Rob, hang up. Don’t say anything else. Just hearing her voice is annoying. She sounds like a debt collector. Can’t she give us two days of peace?” Before my dad could hang up, I blurted out the question that had been burning my throat. “Dad, I thought you and Mom were traveling alone. Why does it sound like Briana is there, too?” My father coughed awkwardly, clearly scrambling for an excuse. “Oh, that… Well, Briana hasn’t been doing well. A bit of postpartum depression, you know. Your mother thought it would be good to bring her along for a change of scenery, a little vacation.” “She hired a night nurse for the baby—a cheap one we found through an old connection. Since you didn’t want an outsider watching Theo, your mom didn’t mention it to you. Jess, don’t read too much into this, okay?” He hung up. I felt a bucket of ice water cascade over me, from my head down to my toes. Don’t read too much into this, he’d said, yet they had just done the one thing guaranteed to make me question everything. I knew this shift was coming the moment Briana moved in, eight years ago. Back then, I was too young to articulate the knot of fear and insecurity in my stomach, so I threw fits. I demanded the new designer backpack. I insisted on the pretty, limited-edition notebook. I needed them to agree, to show me I still mattered. I got the backpack. The notebook is still tucked away in a drawer. But after that, my parents drifted further away. They thought I was spoiled and immature. They told me I wasn’t being a “proper older sister,” always failing to proactively look out for Briana. Whenever I cried, I was met with a lecture. “You’re the older one, Briana is the little sister. You need to set an example. Look at you, sobbing like this—what will Briana think? She’ll think we’re abusing you.” “Briana’s parents died tragically. Your dad and I had to take her in. She’s your sister now. You need to grow up and watch out for her when we’re not around.” The day I cried the hardest, my mom lost her last thread of patience. “Jess, look at yourself! What a scene! You’re supposed to be her big sister, yet you can’t even hold it together as well as she can! Briana lost both her parents and she didn’t cry like this! I am so disappointed in you!” From that day on, all their attention, and all their affection, was poured into Briana. I thought if I worked harder and gave them more money, their eyes would finally fall back on me. A seven-figure transfer was made. It didn’t even buy a smile. I knew then that some things couldn’t be bought. We both went through relationship crises. I got divorced; she broke up with her boyfriend. My parents immediately rushed to comfort her. My consolation? A dismissive sigh. “You bury yourself in work every day. What did he expect from a marriage with you? It’s not a surprise he left. The family’s broken, but hey, you can get back to work now. No one’s stopping you.” Theo’s cry dragged me back to the present. I held him in one arm and fumbled for my utility payment card with the other. I put every ounce of my remaining postpartum strength into restoring the power and water. The lights flickered on. The faucet sputtered to life. I mixed his formula, and Theo quickly settled into sleep. After changing a diaper and washing the bottle, I was utterly exhausted. I grabbed my phone for a moment of peace. And there it was: Briana’s latest video. My mother was rocking Briana’s baby to sleep. Briana herself was seated on a sunny balcony, radiating a youthful glow, collagen practically spilling off the screen. My father appeared, offering a platter of washed, sliced fruit. Half the platter was imported cherries—the kind I couldn’t afford for myself. The caption: “Mom and Dad say I’ll always be eighteen in their eyes, always their little princess at home~” I checked the anonymous forum post again. There was a new update from the author: “The advice worked like a charm! We’ve moved in with my daughter, and the annoying neighbor hasn’t found us! So relieved!” I looked around my apartment—the remnants of my home-birth, the boxes of baby gear, the overall messiness of a new mother’s life. A battlefield. A wave of bitterness washed over me. I remembered the time I scored a huge deal on a box of cherries from an online market and brought them to my parents. I hadn’t even tasted one. They threw the box and me out before I could step fully inside. “What’s the point of buying such expensive junk? Just give us the cash! This is all capitalist scheming. These are just overgrown cherries we grow ourselves!” I was eight months pregnant that day. I knelt on the pavement, picking up the scattered fruit, and cried for three days until my eyes were swollen shut. Now, they were serving the exact same imported cherries to Briana. I took a deep breath and texted my mom. “Where are you guys traveling? I’m feeling really down. I’d like to join you for a change of scenery.” The phone rang instantly. “Jess, what are you talking about? We’ve been gone for days! You can’t just fly out here. There’s no direct route, and it would be a huge hassle. Mom wouldn’t want you to suffer. Stay home. I’ll come back when I can.” I gave a bitter laugh. “Is that right? How many places have you seen? You haven’t posted anything—I thought you were still in the same place.” My mother’s voice instantly became flustered. “I—I haven’t had time to edit the pictures! You know your dad’s terrible photography skills!” “Don’t you believe me? I’ll send you proof.” Three photos appeared seconds later. My heart sank further. The AI watermark from the photo-editing app was still clearly visible at the bottom of the photos. They had gone to so much trouble just to fool me. “See, Jess? I’ve been so exhausted I haven’t even checked my phone. Traveling is draining.” Before I could speak, she cut in quickly. “Gotta go, the bus is here. Your dad and I are getting on. The signal’s bad. Bye!” The moment the line went dead, a notification popped up. Briana had sent me a screenshot of a transaction. It was divided into three payments, totaling one hundred and thirty thousand dollars. The payment account was my parents’ retirement fund card—a number I’d memorized over three years of monthly transfers. “Thank you, Mom and Dad! I got it! I love you so much. When the baby is older, I’ll tell her she was raised under the love of her grandparents! ” My finger twitched, my heart skipped a beat. Before I could reply, the message was recalled. “Oops, sorry, Sis, wrong person.” “You didn’t see anything, did you?” I didn’t reply. The screenshots kept flashing behind my eyes. One hundred thousand dollars was my life savings, the money I’d worked myself to the bone for. The other thirty thousand was their combined retirement savings. They hadn’t kept a single penny for themselves or spent any on me and my son. They had given it all to Briana. In that instant, my heart felt like it was being sawed open by a blunt blade. The pain was so sharp it annihilated my reason. If they chose to discard me so carelessly, then I didn’t owe them a damn thing. I picked up my sleeping son and rushed downstairs, hailing a cab straight to Briana’s complex. It was a place I’d begged, pleaded, and pulled strings to secure after her breakup. It was a cheap rental—my parents had complained about the environment, and Briana refused to pay more for a better one. Everything I had sacrificed for this family was now a stinging slap to my face, cutting to my very core. The moment I stepped through the main gate, I ran straight into the three of them, carrying the baby out. Briana performed a half-hearted protest. “Mom, you really shouldn’t travel this far. It’s too much work. My place is so small. It’s not nearly as comfortable as the house Jess bought you. I feel so bad watching you squeeze onto the sofa every night…” My mother, who always demanded the highest living standards, quickly waved her off. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m your mother. Who else will care for you when you’re a single mom? You’re family. Don’t be a stranger.” Briana smiled sweetly. “But I could just hire a night nurse. There are plenty of affordable ones now.” My mother pretended to be angry. “Hand my granddaughter over to a stranger? Are you trying to stop me from sleeping soundly?” The next second, their laughter died. All three pairs of eyes fixed on my face. “Sis? What are you doing here?” “Jess? Why didn’t you call?” “Jess, let Dad explain, it’s not what you think, your mother is—” Panic flashed across my parents’ faces. Only Briana’s eyes held a subtle, calculated triumph—as if she’d been expecting me all along. I cut them off, my smile cold and cynical. “I found Briana this apartment. Can’t I visit?” “You said you hired a night nurse. I was worried. I figured, raising one baby is work, raising two isn’t much more. So I came to check in. I guess… I picked a bad time?” My father’s explanation was choked in his throat. My mom rushed to speak. “No, no, it’s not what you think.” “Then what is it?” “The nurse had a family emergency and had to take leave. I didn’t want to worry you, so I thought I’d watch the baby for a couple of days before we set off on our trip. You know, so Briana could leave feeling relaxed…” “Then what about the photos you sent me?” My mother’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. This time, she was truly speechless. I looked her up and down. Everything she was wearing, except for her reading glasses, had been bought by me at a department store. I couldn’t understand what I had done to deserve this. How I had failed them so completely that they would repay me like this. My palms were clenched so tight they were shaking, but with Theo strapped to me, I couldn’t even use my hands to vent my rage. In the deadlock, Briana smiled and looped her arm through my mother’s. “Well, Sis, it’s a sign! You’re here at the perfect moment. We were just about to leave.” “Since you’re here, you might as well join us. I’ll call the Uber. Dad, go get the bags. Mom, you buy the ticket for Jess.” My parents’ eyes lit up simultaneously. “Briana, you’re so thoughtful! Yes, that’s exactly what we’ll do.” “That’s exactly what I meant! I just couldn’t put it into words. Jess, send Mom your ID number. I’ll buy your ticket.” I lowered my eyes. “I already gave it to you. The day I checked into the hospital.” My mother offered an awkward laugh. “Oh, right, I forgot. Getting old, losing my mind. You know how it is. Don’t be mad.” My dad went back inside for the luggage. My mom lowered her head to purchase the ticket. The payment screen failed three times. My mom managed a weak smile. “Jess, could you transfer me some more spending money? The car fare isn’t covered.” “You have enough for three people, but not for me?” My mom’s face immediately turned cold. “What kind of attitude is that? Our budget was set for three people. You’re the one who showed up uninvited!” “Besides, I’m your mother! It’s your duty to pay for my vacation!” I took a sharp, painful breath. My heart froze solid. “I’ve transferred money to you every month for years, over a hundred thousand dollars total. This month, I’m on maternity leave. I don’t have the high salary yet, and I don’t have the money for you. Does that mean I don’t get to join the trip?” “Where did that one hundred thousand go? Couldn’t two thousand dollars of the money I gave you be spent on me?” “Briana hasn’t worked a day since college. You pay her rent, you give her an allowance. How is it that when it comes to me, you have nothing left?” “Just because I have a job, do I deserve to be bled dry by you?!” My voice rose with each question. The answer was a sharp, stinging slap across my face. “What are you saying?! I’m your mother! Is this how you speak to your elders?!” Other tenants in the complex began to stop and stare. My mother, consumed by rage, lunged forward to hit me again. I shielded Theo with one arm and braced myself for the confrontation. Briana stepped in, forcing a clumsy, tearful apology. “Please, Sis, stop this. Mom didn’t mean it.” “You’re her daughter. Can’t you just swallow your pride? We’re all adults. Don’t make Mom angrier.” I lifted my knee to support Theo and swung my free hand, delivering a sharp slap to Briana’s face. “This is between my mother and me. Stay out of it.” The next moment, Briana’s eyes turned crimson. She dropped to her knees in front of me and began slamming her forehead against the pavement. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I know I was wrong! I won’t talk to Mom and Dad anymore! I won’t let them help me! Please, don’t be angry. I’ll leave right now…” Her forehead quickly began to bleed. The baby in her arms started to wail. My mother stepped forward, placing herself squarely in front of Briana. “How dare you! How dare you speak to my daughter like that!” “I want to care for my daughter! What business is that of yours?!” Someone in the crowd recognized them and immediately pulled out a phone to start a livestream. The comment section exploded. “Wait, isn’t that the family being harassed by the shameless neighbor? What’s going on?” “The psycho is actually the neighbor! She followed them here? How can a person be so thick-skinned? Can’t she tell they don’t want her around?” “If I had a crazy person like that on my back, it would be her or me! That woman is far too kind!” My father came down with the luggage and saw the scene. His eyes instantly turned red with fury. Without asking a single question, he rushed up and delivered a hard slap to my face. “What did you say to my wife and daughter!” “Get out! Get out now! You are not welcome here! Neither is the bastard child you had!” The memory of my childhood flashed before my eyes. My father, spinning me in the air, perched on his shoulders. “Daddy, will you always be nice to Jess? What if Jess gets too big? I won’t be able to ride a plane!” My father laughed as he spun. “Then our princess’s little princess will get to play! And your daddy will try to age slowly.” The image shattered, replaced by my parents’ contorted, hate-filled faces. I held my screaming son tighter. “Fine. I’ll go.” “But when I walk out of here today, I will not be coming back.” My father bent down, snatched a stone from the pavement, and hurled it at my back. “Who needs you back! Don’t let me ever see you again!” “Briana is my daughter! You’re just an ungrateful wretch we wasted our money on!” The sharp edge of the stone tore through my blouse. Blood bloomed on my skin. Biting back a cry, I walked away, putting distance between myself and their hateful eyes. Outside the complex, I hailed a cab straight to a real estate office. I slapped the house deed onto the desk. “Sell this house. Price doesn’t matter. Just make it happen as fast as possible.” If they didn’t consider me their daughter, they certainly wouldn’t want to live in a house bought with my money. After settling the terms, I contacted an attorney. Briana was not related to me. I had a strong case to sue her to reclaim my hundred thousand dollars. Three days later, I learned from Briana’s social media that the three of them had returned from their “vacation.” They had their fill of being social media stars. But when they stepped through the door of my parents’ house, all three of them froze. Immediately, my phone, a hundred miles away, began vibrating wildly.

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The night I won Best Actress, an anti-fan leaked a video of me pregnant, visibly showing a baby bump. The entire auditorium erupted in whispers. Reporters swarmed me: “Miss Jensen, who is the father of the child?” I turned to look at the usually composed and indifferent Julian Sterling, whose face was now twisted in shock. For the first time ever, he lost his composure in public. I smiled at the reporters and denied it: “I don’t have a child.” The moment Julian abandoned me for his childhood sweetheart years ago, it was destined that there would be nothing left between us. 1 Before I stepped out of the limo onto the red carpet, my agent reminded me repeatedly: if I ran into Chloe Vance, I should pretend I didn’t see her and avoid any conflict. After all, Julian Sterling was her backer. Half of the entertainment industry belonged to the Sterling family. There used to be a saying in the circle—if you want to be famous, sleep with Julian Sterling. Although crude, it was true that any woman linked to Julian had a smooth-sailing career in Hollywood. Except me. I was the only one who had a public relationship with him, yet I ended up nearly blacklisted. Because I offended his precious childhood friend, Chloe. For the next six years, no matter how hard I worked or how much the public recognized my acting, I never won an award. Nomination after nomination without a win wore down all my sharp edges. I started avoiding sharing the stage with Chloe. If she was eyeing a script, I would decline it citing schedule conflicts. Maybe my silent surrender finally got a response, or maybe because she and Julian were about to get married, she didn’t want my bad luck rubbing off on her. So this time, they showed mercy and let an award slip through their fingers to me. When my agent heard the news, she nearly cried. She said, “Jane, the hard days are finally over.” Julian was finally willing to let me go. Even though I was the one who initiated the breakup back then, I really couldn’t win against Julian Sterling. I had admitted defeat a long time ago. 2 My agent had just warned me to avoid conflict, but moments later, Chloe deliberately invited me to walk the red carpet with her. The Sterling heir’s new love and old flame standing together—the topic was already trending before we even took a step. I knew she wanted to humiliate me thoroughly. Not just because she was Julian’s current girlfriend, but because we were wearing gowns from the same luxury brand tonight. Hers was the latest haute couture. Mine was last year’s off-the-rack collection. I could already imagine the Twitter threads. Her fans and my haters would have a field day mocking me for being “shabby.” But it didn’t matter. I never intended to compete with her in fashion. And I certainly didn’t hope for Julian to come back to me. If she wanted to be the red flower, I’d be the green leaf to accentuate her. But Chloe didn’t seem satisfied. She lowered her voice and asked me, “Jane, do you know Julian is coming tonight?” I didn’t know. Since the day we broke up, I had cut off all contact with Julian. But hearing his name still made my steps falter. Noticing this, Chloe smiled mockingly. “Don’t overthink it. He’s coming for me. It has nothing to do with you.” “I know.” Although the Sterling family owned half of Hollywood, Julian never attended any entertainment events before today. Even when we were most in love, he never attended an event for me. Chloe added, “Julian and I are getting married soon.” I nodded, turned to her, and smiled sincerely. “I wish you happiness.” Maybe my reaction was too weak today, so Chloe lost interest in teasing me. Or maybe she was in a hurry to find Julian. As soon as we finished the red carpet, she ditched me and disappeared. I posed for the photographers and answered a few questions. The reporters were taciturn; no one mentioned Julian. Although that romance was passionate, it ended in an incredibly embarrassing way. Julian, the party involved, only found out he was dumped when he saw the trending topic on Twitter. In that interview, everyone wanted gossip about my relationship progress with Julian. But facing the camera, I simply said three words calmly: “We broke up.” No warning, no reason. 3 Julian called me once after that. He didn’t explain, didn’t apologize, didn’t even ask why. He just confirmed with me: “Have you thought this through?” I gave a soft “Mhm.” He was silent for a second, then hung up. Originally, I thought he would be angry. After all, growing up as the center of the universe, no one had ever defied him. Yet I dumped him, and he wasn’t even the first to know. The hashtag #JulianSterlingDumped stayed at #1 for three days. Julian didn’t have it taken down. My agency, afraid of offending the Sterlings, tried to remove it, but it would pop back up within a minute. That wasn’t Julian losing face; that was his warning to me. Sure enough, after that, my career became rocky. Until six years passed, until Julian’s anger subsided, until he and Chloe were about to marry. The past played before my eyes, making me zone out. The host called my name twice before I snapped back to reality. Everyone around me was happy for me. Amidst the thunderous applause, I glanced at the front row. Chloe was sitting there. The seat next to her was empty. Although there was no name tag, everyone knew that was Julian’s seat. He hadn’t arrived yet. That was good; it saved a lot of awkwardness. But when I stood on stage, looking up to give my acceptance speech, Julian was sitting there, straight and proper. I hadn’t seen him in years. His temperament was even more steady and cold. The moment our eyes met, his gaze was like looking at a stranger, devoid of any emotion. I steadied myself and began my speech gracefully. 4 Just as I was halfway through my speech, a commotion started below the stage. “Whispering” would be an understatement. Everyone tried to keep it down, but the shock of the gossip made voices involuntarily rise. Turns out, an anti-fan had leaked a video of me pregnant with a visible baby bump. That was six years ago, shortly after I broke up with Julian. I had planned to numb myself with work, but before joining the cast, I suddenly found out I was pregnant. After that, I withdrew from the production and vanished from the public eye for a whole year. This video was taken by a surveillance camera in the complex where I lived back then. I forgot what I went out for that day. But because I wasn’t wearing a mask, my face was captured clearly. When I walked off stage holding the trophy, my agent and assistant rushed over immediately, wanting to shield me as we left. But it was too late. Reporters swarmed us. Cameras and microphones were practically shoved in my face, everyone asking the same question— “Miss Jensen, who is the father of the child?” I was trapped in the crowd, unable to move an inch. Not far away, no one dared to approach Julian. If Julian and I were still together, maybe the reporters would be a bit more polite. I saw the shock on Julian’s face. His fingers resting on the armrest were clenching it white-knuckled without him realizing. He knew who the father was. That was why the always composed Julian lost his cool in public for the first time. I didn’t answer the reporters directly. instead, I smiled and denied: “I don’t have a child.”

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I was too chicken to ask my advisor directly for my money. So, I decided to be passive-aggressive and drop a hint. I drafted a text: 【Mom, I’m not coming home for winter break. My living expenses are gone, my credit cards are maxed out, Boyfriend starved to death, and my stipend still hasn’t hit. Professor probably forgot again. I’ll just rot on campus.】 I hit send. My advisor replied instantly: 【?】 Panic set in. I scrambled to explain: 【Sorry Professor! Wrong person! Ignore that!】 Advisor: 【Your boyfriend died?】 Advisor: 【Understood. I’ll send you a boyfriend this afternoon.】 Me: ??? 1 They said the research stipend would hit at the start of the month. Winter break was practically here, and my bank account was still hearing crickets. I was spiraling. My advisor, Professor Miller, is a man in his sixties. Great mind, terrible memory. I could figure it out with my pinky toe: he definitely forgot to submit the paperwork to finance again. Usually, it wouldn’t matter. If he forgot one month, he’d double it up the next. But this was different. The semester was ending. That meant the finance office was about to close for the holidays. If I didn’t get paid now, I’d be waiting two months for that meager—but absolutely necessary—allowance. I couldn’t survive that. I was banking on that $1,200 to have a somewhat dignified winter break. I needed to remind him. Now. But I didn’t dare ask directly. Why? Because just yesterday, I sent him the first draft of my thesis. Immediately after hitting send, I shoved my phone into my roommate’s laundry pile and ran screaming laps around the dorm. I knew it was garbage. Sending it felt like knowingly throwing a bucket of sludge into his face. Sure enough, he replied: “Harper, shake your head and tell me if you hear the ocean. Because there’s clearly nothing else in there.” I didn’t get it at first, but I obeyed. Then I realized he was calling me an airhead. “Next time write more. The comedy section wasn’t long enough.” Me: “…” And just like that, the bridge was burned. “Sigh. I knew the day I accepted you as a grad student, I’d have to learn to let go of my expectations.” I looked up at the ceiling and smiled peacefully. If I could teach a tenured professor the art of letting go, maybe my thesis wasn’t completely worthless. Seconds later, his call came through. He roasted me until his wife yelled at him to cook dinner. He finally hung up with a war cry: “Harper! Just wait until next week’s group meeting!” So, yeah. After that dumpster fire, how could I ask him for money today? But after a fierce mental battle, I decided my dignity weighed less than my rent. Professor Miller might have beef with me, but I couldn’t have beef with my bank account. I couldn’t be direct. I had to be subtle. I was brainstorming “high EQ” ways to ask when my mom texted: “Honey, when does break start?” A lightbulb went off. I furiously typed a response meant for her, but “accidentally” sent it to him. 【Mom, I’m not coming home for winter break. My living expenses are gone, my credit cards are maxed out, Boyfriend starved to death, and my stipend still hasn’t hit. Professor probably forgot again. I’ll just rot on campus.】 Copy. Open Professor Miller’s chat. Paste. Before I could chicken out, I hit send. Then I rubbed my hands together, waiting like a gremlin for a reply. I had never looked forward to a text from him so much. One minute later. Professor Miller: 【?】 I reacted with lightning speed, “un-sending” nothing, just typing: “Omg sorry Professor! Wrong person! Please pretend you didn’t see that!” “I saw the whole thing.” Yes! I mentally high-fived myself. I could practically see that $1,200 riding a rainbow cloud to save my winter break. Genius. Harper, you are a debt-collecting prodigy! Then, the next text came through: “Your boyfriend died?” Me: ? “Understood. Boyfriend arrives this afternoon.” 2 I petrified instantly. What? Why are we focusing on the wrong details? And… Boyfriend died… was that really the takeaway here?! In that text, only “stipend hasn’t hit” and “Professor forgot” were facts. The rest was creative writing! He usually picks apart my thesis logic with laser precision; I refused to believe he didn’t get the hint! If he asks about the money, I get paid. But now he’s playing dumb? What was I supposed to do? AI chat bots were no help; they just told me to “communicate openly.” Useless. I lay on my dorm bed, disappointed and broke, punching the mattress in frustration. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. You want to play abstract games? Fine. I can get abstract. I grabbed my phone and replied: “Okay! Since Boyfriend died, I’ll happily accept the new boyfriend you’re sending. Hope I receive him this afternoon [Expectant Eyes] [Shy] [Rose] Thanks Prof~” Radio silence. Heh. Crazy old man. Out of moves, aren’t you? There was no way he was going to send me a human man instead of a wire transfer. I ate a massive bowl of pasta for lunch. Too many carbs. I slipped into a food coma. Wrapped in my duvet, I passed out. I slept until the sky turned dark. I wasn’t woken up by nature, or the smell of my roommate’s takeout. I was woken up by my phone vibrating off the nightstand. Professor Miller. I saw twenty missed calls. Thinking he had recharged his energy to roast my thesis again, I did some deep breathing exercises before answering. “Hello? Harper, where have you been? Why aren’t you picking up?” “Haha, sorry Professor, I was just revising…” “Revising what? That pile of trash needs a rewrite, but don’t touch it yet. Come to the Steakhouse just off campus.” “…” I thought he needed me to bring him a hard drive or something. I yawned. “The data drive is with Sarah.” “I know. Just bring yourself. Free steak, you coming or not?” I was confused. But when it comes to free food, I am an elite athlete. And if Miller is paying, we order the ribeye, not the salad. I had to eat back the value of the stipend he owed me! I threw on a puffer jacket, finger-combed my messy hair, shoved my glasses on my unwashed face, and stepped into my fleece-lined Crocs. I grabbed a campus scooter with a crooked handle and dodgy brakes and sped toward the restaurant. I looked a little feral, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t need to look hot for Professor Miller. Writing a good paper made him happier than me looking like a model. I understood this logic perfectly; I just couldn’t achieve either. I walked into the restaurant and heard his distinct, booming laugh. I followed the sound. My glasses fogged up from the heat inside. Through the blur, I realized it wasn’t just him. A table for four? Not a private room? Weird. Professor Miller waved me over, pointing to the seat across from him. I wiped my glasses and saw the person sitting next to him. Mrs. Miller. We’d been to their house for dinner before, so I knew her well. I pushed my glasses up and smiled sweetly. “Good evening, Mrs. Miller.” She looked thrilled to see me. “Harper! Long time no see. Sit, sit.” I sat down, looking at the two of them, scratching my head. I couldn’t help but ask: “Why the… sudden private dinner tonight?” I thought this was a lab gathering! Miller grunted, sipping his tea, clearly ignoring me. I kept a smile on my face, but internally, I was cursing him out. The only other person I knew who acted this high-and-mighty about academics was my ex-boyfriend. Even that little scoff was identical. I seriously suspected my advisor was my ex’s biological father. The old man ignored me, so I looked at the beautiful, gentle Mrs. Miller. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, someone sat down next to me. A faint scent of expensive body wash hit my nose. Freshly showered. Did he know we were eating steak? He was going to smell like grease in five minutes. Before I could turn to look at the new arrival, Mrs. Miller lifted her chin toward him and beamed. “There. That’s the boyfriend I promised you. Do you like him?” 3 I turned my head, curious. One second later, I snapped my head back forward. I covered my face with my hands and rubbed vigorously. Holy sht.* I must have slept too much this afternoon. I was hallucinating. I was hallucinating my ex-boyfriend. I needed to see an optometrist. The man spoke to Miller and Mrs. Miller across the table: “Mom, Dad, parking was a nightmare. Sorry I’m late.” Even the voice was the same?! I needed an ENT specialist too. But the heart rate monitor in my watch buzzied—I couldn’t lie to my own tachycardia. Sitting next to me was my ex-boyfriend, Ethan. Realizing this, I froze completely, hands still glued to my face. Mrs. Miller’s voice floated over: “Harper, Miller said he’d send you a boyfriend. In this family, we keep our promises. No scams.” “You texted back saying you were ‘expecting’ him, so I spent all day filtering through candidates. I think my son is a great match. You two seem destined. Take a look, are you satisfied?” I slowly peeled my hands off my face. No makeup. Ugly outfit. It had been three years; maybe he wouldn’t recognize me. Yeah. Let’s go with that delusion. The fact that I looked like a dumpster fire actually gave me a weird sort of courage. Mrs. Miller urged him: “Ethan, go on, introduce yourself to Harper. Get to know each other.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan turn his head toward me. I turned to look at him. He was wearing a black trench coat over a black turtleneck. It made him look taller, more mature. The handsome face was still there, but the boyishness was gone. He looked… expensive. His hair was styled with product. Honestly, he was dressed like he was going to a wedding. Did he know what he was here for? Ethan’s expression was cool, his eyes distant. He didn’t look like he recognized me. If he had, he probably would have flipped the table and left. He wouldn’t be this calm. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Finally, he spoke: “I’m Ethan.” I smiled, contorting my tongue to slur my words in a thick, fake accent. “Hi, I’m Har-pah.” “I’m 27 this year.” “18.” I was actually 25, but I felt like I had a “minus 7 years” coupon today. “Height 6’2″.” Me: ? How did he grow an inch in three years? I wasn’t having it. “I’m 5’11”!” I’m 5’6″. With shoes, 5’7″. With high hair volume, 5’8″. Round up? 5’11”. Math checks out. Professor Miller couldn’t take it anymore. “How many insoles did you eat to grow that tall? Stop lying! And no lying when you do your data analysis later!” Mrs. Miller punched his arm. “The kids are flirting, shut up old man!” Miller shut up instantly. Ethan continued: “Bachelor’s from Penn. Master’s and PhD from Germany.” Boring. Tell me something I don’t know. I started asking questions proactively. “Germany, huh? Wow. Did you fly there?” “No, I walked across the ocean.” “Do you speak English or German in class?” “We speak Klingon. Sometimes Dothraki.” “Do you love Daddy or Mommy more?” Ethan looked at me with dead eyes. Those were just warm-ups. The last question was the real one. I cleared my throat. “Did you finish your Master’s?” Ethan replied, “I finished my PhD.” “…” My fist clenched under the table. I wanted to knock him out. You know the saying: I don’t mind if my ex is doing badly, but I’ll die if he’s driving a Ferrari. Here I was, struggling with experiments, unable to squeeze out a thesis, crying into my pillow every night. And he breezed through a PhD? In Germany? I was practically vibrating with jealousy. Then, the jerk asked, “What about you?” When I encounter a difficult question, I choose silence. I ignored him and buried my face in my tea. I forgot it was freshly poured. It scalded my tongue. I wanted to spit it out but couldn’t be rude, so I held the boiling liquid in my mouth, tears forming in my eyes. Right then, a faint, mocking chuckle floated from beside me. I glared at him. Ethan’s smirk froze. He covered his mouth with his hand, but the schadenfreude in his eyes was undeniable. That look. If I kept pretending he didn’t recognize me, I was the clown. He knew exactly who I was. He was just playing along to watch me squirm. And now he was laughing at my pain! I was furious. If I had known this dinner was a setup with my ex—who I dumped, and who happened to be my advisor’s son—I wouldn’t have come. I would have preferred my Master’s degree to dissolve like bacon grease rather than sit here. 4 Amidst the anger, I felt a weird pang in my chest. Ethan was dressed up. He took this seriously. He was genuinely hoping to meet a nice girl. He wasn’t young anymore. Wanting a new relationship was normal. But even though we broke up ages ago, seeing him ready to move on… it hurt. He probably didn’t expect the “date” to be me. He was probably just as miserable as I was right now. I scooted my chair, putting distance between us. If you support me opening a fried chicken shop in the gap between us, press 1. Once I was sure I was as far away as possible, I looked up. His smile was gone. He was frowning, looking annoyed. See? I knew he was unhappy to see me. We both looked away, ignoring each other. The silence at our side of the table drew attention. Professor Miller and his wife stopped looking at the menu. Mrs. Miller broke the ice: “Hey, Harper. I was right next to Miller when you texted this afternoon. I saw you said your boyfriend died.” “I was so sorry to hear that… but hey, out with the old, in with the new, right? You have to look forward.” “My son is really a catch. If you don’t mind, get to know him.” Me: “…” Hearing this, Miller stopped glaring at me. His tone softened with sympathy. “I remember you said you started dating your first love in sophomore year. I haven’t seen him around the last two years. I assumed you broke up. Didn’t know he passed away. You should have said something. I wouldn’t have been so harsh on you lately.” AHHHHHHHHHH! My first love is sitting RIGHT THERE! Stop talking! Please, everyone, shut up! I couldn’t even imagine the expression on Ethan’s face. I was too embarrassed to look. Then Mrs. Miller added: “Ethan, why are you spacing out? Harper asked you so many questions. Don’t you have anything to ask her?” “Of course I do.” Ethan snapped out of it. He took a sip of tea, looked at me with a half-smile, and spoke slowly: “So, after we broke up, you just went around telling people I died?”

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I had given the company fifteen years, building the European market from a blank slate. On the new CEO’s first day, he publicly shredded my contract: Forty-year-old deadwood. Salary slashed from fifty thousand to fifteen thousand a month. Take it or quit. I signed it. He then turned to the executive board meeting and asked, “Who will manage the two-billion-dollar European portfolio?” The conference room fell into a deathly silence. I stood up. “Three days from now, our competition will tell you.” His face went white. 1 It was eight in the morning, and I was walking into the office tower with a cup of scalding Americano. The young receptionist, fresh out of college, caught my eye, and her gaze flickered away. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she swallowed the words, looking uncomfortable. A tight, cold knot formed in my stomach. A sense of foreboding, like a damp, chilling fog, silently rolled in. The internal line on my desk shrieked the moment I set down my coffee. It was HR, summoning all management above the mid-level to an immediate meeting in the top-floor conference room. The air conditioning was set impossibly low in the room, making my skin prickle with cold. Blaine Harrison, the newly appointed CEO, was already seated at the head of the long mahogany table. He was in his early thirties, impeccably dressed in a bespoke suit, his hair slicked back without a single strand out of place. The look he gave everyone was one of unconcealed condescension. He cleared his throat and immediately cut to the chase, announcing a radical restructuring of the company. Then, his voice shifted, suddenly sharp and loud. “In particular, we need to clean house. We have to purge the dead weight—those entrenched, underperforming senior staff who are clinging to high salaries, becoming a drain on our growth.” The moment the words landed, dozens of eyes subtly drifted toward me. The Head of HR was sweating profusely, looking like a nervous executioner about to carry out a distasteful duty. He shakily opened a file and began reading the list of salary reductions. After a string of names, my own was spat out clearly: “Elias Vic, Director of Global Operations. Monthly salary adjusted from fifty thousand to fifteen thousand.” A seventy percent cut. The entire conference room went silent, so quiet you could hear the hiss of the central air. It felt like a massive vacuum had sealed us all in, crushing the air from the room. Dozens of gazes—some pitying, some gleeful, some aghast—pierced me like a flurry of fine needles. I gripped the glass of ice water in front of me, my knuckles turning a shocking white from the sheer force of my hold. Blaine leaned back in his chair, a cold, mocking smirk playing on his lips. He looked directly at me, his words slow, deliberate, and designed to sting. “Forty years old, and you expect to command a salary like that? Mr. Vic, is this a corporation or a retirement home?” “If you have an issue with this, Director Vic, you’re welcome to pack your desk and leave right now.” I took a deep breath. The icy air burned my lungs, bringing on a sharp, fierce ache. My mind raced, flashing through the cinematic reel of the last fifteen years. Dragging my suitcase through unfamiliar streets late at night in a foreign country, all to open up a non-existent European market. Drinking until my stomach bled at a negotiation dinner to seal a deal with a notoriously difficult client. The family holidays I missed. The New Year’s Eves spent in airplane seats. The grey hairs that had mysteriously appeared at my temples. All of it converged into a surge of scalding resentment that threatened to choke me. My assistant, Cathy, who was seated a few rows back, shot up abruptly. Her cheeks were flushed crimson, and her lips were trembling—she was clearly about to leap to my defense. I lifted my eyes and silenced her with a single, uncompromising look. Arguing with a person like Blaine was a guaranteed path to self-humiliation. I rose slowly, pulling my chair back. The action was small, but the sound of the chair on the floor echoed sharply in the oppressive silence. “Where is the new salary agreement?” My voice was unnervingly calm, even to my own ears. “I’ll sign it.” A collective gasp swept through the room. Blaine was clearly thrown by my immediate compliance. He hesitated for a beat, then a look of smug victory spread across his face as he pushed a document toward me. I took the pen and, without a moment of indecision, scrawled my name, Elias Vic, across the signature line. The force I used was so great it nearly tore the thin paper. Having signed, I tossed the pen down and turned to walk away from this sickening scene. “Wait.” Blaine’s voice barked out from behind me. I didn’t turn back. He sounded slightly frantic now, his urgency cutting through his arrogance. “Who will handle the two-billion-dollar European portfolio going forward?” A strange, heavy silence descended upon the meeting room again. The executives exchanged nervous glances. No one dared to speak. I could feel the color draining, little by little, from Blaine’s youthful, cocky face. 2 I finally stopped and slowly turned around. I met Blaine’s now-pale gaze across the long expanse of the conference table. “The European portfolio?” I repeated, my tone laced with dry amusement. Blaine tried to reclaim a sliver of composure, straightening his spine. “Yes. The twenty-billion-euro deal in Germany that’s up for renewal. You’ve been the lead director for that, haven’t you?” I offered a slight smile, utterly devoid of warmth. “I was the director, yes.” “But didn’t you just personally declare, Mr. Harrison, that a forty-year-old piece of deadwood doesn’t deserve a high salary at this company?” “So, what is it? Do you plan to entrust a two-billion-dollar project to a ‘piece of deadwood’?” My words were like a blade of ice, surgically aimed at his most vulnerable spot. Blaine’s face cycled through shades of red and white. His voice softened, carrying a hint of desperation and damage control. “I said a salary reduction, not a termination. Of course, the project remains your responsibility.” I gently shook my head, my gaze sweeping over every executive present. “A fifteen-thousand-dollar-a-month salary to manage a two-billion-dollar annual contract?” “Mr. Harrison, you aren’t insulting me. You’re insulting the project, and you’re insulting the fifteen years of trust this company has built with that client.” Muted murmurs began to ripple through the room. The Operations Director couldn’t hold back. “Mr. Harrison, the European contract is mission-critical. Mr. Klaus in Germany only recognizes Elias.” Blaine lost his temper, slamming his hand on the table, trying to drown out his own insecurity with volume. “Elias Vic, don’t push your luck! The company invested in you for years! Is this how you repay that investment?” “Investment?” His choice of word actually made me laugh—a short, sharp burst of air. I pulled out my phone, opening a document I’d kept filed away for fifteen years. I turned the screen toward him, my voice quiet but every word carrying the weight of a ton of bricks. “Three hundred and nineteen trips to Europe. An average of twenty-one flights per year. Enough air miles to circle the globe dozens of times.” “It took me five years to crack the German market, which the entire industry called an impenetrable fortress.” “It took me eight years to build a sales channel from scratch that covers all of Western Europe.” “Last year, the European division’s revenue accounted for forty-two percent of this corporation’s total income.” “Mr. Harrison, do you call that an investment? I was the one investing my life.” Cathy, my assistant, her eyes red with anger, spoke up beside me, her voice firm. “All the core European clients—Mr. Vic won them, one drink, one pitch, one relentless visit after another. Many of them only trust his face, his word, and his integrity.” Blaine’s breathing grew ragged. He glared at me, his eyes practically trying to tear me apart. “So what do you want?” he ground out through clenched teeth. I pocketed my phone, my expression returning to the profound calm I’d started with. “I don’t want anything.” “I’ve signed the salary reduction agreement. As per company policy, my official termination is three days from now.” “As for this two-billion-dollar European portfolio, Mr. Harrison, you’re an accomplished MBA from a top-tier school, a man of exceptional capability. I’ll leave it to you.” With that, I didn’t spare a second glance at his distorted, enraged face. I turned and walked out of the conference room with a steady, decisive stride. As the door clicked shut behind me, I thought I heard the faint, chilling sound of a world beginning to crack. 3 I returned to my Director’s office, the one I had occupied for ten years, and began quietly packing my personal belongings. Fifteen years of accumulation—not too much, but certainly not little. My phone hadn’t stopped vibrating since I got back to the office, a stream of messages from my team members and friendly directors in other departments, all expressing their sympathy and shock. I didn’t reply to any of them. The office door burst open. Cathy was the first to rush in, her eyes red and swollen, clutching a crumpled piece of paper. “Mr. Vic, I quit too! I was on the reduction list. They slashed me from eighteen thousand to eight thousand. They’re trying to force us out!” As she finished speaking, the six other core members of the European market team filed in one by one. Each of them held a signed copy of the reduction agreement and a freshly printed resignation letter. “Elias, we’re done with them.” “This place is toxic. It’s like kicking the horse after it carried you across the finish line.” “We’re leaving with you!” I looked at the men and women standing before me—my team, some of whom had been with me for five years, others for a decade—and a wave of warmth washed over me. My eyes pricked with emotion. I suppressed the surge of feeling and urged them to be rational. “Hold on, all of you. Think this through. You all have families, mortgages, car payments. Don’t be impulsive.” Cathy stepped forward, her voice choked with tears but utterly resolute. “Elias, you didn’t just teach us how to do business. You taught us how to be professionals with dignity.” “If they can do this to you today, they’ll do it to us tomorrow. We can’t stay in a company that disrespects its champions.” Just then, the Head of HR came scurrying into the office without even knocking, his face etched with panic. Gasping for breath, he pleaded, “Mr. Vic, please, don’t do anything hasty. Mr. Harrison asked me to deliver a message: The salary cut… it’s negotiable. Everything can be negotiated!” I ignored him, turning instead to look out the window at the gray sky hanging over the city. “Tell him it’s too late.” At three that afternoon, Blaine Harrison, likely realizing the true gravity of the situation, personally came down to our floor. The moment he saw the seven neatly stacked resignation letters on my desk, his young, handsome face turned a sickening shade of green. Furious, he pointed a finger directly at me, his voice thin and shrill with anger. “Elias Vic, you’re gutting the company! This is malicious incitement of a collective resignation!” I calmly filed the last document into my cardboard box, then looked up at him. “Mr. Harrison, you were the one who started digging up the foundations of this wall. Have you ever heard of a principle where you starve the horse to death and then expect it to run the fastest?” Blaine was momentarily speechless. He quickly resorted to threats. “Fine! Very well! All of you, remember this: Every single one of you signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement and a Non-Compete clause! I’d like to see which competitor’s doorstep you dare show up on!” Hearing this, I actually smiled. I pulled my employment contract from a drawer, flipped to the Non-Compete page, and pointed it out to him. “Mr. Harrison, please read the terms carefully. The Non-Compete clause only takes effect if the company pays three full months of severance in a timely manner.” “If you’re willing to transfer the total severance package for all seven of us—several hundred thousand dollars—right now, we will absolutely adhere to the agreement.” “I’ll wait for the wire transfer.” Blaine’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. 4 At nine that night, as I was moving the last box of my belongings into my apartment, an unfamiliar number flashed on my phone. I answered, and a steady, hearty male voice came through. “Is this Elias Vic? This is Jonathan Zhou from OmniCorp.” OmniCorp: my former company’s biggest competitor in the domestic market. Jonathan Zhou: OmniCorp’s founder and CEO, a shrewd operator known industry-wide for his reputation for spotting and valuing talent. “Mr. Zhou, hello.” I was genuinely surprised. Jonathan got straight to the point, his voice containing a note of barely suppressed surprise and excitement. “Mr. Vic, I just heard the news—you’ve left your former employer?” I leaned back on my sofa, rubbing my tired temples, a bitter chuckle escaping me. “Mr. Zhou, your intelligence network is impressive. I finalized my paperwork at five, and it’s only been four hours.” Jonathan laughed heartily. “A man like Elias Vic is always the focus of the industry, no matter the move.” He skipped the pleasantries and immediately extended an offer, his tone sincere and irresistible. “Elias, I won’t waste your time with small talk. Come to OmniCorp. I’m offering you the position of Group Vice President, overseeing our entire international business segment. A two-million-dollar annual salary, plus equity incentives.” The terms were several times better than my salary before the reduction. I paused for three seconds, running a quick calculation in my head. “Mr. Zhou, thank you for the generous offer. I have one condition.” “Name it.” “I need to bring my six core team members with me.” Jonathan on the other end didn’t hesitate for a second. He agreed immediately and enthusiastically. “No problem! Any talent you value, OmniCorp welcomes with open arms! The compensation will be top-tier—nothing less than what they were earning, if not more!” We agreed to meet the next morning at OmniCorp headquarters for a detailed discussion. I hung up, letting out a long sigh, and looked out at the glittering city lights against the night sky, a mix of complex emotions churning inside me. Just then, my phone screen lit up again—a video call request from Germany. It was my biggest client and long-time friend, Mr. Klaus. I answered the call. Mr. Klaus’s wrinkled face was etched with worry and anger. “Elias, my friend, I just heard an incredible story. They said your salary was cut, and you’re leaving?” I was startled. This was internal corporate drama. How did he know about it from all the way in Germany? “Mr. Klaus, how did you find out?” Mr. Klaus’s mustache was practically vibrating with indignation. “This afternoon, the new, young CEO’s assistant from your company called me. He told me that all European business would be directly managed by them from now on. The young man’s attitude was appallingly arrogant, as if he were granting me a favor!” “I only recognize you, Elias! We’ve worked together for ten years! I only trust you! If you truly leave that company, I will pull our order immediately!” Hearing the voice of my old friend, a current of warmth instantly surged through me. Fifteen years of dedication, fifteen years of building trust through genuine connection—it had finally given me the loudest, most resolute answer I could have hoped for. 5 At ten the next morning, my team and I formally signed our contracts in the conference room at OmniCorp headquarters. Jonathan Zhou greeted us personally, without a trace of the corporate executive’s aloofness, treating us like long-lost friends. My contract clearly stated: Group Vice President, two million annual salary, and three percent in equity incentives. Cathy and the other six members’ compensation was doubled, and each of them received a promotion. Cathy’s hand trembled slightly as she signed the papers and looked at the contract. She leaned close to me, her voice catching with emotion. “Elias, we’ve finally found a company that truly understands and respects talent.” Jonathan clapped me on the shoulder, his eyes full of admiration and expectation. “To be honest, Elias, I’ve been waiting three years for the opportunity to poach you. From now on, OmniCorp’s entire European market is in your hands.” Meanwhile, my former company was plunging into unprecedented chaos. Blaine Harrison had urgently convened all senior management. The atmosphere in the conference room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The Operations Director reported anxiously, “Mr. Harrison, what do we do about the European portfolio? We have three days left to renew the twenty-billion-euro contract with Germany’s Mr. Klaus!” According to later leaks, Blaine was still in denial. He slammed the table again, his voice thin and blustering. “Don’t panic! How much leverage can a forty-year-old middle manager possibly have? The company doesn’t stop for anyone! We’ll send some young exec over. I refuse to believe the Germans will sacrifice our partnership for him!” The Head of HR quietly reminded him, “Mr. Harrison, the German office has already explicitly emailed us, stating that the renewal must be handled personally by Director Vic, or they will reassess the entire relationship.” Blaine waved his hand dismissively, clearly unaffected. “Then we’ll find other clients! Europe is a massive market. Are we really afraid of not finding a single partner? What a joke!” The moment the words left his mouth, his assistant rushed into the room, his face paper-white.

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My husband’s old flame, Ava, posted an ultrasound photo on her Instagram. The caption read: A huge thank you to my dear ‘brother’ for lending me… well, you know… when I needed it most. I can finally have a baby of my own. I silently liked the post and left a comment: “Congratulations, you two.” The comment was up for less than a second before my husband, Scott, called. He roared into the phone, “I just gave her my sperm, Jenny! Can you stop making a big deal out of nothing?” I quietly hung up. It was time for a divorce. 1 My hand rested on my slightly rounded belly. I took a deep breath, preparing to tell the tiny life inside me that I was sorry, that I couldn’t keep it. But as the words formed, a sob caught in my throat. This baby was supposed to be my surprise for Scott’s birthday. Now, it was clear he didn’t need another one. I was two months pregnant. It was a child I had to beg Scott for. He never liked being intimate with me, and he certainly didn’t like kids. He’d always say they were wild, noisy, and a drain on your energy. Lately, though, I’d seen him researching what you need for a new baby. He’d even stayed up late creating two detailed spreadsheets: one for an expectant mother’s needs, and another for the newborn. Like a fool, I thought he’d found out about my pregnancy and was preparing for us. Now I knew the truth. None of it was for me. Scott came home unusually early tonight. I glanced at the clock—only 8 p.m. Normally, he wouldn’t stumble in until after midnight. He called my name, but I stayed silent in the bedroom. He didn’t call again. A few moments later, the sound of the shower started. When he was done, he slipped into the bedroom without turning on the light and quietly lay down beside me. A warm tingle spread from my waist as he wrapped an arm around me—the first time he had ever initiated contact like this. He buried his face in my neck, his voice a placating murmur. “Jenny, I swear nothing happened between us. I was just helping her fulfill a dream. Ava has always wanted a child. I promise, as soon as the baby is born, I’ll cut all ties with her.” I said nothing. I just lifted his hand off my waist and shifted away. Sensing my rejection, his tone instantly hardened. “I’m already humbling myself for you, what more do you want? Don’t forget, you were the one who said you didn’t care about my past. You just wanted to be with me.” His voice rose, thick with indignation. “Can you stop being so jealous? I could have kept this from you, but I told you out of respect. And this is how you repay me? You’re a real disappointment.” He let it all out, a torrent of resentment, before delivering the final blow. “You should think about how good I’ve been to you lately. You wanted a baby, and I did my best to give you one. I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” The door slammed shut. A bitter laugh escaped my lips—a laugh for my pathetic marriage, for my own blindness. In his eyes, apologizing to me was a favor. A gift I was expected to accept graciously, otherwise I was the jealous shrew he accused me of being. But he could only treat me this way because I had loved him so desperately, for so long. So maybe, in the end, I deserved this. 2 Scott was gone by the time I woke up. I knew exactly where he was. These past few days, he’d been leaving early and coming home late. His assistant, Sarah, had called my phone several times looking for him, saying he hadn’t been to the office at all recently. Putting it all together, there was only one conclusion: he was taking care of Ava. I booked an appointment and took a cab to the clinic. The procedure was quick. Ten minutes later, I was being wheeled out. As fate would have it, while I was at the front desk settling the bill, I ran into Scott. He had his arm around Ava’s shoulder, and his brow furrowed when he saw me. “Are you following me?” I ignored him and looked straight at Ava. She averted her gaze, then playfully tugged on Scott’s ear with a fake pout. “Don’t talk like that! Why would Jenny follow us? We have nothing to hide. It’s not like she doesn’t understand.” Her words were a masterclass in manipulation, neatly tossing the problem back to me. All I could do was force a smile. “Of course. Your prenatal appointment is your business. Why would I follow you?” My directness seemed to anger Scott. He shoved me. “What’s that supposed to mean? I only see Ava as a big sister.” My body was still weak from the procedure. The push sent me stumbling to the ground. A sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen, and I let out a pained hiss. Ava immediately knelt down to help me up, scolding Scott under her breath. But as she leaned in, her expression twisted into a triumphant, provocative smirk meant only for me. Disgusted, I pushed her away and tried to use the wall to pull myself up. But instead of helping, she plopped right down on the floor beside me and started wailing, clutching her stomach. “My baby! I think something’s wrong with my baby!” Scott rushed to her side, scooping her up into his arms. He turned and glared at me, his voice a low growl. “If anything happens to Ava, I will never forgive you.” A cold sweat broke out across my body as I watched my husband carry another woman away, leaving me crumpled on the floor without a second glance. In that moment, I was more certain than ever that I’d made the right decision. A man who couldn’t even love his own wife would never be able to love her child. Back home, I opened my phone, thinking about posting something, only to see a new picture from Ava. It was a shot of Scott’s back. The caption read: Feeling so safe and loved with a man like this in my life. The comments were all from Scott’s closest friends. Carter: “That back doesn’t look like your husband’s… lol.” Matt: “Attaboy, Scott! Knew you’d win the goddess back.” Leo: “Ooooh, I get it now. So the ‘donation’ came from this guy. Congrats, congrats!” A second later, Scott’s own comment appeared. “Don’t talk nonsense. I was just helping out. Are you guys trying to get my wife to divorce me?” His friends immediately fell in line. “Got it.” “Roger that.” But Carter added one more comment. “Who cares? What’s the point of having a petty, insecure wife anyway? You’d be better off without her. You’ve been hung up on Ava for years, everyone knows it. Why not just follow your heart?” Carter was Scott’s best friend since childhood. He’d never liked me, always thinking I wasn’t good enough for Scott, and certainly no match for Ava. According to him, I wasn’t as beautiful, as feminine, or as understanding as Ava. In his eyes, I was nothing compared to her. For Scott’s sake, I had always bitten my tongue. But now that my marriage was shattered, I had no reason to protect anyone’s feelings. I replied directly to Carter’s comment: “It’s happening soon. Thanks for worrying about him all these years.” Then, I went to my own profile. I chose two images: the ultrasound confirming my pregnancy, and the medical report from my procedure today. The caption was simple: “Finally free.” 3 The post went live, and my phone immediately blew up with likes and comments. Not a single one was from Scott’s friends. They were all pretending they hadn’t seen it. I bet they were on the phone with Scott right now, celebrating. Soon, the calls started flooding in. My parents. Scott’s parents. And Scott, calling again and again. I didn’t answer any of them. I just sent a text to my parents. I’m coming home today. I’ll explain when I get there. I packed quickly. As I was leaving, Scott’s car screeched into the driveway. He stormed out of the car and marched towards me, his face a mask of fury. “Jenny, what the hell is this? You got rid of our child over a single sperm donation?” He grabbed my arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” His questions made me sick, but there was no point in arguing anymore. I ignored his rage, pulled my suitcase down the steps, and headed for the gate. He yanked me back, his grip like iron. “Is this fun for you? I told you I’d cut things off with her after the baby was born! I’ve compromised so much for you, and you’re still pushing me like this?” His shameless words echoed in my ears. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I slapped him, hard, across the face. “Don’t you dare pretend you’re ruining your ‘pure’ relationship on my account. Carter was right. You should follow your heart.” My voice was dripping with scorn. “What do you need a petty woman like me for? Go find someone who’s ‘understanding’ enough for you.” “The divorce papers are in your email. Sign them.” With a final surge of strength, I ripped my arm from his grasp, opened the gate, and walked away. Behind me, I heard his helpless roar. “You’ll regret this!” How could I possibly regret this? I should be thanking him. His latest stunt finally opened my eyes. My life would only be better without him. When I got to my parents’ house, they rushed to my side, demanding to know what happened. My mother’s eyes were red and puffy; she’d obviously been crying. I told them everything about Scott and the baby. My mom pulled me into a tight hug, her voice cracking. “I told you from the start he was bad news.” My dad was silent for a moment before saying, “Good riddance.” My own composure finally broke. I buried my face in my mother’s shoulder and sobbed. They had never approved of Scott. They’d always said there was no love for me in his eyes. But I had chased him for seven years, and when he finally agreed to date me, I was ecstatic. I ignored everyone’s warnings, convinced I could make him fall in love with me. Clearly, I had failed. After a decade of my life, it had all come to this. You can’t force happiness. I had learned that lesson with ten years of my youth. I waited. Days passed, and Scott still hadn’t signed the papers. Finally, I told him I was taking him to court. That got a response. A reluctant text message. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’ll have dinner, get Carter and the guys to apologize to you. Can we please stop this drama? I’m so exhausted, Jenny. I’m torn between you and Ava, and there’s no easy solution.” He followed it up with another. “I’m sorry. But can’t you try to understand my position? I told you I’d see her less, but she’s pregnant now. She needs someone to take care of her, especially with her husband gone.” 4 He claimed he was torn between me and Ava, but his actions had already proven, time and time again, who he would always choose. On our wedding day, he left me at our own reception to comfort Ava after she had a fight with her husband. On our anniversary, he abandoned our dinner plans to sit with Ava because she was afraid of a thunderstorm. On my birthday, he was out celebrating Ava’s promotion. Every holiday, he would buy two identical gifts—one for me, one for her—as if that made his betrayal fair. I complained, I cried, I begged him to stop. He would always promise it wouldn’t happen again, only to break that promise the next time. Eventually, if I pushed too hard, he’d call me petty and insecure. Looking back, the only truly happy memory I had with him was the day he proposed. He had planned so many surprises. The proposal itself took place on Starlight Peak, over ten thousand feet up, where the stars felt so close you could almost touch them. Under that vast, glittering canopy, he got down on one knee and slid a sparkling ring onto my finger. His eyes were sincere, burning with an intensity I’d never seen before, and his vows were a torrent of passionate promises. That was the only time he had ever been truly serious about me. It was a ceremony he had planned for months, a moment that was just for the two of us. When I didn’t reply to his text, Scott called. “Ava… I’ve already booked the restaurant. We’ll all get together and make it up to you, okay? Just stop this.” He had called me by her name. I replied coolly, “Is Ava going to be there?” “Yes.” “Fine. Come get me tomorrow.” If they wanted to apologize, why should I be the only one to hear it? When Scott arrived the next day, Ava was in the passenger seat. She offered me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Jenny, I get terrible car sickness. I have to sit up front.” “It’s fine,” I said, my own smile just as fake. The old me would have been stewing in resentment, but now, nothing they did could touch me. It was a funny thing: the passenger seat of Scott’s car was always reserved for her. Yet, she never seemed to get car sick when riding with anyone else. When we got to the restaurant, Scott’s friends were already there. Carter was the first to greet me, pulling me into the seat beside him. “Here, Jenny, sit next to me. I’ve got a big apology coming your way.” His tone held no remorse, only a faint trace of a threat. Once we were all seated, Carter poured me a glass of wine. “First, I’m going to down one myself as punishment.” He threw back his glass, then turned to me. “Jenny, I’m a blunt guy, you know that. Don’t take it personally. It’s true, I don’t think you’re good enough for my boy. But what can I do? He still wants to be with you, so for his sake…” He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. “I sincerely apologize.” He poured himself another glass. “I’ll take another. I was out of line the other day. I’m sorry.” As soon as he finished, Scott’s other friends mumbled their own apologies. Seeing the tension ease, Scott tried to smooth things over, telling everyone to eat. But Ava stood up, holding a glass of juice. She looked at me, her face a mask of sympathy. “Jenny, I need to apologize, too. Scott’s feelings for me run so deep… I’m so sorry you’ve had to suffer because of it.” Before she could continue, Scott quickly pulled her back into her seat. “You did nothing wrong. You don’t need to apologize.” Then, he turned to me, his expression serious. “I’m sorry, Jenny. It was my fault. I didn’t handle this situation well.” “It’s okay,” I said, my voice calm. “But there’s someone else who’d like to hear you two apologize to him.” Just as I finished speaking, the private room door swung open, and a man in a sharp suit walked in.

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I stared at the group chat on my husband’s phone: [She checks on me constantly. Demands I be home by nine. No booze, no smoke smell on my clothes. Just a pile of bullshit rules. She treats me like a dog!] [Now that her family went bust, if she tries to control me like that again, I’m divorcing her!] I didn’t dare say a word. I stopped checking on him. I stopped ordering him around. But then, my husband pinned me to the bed, eyes red and full of grievance, demanding answers: “Why aren’t you controlling me?” “Why aren’t you ordering me around?” “Did you… did you get another dog?” Chapter 1 Chase walked through the door at 9:01 PM. Just as he stepped inside, I blocked his path, my tone sharp. “Do you know what time it is?” Chase frowned impatiently, glancing down at his Patek Philippe. “Traffic was a nightmare on I-405. I’m literally one minute late. Is this necessary?” I let out a cold laugh. “You dare to be one minute late today, tomorrow it’ll be ten minutes. What’s next? Staying out all night?” He looked like he wanted to argue but stopped himself, his face a mix of exhaustion and disbelief. After a few seconds of a standoff, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Can I come in now?” I huffed lightly. “Fine. I’ll forgive you this time. But if you’re late again, don’t bother coming back!” Just then, my phone rang. It was my dad. “Zoe, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” I rolled my eyes. “Dad, are we really doing this? Give me the good news.” Dad was silent for a moment. “Actually, let’s start with the bad. The company is under. We’re bankrupt.” I froze in place. “The good news is, we salvaged just enough cash. I’m taking your mom and brother to Europe to start over. You stay here and live a good life with Chase. He won’t mistreat you.” “I’ll call you once we get settled.” Dad hung up, leaving me standing there in total disarray. Chase walked out of the bathroom carrying a foot bath basin filled with hot water. He placed it in front of me, knelt down, skillfully took off my socks, and guided my feet into the water. The warmth brought me back to reality. Chase looked up at me. “What’s wrong? You look pale.” I looked at him, my voice trembling. “My family is bankrupt.” Chase didn’t look surprised. He spoke calmly. “Your dad’s company has been on life support for a while. I injected capital to help, but the deficit was too massive. It was a sinking ship.” I couldn’t process it all at once. I stood up, water dripping, and went straight to the bedroom to sleep. Chapter 2 I couldn’t sleep soundly. I woke up in the middle of the night. Chase was already asleep next to me, wearing his silk eye mask. But his phone on the nightstand lit up with a notification. I couldn’t help myself. I quietly reached over and took it. His passcode was my birthday. I had forced him to memorize it back in the day, drilling it into his head until he couldn’t forget. I unlocked it and opened the group chat. It was his “Boys Club” thread. [Finally, our boy Chase grows a spine!] I frowned and scrolled up. [It’s infuriating!] Chase had typed earlier. [I was one minute late today, and she blocked the door! I had to apologize just to get in!] [Now that her family is bankrupt, if she tries to control me like that again, I’m divorcing her!] His friends chimed in: [Take this chance to fix that princess attitude of hers, Chase. Show her the old you. Prove you’re not whipped.] [See? You didn’t listen to us, and now you’re suffering. Before the wedding, I told you the Vanderbilt princess was hot but crazy.] [Chase is a shark in the boardroom, but at home, he’s treated like a poodle. It’s embarrassing, man!] [Once Chase fixes her, we can go back to pulling all-nighters and drinking like the old days.] [Agreed.] [+1] My hands trembled slightly, but I kept scrolling. [She pushes it too far! She actually makes me wash her feet! Treats me like a servant!] [She treats me like a target practice dummy during her period! If I move while sitting next to her, she throws a pillow and says I’m disturbing her aura. If I stay still, she yells that I have no conscience and don’t care about her. Breathing is a mistake at this point!] [She doesn’t even see me as a…] I turned off the phone, unable to breathe. So, Chase had this much resentment toward me. He must hate me. He must want a divorce badly. I had nothing now. My parents and brother were gone, and their numbers were already disconnected. If we divorced, what would I do? Chapter 3 Chase and I were a classic business merger marriage. Chase had a first love back in college, a scholarship girl. They didn’t last long before his family broke them up. His mother gave the girl a million dollars to disappear to Europe. After that, he never dated again. Until he took over the company and married me. He seemed reluctant at the time, probably still hung up on his ex. I didn’t care. Among the pool of eligible bachelors, Chase was the top pick. He was gorgeous, fit, capable, and clean—no secret mistresses or scandals. We met once before the wedding. We got married in a rush and moved in together. He worked late, coming home at ungodly hours, ruining my beauty sleep. Worse, he often smelled like expensive scotch and cigars. I hate the smell of alcohol. I was raised spoiled. Marriage wasn’t going to change that. So, I set rules: Home by 9:00 PM. No alcohol smell. No smoke smell. At first, Chase ignored me. He came home late, reeking of booze. So, I changed the locks. He knocked for twenty minutes before I opened the door, yawning. “Next time you’re late, or I smell whiskey on you, you’re sleeping on the porch.” He laughed in anger. But after that, he was home by nine every night, smelling of mints and soap. So, I started pushing boundaries. I wanted my shrimp peeled. I wanted him to wash my feet—water temperature had to be perfect. If I was moody on my cycle, he was my punching bag. My mom treated my dad this way, so I thought it was normal. But today was different. I had to turn over a new leaf. I couldn’t let Chase hate me anymore. Chapter 4 I planned to wake up early and make Chase breakfast. But I overslept. Chase was already awake. Habitually, I stuck my foot out from under the duvet. He picked up a sock and started putting it on me. Halfway through, I realized—bad idea! I couldn’t order him around anymore! I bolted upright, snatching the sock from his hand. I pitched my voice an octave higher, sweet and syrupy. “Hubby, I can do it myself.” I had never called Chase “Hubby.” The word felt foreign in my mouth. I wasn’t the only one weirded out. A flash of shock crossed Chase’s eyes. He froze for a few seconds, then stood up and walked out without a word. When I finished getting ready and went to the kitchen, breakfast was already on the island. Chase placed a glass of fresh juice in front of me, fully dressed for work. Before leaving, he walked up to me with a scowl, leaning in for a kiss. This was another rule I established: a kiss before leaving. Although he always complied, he usually looked like he was signing a bad contract. I didn’t dare force him now. I pushed him away gently. “You don’t have to force yourself to kiss me. Go to work.” He stared at me, his expression reading, What kind of game are you playing now? I shooed him away again. He turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, he spun around, stomped back to me, tilted my chin up, and kissed me aggressively. He didn’t stop until I was breathless. He wiped his mouth, looking at me with pure annoyance. “Can we stop with the mind games?” “Playing hard to get doesn’t suit you.” ??? I was baffled. Hard to get? What mind games?

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