Category: English

After my parents divorced, they dumped my younger sister, Chloe, on me. I had just turned eighteen. I didn’t want her to suffer the broken home trauma I did, so I shielded her. I gave her everything. When she bombed her SATs, I liquidated my savings to send her abroad. I worked three jobs to fund her doctorate. When she returned as a high-earning Ivy League grad, I was dying. The stress and overwork had given me terminal cancer. She was making six figures a month, but she wouldn’t give me a dime for treatment. “Harper, didn’t you teach me that self-care comes first? Paying for your chemo would really impact my quality of life.” A month later, as I lay rotting in a hospice bed, I saw her Instagram post. A photo of her and our parents in front of a new mansion. Caption: Reunited at last. Bought this villa for Mom, Dad, and the inner child in me. Before I took my last breath, I received a 30,000-word email from her. It was a manifesto of how much she hated me. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day I took her in. This time, I’m not going to be the savior. Let’s see how you survive without my wallet, Chloe. 1. “Harper, she’s your flesh and blood. You’re the older sister; you have to step up. Who else is going to take her?” I looked at the girl standing in front of me, head down, looking meek and terrified. I listened to my mother’s gaslighting, and I realized I was back. In my past life, my relationship with my parents was toxic. They cut me off the moment I turned eighteen. My tuition, my rent—I earned every cent by scrubbing floors and waiting tables. They never cared if I starved. But the moment I landed a stable corporate job, they reappeared, demanding I raise their “mistake.” In my last life, I looked at Chloe and saw myself. I softened. I promised to break the cycle. I raised her with “Gentle Parenting.” I gave her money, freedom, and unconditional love. I raised her to be confident and bright, while I worked myself into an early grave. And she repaid me by letting me die, terrified that my medical bills would cut into her shopping budget. She claimed her failures were my fault. That I was too lenient. That she could have gone to Harvard if I had pushed her harder. Fine. “I didn’t give birth to her,” I said, my voice cold. “You wanted a second kid to fix your marriage. You fix this.” I shoved Chloe out the door and slammed it shut. Muffled screaming and crying echoed from the hallway. I remembered her manifesto. She said we should be selfish. Okay, Chloe. Message received. This time, I’m keeping all my love for myself. 2. I opened the door the next morning to leave for work. Chloe was curled up on my welcome mat, shivering. She jumped up, face red, stuttering. “Harper… Mom and Dad don’t want me. I only have you.” She sounded like a wounded animal. It was hard to connect this trembling child to the arrogant woman who watched me die. But I knew the truth. I locked the deadbolt. “Not my problem, Chloe. I’m not your legal guardian. I have zero obligation to help you.” I walked past her to the elevator. I didn’t expect her to follow me to the edge of the complex. When we reached the busy sidewalk, she dropped to her knees. “Harper, please! If you don’t take me in, I’ll just die right here!” Passersby stopped. Phones came out. The whispering started. “Oh, go ahead and die then,” I said. I tried to walk away, but she lunged and wrapped her arms around my leg. “Harper, you used to care! You’re not like this!” It was true. I used to be a doormat. I used to tell her to study hard so she could escape our parents. I didn’t know she was screenshotting those texts and sending them to Mom and Dad, painting me as the villain who was “corrupting” her. The crowd was growing. People were recording. I sighed. I knew how this game worked. “Get up. We’ll talk inside.” 3. Once the door closed, the act dropped. She looked at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Harper, I’ll move out as soon as I finish high school.” “You can stay,” I said, cutting her off. “But you pay rent. I’m not paying for your food, your clothes, or your school supplies. Ask Mom and Dad, or get a job.” Chloe panicked. “But I’m a Junior! I have AP classes from 8 AM to 4 PM. I can’t work!” I laughed. “When I was your age, I opened the bakery at 5 AM and closed the diner at midnight. I made it work.” In the last life, I bought her the trendy sneakers so she wouldn’t feel left out. She later wrote that the shoes were “the wrong color” and caused her lifelong trauma. “If you don’t have rent by the first of the month,” I said, grabbing my purse, “I’m calling the cops to have you removed for trespassing.” I left for work. Halfway there, my phone buzzed. A Venmo notification from Mom. Here’s some cash. Don’t be hard on your sister. She’s just a kid. Six years. She remembered my account info, but never used it to ask how I was. I wiped a tear. Not for them, but for the little girl inside me who still wanted a mother. I accepted the money. Then I texted back: This doesn’t even cover rent. Send another three grand. She did. I didn’t spend a dime on Chloe. I went to the mall. I bought a new wardrobe. I bought high-quality skincare. I put the rest into gold bars and a high-yield savings account. Everyone betrays you. Money doesn’t. I’m going to stack cash until Chloe graduates, and then I’m moving to Hawaii. 4. I came home carrying shopping bags and a bucket of Shake Shack. Chloe was pacing the living room. She froze when she saw the burger. “Harper… that smells so good. Can I have a bite? I haven’t eaten all day.” She was playing the poverty card. In the last life, I took her to Michelin-star restaurants to broaden her horizons. “No,” I said, sitting on the couch and taking a bite. “I’m starving. If you’re hungry, boil some pasta.” Silence. Then, she eyed my shopping bags. “Must be nice to buy pretty clothes. The kids at school call me a hillbilly because I dress like this.” I chewed my fry slowly. I knew the script. She wanted me to feel guilty and take her shopping. In the past, I spent three months’ salary to make her look like a princess. She later claimed that dressing her up made her lose focus on her studies. “Well,” I said, “the kids at school are right. You do look tacky.” “If you want to be popular, maybe stop focusing on your looks and focus on your grades.” Chloe’s eyes went red. She stormed into the guest room. Before I went to bed, I slid $500 under her door—money Mom had sent. “This is from Mom. Buy your own food. I’m not cooking for you.” In the past, I was her personal chef. I woke up at dawn to make her balanced meals. She complained I made her “socially awkward” by not letting her eat cafeteria food. Never again.

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I’m the adopted daughter. And I just slept with my brother. It might have been okay if he were single, but just the other day he asked me, “What kind of things do you girls like?” I teased him, “Are you telling me I’m getting a sister-in-law?” “I’m planning on it,” he’d said, a casual glint in his eye. My heart sank into an icy abyss. Wrecking a relationship is just asking for bad karma. So, I packed my bags in the middle of the night and left a ridiculous note: “I’ve found my purpose in life. I’m going to be a wildlife photographer. Off to chase my dreams abroad. Goodbye Mom, Dad, and big brother!” Two weeks later, I was in the middle of the African savanna, being chased by a pack of hyenas. A passing jeep screeched to a halt and rescued me. I was about to pour out my thanks when a pair of warm fingers closed around my wrist, resting on my pulse. A man’s smile, both tender and cruel, met my eyes. “Get out, little sister,” he said. “Or kiss me. Your choice.” 1 I was an orphan. My earliest memories are of the orphanage. But I was pretty. And as everyone knows, a pretty face can change your luck. When I was five, I was adopted. My new family was wealthy. Like, seriously wealthy. I went from pauper to princess overnight. More than that, my adoptive parents weren’t just rich; they were full of love. My dad adored my mom and didn’t want her to go through the strain of a second pregnancy, but my mom had always wanted a daughter. So, they decided to adopt. I was the lucky one chosen to be their little girl. I also gained an older brother, who was three years my senior. My parents were wonderful to me, and so was my brother. I finally had a happy family. I always believed that happiness would last forever, that I’d still be a happy old woman at eighty. If only it hadn’t been for the incident. 2 I woke up to the feeling of a warm, sculpted abdomen beneath my hand. It felt… nice. Acting on pure instinct, my fingers traced the lines twice more. The skin under my touch quivered, and the steady breathing above my head grew heavy. I felt a stirring deep inside my body. Wait a minute… Inside my body? My eyes flew open in horror. This was… this was depraved! I buried my face in my hands, unable to face reality. But ignoring reality doesn’t make it disappear. The man holding me began to stir. He stroked my back, his voice a low, raspy murmur. “Can’t keep your hands to yourself this early in the morning?” A bolt of lightning shot through me. That voice… It was flu season, and my brother, Caleb, had caught a bad cold. Tone aside, his voice when he was sick was just as raspy as this. Could this man be… The chaotic memories of last night flooded back. A party, alcohol, a dizzying heat. Then, a series of images that shouldn’t be described. And his commands. “Open for me.” “Relax.” … What the hell was all this?! My mind frantically searched for more clues. Amidst the chaos, I remembered Caleb calling me his “wife.” I am not his wife. I’m his sister. Oh, God. He must have mistaken me for someone else. And worse, he really did have someone he was interested in. Just a month ago, after finishing my thesis defense, I was lazing around at home, getting underfoot. My dad, tired of seeing me, handed me a black card and told me to go bother my brother. One roof was as good as another, so I happily moved into Caleb’s place. I spent my nights gaming and my days sleeping. He couldn’t stand it and dragged me to work with him at his company. After a soul-crushing week of that, he was at it again, trying to pull me out of bed. “Caleb, seriously,” I moaned in despair. “Just get a girlfriend, will you? Please, just leave me alone.” He stood over me, looking down from his great height. Hearing my plea, he slowly leaned in, his face getting closer and closer to mine. He raised an eyebrow. “A girlfriend?” I nodded eagerly. “Yes! You get a girlfriend, I’ll ask Mom and Dad if I can move back home, and I’ll be completely out of your hair!” He let out a soft chuckle. “There are so many girls who like you,” I pressed on. “Isn’t there a single one you’re interested in?” Caleb, with his family, his looks, and his own formidable talents, was the ultimate catch. The line of women interested in him was a mile long. “There is one, actually,” he said, his voice laced with meaning. “Then go for it!” “We’ll see.” And with that, he hauled me out of bed and off to work, as usual. My persuasion attempt had failed. But that day at lunch, he asked me, “What kind of things do you like?” I chewed on a piece of braised pork. “I like to eat. Why are you asking?” “You’re the one who told me to go for it. So, what do you girls like?” My eyes lit up. “Am I getting a sister-in-law?” “Just answer the question,” he said with a small smile. How was I supposed to know? People’s tastes are different. I could only go by my own preferences. “Get her something good to eat. If that doesn’t work, just give her money. Who doesn’t like money?” A month passed. Just two days ago, I asked him how things were going with his mystery girl. He shot me a look. “She’s a little dense.” Dense. So… was that why he was so forward last night? But he was forward with the wrong person! I was starting to panic. The hand on my back was now shamelessly roaming, tracing a path from my shoulder blades to the small of my back, and then lower. Caleb nibbled on my earlobe. “Such a good girl. You did so well. You deserve a reward.” Thanks, but no thanks. A reward was the last thing I wanted. I racked my brain, trying to figure out how to escape without him realizing who I was. He was already turning me over to face him. Wait… what kind of reward? Was this a reward for me or for him? Soon, I couldn’t speak at all, only manage a series of muffled whimpers. Caleb held me tight from behind, my mind a complete blank. He kissed my neck. “Why aren’t you calling me ‘brother’ today? Cat got your tongue, little sister?” He and his girlfriend had such… common pet names. Considering his commands last night and this talk of rewards, my brain took a vacation and blurted out, “Shouldn’t I be calling you ‘Master’?” “Oh?” The voice behind me was thick with amusement. “We can certainly do that, if you’d like.” “No, I…” He cut me off. “On your knees.” 3 I was starting to worry about my future sister-in-law. I hoped she was a fitness enthusiast. Otherwise, she was going to die in Caleb’s bed. At this intensity, he could probably handle eight girlfriends at once. I lay half-dead in his arms, not daring to look up, and we slept in that intimate tangle for what felt like an eternity. He, on the other hand, was still bursting with energy. When I finally stirred again, rubbing my eyes, he whispered in my ear, “Rested up?” Those words gave me PTSD. No, I was not rested up. I cleared my throat, altering my voice. “I really can’t… I need more sleep.” He stroked my hair. “It’s already afternoon.” If I didn’t sleep, he would… I pressed my forehead against his chest and pleaded softly, “Please.” Then, I added, “Brother.” Compared to the name that had escaped my runaway brain, it seemed he preferred his girlfriend to call him ‘brother.’ I was desperate. His tone softened even more. “Alright, sleep. When you wake up, we’ll have dinner.” I closed my eyes, my mind racing. How could I get him out of here? Before I could come up with a plan, Caleb’s phone rang. He silenced it after a single ring and answered in a low voice, careful not to wake me. “Mom? Why are you calling at this hour?” Mom? I peeked through my lashes and saw him gently move me out of his arms, grab a robe from a nearby chair, and walk toward the balcony. I could just make out snippets of his conversation. “She’s with me… sleeping… she was really tired…” What was he telling her? He slid the balcony door shut behind him, leaning casually against the railing as he talked. I silently slipped out of bed and tiptoed over. I pulled the heavy curtains closed. And then. Click. I locked the balcony door. Caleb was trapped. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and frantically looked for my clothes. I had to get out of here before he called for backup. It was a hotel room, so the closets were empty. My clothes were scattered on the floor. My bra was torn. I salvaged what was wearable, thankfully it was winter so I had layers. I pulled on my clothes and then snatched Caleb’s trench coat, throwing it over everything. Finally, I gathered the ruined items, stuffed them in a bag, and took them with me. It was the fastest I’d ever gotten dressed in my life. Just as I was about to slip out, I heard Caleb knocking on the glass. His voice was muffled. My guilty conscience must have been playing tricks on me, because I could have sworn I heard him say, “Irie, why did you lock the door?” My heart leaped into my throat. I had to be hearing things. Iris, you definitely misheard him! He couldn’t have said Irie! Stop scaring yourself. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pulled my hat down, covered my face, and ran. 4 I wanted to go home, but I’d been living at Caleb’s for a month. Showing up suddenly would be weird. If Mom and Dad asked if we’d had a fight, what would I say? If Caleb was sensitive enough, my disappearance might make him connect the dots. But if both of us disappeared, he’d be looking for his girlfriend, not me. I was his dearest little sister. Who would ever suspect their own sister? Decision made, I went back to Caleb’s apartment, locked the door, and headed for the shower. Finally, a chance to assess the damage. The reflection in the mirror was a disaster. My neck, my collarbones, my breasts, my waist, my thighs—everywhere, there were marks from Caleb. The worst spots were red and swollen. As I cleaned myself up, I cursed him. Didn’t he know about protection? What if I got pregnant? No, wait. I remembered now. He had taken something. A pill. He’d taken it out of his coat pocket. The hotel only provided condoms. I felt the pocket of the trench coat I’d stolen. Sure enough, there was a small bottle inside. Holy crap. Why was he carrying this around? Did he have a date planned with his girlfriend last night? It was over. I was truly screwed. The other woman everyone hated… was me. I collapsed onto the bed. It couldn’t have been entirely my fault. Caleb mistook me for someone else; that had to be at least half the blame. I just felt sorry for his girlfriend. She was the real victim. Speaking of which, who even was she? I’d never met her. 5 It didn’t matter. She was the rightful queen. I was so miserable that I eventually cried myself to sleep. I had a nightmare. A woman whose face I couldn’t see was chasing me with a bloody dagger. I ran and ran, but she caught me and stabbed me in the neck, cackling, “You cheating dogs can die together!” And just like that, I was dead, my body tossed in a pile with Caleb’s dismembered corpse. At least I only got stabbed once. The woman then produced a long sword and skewered us both together like a kebab. I woke with a jolt. What a terrifying dream. What was even more terrifying was the first thought that popped into my head when I woke up. —I could really go for some kebabs right now. I must be losing my mind.

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After the diagnosis—the severe clotting disorder, the fragile veins—I became the family’s little ticking clock. They called me their ‘Fragile Prince,’ but it sounded more like an epitaph. The doctors said I wouldn’t make it past five. My parents poured everything into me. Every dollar, every minute, every prayer was for my survival. On my fifth birthday, the house was, for once, loud with forced cheer. Only my younger brother, Noah, too young to grasp the weight of the moment, asked, “Liam, will you die tomorrow?” That was the first time I ever saw Dad hit him. And Mom? She knelt on the floor, weeping, bowing her head again and again, begging God to give me a few more years. But on Noah’s first day of pre-K, I did the unforgivable. I whispered that my chest hurt and asked for a pain pill. Mom snapped. Her control shattered, and she started screaming. She slapped me so hard my head whipped back. “How could you be so sickeningly selfish? Are you trying to kill your brother by stealing his one good day?” “We revolve around you, Liam! Can’t we have just one moment to take him to school?” “If you want to die, just die! Stop torturing us!” She threw the pill bottle at me—a cascade of plastic and white tablets—grabbed Noah’s hand, and slammed the door behind them. I didn’t say a word. I just watched the small cut on my forearm—where a shard of the bottle had nicked me—slowly begin to seep blood. My body was already going cold. 1 The pill bottle fragment had caught my forearm when I threw my hand up. I stared at the cut for two seconds, the doctor’s warning echoing in my head: “Kid, you absolutely cannot get a cut. The bleeding won’t stop.” I scrambled for the Band-Aids. They were soaked through in under a minute. I turned to find a proper gauze bandage, but the blood was already dripping onto the clean tile floor. Mom—Cari—she hated messes. I couldn’t add this to her burden. I panicked, tearing at my sleeve to wipe the floor. But the blood seemed to explode the moment it hit the tile, smearing and spreading with every frantic wipe. I grabbed the nearest hand towel and wrapped it tightly around the wound. The cold started then. Not just the chill of the bathroom, but a deep, systemic cold that traveled from my fingertips to my bones. I stumbled into the bathroom and ran the tub full of the hottest water I could stand. Sliding in, the heat brought a momentary reprieve. The blood was still flowing, staining the clear water a dark rose color. I suddenly needed them. I fumbled with my old cell phone and called Dad’s number. It rang and rang. No answer. I called Mom. The background noise was deafening—music, the high-pitched shriek of children, cheering. It was a party, a world away from my slowly reddening bathwater. “What is it, Liam? Make it fast. Noah’s about to go on stage for the talent show.” “Mom, I don’t feel well. I cut my—” Her impatient voice cut through the noise, sharp and impatient. “Not well again? “Do you only feel unwell when the attention isn’t on you?” “Liam, you’re eight years old. You are a big boy. Can’t you, for once, be considerate?” The dial tone buzzed, loud and empty, in the vast quiet of the bathroom. I watched the water deepen to crimson. She was right. I was nothing but a complication. My illness was a complication, my unhappiness was a complication, and now, my bleeding was a complication. Mom’s favorite knit cardigan lay draped over the edge of the tub. I carefully pulled it over my face. It smelled faintly of her, that comforting, familiar scent of gardenia and laundry soap. It brought me back to when I was little and feverish, and she would watch over me just like this. The water was growing cold. The flow of blood seemed to be slowing, too—maybe it was almost done. As my head started to spin, I wondered if once all the bad blood was gone, I would be better. Then Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to worry about their sickly son. Noah wouldn’t have to concede to his older brother all the time. And I wouldn’t have to be so painfully careful, so constantly good, biting down on the pain every midnight just to avoid making a sound. I curled up in the tub, feeling as safe and calm as if I were back in my mother’s womb. 2 The next time I opened my eyes, I only saw a tiny, pale version of myself floating in the bathtub. So I was already dead. The front door opened. I heard Noah’s voice, bright and full of energy. “Liam, I’m home!” I rushed out. Mom and Dad, Cari and Dan, walked in holding Noah’s hands. Dad carried a store-bought strawberry cake. Dan paused, looking at the mess I’d left in the living room. “What is all this?” Cari frowned. “He was having a tantrum at lunchtime.” “He was mad I was taking Noah to school, so he lied and said he was sick.” Dad’s expression darkened. “He’s getting impossible.” I tried to explain, waving my spectral hands frantically in front of them. “No, it wasn’t intentional! Liam wasn’t trying to make you mad!” My hand passed right through Dan’s shoulder. They felt nothing. Noah broke free and ran to my bedroom door. He tapped lightly. “Liam, come out and have some cake.” Silence. Noah looked up. “Is he asleep?” I wrapped my arms around him in a hug he couldn’t feel. “Thank you, Noah.” Mom’s voice was hard. “He’s not asleep. He’s pouting. “Don’t worry about him. We’re eating first.” Dad put the cake on the dining table. Noah watched with wide, expectant eyes. He whispered, “But I wanted to wait for Liam.” Dad tore open the box and exchanged a look with Mom. “If Liam had even half your common sense, Noah, we’d have a much easier life.” The candles were placed and lit. Noah was lifted onto a chair. Under the warm gaze of his parents, he blew out five flickering flames. It was his fifth birthday, too. Mom asked gently, “Did you make a wish, sweetie?” Noah’s eyes sparkled. “Yes! I wished that Liam—” Dad smiled and ruffled his hair. “Wishes don’t come true if you say them out loud, buddy.” I watched from the side. Every year, my birthday had been steeped in the smell of medicine. The candles felt like a countdown. But Noah’s birthday finally felt like a birthday should. When it was time to cut the cake, Noah insisted on the biggest slice. “This one is for Liam!” He carried the plate to my door and knocked again. “Liam, come share my strawberry cake!” No response. The smile slid slowly from Noah’s face. He walked back to the table. “Liam won’t talk to me.” Dad suddenly reached out, snatching the plate from Noah’s hands. He threw the perfect slice of strawberry cake—Noah’s gift—into the trash can. He slammed his hand on the table, his temper blazing. “Fine! If he won’t eat it, no one calls him again! “He can starve until he learns how to behave.” Noah flinched, his eyes instantly turning red. Mom pulled him into her embrace and shot a sharp look at Dad. “Don’t yell at the kids.” She cooed to Noah. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll eat first. When Liam knows he’s done something wrong, he’ll come out.” I knelt by the trash can, gazing at the discarded slice. The strawberries on the cream were so fresh. Now it lay there, mingled with crumpled napkins and coffee grounds. What a waste. Strawberry was my favorite. Noah ate his small slice slowly, glancing toward my closed door every few seconds. Mom and Dad ate in silence. There should have been four places at the table. Now one seat was empty. I floated over and sat in my spot, whispering a soundless Happy Birthday to my little brother. 3 That evening, Mom was bathing Noah. I hovered by the shower curtain, my heart clenching, terrified she would pull it back and see me in the tub. In the cloud of steam, Mom rubbed bubbles onto Noah’s skin. He looked up, his wet hair stuck to his forehead. “Mom, why hasn’t Liam come out yet?” Mom’s hands paused. “He’s probably just tired, sweetie.” Noah murmured, “But I miss him. I haven’t seen him all day.” Mom turned off the water and wrapped him completely in a large towel, pulling him into a hug. “Noah, do you ever get mad at Mom and Dad?” “Mad about what?” Mom held him tighter. “Mad because we’re always focused on Liam? Because we always give him the best things? Because sometimes we forget to give you enough time?” Noah wrapped his small, wet arms around her neck. “No. Why would I? Liam is sick.” “My teacher said that people who are sick need the most help. “I want to help you and Dad take care of him.” Mom’s shoulders began to tremble slightly. She buried her face in his towel, silent for a long moment. “You’re such a good boy, Noah.” She sniffled. “Liam… Liam is very sad, too.” I plastered myself against the cool tile floor, listening as Mom continued. “Your brother was born with a bad heart. The doctors said he might not grow up.” Her voice was thick with tears. “So your dad and I were always terrified he was in pain, terrified he wouldn’t make it. We wanted to give him every good thing we could.” Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “But sometimes… sometimes I get so tired.” “Sometimes I wish he was healthy. Sometimes I wish I could spend more time with you.” Noah listened, not fully understanding, but patting her back with his tiny hand. I was curled up in the corner, tears—transparent and meaningless—falling to the ground. “I’m sorry, Mom. It was my fault,” I sobbed. “If I had never been born, if you only had Noah, everything would be so much better.” They heard nothing. After the bath, Mom tucked Noah into bed. Then she walked to my bedroom door and stood there for a long time. Finally, she raised her hand and knocked gently. “Liam, are you sleeping?” I floated in front of her, trying to reach out, but my fingertips passed through the air. “Mom shouldn’t have yelled at you today. I was wrong.” “It was Noah’s first day of school, and I was so nervous. I wasn’t trying to be mean.” She waited, listening for a response. I couldn’t give her one. Never again. Mom sighed. “I left a slice of cake on the dining room table. It’s your favorite, strawberry. Please eat it.” She stood there for a few more seconds before walking back to the master bedroom. The door closed. I went to the living room and saw the cake on the dining table. It was small, on a simple plate, the strawberry tilted slightly. Late at night, I looked at the little me in the bathtub. The water was completely cold. My face was white as paper. Mom never opened the curtain. She didn’t know that the cake she left was a gift I could never eat. The apology she offered was one I could never hear. 4 I followed Mom into the master bedroom. Dad looked up when she entered. “Did Liam come out?” Mom sat on the bed, folding clothes. She shook her head. “No movement. He’s older now, he has his pride.” Dad took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Liam is miserable, Cari. “He’s never been to school, he barely has any friends. Seeing his brother go off to pre-K—it’s natural he’d be jealous.” “Maybe we should hire him a private tutor?” Mom’s hands froze on a shirt. “A tutor? With what money, Dan? We still owe the hospital from last month’s medicine.” Dad sighed and rolled onto his side. “I’ll start driving for DoorDash after work. A few extra hours a night, we can save up.” Mom turned to look at him. The bedside lamp illuminated his face, the dark circles under his eyes starkly visible. “You’re already exhausted from your day job. That’s too dangerous.” Dad waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine, I’m strong.” “Just… my shoulder is a little tight lately. Can you put a patch on it?” Dad turned his back. Mom lifted his pajama collar. The skin on his shoulder was red and swollen. I stood by the bed, watching the inflamed skin, and my ghost-tears fell onto the duvet. I used to complain that he came home too late, that he didn’t play with me enough. I never realized that every late night, every hour he spent away, was a direct act of love for me. I flew into his arms, my own invisible, desperate hug. “I’m so sorry, Dad. Please forgive my selfishness.” Mom smoothed on the pain patch. They lay down and turned off the light. I lay down between them, just as I had when I was a toddler. To my left, Mom’s warm, shallow breaths. To my right, Dad’s steady, rhythmic heartbeat. I reached out, wrapping my empty arms around them. In that moment, I felt profoundly happy. The next morning, Mom called us for breakfast. When she passed the dining table, she saw the strawberry cake still on the plate, untouched. The cream had started to sag, the strawberry was wilted. The softness in Mom’s face vanished. She put the plate down and walked to my door. She knocked twice. “Liam Hayes, come out now.” No response. Her eyes began to well up. “I apologized yesterday! What more do you want?” “The cake is still sitting there! Are you on a hunger strike? “Who are you putting on a show for? Are you trying to kill me with stress?” Still silence. Mom’s hand gripped the doorknob. She twisted and pushed the door open. The room was empty. Her face went white. She spun around, a rising panic in her voice. “Dan! Liam is gone!” Dad rushed over, terrified. “What? Don’t panic. He must be somewhere in the house.” Then, Noah’s voice piped up. “Mom, Liam is playing in the water in your bathroom.” I panicked, too. I screamed at Noah. “Noah, stop! Don’t let Mom see me!” But Noah couldn’t hear me. He ran into the bathroom and pulled the shower curtain all the way back. Mom let out a huge sigh of relief. “Liam, that is too much! You have really made me angry this time!” The next second, she saw me, floating in the dark red water.

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The system tasked me with matchmaking the male and female leads. But I’m a bit of a klutz and often misunderstand instructions. The system told me to “lick” the male lead to highlight his charm. I obeyed literally. The system exploded: “Stop! Who told you to use your tongue?” The male lead blushed and didn’t dare look me in the eye after that. The system told me to bully the female lead to trigger the male lead’s protective instincts. I stuffed bread I didn’t like into the female lead’s hands and forced her to eat it all. The impoverished female lead clutched her starving stomach, looking at me with red, teary eyes. I asked the system for praise, saying I bullied her to tears. The system exploded again: “She’s crying tears of gratitude, you idiot! “Look at the male lead, the way he looks at you is practically dripping with honey! “You useless trash! You let the female lead win you over!!!” Chapter 1 “L-Lick him? That’s not very appropriate, is it?” I shrank in my seat, afraid to move. The system urged me frantically: “Don’t dawdle. Do you want the money for your grandma’s surgery or not?” I did. I steeled my heart, rushed over to Caleb Vance’s face, extended my tongue, and gave a gentle lick. The boy’s face turned completely red instantly. His usually aloof expression cracked inch by inch. The system let out a shriek: “Who the hell told you to use your mouth?!” “Didn’t you tell me to lick him?” I felt extremely wronged. System: “‘Lick’ means to suck up to him! To pursue him like a desperate dog! I didn’t mean literally lick him! You idiot!!” Huh? I really didn’t catch that meaning. What do I do now? I was incredibly embarrassed. I pulled out a tissue to wipe Caleb’s face, stammering an apology: “S-Sorry, I actually wanted to pursue you…” Caleb’s handsome face turned even redder. He gave me a deep look, then stood up silently, turned stiffly, and left. The system was furious. “How did I choose such a big idiot!” Why is it talking like that? I didn’t ask it to choose me. It appeared out of nowhere, congratulating me on being selected as a tool to catalyze the relationship between the male and female leads. The male lead is the school hunk, Caleb Vance. The female lead is the newly transferred scholarship student, Sarah Young. And I am an irrelevant extra. I didn’t like its tone and didn’t want to cooperate with the mission. But the system said the reward was ten million dollars, enough to pay for my grandma’s medical bills and let her retire happily. So I accepted the mission. The first task the system issued was to “lick” the male lead to highlight his charm. But I misunderstood the instruction and messed it up. The system had no choice but to issue a new task. It said I should go with the flow and upgrade to a “perverted stalker,” pestering the male lead relentlessly. With the male lead’s reserved nature, he would absolutely not stand such enthusiasm and would instead grow fond of the reserved female lead. I hesitated a little: “But I don’t know how to act like a pervert…” System: “No need to act. Just perform normally like you did just now.” I understood that. So, whenever I saw Caleb, I rushed up to lick him. It was quite psychologically difficult at first. But once I broke through the mental barrier… After the second, third, and fourth time, it became much easier. By the fifth time, I could hug Caleb and gnaw on him without batting an eye. However, Caleb also gained experience. He raised his hand in time and pinched my mouth shut. The system clapped happily: “Great! The male lead is finally sick of you!” Looking at the boy’s cold face, my legs went soft: “He won’t beat me up, will he?” “Don’t be afraid, I’ll block your pain receptors.” I closed my eyes, ready for the impact. But the expected punch didn’t fall. Caleb just sighed lightly and said in a negotiating tone: “Wait a moment, I’m going to wash my face.” I opened my eyes, asking confusedly with my gaze. Caleb explained: “My face is a bit dirty right now. After I wash it, you can…” He didn’t finish, the tips of his ears red as hot iron. “Wait a moment?” The system screamed: “What the hell is washing his face?” “And what is the male lead shy about? Shouldn’t he hate you and punch you?!” I don’t know either. “I’m sorry… did I mess up again?” I lowered my head, terrified the system would scold me. Just then, Caleb’s voice sounded above my head: “I’m done washing.” He stared at me with burning eyes: “Coming?” He suddenly leaned in, his handsome face magnifying in front of me. His bangs were still wet, looking inexplicably appetizing. My heart inexplicably skipped a few beats. I subconsciously stepped back two steps, turned, and ran. Chapter 2 “Why are you running?!” The system resented my failure to meet expectations: “You should have just pounced on him, gnawed on him, pantsed him, grabbed his crotch!” “Make him disgusted with you to the core, then develop feelings for the reserved female lead!” “I did it for your own good.” I replied sullenly. I am a decent girl; how could I do such things? The system couldn’t persuade me, so it had to let it go. “Fine. Start with the female lead first. Bully her to trigger the male lead’s protective instincts.” I looked at the female lead the system mentioned, Sarah Young. She was a newly transferred scholarship student, diligent in studies, introverted, looking like an honest kid at first glance. Right now, she was sitting in the seat in front of me, buried in her work. Her back was bony, making her school uniform look empty. Bully her… I hesitated. System: “Do you still want the reward? Do you still want to treat your grandma?” I gritted my teeth and stood up. Straight to the commissary. System: “What are you doing?” Me: “Preparatory work.” When I returned, Sarah was gnawing on a dry bun. Seeing me stop at her desk, she paused her chewing, looked up with cheeks puffed out, and asked vaguely: “Is… is something wrong?” I dumped a full bag of raisin bread on her desk and commanded condescendingly: “Eat it all for me!” The system let out a shriek: “What are you doing, Maya He! I told you to bully her, not feed her!” I shushed it: “This is the worst flavor. If she doesn’t cry after eating, I’ll change my last name to hers.” That’s right, this was my insidious tactic. For Grandma… I’m sorry, Sarah! I closed my eyes, unable to bear watching her painful expression. When I opened my eyes again, I met a pair of red eyes— She was crying, as expected. Sarah was stuffing bread into her mouth painfully while wiping tears silently. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to be soft-hearted, urging coldly: “Eat it all! No leftovers allowed!” Sarah nodded while crying: “Boohoo, mm-hmm.” I was confident: “Mr. System, can I get the reward this time? I bullied her to tears.” The system didn’t answer. I only heard heavy breathing. After a long while, I heard the system reply through gritted teeth: “Maya He, you big idiot! “The female lead is crying tears of gratitude!” I froze: “Huh?” Gratitude? Why? “Thank you…” At this time, Sarah spoke up. She thanked me between sobs: “I ran out of living expenses and haven’t eaten a full meal for days… Thank you, Classmate Maya, you are such a good person…” … It’s over. I think I messed up again. The system had a bad temper and kept calling me an idiot. I felt extremely guilty. “I’m sorry.” I apologized in a small voice: “You’re right to scold me. I really am stupid. I had a high fever as a child with no one around, burned my brain… I’m really sorry.” The system froze, then flew into a rage: “How could your parents be so irresponsible? How do they raise a child?” Me: “Parents didn’t want me anymore. I only have Grandma.” The system was silent for a moment: “…Sorry.” It didn’t scold me anymore and gave me a chance to remedy the situation: “This time, you must humiliate the female lead fiercely in front of the male lead!” “Mmh!” I thought hard and finally grasped Sarah’s weakness, holding back a “big move.” Isn’t Sarah a scholarship student? Then I will use what she lacks most to trample on her dignity! Chapter 3 The system gave me an advance on the reward, and I withdrew a part of it from the bank. Then, waiting until Sarah blushed and told the class monitor that she would have to pay her tuition later, I seized the opportunity, walked over, and slammed the money hard in front of Sarah. “From today on, you are my lackey. Take the money. In the future, do whatever I tell you to do.” I raised my chin high, fully displaying arrogance and rudeness. Sure enough, Sarah’s big eyes turned red instantly. She accepted the money in humiliation and handed it to the class monitor. Then she choked up and said to me: “Maya, thank you.” Although she thanked me verbally, her eyes were red like a rabbit, full of humiliation. I knew that giving her money at this time must have made her feel very embarrassed. She must hate me to death in her heart. Also, Caleb. He must hate me to death. I swept my gaze, accurately finding Caleb, meeting that handsome face with no expression. He met my gaze. The next second, the corner of his mouth curved up. Me: “?” I called the system in panic: “Caleb smiled at me. Is he going to beat me to death?” I remember it’s always like this on TV. When a person is extremely angry, they will laugh, and then the other person will die miserably… Boohoo… What to do?? “Mr. System? Mr. System??” After a long while, the system spoke: “Maya He.” It sighed, with a tone of powerlessness: “I really f*cking want to pry open your skull and see what weird structure is inside! “I actually believed you, waiting to see your big move! “And you call this inhuman character humiliation?? “The person is worried about money, and you send money over. That’s called help in a time of need! “The female lead wishes she could kowtow to you twice! “Also, are you blind?! “The male lead is looking at you with honey dripping from his eyes, and you suspect he wants to beat you to death?? “Your IQ is not high, and your EQ is negative too, right? “Maya He, I really want to punch you twice!” Huh? Is that so? Why is it completely different from what I thought… I shrank my neck. Bit the bullet and apologized: “S-Sorry…” The system was even angrier: “You only know to apologize! Change then! Do you know where you went wrong?!” “I know, I know.” The system lost trust in me and forbade me from improvising anymore. It demanded I strictly follow its instructions. “Since the money is given, just force the female lead to do what she hates most, what pains her most!” The system laughed sinisterly. Regarding this instruction, I was full of confidence. No one knows better than me what can make a student feel most painful! I slapped several mock exam papers heavily on Sarah’s desk and ordered her arrogantly: “Sarah Young! I order you to finish all five sets of these test papers tonight!” Sarah’s eyes turned red again. “Maya, thank you.” Her eyes were full of gratitude: “Not only did you buy me food and pay my tuition, but you also urged me to study… You are truly a good person!” Me: “…” No, I’m not. System: “…I fcking… You fcking… Forget it.” I asked humbly: “How else should I bully her?” “Just stop it.” The system was very impatient: “You’re not cut out for this.” Chapter 4 The system thought about it and decided to have me abandon the female lead route and concentrate firepower on the male lead. Pursue the male lead, fake intimacy, cause the female lead to misunderstand. Force her to recognize her own feelings. “Immediately, right now, write a love letter to the male lead!” Writing a love letter for the first time, I had no idea where to start. Asked the system, the system didn’t know either. It was righteous: “I’ve never chased anyone, how would I know how to write this kind of thing?” “I haven’t either.” “Don’t you have to now?” “…” The system pondered and provided an inspiration: “Just disgust him.” Be superficial, be exaggerated, use it to express you like him. With the male lead’s low-key personality, he will absolutely be disgusted to the extreme! Then turn around and see the refreshingly reserved female lead, bound to be refreshed and moved… The system got more and more excited as it spoke, so I had to bite the bullet and write: “Dear Classmate Caleb Vance: Ah, if you were a flower, I would be a butterfly! If you were a star, I would be the telescope chasing you! From the moment I saw you for the first time, your handsome face deeply, deeply attracted me! My gaze, my heartbeat, every minute and every second of my future—are destined to burn for you!” While I wrote, the system commented passionately: “Good, that’s the flavor! Maya He, you finally did something reliable!” “Written well, continue… Holy sh*t, this is too disgusting, barf!” … While I buried my head writing the love letter to Caleb, Sarah walked over. She handed me a small box of snacks, eyes shining: “I made them myself. Thank you for helping me last time.” She leaned closer, voice soft: “Maya, what are you writing?” The system immediately directed: “Quick! Say you’re writing a love letter, say you love Caleb like crazy, make her jealous!” I did as told, but Sarah didn’t show the expected sour expression. She just blinked blankly, then looked at me with bright eyes, saying seriously: “Although I don’t know Caleb very well… but the person Maya likes must be very good!” I froze. Why is this so different from what I imagined? Subconsciously turned back, and met Caleb’s gaze directly. Don’t know when he stopped behind us, don’t know how long he listened to us talking. Only that pair of peach blossom eyes were shining just like Sarah’s. Seeing me turn, Caleb’s ears turned red, and he turned and walked away. The system exploded with excitement: “See! My method is awesome! “Plan hasn’t officially started yet, and the male lead is already shy facing the female lead!” Me: “Mmh mmh.”

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The layoff wave hit Big Tech, and the company gave us two options. Option one: take the N+1 severance package and leave. Option two: take a pay cut and transfer to the new, godforsaken “Pioneer” department to build it from the ground up. In my last life, I chose the new department. It turned out to be a secret R&D hub for the company’s push into AI. Three years later, everyone’s stock options exploded, and I became financially independent. My best friend, Jessica, took the severance, gambled it all on the stock market, lost everything, and ended up driving her car into mine, sending us both off an overpass to our deaths. Reborn, I found myself back in that meeting room. The moment the HR manager finished speaking, Jessica slammed her hands on the table. “I’m taking the new department! Don’t even think about fighting me for it!” She shot me a venomous glare. “Take your pathetic severance and get lost. The future is mine.” I signed the severance agreement without a second thought. 1 The gazes of my colleagues pricked my skin like needles. Someone whispered, “Is Ava crazy? I heard the new department is the CEO’s pet project. It’ll be tough for a couple of years, but after that, it’s all founder’s stock.” “Short-sighted. What do you expect from a woman?” Jessica’s chin lifted higher at their words, preening like a victorious rooster. In my past life, that same rooster was the one who, just as I was about to cash in my stock options, drove me off that bridge because she was drowning in debt to loan sharks. The feeling of my bones shattering still lingered, a ghost pain in my limbs. I smiled. “Fine, Jessica. This golden ticket to unimaginable wealth? It’s all yours.” I slapped the signed agreement on the table. “N+1. I want every last cent, and I want it in my account by the end of today. Also, I’m taking the money tree from my desk.” Jessica sneered. “So pathetic. You even want a stupid plant.” She didn’t know that buried in the soil of that plant was a hardware dongle I’d tinkered with in my past life—the physical key required to boot the core code. Without it, the new department’s so-called “core assets” were nothing but a pile of gibberish. I started packing my things. My box was only half-full when Jessica strode over and kicked it, sending everything scattering across the floor. My keyboard, mouse, and notebooks clattered loudly. “Oops, sorry. My foot slipped,” she said, her voice dripping with mock apology, her eyes burning with challenge. Then, she shrieked, “Mark! I think Ava has a confidential company hard drive in her box! I just saw it! She’s trying to steal company property!” The HR manager and security guards swarmed over instantly. The manager frowned. “Ava, open your bag. We need to check it.” Everyone was watching, waiting for the show. Getting laid off was one thing, but being publicly searched on your way out was the ultimate workplace humiliation. I looked at Jessica’s triumphant face, feeling no anger, only a detached pity, like watching a clown perform its tired act. “You can check,” I said calmly. “But if you find nothing, then what?” Jessica crossed her arms. “If there’s nothing, I’ll get on my knees and apologize. But if there is, you can get ready for prison.” In the chaos, she had slipped a file labeled “Top Secret” into the inner pocket of my bag. It was a slick move, but amateurish. I pulled out my phone and connected to the office’s smart surveillance system—a little plugin I’d installed myself to test a visual algorithm. No one knew it existed. I mirrored my phone’s screen to the large TV in the conference room. And there it was, in glorious high definition: Jessica, furtively stuffing the file into my bag. The image was so clear you could see the poorly blended pimple on her cheek. The room fell dead silent. Jessica’s face turned the color of raw liver. The HR manager’s face was as black as the bottom of a pot. “Jessica,” he growled. “Care to explain?” She trembled. “I… I was just joking with her…” “On your knees,” I said, my voice cold. Jessica bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes, but she didn’t move. I raised my phone. “Fine. Don’t kneel. I’ll just send this video to every HR group in the industry. And file a police report for false accusation while I’m at it.” Thud. Jessica’s knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor. “I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. I picked up my box and stepped over her. “Save your knees. You’ll be doing a lot more begging in the future.” Outside, the sunlight was blinding. My phone vibrated. A text from my bank. The severance had arrived. Thirty-five thousand dollars. My startup capital. As I passed the smoking area, I saw a couple of security guards shoving a man. He was a mess—unshaven, his hair greasy and matted, wearing a yellowed white t-shirt. His eyes were utterly dead. Noah. In my last life, he was the company’s Director of Technology. After offending the CEO, he was sidelined and eventually fired for “gross misconduct,” forced to pay the company a fifty-thousand-dollar breach of contract fine. No one knew that this man, who now looked like a homeless person, was the true architect of the company’s AI strategy. The core logic of the new department’s project was all his work. In my past life, he vanished after leaving, sinking into obscurity. The company, meanwhile, rode the coattails of his unfinished code for three years. “Get lost! Sell a kidney if you can’t pay!” a guard sneered. Noah stared at the ground, his fists clenched white, silent. I walked over and stood between them. “I’ll pay his fine.” The guards stared. “Ava, are you crazy? This guy’s a total washout.” Noah’s head snapped up, a flicker of disbelief in his dead eyes. I took out my bank card, the money still warm in my account, and paid the fifty thousand dollars. It was everything I had, plus my savings. I didn’t even blink. After the paperwork was done, Noah stood on the sidewalk, clutching the termination agreement, his voice hoarse. “Why? What do you want from me?” I looked at him and pressed the bank card, now with only a few hundred dollars left, into his hand. “I don’t want you, and I don’t want your money.” “Noah, I want your brain.” “Work with me.” Upstairs, behind a floor-to-ceiling window, Jessica was watching us through a pair of binoculars. She snapped a photo and posted it online with a caption: Trash belongs with trash. It’s hilarious how some people find a piece of garbage and treat it like treasure. I put my phone away and smiled at Noah. “Come on. Let’s go set the world on fire.” 2 I rented a shabby two-bedroom apartment that served as both our living quarters and our office. The living room was crammed with secondhand server racks, the buzz of their cooling fans a constant, tireless hum. Noah sat on a sofa missing a leg, staring at me. “You’re broke,” he stated, not as a question. After paying his fine and renting all this equipment, I didn’t even have next month’s rent sorted. I pulled a cup of instant noodles from my bag and tore off the lid. “As long as the servers have power, I won’t starve. What, is the great Noah too good for this?” He didn’t answer, just stared at the noodle cup. In my past life, I only knew he was a tech genius. I didn’t know he was also the runaway scion of a powerful East Coast family. He’d cut ties with them because he refused to inherit the family business, choosing to pursue technology instead. This time, I was going to make this hidden dragon soar ahead of schedule. “The new department’s project is a trap,” Noah said suddenly, his tone flat. “I wrote the architecture, but I left a back door. Once the concurrent user volume exceeds ten million, the entire system will crash.” I smiled and pushed the now-ready noodles toward him. “I know. And I also know that your back door is actually an infinite loop. Once triggered, it’ll fry the hardware.” Noah’s pupils contracted. He looked at me like I was some kind of monster. “How did you know? I haven’t even finished writing that algorithm…” I didn’t explain. I just sat down at the computer. My fingers flew across the keyboard, lines of code pouring out like a waterfall. It was the same algorithm that had taken him three years to complete in our last life, the core technology that would later have industry giants scrambling. Ten minutes later, I hit Enter. A green “SUCCESS” flashed on the screen. The fork dropped from Noah’s hand, clattering on the floor. He rushed over, his eyes glued to the screen, his breathing heavy and ragged. “That… that’s the logical loop I’ve been trying to solve for six months…” I pointed to the screen. “I want to turn this project into a SaaS platform. I need it online within a month. Any problem with that?” Noah licked his dry lips, a fire igniting in his eyes. “As long as we can pay the electricity bill, I can get it done in two weeks.” The days that followed were a blur of manic energy. We were like two mad scientists, doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and coding. To save money, I sold all my old designer bags. Noah saw it all but said nothing. He just typed faster. In our old work group chat, Jessica was broadcasting her “highlight reel” daily. “Another late night at the office. The coffee in the new department is amazing.” “The boss said I’m the future of the company. So much pressure, lol.” “Heard someone’s been dumpster diving since they left? So sad.” The posts were accompanied by pictures of her posing at her desk in a bright, spacious office. I knew that the screen of her computer actually showed an order page for a freelancing website. She was hiring a ghostwriter. Because before I left, I’d completely wiped my old computer. She couldn’t find a single useful document. One day, one of our graphics cards burned out. We had no choice but to replace it. Noah and I went to an electronics market. And of course, we ran into them. We had just walked into a shop when we heard Jessica’s shrill voice. “I’ll take this A100 graphics card. The company’s paying, money is no object!” She was clinging to the arm of a balding man—her sycophantic boss, Mark, the one backing her in the new department. I glanced at the card. It was the best secondhand one in the store, exactly what we needed. “I saw that card first,” I said, walking over. Jessica turned, and a mocking smile spread across her face when she saw me. “Well, if it isn’t Ava. What, are you scavenging for parts now?” She scanned my cheap t-shirt, then glanced at the scruffy Noah beside me. “Tsk, tsk. Still hanging out with your homeless boyfriend? This card is eight thousand dollars. Can you afford it? You probably couldn’t even get that much if you sold yourself.” She deliberately lifted her high-heeled foot and pressed it down on the graphics card, grinding it against the floor. “Oh, sorry, I got it dirty. But since I saw it first, even if I smash it, I wouldn’t give it to a beggar.” The balding man chuckled. “Jessica, don’t waste your time on these lowlifes. Let’s just have security throw them out.” The other shop owners and customers were watching the spectacle. I clenched my fists, about to snap. But the ever-silent Noah, standing behind me, suddenly moved. 3 When Noah moved, it was like a black flash of lightning. He shoved aside the security guard who was stepping forward, the force of it sending the two-hundred-pound man stumbling backward. Then, he bent down, ignoring Jessica’s shriek as she jumped away, and snatched the graphics card from under her foot. The movement was rough, almost brutal. He used his own yellowed t-shirt to wipe the dust off the card, his eyes dark and menacing. “This technology under your shoe,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “is an insult.” He looked up, his cold gaze sweeping over Jessica and her boss. “Touch her again. I dare you.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was filled with a chilling intensity. Jessica, terrified, shrank back into Mark’s arms. Humiliated, Mark pointed a trembling finger at Noah. “You goddamn beggar, do you know who I am? I can make sure you never work in this industry again!” “Oh? And who are you?” Noah shot back with a cold smirk. “Mark Johnson, former deputy manager of the operations department? The one who got promoted by washing the CEO’s car?” Mark’s face went pale. “How did you know…” Noah ignored him and turned to the shop owner. “Chen, I’m taking this card. And give me those two servers you’ve got in the back.” The shop owner, a middle-aged man with glasses, had been enjoying the show. At the sound of Noah’s voice, he jolted. He squinted at Noah, his glasses nearly falling off his nose. “Noah? The… the Legend?” In their circle, the name Noah was just that—a legend. Even though he’d been fired, in the eyes of true geeks, he was a god. The owner’s hands were shaking with excitement. “Noah, sir! What are you… Oh my god! The card is a gift! A gift! And the servers, you can have them for half price! Just… if you have any big projects in the future, please remember me!” Jessica was dumbfounded. “Are you crazy? I’ll pay double!” The owner shot her a disdainful look. “You think money is everything? Get out, get out! Don’t dirty my shop. Do you have any idea who you were just bullying?” Trembling with rage, Jessica pointed at me. “Ava, you win this time! Just you wait! At the product launch in a few days, I’m going to show you the meaning of despair!” She stormed off, dragging Mark with her. On the way back, Noah cradled the graphics card like a precious treasure. I looked at his profile and suddenly found him much more appealing. “Thanks, back there.” Noah grunted. “I was saving the card, not you.” Back at our workshop, the atmosphere grew tense. The “product launch” Jessica mentioned was the new department’s public debut. According to the timeline from my previous life, there was no way they could have a viable product ready. The only reason Jessica was so confident was that she must have found a “shortcut.” Sure enough, at three o’clock that morning, our firewall lit up with frantic red alerts. Someone was attacking our private network. Noah’s fingers danced across the keyboard, code flowing down the screen like a waterfall. “It’s an IP from the old company. They’re scanning our ports.” He sneered. “Trying to steal our code? Not a chance.” Just as he was about to hit Enter to launch a counter-attack, I placed my hand on his. “Don’t stop them.” Noah frowned at me. “Are you insane? This is everything we’ve built.” I stared at the blinking red dot on the screen, a glint of steel in my eyes. “Let them steal it.” I opened a hidden folder. Inside was a code package that looked flawless but was actually riddled with logical bombs. “Put this in the honeypot. And open a small crack in the firewall.” Noah stared at me for a second, then a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “You, woman, have a very dark heart.” “Takes one to know one.”

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He used my ID to open fifty credit cards. I made him pay for ten years. “This is an automated call from Capitol One. Your credit card account is past due. Please remit payment immediately.” The voice on the other end was mechanical and cold. I froze. “A credit card? I don’t have a credit card.” “Ma’am, the card under your name has been delinquent for three months. The outstanding balance, including principal and interest, totals forty-seven thousand eight hundred and ninety-two dollars.” I assumed it was a scam and hung up. The next day, another call came in. A different bank. A different number. The same chilling message: Your credit card is past due. A cold, sick dread began to pool in my stomach. 1. I took a half-day off work and went straight to my bank. The teller checked my Social Security number and looked up, her expression strained. “Ma’am, are you sure you want me to pull all credit card records?” “Yes. All of them.” She tapped the keyboard, and the printer whirred out a long sheet of paper. I took it, and my breath hitched. It wasn’t one card. It was nine. Nine credit cards, every single one delinquent, the oldest overdue by eight months. My hand started to tremble. “This is impossible. I’ve never applied for a credit card…” The teller hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Ma’am, the application address for all of these accounts is the same.” She pointed to a line on the printout. I looked where she indicated. It was my home address. I found myself crouched outside the bank lobby, my mind a blank static screen. I hadn’t opened the cards. But the address was mine. The only person who had access to my ID and knew my address intimately… I couldn’t finish the thought. When I got home, Garrett Wells wasn’t back from the office yet. I tore through our bedroom, and in the very bottom of his dresser drawer, beneath a pile of unused ties, I found a manila envelope. Inside were more credit card statements. Not nine. Twenty-three. Every single one used. Every single one carrying a crushing balance. The smallest owed eight hundred dollars, the largest, twelve thousand. I tallied them, my hand shaking so hard I had to stop. What was the total? I couldn’t bear to calculate it. The sound of the key turning in the front door lock made me jump. Garrett walked in and saw me sitting on the floor, the colorful bank statements scattered around me like fallen leaves. His face went white. “You… you went through my things?” I looked up, meeting his eye. “What are these?” He didn’t answer, his gaze shifting wildly around the room. “I’m asking you, Garrett. Were these credit cards opened using my Social Security number and my ID?” “…” “Garrett Wells!” He finally spoke, his voice weak and reedy: “I meant to pay them off, Astrid… I’ve just been short lately…” I gave a short, bitter laugh. Three years of marriage. Every month, I deposited my paycheck, kept five hundred dollars for groceries and incidentals, and transferred the rest to him to “help with the mortgage.” I hadn’t bought a new dress over sixty-five dollars since our wedding. I packed my lunch every day, never splurging on takeout. I thought we were saving, paying down debt together, building a future. I was wrong. He had been using my identity, opening cards, charging them to the limit, maxing out my credit history. And I knew nothing. “How many cards, Garrett?” He said nothing. “What is the total balance?” Still silence. I stared at him. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll go find out myself.” “…Don’t go, I’ll handle it.” “Handle it? How will you handle it?” “I’ll figure something out…” “With whose money? Mine?” He lifted his head, a complex flicker in his eyes. “We’re married. We’re a unit. What’s the difference?” I was stunned into silence. I’d heard that phrase a thousand times. When we married, he said “we’re a unit,” so his name alone was on the house deed. When we bought the car, he said “we’re a unit,” so I paid the entire down payment. When it came to my monthly paycheck, he said “we’re a unit,” so I handed it all over for him to manage. I’d always thought it meant trust. I realized then that, in his mind, “we’re a unit” meant: Your money is my money, and my debt is yours. I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed, listening to his heavy, oblivious breathing. He slept like a baby. And I spent the entire night grappling with a single, horrifying question: Who exactly did I marry? The next morning, I called in sick. I drove to a different bank. I found five more cards. Then a third, a fourth, a fifth bank… With every discovery, a new layer of frost settled over my heart. The final number was a punch to the gut— Fifty. Fifty credit cards, all opened in my name, using my identity. Some had been opened in person, others applied for online. The application forms—for employment, income verification, contact details—were all fraudulent. But the handwriting in the signature boxes was unmistakable. It was his. I stood in the bank’s printing area for a long time, clutching the thick stack of paper. A staff member asked, “Ma’am, are you okay?” I nodded. “Do you need me to call anyone for you?” “No.” I walked out of the bank with the debt statements in my hand. The sunlight was bright. People rushed past, preoccupied with their own lives. No one knew that my world had just collapsed. 2. I didn’t go straight home. I found a coffee shop, sat down, and started poring over the statements, one by one. Fifty cards. A total outstanding balance of $485,000. $485,000. My salary was $4,200 a month. How many years would it take me to pay that off, even if I didn’t eat or pay rent? Decades. I was twenty-eight. I’d be in my sixties by the time this was done. The sheer absurdity of it made me feel hysterically cold. I’d been frugal for three years, thinking I was saving for our future. It turned out my husband was using my identity to rack up a half-million dollars in debt. And I hadn’t spent a single penny of it on myself. The transaction records were clear. Hotel: $480. Club/Lounge: $320. Luxury Boutique: $1,200. Jewelry Store: $860. Transfer: $500. Transfer: $1,000. Transfer: $2,000… The recipient of the transfers was the same name, over and over again. Candace Price. I didn’t know the name. But looking at the spending, my husband knew her well. Hotel bookings forty-seven times. No fewer than twenty pieces of high-end luxury goods. Total transfers exceeding $70,000. I stared at the name, feeling a weird, unnatural calm. So it wasn’t just about stealing my money. It was about another woman. I sent Garrett a text: “Meet me. Now.” He replied instantly: “What’s wrong?” “Just come.” He arrived at the coffee shop half an hour later. He sat down, glanced at the stack of bills on the table, and his face changed color. “You… you checked?” “Fifty cards. $485,000. Candace Price.” I spoke the words one by one, watching his face turn utterly pale. “I can explain…” “Don’t bother.” I cut him off. “I only have one question for you.” “How are you going to pay it back?” He blinked, thrown off balance. “What do you mean?” “The $485,000. How do you plan to pay it back?” “I… I’ll figure something out…” “What? Are you going to keep using my ID to open more cards?” He fell silent. “Or are you expecting me to help you pay it?” He looked up, a sliver of desperate hope in his eyes. “Well, under the law… marital debt is supposed to be shared…” I smiled, a tight, horrible expression. “Garrett, I make $4,200 a month. You want me to pay $485,000?” “We can pay it slowly…” “Slowly?” I rose to my feet. “You used my ID to open these cards, maxed out my credit, and used my money to finance your mistress. Now you want me to pay it ‘slowly’?” He flinched at my tone, his voice trembling. “I… I’m so sorry, Astrid.” “Sorry? You’ve been ‘sorry’ for three years. Fifty cards. That took you three years to accomplish.” I picked up my bag and looked him straight in the eye. “You have three days. In three days, you either have a concrete plan to pay this off, or—” “Or what?” “Or I’m calling the police.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard him call out: “You can’t call the police! You’ll ruin me! How can you be so heartless?” I didn’t look back. Heartless? Were you heartless when you opened fifty cards in my name? Were you heartless when you transferred money to another woman using my stolen credit? Were you heartless when you let me pack a $15 lunch every day while you spent my future on her? Three years. Every penny I saved went into his pocket. The “working together” I believed in was a joke. The “shared future” was my one-sided delusion. $485,000. It was a number I would never forget. 3. Three days later, Garrett hadn’t “figured something out.” His solution was to send his mother. My mother-in-law’s call came in, her tone much harder than usual. “Astrid, Garrett told me. You two have had a little misunderstanding.” “A misunderstanding?” “Yes, a misunderstanding. Garrett was just foolish, borrowed a little money. Don’t be so dramatic.” “Ma’am, $485,000. Do you call that ‘a little’?” A second of silence on the line. “…It was for the family.” “For the family? He used my ID to open cards and transferred $70,000 to another woman. Is that ‘for the family’?” Her voice rose sharply. “How can you, a woman, be so mean-spirited? A man has business to attend to, what’s the big deal about spending money? If you’d been a better wife and focused on starting a family, Garrett wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere!” I froze. Not because her words were hurtful. But because, in that instant, I finally saw this family for who they were. A half-million dollars in debt was a “little misunderstanding.” $70,000 for a mistress was “normal business.” And me? I was the wife who hadn’t bought a new outfit in three years, packed my lunch, and gave up my entire salary. In her eyes, I was merely the daughter-in-law who hadn’t produced a child yet. And I deserved to be swindled. “Ma’am,” I took a deep breath. “I will not help him pay this debt. Not one cent.” “What do you mean? You are his wife! His debt is your debt!” “It is not.” “Astrid! Are you trying to destroy my son?” “He used my ID to open cards and stole my money to pay his mistress. This is not marital debt; this is identity theft and fraud.” A gasp was audible through the phone. “You… you’re going to call the police?” “If he doesn’t pay, yes.” “You are wicked! Your heart is black! My son was blind to marry you!” “I was the one who was blind.” I hung up. Garrett came home that night. His attitude was much softer than before. “Babe, I really am sorry. Can you just give me more time? I’ll find a way to pay it back slowly…” “Slowly? What means do you have to pay it back at all?” “I… I can take out a loan…” “A loan? In whose name? Using my ID again?” He went quiet. “Garrett, I’m asking you one last time. The $485,000. How will you pay it back?” He looked at me, his eyes darting away. “I can pay you $500 a month…” “$500? $485,000. How many years will that take?” “…Forty-plus years.” “You’re thirty-two. Forty years from now, you’ll be in your seventies.” “Then… then what do you want me to do?” I looked at him. Three years of marriage. Three years of deprivation. Three years of willful blindness. I felt utterly exhausted. “I want a divorce.” He was stunned. “What?” “I said, divorce. The debt is yours to manage. It has nothing to do with me.” “You… you can’t do this!” “Why can’t I?” “We’re married! You can’t just abandon me!” I smiled humorlessly. “When I was scrimping and saving, did you care about me?” “I…” “When you were transferring money to another woman, did you think of me?”

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My boyfriend was getting intimate with my best friend right above me. I was hiding under the bed, secretly recording everything. Suddenly, her moans turned into bloodcurdling screams. The bed shook violently, and blood cascaded onto the floor like a waterfall. Then, my best friend’s severed head rolled off the mattress, her wide, dead eyes staring straight at me. 01 My soul nearly left my body. “What is happening? Did my boyfriend just kill someone?” I had only come here today to catch a cheater. I never expected to stumble into a murder scene. Above me, my boyfriend, Ethan, was chuckling darkly. The wet, sickening sound of a blade piercing flesh was clear and rhythmic. I clamped my hand over my mouth, forcing myself to stay silent as tears streamed down my face. “Why? Why is he doing this?” A few minutes later, Ethan’s movements stopped. As if exhausted from the exertion, he lay back on the blood-soaked bed and lit a cigarette. Just then, my phone buzzed with a WeChat notification. My heart slammed against my ribs. I desperately covered the phone. But he heard the vibration. “Hmm?” He made a questioning sound. The mattress creaked. He was lifting the covers, looking for the source of the noise. I almost sobbed out loud, fumbling frantically to switch my phone to silent mode. The second I hit the mute switch, Ethan called me. Buzz… Buzz… The silent call screen lit up the darkness under the bed. He let it ring for a full minute. When I didn’t answer, he hung up and sent a voice message. “Babe, are you asleep? I have to work late tonight, so I won’t be coming home.” After sending it, I saw his feet slide into slippers and hit the floor. The floor was covered in Sarah’s blood. Ethan walked through it, leaving a trail of bloody footprints. He seemed to be searching for something in the room. Suddenly, he coughed violently twice. I jolted, so tense I forgot to breathe. Sarah’s bloody head was right in front of me, staring. Her severed neck was still oozing, her face frozen in a mask of shock and terror. Ethan walked around the room naked but didn’t seem to find anything. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a cleaver, and returned to the bed. His large feet were inches from my face. Then, he began to dismantle the body. Chop after chop, as casual as a butcher cutting meat. Accidentally, he kicked Sarah’s head. The gory object rolled deeper under the bed, coming to rest cheek-to-cheek with me. I slammed my hands over my mouth, shaking uncontrollably. The metallic stench of blood was overpowering; I wanted to vomit. I don’t know where I got the courage, but I reached out and pushed her head outward slightly. Just as Ethan stepped forward, he kicked the head like a soccer ball, sending it flying across the room. Ethan paused, stopping his work. Blood dripped steadily from the cleaver in his hand. I prayed silently in my heart: Don’t look under the bed. Please, don’t look under the bed. After a few seconds of hesitation, he walked over to retrieve the head. I let out a silent breath. I was safe for the moment. My brain raced, trying to find a way out. Sarah lived on the 10th floor. Jumping out the window was impossible. My only chance was to wait until Ethan finished disposing of the body and left. But could I last that long? Blood was spreading toward me. I wormed my body further back, trying to avoid the crimson pool inching toward my lips. Ethan chopped for a while longer. Suddenly, one of Sarah’s hands fell to the floor. My heart nearly stopped. If he bent down to pick it up, he would definitely see me. Ethan paused, then slowly bent at the waist to grab the hand. I squeezed my eyes shut, choking back a scream, praying to any god that would listen. The next second, a knock pounded on the door. 02 Ethan froze, holding that bent-over posture, motionless. Bang, bang, bang. The knocking continued, followed by a loud shout: “I’m back! Open the door!” I recognized the voice. It was Mike, Sarah’s boyfriend. Ethan hesitated for a moment, coughed twice, then straightened up and walked toward the door. He put on some clean clothes, hid the cleaver behind his back, and stood by the entrance. My stomach twisted into knots. If Mike broke in and fought Ethan, maybe I could escape in the chaos. Thinking this, I scooted closer to the edge of the bed, ready to bolt. Ethan hesitated, then opened the door. “What took so long?” Mike’s voice sounded irritated from the hallway. My heart went cold. Mike knew about the affair? It sounded like the two men had an arrangement. Ethan smoked his cigarette, saying nothing. Only then did Mike notice the blood on Ethan and the nauseating smell filling the air. His face went pale. “You… what did you do?” Ethan smiled eerily. “Isn’t it obvious?” “You… you killed her?” Mike was stunned. He grabbed Ethan’s collar. “You said we were just playing around! Why did you kill her?” “I thought you didn’t care if she lived or died,” Ethan said calmly. Murder seemed as trivial to him as buying groceries. Mike collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Ethan’s eyes were cold, but his lips curved into a smile. “Help me get rid of her. If the cops find out, you won’t get away with it either.” Mike snapped, shouting, “Bullshit! You killed her! I didn’t know anything! You can’t drag me down with you!” Ethan moved suddenly. He grabbed Mike by the collar and pressed the cleaver against his throat. “Let me rephrase. Help me dispose of her, or I’ll kill you right now.” Mike finally broke. His lips trembled, unable to speak, so he just nodded vigorously. Ethan released him and jerked his head toward the bedroom, signaling him to start. Mike walked shakily to the bed. Despite being mentally prepared, seeing Sarah’s butchered remains made him vomit instantly. “Useless,” Ethan sneered. He picked up two large garbage bags and went into the kitchen. I huddled under the bed, watching Mike retch while he tried to bag the body parts. Suddenly, a piece of Sarah’s arm fell to the floor again. Mike bent down to pick it up and froze. He saw me. My eyes trembled. I pressed a finger to my lips in a “shh” motion. Mike instinctively looked toward the kitchen. He didn’t speak. His lips moved silently, and I read his words: Run. Call the police. I shuddered and nodded hard. Ethan was chopping something loudly in the kitchen, oblivious to the situation here. I slowly crawled out from under the bed, my bare feet squelching on the blood-slicked floor. I inched toward the door. The distance was only a few steps, but it felt like miles. I kept my eyes glued to the kitchen, terrified Ethan would turn around. Perhaps because the chopping was too loud, or maybe Mike was intentionally making noise to cover me, I made it out the door. In the hallway, a cold draft hit me, making me shiver. Only then did I realize my clothes were soaked through with cold sweat. I tried to run, but my legs gave out, and I collapsed. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw the door handle behind me turn. The overwhelming will to survive flooded my body with adrenaline. I scrambled up and ran toward the stairs. I lived in the same building as Sarah. She was on the 10th floor; I was on the 18th. When I bought the place, Sarah told me the 18th floor was bad luck, but I wasn’t superstitious, and it was cheap. I ran up eight flights of stairs in one breath. Reaching my door, I fumbled to open the smart lock and rushed inside, finally feeling a sliver of safety. I slapped myself hard across the face to make sure what I just saw wasn’t a nightmare. In my mind, Ethan was a gentle, mild-mannered man. An honest guy who would rather suffer a loss than hurt others. I couldn’t reconcile him with that psychopathic killer. And judging by his proficiency, this wasn’t his first kill. 03 A few days ago, I noticed something was off. I found a long pink hair on his coat. It was a rare dye color, and Sarah had just dyed her hair that shade. At first, I didn’t want to believe it. Ethan loved me. The only times I ever saw him angry were when someone mistreated me. Sarah was promiscuous and morally loose, while Ethan was the quiet, stoic type. I didn’t think they would hook up. But reality hit me hard. While Ethan was sleeping, I checked his phone. Initially, I found nothing. But soon, I discovered a “Second Space”—a hidden interface on his phone. Inside, it wasn’t just dating apps. There was a dedicated account for contacting Sarah. And then there were the photos. Horrifying, grotesque photos. Girls being tortured, bruised, battered. Some were dismembered, chopped in half. All the girls had blonde hair. I have blonde hair. I never imagined that beneath his gentle exterior, his fetishes were this vile. Then I saw the chat logs with Sarah. Sar-bear: “Honey, he’s not home tomorrow. I’ll wait for you.” Sar-bear: “Don’t worry, I’ll give you an experience Chloe never could.” Attached was a nude photo. Ethan replied with a suggestive sticker. I was consumed by rage and tears. I never thought my best friend would seduce my boyfriend. That was why I left work early today and hid under her bed—to catch them in the act. I never expected Ethan to butcher her. Why? And Mike knew about their affair. Why didn’t he stop it? My mind was a mess. I pulled at my hair helplessly. After a moment of shock, I realized I had to call the police. Mike was in danger. I grabbed my phone with trembling hands. The case was stained red with blood. “Hello? 911, what is your emergency?” A gentle female voice answered. I was overjoyed and about to speak. At the exact same moment, the sound of my smart lock opening echoed through the apartment. Beep. Fingerprint verified. Door open. I froze, terror washing over my face. “Hello? Ma’am?” the dispatcher asked. I hung up immediately. Ethan walked into the living room. “Babe? Not asleep yet? Who were you calling?” “No… no one,” I stammered, face pale, body shaking. He had changed into clean clothes. He looked like the same refined, gentle man as always. Completely different from the butcher at the murder scene. “Babe, why is there blood on your clothes?” He noticed the stains and looked slightly surprised. I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming. “I… fell off my bike.” He stared at me, his expression complex. “So, the person who ran away just now… was you?” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My legs went soft. Ethan stepped forward and caught me. “Sorry, babe. Did I scare you?” He blushed slightly, looking as guilty as a child who broke a vase. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” I shoved him away with all my strength, retreating a few steps. “You… why did you kill her?” He looked at me calmly. “Babe, she was your best friend, yet she seduced me. Didn’t she deserve to die?” I was stunned. “Just for that? You killed her?” He nodded and tried to hug me again. I dodged. “She claimed to be your best friend but hurt you like that. I couldn’t stand it. She had to die.” I stared at him. This face was so familiar, yet so alien. His reason was absurd. “Hypocrite! Then why did you sleep with her?” He went silent, lowering his head. “I’m sorry, babe. But you have to believe me. I really did it for you.” I suddenly remembered something. I stared wide-eyed. “What about Mike?” “Dead.” “No… I have to call the police.” Panic overtook me. I grabbed my phone, but Ethan snatched it away, a flash of ferocity in his eyes. I shivered and backed away, afraid he would snap and kill me too. But the murderous look vanished instantly. He grabbed my shoulders, looking at me sincerely. “Babe, just pretend you didn’t see anything today. I’ll handle everything.” “Can we go back to living like we used to?” I trembled, then nodded. No matter what, I had to feign compliance to have any hope of escape. Seeing I forgave him, Ethan seemed happy. He coughed twice, hugged me tight, then pulled a necklace from his pocket and clasped it around my neck. “Babe, tomorrow is our anniversary. This is your gift. I wanted to give it to you tomorrow.” He smiled at me. I looked down at the necklace, trembling. “Babe, I won’t let anyone who wants to hurt you get away with it.” I didn’t speak. I eyed the heavy metal water bottle on the table. He let go of me, his face gentle. “Look at you, covered in filth. Go wash up.” “Mhm.” I waited for him to turn slightly. Then I grabbed the water bottle and smashed it into the back of his head with everything I had. He groaned, stumbled back, blood streaming down his forehead. His eyes were full of shock. I didn’t look back. I threw the door open and ran for my life. Ethan sighed, wiping the blood from his face. “Why… why just won’t you listen?” 04 I knew I wouldn’t get far before Ethan caught me. If he did, I was dead. I ran down to the 17th floor and pounded on the door of unit 1703. Professor Sterling lived there. I didn’t know his first name, just called him Professor. He moved in recently, in his 30s, refined and scholarly. I had a good impression of him. “Professor Sterling! Professor! Are you home? Ethan is trying to kill me!” I hammered on the door, screaming in terror. Footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Ethan was coming. There was no movement inside. I started to cry. “Babe, come home. This is your last chance.” Ethan’s gloomy face emerged from the darkness of the stairwell like a demon from hell, approaching step by step. Just as I fell into despair, the door opened. A pair of hands yanked me inside. Slam. The door locked. The relief of surviving made me gasp for air. Arms wrapped around my shoulders. Under Professor Sterling’s comfort, I slowly calmed down. Finding a safe harbor, I hugged him and wailed. Sterling’s body stiffened noticeably. I felt his breathing accelerate. After a hesitation, he hugged me back. I cried for five minutes before calming down, releasing him awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Professor, I…” Sterling adjusted his glasses, interrupting my apology. When he saw the blood on my clothes, he paused but quickly recovered. “Miss Chloe, what happened? Fight with Ethan?” Terror filled my face. I shook my head. “Ethan is a murderer. He killed my best friend and her boyfriend. I think he wants to kill me now.” Sterling looked stunned, lowering his head in thought. “You’re not joking?” “No! I saw it with my own eyes.” I patted my pockets anxiously to call the police, remembering Ethan still had my phone. “Professor, please call 911! If he gets in, we’re done!” Sterling nodded, stood up, and dialed the number, explaining the situation to the dispatcher. After hanging up, he leaned against the table, staring at me with a strange expression. I was about to speak when violent banging shook the door. “Babe, stop making a scene. Come home.” Ethan’s voice came from the hallway. “Ethan, I’ve called the police! Turn yourself in!” I shouted back, trembling. Ethan was silent for a moment, hit the door hard once more, then his footsteps receded. He seemed to have left. I collapsed onto the sofa. Sterling was still staring at me. His gaze was odd—full of suspicion and doubt. “Chloe, calm down. What exactly happened?” I told him everything about today, detail by detail. His expression shifted, becoming serious. “Chloe, have you heard of the Westside Strangler?” I paused, my eyes changing slightly, then nodded slowly. “The Westside Strangler is a serial killer. In six years, he brutally raped and murdered five women.” “He’s extremely skilled at counter-surveillance. I was fortunate enough to consult for the task force hunting him… I know some inside details.” He looked down. “The Strangler’s victims were all blondes without exception. The killer has a specific fetish.” “And you happen to be blonde. Plus the photos you found on Ethan’s phone…” A strange light flashed in Sterling’s eyes. “I am certain. Ethan is the Westside Strangler.” I sat frozen, unable to process it. I had been married to Ethan for four years. He had always been kind to me, never losing his temper. Was I just prey he was raising for the slaughter? No wonder he was so efficient at killing Sarah. I sat on the floor, pulling at my hair in agony. If I hadn’t found out today, I would have ended up like those girls. Sterling sighed and patted my shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. You’re safe for now. The police will be here soon.” I looked at him blankly and nodded. Sterling boiled water and made me a cup of tea. It smelled incredibly fragrant, soothing my nerves. “Thank you, Professor.” I smiled gently at him. He seemed shy, coughing lightly, cheeks flushing. “It’s nothing. I couldn’t just leave you to die.” After drinking the tea, I checked the time. It had been almost an hour since the call. Why weren’t the police here? Sterling saw my confusion and comforted me: “Don’t worry. They should be here any minute.” He stood up, smiling slightly. “After all this, you must be exhausted. Sleep for a bit.” I hesitated, but my mind was indeed nearing collapse, so I agreed. He walked to the closet to get me a blanket. Strange. He lived alone. Why did he have a pink duvet set? Exhaustion hit me like a wave. I yawned, eyelids heavy. Suddenly, a loud crash startled me. Sterling had accidentally knocked over a box while getting the duvet. I walked over to help him pick it up. “No need, I got it,” his voice pitched up two octaves. He tried to block me. But I had already flipped the box open. My eyes widened in horror.

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I stumbled upon a Reddit post. The OP wrote: “My family arranged an engagement with her to repay a debt. Now the wedding is coming up, but I’ve always seen her as a little sister. What should I do?” At first, I thought it was just some fiction. But the more I read, the more the female lead sounded like me. The comments section exploded. Everyone told him not to waste the girl’s time. Some even suggested that repaying a debt didn’t require marriage and urged him to convince his parents to adopt her as a daughter instead. After hesitating for a long time, the OP replied: “Okay, I’ll try.” But later. He fell in love at first sight with me, whom he hadn’t seen in a long time. Me: ??? 1. Many details in the post matched my life perfectly. Initially, I wasn’t sure if the post was written by my fiancé, Ethan Vance. Until the next day, Mrs. Vance called. “Sophie, I have something to discuss with you. Is now a good time?” I had a premonition. I put down my work and walked to the window. “I have time. What’s up?” To avoid being too stiff, I added, “How have you been lately, Mrs. Vance? Is Mr. Vance’s knee pain any better?” Mrs. Vance’s tone was rarely hesitant. “We’re all fine.” “Here’s the thing. You and Ethan haven’t seen each other for a few years. I wanted to ask, how do you feel about the engagement?” How do I feel? I opened the window, playing with a branch, letting the cold air hit my face. “Mrs. Vance, I know Mr. Vance arranged the engagement because he wanted me to feel secure in your home. Back then, Ethan and I were young and didn’t really understand what it meant.” Giving up the engagement to become purely family with Mr. Vance? I had no objections. In fact, I looked forward to it. This way, Mrs. Vance would feel better and stop being prejudiced against me. My uncle was Mr. Vance’s secretary. Years ago, he took a knife for Mr. Vance during a mugging. Later, my uncle died in an accident while on a business trip. I was the only relative left. Mr. Vance was loyal and took me in. Worried I wouldn’t feel at home, he arranged a “childhood engagement” between me and Ethan. But things backfired. I was mocked as the “child bride” of the Vance family since I was little. Ethan always stood in front of me, arguing with others and shielding me from gossip. But as we grew up, teenage awkwardness turned his protection into annoyance. That summer, he had a huge fight with Mr. Vance: “If you want to repay the debt, marry her yourself! Why force me?” Living under someone else’s roof made me sensitive. I changed my college application without a word. I left and didn’t return to the Vance home for two whole years. At first, I couldn’t face them. Later, I was too busy to return. Suddenly leaving the Vance family’s influence and entering a new environment meant doing everything myself. For a long time, I was just adapting. But it was a good thing. It fostered my independence. True self-reinvention. 2. Coming back to the present. Those arguments felt like a lifetime ago. I had reconnected with Mr. Vance long ago. When Ethan wasn’t home, I visited Mr. Vance many times. But every time I mentioned breaking the engagement, he said to wait and see. I was going back this time mainly to start a business. I wanted Mr. Vance’s experienced advice on whether my idea was feasible. I didn’t expect that telling them a month in advance would cause such a huge reaction from Ethan, making him think I was coming back to fulfill the engagement. Thinking of something, I walked to my desk, opened the drawer, and took out my old phone. I tried searching for the OP’s account with my main account. Found out his account had blocked my main account. Everything was clear. I hadn’t been in touch with Ethan for too many years. He didn’t know I had changed all my accounts. The algorithm pushed his burner account’s post to my new account. Thinking of this, I felt a bit melancholic. When we were young and naive, we didn’t think being fiancés was bad. We even thought being together forever was wonderful. We didn’t understand. The word “forever” can sometimes weigh as heavy as a curse. In high school, he gained a clear understanding of responsibility. I, the designated fiancée, was like a cage binding his freedom. After growing up, I had been trying to break the engagement. Facing Mrs. Vance, I couldn’t be too obvious, or it would seem like I disliked her son. “Why ask this suddenly, Mrs. Vance? Is Ethan dating someone?” I knew. Mrs. Vance didn’t want me as a daughter-in-law. But she also felt guilty towards me. If not for working for Mr. Vance, my only relative wouldn’t have left me. Hearing this, she sighed in relief. “No, he’s not dating.” “I have an idea, I don’t know if you agree. You’re both grown up now, but haven’t experienced much. You shouldn’t be limited by a paper engagement. How about I adopt you as my daughter?” Hearing this, I smiled relaxedly. “That sounds great. I have no objections.” She was probably still worried, emphasizing, “Okay, when you come back, your Uncle… your Dad and I will take you to change the household registration. If we do it, we do it as real family!” I agreed happily. “Great! Remember to prepare a gift for me, Mom!” 3. A month later, I returned to Seattle. The airport was quiet at night. Dragging my exhaustion, I walked out with the crowd. “Sophie, over here!” I looked up and saw Mr. Vance, looking as refined as ever. Mrs. Vance beside him waved at me. Time hadn’t left many marks on their well-maintained faces; they looked as spirited as last year. I didn’t expect them to come specifically to pick me up. The joy of seeing family made me drop my luggage and run over. “Why did you come so late?” Getting closer, I realized Mrs. Vance looked a bit awkward, and Mr. Vance’s smile was forced. I understood immediately. They acted first and reported later regarding the adoption, hiding it from Mr. Vance. Thinking of this, I hugged them tightly without a word, excitedly saying, “Should I call you Mom and Dad now?” I called them Mom and Dad a few times, happily saying, “Finally, I can come home legitimately!” Mr. Vance kept a straight face. “Why couldn’t you come home before?” I let Mrs. Vance put a scarf on me, grumbling dissatisfiedly: “Don’t mention it. You and Ethan fought so fiercely back then! It was so awkward for me; I felt like a disaster. This is much better. I said there were better ways to repay kindness. Dad, you were too old-fashioned, insisting on some arranged marriage nonsense.” Mr. Vance’s furrowed brows finally relaxed a little, lost in thought. Clearly, he hadn’t considered many things. Mrs. Vance’s smile became much more sincere, urging: “It’s too cold, let’s get in the car and have some soup.” In the car. Mr. Vance’s face warmed up considerably. We tacitly didn’t mention Ethan. It was past nine when we got home. After eating and drinking, I threw myself onto the bed in my room. I had to say, I still liked the Vance family. Mr. Vance was my most solid support. The elder who would accept me as soon as I turned back. The next day, Mrs. Vance knocked on my door at ten. “Do you have time now?” I knew immediately what she meant. “To change the registration?” “Yes, your Unc… your Dad is waiting downstairs.” She smiled a bit unnaturally. Things went smoother than expected. After the paperwork was done and we returned to the car, Mr. Vance stuffed six property deeds into my hands. “I bought these for you years ago. Thought I’d give them to you when you got married.” Mrs. Vance said cheerfully: “I prepared jewelry and clothes for you. Go back and try them on. If they don’t fit, I’ll have them send another batch. The custom ones will take a while.” I hugged her arm, calling clingily: “Thanks, Mom~” This sentence made Mrs. Vance beam with joy. Some people, if they become daughters-in-law, don’t look right no matter what. But if they become daughters, it seems different. I remember overhearing her on the phone with a friend when I was little. She said: “I told Old Vance, our family isn’t short of money. I’d rather give her more compensation later than tie up my son’s life. But Old Vance got angry with me…” 4. Later, Ethan and Mr. Vance started fighting. Mrs. Vance argued angrily with Mr. Vance. “What did I say? We shouldn’t have set it up when they were young and ignorant. You said I was being snobbish. Now look, your son doesn’t even recognize you as his father!” That summer, only Mr. Vance and I were left at home. Whenever there was movement outside. He would subconsciously adjust his sitting posture. But neither Mrs. Vance nor Ethan came back. His loneliness became the root of my sadness. I never wanted to be a burden to others. I worked towards this direction. Wanted to do everything perfectly. In the end, I did nothing well. Now, I suddenly felt a bit grateful to the netizen who came up with the idea. Wandering outside for so many years. I could finally return home with peace of mind. Ethan, having avoided me for so long, could probably come home safely today too. … The conflict between me and the Vance family. Suddenly resolved! In a good mood, I wanted to find someone to talk to. I immediately asked my friend, Lana, to go to a place I didn’t usually like. While biting my straw and complaining to Lana about how hard it was to start a business, her eye started twitching. Confused, I blinked back at her and turned my head. As I turned, a figure approached. My head bumped directly into the person’s chest, my hair catching on his button. The person held my head, his cool tone carrying a soothing meaning: “Don’t move.” My heart trembled. After he untangled me, I was still a bit dazed, forgetting to thank him. Before I could react, a silver phone was handed to me. He said to me: “Can I get your contact info?” I froze, my gaze falling on his fair knuckles, wrapped in a band-aid. This inopportunely reminded me of Ethan. When he was in a bad mood, he liked to box or practice Jiu-Jitsu. The young master’s hands were too precious, often injured from excessive force. So every time he came back from the gym, I would pull him over to treat his wounds. The moment I looked up and saw Ethan. I was stunned, my heart tingling faintly. Turns out, saying “it’s fine” when not seeing him was easy. But upon sudden reunion, my heart’s reaction couldn’t lie to myself. The sentence “Can I get your contact info” belatedly rushed into my brain. I let out a short: “Huh?” Probably my confused expression was too exaggerated. It made him laugh. The fragmented light in his black eyes, almost gentle, made my heart skip a beat again. He pointed to the distance: “Truth or Dare. Can you help me out?” I followed his gaze. I just thought it was lively over there and hadn’t looked, but now I realized that table was full of acquaintances. 5. Thinking he just wanted me to help him cheat, I took out my phone and let him scan my QR code. He returned to his seat, and the group booed unhappily. Someone hit the person who came up with the idea with an inflatable hammer: “Asking such a handsome guy to get a girl’s WeChat, what were you thinking?” Because I started paying attention to them. Their words fell into my ears without omission. As Ethan sat down, his good buddy, Liam, pulled him and asked: “Sophie is coming back. It’s not right for you to keep hiding from her! Are you going back today?” Ethan tutted: “My mom said I can go back.” Liam grinned: “Told you posting online would find a good solution!” Lana, sitting opposite me, was stunned. I was also surprised. Are people so arrogant nowadays? We were only two tables away. Discussing me right in front of my face? Lana pulled my sleeve: “Wait, did he not recognize you???” I turned sideways, sipping my drink. Back then, Lana and I went to the same college. In the six years I avoided Ethan. Lana had no reason to meet Ethan either. This led to… The lighting was dim. He might… not have recognized me and Lana. For a moment, I almost didn’t know what expression to make. But the topic over there wasn’t over. Another friend, Kyle, pushed a drink to him. “So what if it’s a good idea? If she still wants to marry you later, will she call you Brother or Husband?” “Hey, what are you talking about?” Liam smoothed things over dissatisfiedly. Kyle laughed cynically: “Who couldn’t tell she liked Ethan back then?” “Someone with her registration in your book, if any scandal happens, it won’t sound good.” “I say just send her abroad. Save her from causing trouble and gossip!” Lana was furious hearing this, standing up abruptly.

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

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

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