Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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I was once a scientist specializing in bio-engineering. To further my research on interspecies breeding, I dissected a merman I had raised with my own hands. Five years later, I was captured. The merman I had brutally murdered descended like a god and abducted me. I wanted to say thank you, but a sedative was forced down my throat. Chained to a bed, the merman pressed his fingertips against my lower abdomen. “Professor, experiments are so fascinating. Let me explore the limits of the human body, shall I?” Chapter 1 During WWII, there was a form of water torture where water was forced into a prisoner’s stomach. I imagined the pain must be like this. When the distension became uncontrollable, the terror of my stomach exploding followed. I wasn’t afraid of death. I was only afraid of dying right now. “Caspian,” I gripped his wrist, my voice trembling uncontrollably, “Let… let me go…” “Let you go?” Caspian seemed to be waiting for those exact words. He suddenly raised his voice, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. “Professor, isn’t that a little funny coming from you?” I froze slightly. Caspian held my waist, a smile playing on his lips. He spread his fingers and pressed his palm firmly against my swollen lower abdomen. “Professor Vance, did you ever let me go?” An ominous feeling surged in my heart. I dared not hide it anymore and said quickly, “I’ll die if you do this. Really, I really carried your spawn.” Caspian’s gaze suddenly changed. The hand pressing on my abdomen pushed down mercilessly. “No… Ah!” My scream echoed in the room. Pain surged like a flood, crushing me to the bottom of the ocean. Waves of heat exploded in my lower abdomen, the smell of blood rising. I could even hear the sound of the eggshell scratching my internal organs. Endless pain buried me. Before I passed out, I vaguely saw Caspian brushing away his wet bangs. “Professor, never trust anyone. That’s what you taught me.” His smile was still innocent, but his words were so cruel. “If you dare lie to me like that again, I’ll carve you open with my own hands, just like you did to me back then.” Chapter 2 Carve. What a cold, painful, and bloody word. But six years ago, I did indeed do that to Caspian. I still remember that day. The little merman was strapped to my operating table, his two small hands clenched into fists. Even though his claws could tear through metal, he didn’t struggle an inch. He just opened those eyes and looked at me quietly. As if this was no different from the past. I wasn’t about to dissect him cruelly; I was about to feed him milk, help him bathe, and comb his beautiful hair with a seashell comb. The scalpel I held could not fall. The voice in my earpiece was exceptionally cold. It said, “Professor Vance, think about the future of humanity. The human population has dropped off a cliff. Only by finding a method for multiple births can we change the fate of human extinction. We need the merman’s genetic data.” I looked at the little merman, my hand shaking. “He is just an experimental subject. Bred by humans, he must sacrifice for humans,” my superior was impatient. “If you can’t do it, send him to Professor Stone. Someone will do it for you.” Professor Stone, the notorious devil researcher. Creatures falling into his hands would suffer endless torture, living a life worse than death until every last bit of use was squeezed out. Caspian was destined to die. I couldn’t bear for him to suffer like that. The scalpel fell, blood splattering onto my eyes. Caspian was very polite: “Professor, you’ve made up your mind. Are you killing me?” I nodded, holding back tears. “Oh,” Caspian raised his hand and touched my eyes, “Don’t cry. Professor can’t bear it either. Professor said he would love me forever, right?” The scalpel in my hand sliced through the merman’s lower body. The beautiful fishtail was cut open, the blood scalding hot, burning my fingers. “Right?” Caspian was persistent. Mermen, what a mysterious and ancient species. They can live forever on love, or become immortal through hatred. I could no longer fulfill the love he wanted. What about hate? “Don’t be so sure,” I endured the pain in my chest. “After all, you are no different from other experimental subjects. So baby, don’t trust anyone easily again.” “Still calling me baby,” Caspian smiled, as if the knife hadn’t pierced his chest. “Professor just can’t let go of me. Even if we are experimental subjects, I’m your favorite. Otherwise, why would you only help me through my heat cycle?” “Right?” Caspian asked me. His tone was calm, his eyes gentle and firm. That was the look of someone who had been spoiled by my complete bias. “Right?” “Right?” “Right?” Receiving no answer, Caspian asked again and again, his voice on the verge of collapse. I only remember my hand getting steadier and steadier, until finally, I cut his throat. His clear voice became exceptionally hoarse, like an abandoned broken bellows. And the confidence in his eyes was on the verge of collapse. The sky outside the window was covered in blood red. The little merman slowly closed his eyes, and a crimson pearl finally rolled down from the corner of his eye. He nodded obediently, his voice so light it seemed about to be scattered by the wind. “Okay, baby remembers. Baby won’t trust anyone easily again.” “From now on, Professor is not Professor. Professor is just someone else. Really, I mean it.” Chapter 3 So… Caspian wouldn’t believe my words. He wouldn’t believe the hideous scar on my stomach. Chapter 4 It had been eight full days since that day. In the pitch darkness, I fiddled with the chains on my wrists, smiling bitterly. How much did he hate me to not even look at me? The window was pushed open a crack by a servant, letting in a sliver of light. I grabbed his sleeve. “Where is Caspian?” “Don’t rush,” the servant, wearing pure white gloves, pried my fingers open one by one, his movements cold as a machine. He served five dishes and a soup as usual. “Eat first. Eat well, drink well, recover well. The King will see you.” “Is he letting me go?” “He said he wants to humiliate you properly.” It wasn’t until I was forced to kneel in the courtyard by the servant and heard the moans coming from inside… That I suddenly realized. The weeping was lingering and touching, like a kitten’s claws gently scratching the heartstrings. And Caspian coaxed someone in a low voice, his timbre hoarse and deep. I knelt there, feeling dazed. Was six years that long? In my memory, Caspian had a clear, bright voice. He would whine and cling to me, rubbing my palm with his soft cheek. When I tried to crawl away, he would hook my calf with his cool tail and gently pull me back into his arms. “Professor, you look so beautiful when you cry, but I can’t bear to make you cry.” The boy’s eyes were bright, full of cherished love. “Kiss me, and I’ll let you go, okay?” A shallow kiss could soothe his unbearable, manic heat cycle. But six years later, my hands and feet were bound by cold chains, forced to kneel outside his room without dignity, listening to him being intimate with someone else. The good little fish I raised had turned into a bastard roe. He learned to be human. He was spiting me. I looked up. Dark clouds rolled in the sky; the sun had sunk early. Light rain fell pattering into my eyes. Humans should be honest. I admit. I broke. Taking a deep breath, I tore the iron chains apart and straightened up. The servants looked panicked, pointing swords at me one by one, but none dared to advance. I took a few steps forward and kicked the door open. Caspian turned his head, covering the person beneath him with the quilt, his eyes full of naked provocation. “What are you doing? Could it be…” “Do you know what true humiliation is?” I interrupted him directly. I lifted my foot and stepped on his bare shoulder. “Let me teach you. What you should be doing isn’t him, it’s me.”

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In our seventh year together, Asher’s private social media account was leaked. Post after post, it was a diary of his love life. 【The wife wore a pink sweater today. So cute! I just want to hold her and smother her with kisses!】 【Sang her my new song and she said she loved it! My heart is exploding!】 【Bought her a pink diamond, and the way she smiled… ahhh, I’d buy her the world! Anything my baby wants, she gets!】 【Day two of the concert tour. I miss my wife, ugh. No wife, no motivation. My sweet, soft wife.】 The comment section was a flood of fans swooning. 【OMG, Asher seems so wild and untouchable on the outside, but he’s a total simp in private.】 【LMAO, some people act all cold and indifferent to their S.O. in public, but inside they’re like: I AM MY WIFE’S DOG!】 My best friend forwarded the link to me with a playful jab. “Damn, you’re getting spoiled so much in private!” I scrolled through every single post, reading each one carefully. After a long silence, I replied to my friend. 【I’ve never owned a pink sweater.】 1. Actually, that’s a lie. I did, once. Back when I was chasing Asher, I’d heard a rumor that he liked the sweet, girl-next-door type. I’ve always hated the color pink, but I went out and bought a pink sweater specifically to wear when I brought him a home-cooked meal. It was the dead of winter, and I’d skipped a coat to look better. My face was pale from the cold. Asher finally emerged from the practice room, half an hour late. He looked me up and down, a slow, lazy appraisal. Then he crossed his arms and let out a short, sharp laugh. “Felicity,” he sneered. “You look like a giant pink pig.” The room erupted in laughter. I fled, my cheeks burning. I never wore pink again. My friend’s follow-up text was awkward, trying to smooth things over. 【Hey, don’t overthink it.】 【You know how he is. He probably loved it but just had to say something mean.】 【We all know what Asher’s like.】 She was right. In college, Asher was famous for his sharp tongue and permanent scowl. As my roommate used to say, “Such a handsome guy. It’s a shame he’s not a mute.” Nearly every girl who tried to get his attention was verbally shredded. But I was different. He criticized my clothes, my cooking, and the way I was always around him. But he was also the one who, at a party, would see me sitting alone in a corner and call out in his cold voice, “Hey. Come sit over here.” Later, he became a huge star. At his first stadium concert, he sang an entire love song looking directly at me. Then, the camera panned to my face. The young man on stage looked earnest, his features sharp and beautiful. “I want to introduce you all to someone,” he said. “The leading lady of my life.” The spotlights were blinding. All I remember is his smile cutting through the roar of the crowd. The second he got backstage, his manager tore into him. “Do you want to have fans? Do you want to have a career?” Asher just leaned against the wall, a careless smile on his face. “You don’t know her. She’s sensitive and high-strung. If I didn’t make it official, she’d give me hell for it later.” His career did stall for a few years after that. It only started to recover last year when his new single won a major award. But the person who presented the award to him was a junior artist who had once been far beneath him, a guy who had rocketed to fame after breaking up with his girlfriend of ten years to focus on his career. A reporter asked Asher if he regretted going public with our relationship. “No regrets,” he said, showing the camera the chain around his collarbone. It was the birthday present I’d bought him after working as a food delivery driver for five months. He once told me it was more precious than any trophy. But… In the most recent selfie on his private account, his face was hidden. And the chain around his neck had been replaced. In its place was a cartoon bear pendant from Hello Kitty. He used to say things like that were childish and girly. But now… The caption was ecstatic. 【Got matching necklaces with the wife!】 2. I sat in the living room all night, scrolling through his private account again and again. He said her desserts were delicious. I once spent a whole morning baking him a cake. He took one look at it and threw it in the trash right in front of me. He praised her for being lively, outgoing, and social. I once exchanged a few pleasant words with someone at a party, and he’d sneered, “There you go, showing off again.” He prepared elaborate gifts for her, marking the first day they met, their first week, their first month. This man, who had no patience for anything, would sit at a craft table for an entire day. 【I’m so happy just thinking about her face when she gets it! Her eyes will be sparkling. She’s so damn cute!】 Today was my thirtieth birthday. Asher didn’t even come home. I waited until midnight, then broke down and called him. It rang for a long time before he answered. The music on his end was deafening, a chaotic mix of male and female laughter. “I told you I’m busy, can you stop bothering me!” “What? It’s your birthday today?” “…I forgot.” I silently opened his private account. Ten minutes ago, he had posted: 【Don’t want to go home.】 3. Asher came home just before dawn. The sound of the door opening was followed by a wave of stale alcohol and heavy perfume. Then I saw him, leaning against the doorframe. He was typing on his phone. He noticed the living room light, glanced at me, then his eyes went straight back to his screen. “You’re still up?” “Yeah.” “Oh,” he mumbled, still engrossed in his phone. Someone on the other end must have said something funny, because an unconscious, gentle smile touched his lips. I just sat on the sofa, watching him. After three or four minutes, he finally seemed to register that I was still there. He put his phone away, rubbed his nose, and looked up at me with a frown. “Why aren’t you in bed?” “I…” “Good, you’re up,” he cut me off, plopping down on the sofa next to me. He issued a casual command. “Go make me some tea.” I had studied all sorts of herbal teas to help protect his voice. He always complained they tasted awful, but he would always drink them, grimacing the whole time. But not this time. I brought him the tea. He took one sip, then calmly poured the entire cup into a nearby potted plant. “Tsk. Your skills are really getting worse.” A sharp, searing pain bloomed on my fingers where the hot liquid had splashed. I kept my head down, silent. I thought of another post from his private account. 【The wife burned dinner today, but I ate every last bite!】 Suddenly, this all felt so pointless. “I’m going to bed.” “Hey.” Asher’s voice stopped me. I turned around. A small, palm-sized box hit me in the chest. I let out an involuntary hiss of pain. He frowned, annoyed at himself, then turned his head away. “Happy birthday.” Inside was a cartoon pendant, a matching one to his. A silly-looking teddy bear was grinning inanely. 4. “See? I told you he was talking about you on that account.” My best friend came over the next day. She saw the pendant and launched into a confident reassurance. “That’s just Asher. His bark is worse than his bite. If he really didn’t love you, would he have stayed with you for all these years?” “And look, he’s so careful not to worry you. During his performance the other day, he kept a whole galaxy’s worth of distance between him and his female dance partner.” “And what about his staff? Is there a single woman on his team? People in the industry say he’s sexist. His manager told him to hire a few women to quiet the rumors, but he refused.” “You’re just overthinking things.” I couldn’t find the words to argue. But a woman’s intuition is a powerful thing, and something felt deeply, fundamentally wrong. Like a childish, cartoonish pendant hanging on a fine silk nightgown. It just didn’t belong. My friend sighed at my expression. “Okay, how about this? Call him. Right now. See what he’s up to.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The refusal was automatic. Asher hated it when I “checked up” on him. I’d tried it a few times before when I was feeling insecure. Each time, it ended in a massive fight. He’d accuse me of not trusting him, of distracting him from his work. Once, he smashed a glass in a room full of people and screamed that I was a lunatic. “Felicity! Will you just get lost!” “It’s not like that,” my friend said, holding her phone up to my face. On the screen was one of Asher’s posts. 【The wife is checking up on me again!】 【She’s such a little dummy, she doesn’t believe how much I love her.】 【But I really love it when she gets all worried and insecure over me.】 【Praying my wife checks up on me every single day.】 The comments were a chorus of “I’m dying, this is so cute.” I hesitated, but finally took the phone and dialed his number. He picked up after the first ring. His tone wasn’t exactly warm, but he didn’t immediately hang up when I asked what he was doing. “Playing tennis with my assistant.” I could hear the thwack of a tennis ball in the background. Asher loved sports and always made time for a match a few times a week. I knew his assistant, Liam. A recent college grad, clean background, straight. “Oh,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed. I heard Asher’s signature scoff. “Feeling insecure again?” “You could always come down and see for yourself.” I immediately declined. “No, that’s okay.” I was terrible at tennis, and Asher played with a ferocious, competitive streak. I’d been on the receiving end of his brutal serves a few times and had no desire to repeat the experience. He let out another cold laugh. “By the way, I’m going out of town on business tonight. I won’t be home.” My concern was instinctual. “Is Liam going with you?” He grunted something noncommittal. “Well, tell him to be careful. Your throat needs to…” “Alright, alright,” he cut me off. “I’ve gotta go. My turn to serve.” He hung up before I could finish. My friend looked at me, amused. “Feel better now?” “Even if Asher were to cheat, I doubt it would be with Liam, right?” I managed a weak smile, but the uneasy feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away. I chalked it up to worry about his trip. The great artist Asher never concerned himself with mundane matters, so all the domestic duties fell to me. I washed his socks and underwear. I cooked his meals. In our toughest years, I worked two jobs a day and still came home to clean up the take-out containers he left on the table. My friend used to joke that I was more of a mother to him than a girlfriend. But that’s what love is, isn’t it? Giving a little more of yourself. I typed out a long list of instructions and sent it to Liam. Remembering he was on the court with Asher, I added another line. “No rush, you can read this after your game.” The next second, my phone was ringing. It was Liam. “Feli,” he said. “Didn’t Asher tell you?” “I quit two years ago.” 5. Asher had never told me. On the contrary, he mentioned his “assistant” all the time. A new tie clip in his jewelry box? A gift from his assistant. A photo of a beautiful meal on his social media? Had it with his assistant. Movie ticket stubs in his pocket? Saw it with his assistant. Even when he didn’t come home at night, the excuse was always the same… “I’m working late with my assistant.” “Don’t bother me.” So even when my fever spiked to 102 and I felt like I was about to pass out, I didn’t dare send him a single text. What was he really doing then? By the time I got to the tennis club, only Asher was left on the court. He looked startled to see me, then his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What are you doing here? Feeling paranoid again? Felicity, can’t you just for one day…” “Where’s Liam?” Asher’s tirade stopped short. He clearly hadn’t expected that question. He avoided my eyes, stammering, “He’s… in the locker room, changing.” Without a word, I started walking toward the locker room. “Felicity!” He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “What is wrong with you!” The movement pulled his collar open. On his collarbone was a red mark, angry and intimate. A scream tore from my throat as I started to struggle. “Let go of me!” The staff members turned to stare. Asher’s face darkened. He held my wrist tighter, dragging me toward the exit. “I told you, he’s changing! If you want to make a scene, do it at home!” Years of suspicion and anxiety finally exploded. I collapsed to the ground like a madwoman, letting him drag my dead weight. “I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you!” “Just let me see!” Someone recognized him and pulled out their phone. “Security!” Asher roared. Someone ran over and grabbed my shoulders. I fought and screamed. People were pointing, whispering. The world was a chaotic blur. And then it all went silent, broken by a single, soft voice. “Asher?”

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Two months into my roommate catfishing someone online with my photos, a stream of bullet comments scrolled across the edge of my vision: 【The male lead has already rejected the female lead’s invitation to meet up three times.】 【He can’t help it. He’s using his roommate’s photos to date her online. He’s so average-looking and insecure, he doesn’t dare take that step to meet in person.】 【Don’t worry, male lead. As soon as you meet her and explain the situation, she’ll forgive you. Then the rest of the book is just sweet, sweet romance. Friendly reminder—the female lead is a gorgeous, loaded heiress.】 Before the comments finished scrolling, my roommate, Ryan, peeked his head down from the top bunk, showing off with a smug grin. “Leo, my girlfriend just sent me more money!” He let out a dramatic sigh. “Man, having a girlfriend this rich… I hope you guys don’t get too jealous.” I raised an eyebrow. The girlfriend he got using my photos? Well, starting now, she’s my girlfriend. 1 A phone dangled in front of my face. I could clearly see the screen: a transfer for one thousand dollars. The memo read: 【For my darling hubby to order some takeout.】 Only after he was sure I’d seen the amount did Ryan Cole pull his phone back, hastily tapping “accept.” He then sent a voice message. 【Thanks for feeding me, wifey.】 The bullet comments started scrolling again, faster this time: 【OMG, their love story is so cute. They haven’t even met, but their romance is so sweet. The classic domineering CEO and the clueless college guy trope.】 【It’s been two months. When are they finally going to meet?】 【He really shouldn’t worry so much about his looks. The female lead might be a little surprised at first, but she gets over it fast.】 【Don’t rush him, he’s trying to lose weight! He’s planning to meet her after he loses another fifteen pounds.】 Fifteen pounds? I glanced up at Ryan’s back as he sat on his bunk, stuffing his face with snacks. Two months ago, on a whim, he’d stood in the middle of our dorm room and sworn he would finally lose weight. For the first few days, he barely ate and went for a run every evening, returning to the room panting and drenched in sweat. Unfortunately, that lasted all of three days. One night, starving and miserable, he caved at the smell of fried chicken and devoured an entire bucket. His diet ended in failure. In fact, thanks to the binge eating, he’d actually gained five pounds, pushing him past the two-hundred-pound mark. I changed into a crisp white casual outfit. The tailored fit made the man in the mirror look sharp and effortlessly handsome. Then, I asked casually, “Have you and your girlfriend met yet?” 2 The bullet comments seemed annoyed: 【Why is the camera on the villain? So what if he’s handsome?】 【Exactly. Even though the male lead is using his photos, our female lead isn’t shallow. A person’s inner qualities are what’s important.】 The comments were a dense, scrolling wall of text. It was only then that I understood. I was the villain in a sappy romance novel. In the story, the male lead uses my photos to date the female lead. When they finally meet, she’s initially shocked that he looks nothing like his pictures, but she quickly accepts reality and they begin their “sweet romance.” To prove that she loves him for his personality and not his looks, she even goes out of her way to destroy my family’s company. In the end, penniless and alone, I starve to death in a rented attic room. The main couple’s love, having been “tested,” becomes stronger than ever. No one gives a second thought to the stepping stone—me—who got crushed in the path of their love story. But wait. If looks don’t matter, why didn’t Ryan just use his own photo? Up on his bunk, his body tensed. “We haven’t met,” he mumbled, “but we’ve exchanged pictures.” He then added defensively, “Leo, don’t tell me you’re jealous I have such a rich girlfriend?” He let out another sigh, dripping with condescension. “It’s a shame, really. You’re so much better looking than me, and your family’s well off, but you still can’t land a girl with money.” I styled my hair in the mirror, unfazed. “Why would I be jealous?” “It would be great if you could bring her around to meet all of us sometime.” Ryan choked on his words, changing the subject. He looked me up and down, a flash of envy in his eyes. “Hey Leo, take a selfie and send it to me.” Afraid I’d refuse, he quickly added, “I… I just wanted to have a photo of my roommate, you know, for the memories.” I agreed without hesitation. “Sure, one second.” As soon as he got the photo, Ryan curled up on his bunk like a rolly-poly. He immediately sent the picture to the person he was chatting with. 【Just took a new selfie. How do I look?】 3 A flurry of notification chimes echoed from his phone, signaling the other person’s excitement. So much for not caring about looks. I glanced at the bullet comments one last time. 【Sigh, when will he ever get over his insecurity? He sent the villain’s selfie again.】 【She really doesn’t care what you look like! You’ll see when you meet her.】 【I remember this part of the plot. Later, when the villain finds out, he can’t stand the thought of letting such a rich and beautiful girl go. He actually runs to the female lead and says, ‘I’m the guy in the photos!’】 【And you know what happens? His pathetic, desperate attempts to get between them just make their relationship stronger.】 【Haha, the female lead is the sole heiress to the Walton Corporation. You think she’d be shallow enough to only care about looks? The villain totally deserves to get taught a lesson and starve to death. He’s nothing but a stepping stone for their love.】 I absorbed the key information from the comments. Heiress to the Walton Corporation, huh? Noted. But we’ll see who the real stepping stone is. It was Saturday, no classes. As I was leaving the dorm, Ryan asked offhandedly, “No class today. Where are you off to?” A smile played on my lips. “Met a really nice girl recently. Going to see her.” 4 The Walton Corporation headquarters wasn’t hard to find. On the way over, I’d already found pictures of Fiona Walton online. There were only a few, all low-resolution, but they couldn’t hide the smooth line of her jaw or her elegant, high-bridged nose. She really was a gorgeous, loaded heiress. My finger traced the outline of her smiling face on my phone screen. I set it down, my knuckles tapping lightly on the tabletop. The cup of coffee beside me had gone cold. My seat in the café had a direct view of the Walton Corp entrance. It seemed the bullet comments were tethered to Ryan’s perspective; they had no idea where I was. Right now, they were buzzing. 【Even though the female lead is so busy, she still makes time to chat with him. This is the kind of doting love story I live for.】 【It’s almost evening. She has to go to dinner, or she’d keep talking to him.】 【Ugh, just meet already! I can’t wait any longer!】 I straightened up, my eyes glued to the entrance of the building. A stream of well-dressed men and women poured out. Among them, Fiona Walton was a standout. The moment she appeared, heads turned. I had to admit, Ryan had good taste. He’d found me… a very nice girlfriend. I quickly got up and left the café. Just as I was about to pass the fast-walking Fiona, I deliberately brushed against her shoulder. She stumbled, losing her balance and starting to fall. On instinct, I reached out, my arm wrapping around her slim waist to steady her. Our eyes met. A look of delighted surprise crossed her face. “It’s you!” 5 I quickly helped her regain her footing and let go, a faint blush creeping up my cheeks as I looked down. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice sincere. “I’m in a hurry, so I was walking a bit too fast. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” My eyes held the perfect mix of alarm and concern. Nothing else. I didn’t recognize her. That realization seemed to throw Fiona off for a moment, but she quickly found an explanation. He had only sent her a few photos, most of them taken from a distance. It was understandable that he wouldn’t recognize her after a sudden, real-life encounter. But she recognized me. Ever since they’d met on the app and exchanged numbers, ‘Star Gazer’ had frequently sent her selfies. In every photo, the man had a brilliant smile, a great physique, and a gentle, stylish wardrobe that made him look sunny and handsome. Unfortunately, she had suggested meeting up three times, and each time, ‘Star Gazer’ had refused without a second thought. He wouldn’t even tell her which university he attended. For countless nights, her only comfort was scrolling through his pictures. She never expected fate to be so kind as to let her run into the man from her dreams. Seeing the undisguised admiration in her eyes, I hid a smile and feigned anxiety. “Miss, I just finished my part-time job and I’m trying to get back to Northwood University. If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss the last bus.” Without waiting for her reply, I turned and walked away, disappearing into the growing darkness. Fiona reached out to stop me but grasped only empty air. Her gaze followed my retreating figure, her lips silently repeating the words. Northwood University. 6 By the time I got back to the dorm, the sky was full of stars. The bullet comments were once again gushing over the sweet romance. 【Wow, the female lead is especially chatty today. She can’t stop talking to him.】 【Yeah, and she keeps asking if he’s tired. Haha, little does she know, our boy Ryan has been lying in bed all day.】 【She just sent him a thousand dollars this morning, and now she sent another thousand, saying she’s worried he’s working too hard.】 【This girl is seriously loaded.】 Just as I pushed the door open, Ryan was climbing down from his bunk. Seeing me, he raised his voice, a mixture of complaint and showing off. “Ugh, why did she send me more money? How am I ever going to spend all of this?” “Oh, Leo, you’re back? Perfect timing. Help me pick out a watch. Which one should I get?” As he spoke, he stared intently at me, searching for any sign of jealousy. He found none. I enthusiastically pointed to a model encrusted with diamonds. “Get that one. It’s a classic design, very versatile.” Ryan nodded, satisfied. As he placed the order, he asked nonchalantly, “So, how was that girl you met today?” I answered slowly, “She was nice.” “Nice?” He scoffed, glancing at my empty hands. “She didn’t even buy you a gift? You’re still going to see someone that cheap?” “My girlfriend is way better. She never hesitates to send money.” Ever since we started college, from the first moment Ryan saw me, he’d made it his mission to compete with me. Academics, looks, family background—he lost on every front. So, he turned his attention to dating apps, hoping to snag a rich girl and finally one-up me. Landing Fiona had been a massive boost to his ego. After his little display, Ryan climbed back onto his bunk and started tapping furiously at his phone screen. My other roommate, Jake, came over and tugged on my arm, rolling his eyes at the giggling figure above us. “Don’t mind him,” he whispered. “Ever since he got this rich girlfriend, he’s been insufferable. It’s so annoying.” “So how’s the girl you met? Are you seeing her again tomorrow?” Ryan, oblivious, was still sending voice messages. “My wifey is the best!” “Love you, mwah!” A knowing smile touched my lips. Of course I was seeing her tomorrow. Otherwise, someone might get impatient. 7 The next day was Sunday. No classes. I was up early, getting ready to head out. As soon as I stepped out of the university gates, I saw a luxury car parked at the entrance. It was Fiona’s. Perhaps not wanting to cause a scene with the few students walking by, she got out of the car to wait. Her stunning appearance drew more than a few stares. She saw me and waved from a distance. I walked over, feigning confusion. She smiled. “I bumped into you yesterday, so I wanted to apologize properly today. Can I give you a ride to your part-time job?” I was the one who bumped into her, but she was taking the blame, using it as a flimsy excuse to talk to me. “That… that’s not necessary,” I hesitated. “I can just take the bus.” Fiona had already opened the passenger door for me. “It’s no problem. My office isn’t far from where you work. It’s on the way.” After a moment’s pause, I got into the car, trying to look awkward and flustered. Fiona seemed to be in a good mood. With one hand on the steering wheel, she asked with a hint of curiosity, “The workload at Northwood is pretty heavy. Why are you working a part-time job on the weekends?” I tilted my head, giving her a playful smile. “My parents want me to learn to be independent, so my allowance isn’t very big. I’m just trying to make a little extra cash.” The confusion on her face deepened. She had just sent me two thousand dollars in one day. How could I possibly be short on money? But she didn’t press the issue. The car pulled up in front of a coffee shop. It was the job I had found just yesterday. I went behind the counter and, under the manager’s guidance, started grinding coffee beans. Fiona didn’t leave. She took a seat at the table closest to the counter and ordered an iced Americano. I brought the coffee to her table with a smile. Suddenly, she asked, “The… ahem… the Patek Philippe watch I sent you. Why aren’t you wearing it?” 8 I remembered that watch. The first week after Ryan announced he had a girlfriend, he received a luxury watch. He was obsessed with it, turning it over and over in his hands. He’d even sent a saccharine voice message: “Baby, I’ll wear it forever.” And indeed, the watch was still firmly on his wrist. But what did any of that have to do with me? I shook my head, feigning confusion. “What watch? I’ve never owned a watch.” Fiona froze. A few drops of coffee splashed onto the back of her hand, but she didn’t seem to notice. I turned and went back to the counter to grind more beans. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air. A burning gaze was fixed on my back, unmoving. She downed the coffee in one gulp. I suddenly turned back to her, a faint smile on my face. “Miss, would you like a refill on that iced Americano?” Caught off guard, Fiona’s eyes darted away. “Uh… yes… a refill…” she stammered. I refilled her cup and brought it back. As she took it, Fiona looked at me, a sudden realization dawning on her. My voice was nothing like the one in the voice messages. The man in front of her had a cooler, clearer tone, while the voice she chatted with was deeper, more muffled. His personality seemed different, too. The man in front of her was shyer, more reserved than the one in the messages. Her eyes fell on the name tag pinned to my shirt. Her voice rose an octave. “Your name is Leo Beckett?” That wasn’t right. The guy in her messages was named Ryan Cole. 9 Fiona quickly opened her messaging app and tapped on Ryan Cole’s profile. Yes. All the photos were of the man standing in front of her. Every smile, every expression, was etched into her memory. But there were so many differences. Personality, voice, even his name. As she hesitated, a new message popped up on her screen: 【Fifi, what are you doing? Thinking of you today, like every day.】 Fiona’s gaze shot back to me. I was looking at her with a gentle, questioning smile. My phone was nowhere in sight. So, who was sending her messages? Fiona’s hands began to tremble. “Miss, are you alright?” I asked, my voice full of concern. Fiona suppressed the suspicion rising in her chest. “I’m fine, I just…” I turned and brought her a freshly made cappuccino. “I just made this. Please, have a taste. It’s on me.” As she took the cup, her fingers brushed against mine. They were as hot as burning coals. The brief contact left her wanting more. She drank the coffee like it was water, gulping it down. The bitterness was gone, replaced by the sweet, creamy taste of milk that filled her mouth. She had already had three cups of coffee today. Her mind was sharp. Seeing that I was about to leave, Fiona jumped up and pulled out her phone. “Mr. Beckett, can I have your number?” Her gaze was intense. I hesitated for a moment before taking out my phone to add her as a contact. She thoughtfully typed in her own name for me— Fiona Walton. 10 Fiona was very active over the next week. She was always finding excuses to chat with me on the app, and we talked about everything under the sun. Every conversation ended with both of us wanting more. But, as she had said, my studies at Northwood were demanding. I often wouldn’t see her morning messages until late at night. Yet, the moment I replied, she would respond instantly, as if she’d been waiting by her phone all day. It was a busy week for me. For Ryan, who slept in the bunk across from mine, it was a week of growing anxiety. He was constantly on his phone, furiously typing. But after he sent a message, there was no satisfying chime of a reply. He grew more and more agitated. Even the bullet comments were confused. 【What’s up with the female lead these past few days? Why is she ignoring him?】 【Yeah, Ryan has sent her a bunch of messages and she’s barely replied.】 【Come on, she runs a huge company. She has to make money to spoil him, right? She can’t be available 24/7.】 This went on until Saturday, the day of my part-time job. But I didn’t leave campus. Instead, I slept in, enjoying a rare, long rest. Around ten in the morning, a message came through. Fiona: 【Leo, you didn’t go to the coffee shop this morning?】 Me: 【I caught a bit of a cold, so I called in sick. Is everything okay, Miss Walton?】 Fiona’s fingers paused over her screen. She quickly typed a reply, trying to sound casual. 【Oh, it’s nothing. I was just passing by your university and thought I’d give you a ride to work.】 She was lying. She had clearly been waiting all morning and hadn’t seen me. The Walton Corporation and Northwood University were on opposite ends of the city. There was no way she was just “passing by.” I didn’t reply to that message. Instead, I got out of bed, tidied myself up, and took a selfie. I made sure to look pitiful and lethargic. The caption read: 【Caught a cold. Feeling awful.】 11 Shortly after I posted it, Jake rubbed his sleepy eyes and asked, “Leo, you have a cold?” I sniffled. “A little one. It’s not too bad.” From his bunk, Ryan glanced at me, then started tapping away on his phone. The bullet comments erupted with laughter: 【Haha, the male lead is posting about being sick on purpose. Now the female lead will have to take a break from her busy schedule for him.】 【Poor guy. She hasn’t had any time for him all week.】 【Let me see… a month ago, he said he sprained his ankle running, and she got so worried she sent him a ton of supplements and a thousand dollars to ‘rest and recover.’】 【Too bad he had the packages delivered to a convenience store off-campus. He had to lug all those boxes back to the dorm himself.】 【I wonder what she’ll send this time!】 Fiona sat in the driver’s seat of her car, parked right outside the gates of Northwood University. On her phone, two identical posts appeared on her feed. Both were selfies of Leo. Both had the exact same caption. 【Caught a cold. Feeling awful.】 She carefully compared the two accounts. The content was identical. If it weren’t for the different profile pictures and names, she would have thought she was seeing double. But Fiona quickly noticed a pattern. Leo Beckett’s posts always appeared ten to fifteen minutes before Ryan Cole’s. Take the most recent post about being sick. Leo had posted it five minutes earlier. Her finger hovered between the two profiles. The image of the shy, gentle man from the coffee shop filled her mind. Without hesitation, she switched to Leo Beckett’s chat. She sent a message: 【Leo, I’m going to have some things sent over to you. Can you give me the address for your dorm building at Northwood?】 12 When the delivery driver brought a mountain of packages to our dorm, Jake was the first to pounce. “Whoa, Leo, is this all from your girlfriend?” “She’s not my girlfriend,” I quickly corrected him. “Just… a friend I met recently…” Jake slung an arm around my shoulder, a sly grin on his face. “Leo, last weekend, my buddy from the art department saw you getting picked up by a luxury car outside the main gate. He said the girl was gorgeous!” “Fess up. You’re secretly dating, aren’t you?” I thought of Fiona’s bright eyes and gentle demeanor, and my face immediately flushed. “We haven’t made anything official yet. Don’t spread rumors.” “She’s already picking you up! What do you mean, not official? My friend said that car was worth at least half a million dollars!” The mention of half a million dollars pricked Ryan’s ears. He shot me a disdainful look and snorted. “Tch. No matter how rich she is, she can’t be richer than my girlfriend.” Jake’s voice was just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Ryan, we still haven’t even seen your girlfriend!” Ryan froze. It was true. Not only had his roommates not seen her, he hadn’t either. A knot of anxiety tightened in his chest. Over the past week, Fiona had grown noticeably distant. She’d reply to maybe one out of every ten messages. Just a moment ago, he’d sent her a pitiful text: 【Fifi, I caught a cold. I feel so awful~】 That was two hours ago. The last message in their chat was still his green bubble. There was no sign of a reply. Even someone as dense as him could tell something was wrong. Was she mad because he’d turned her down three times? Ryan’s mood soured, and he gripped his phone tightly, his mind racing. Just then, my phone chimed. It was Fiona. 【Leo, are you free this evening? I’d like to treat you to dinner.】 A smile played on my lips as I replied: 【Sure. Whatever you arrange, Miss Walton.】 【Then let’s go to that new French restaurant, V.Chuchoter. See you there.】 The moment we confirmed the plans, an explosive message flashed across the bullet comments: 【OMG, OMG, LOOK! The male lead is finally going to meet her!】

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One liked Chloe. The other liked Chloe too. I went to Chloe, crying, and asked if she could spare one for me. But Chloe just scoffed. “Why are you crying over two rotten pickles? I’ve arranged a new playmate for you.” I finally understood why they liked Chloe. Because Chloe was generous. She gave me her twin brother. Chloe’s brother was just like her—impressive and good at everything. So, I stopped crying asking Carter why he bailed on me. I stopped pestering Mason to talk to me. But they panicked. When they couldn’t block me, they turned around to trouble Chloe. “You manipulative witch, take your robot brother and get the hell away from us!” 1. When I got to Carter’s house, he was frowning at his phone, typing a message. A wall of green text bubbles. The other side hadn’t replied once. “Carter, are you still going to be my model?” I felt a little wronged. “Mason bailed on me again.” Carter instinctively flipped his phone face down, then stood up abruptly. “Mason isn’t home?” I was startled by his reaction. “Yeah, Mason said he had something to do…” Before I could finish, Carter stood up, gritting his teeth. “Damn it. I was wondering why Chloe wasn’t replying to me today. Someone cut in line.” I rubbed my nose and asked again. “So Mason went to find Chloe again? Then can you…” Before I could finish, Carter had already grabbed his jacket and was heading out. “Be a good girl, Lily. Play by yourself. I have to go out.” Watching Carter’s back, I felt a little sad. I knew. He was going to find Chloe too. Chloe was the new transfer student who arrived last week. She was unreasonably pretty. The day she and her brother stepped into class, the room erupted in cheers. From the boys, and from the girls. During breaks, the boys surrounded Chloe’s desk, chattering endlessly. The girls surrounded her brother. Carter and Mason were among those boys. Walking home together that day, Carter asked Mason, “What do you think of the new girl?” “She’s okay. Not as cute as our Lily.” Carter nodded and reached out to pat my head. “True. She’s beautiful, but too aggressive.” The two looked at each other, then suddenly fell silent. From that day on, they became weird. They were always disappearing. I saw Mason buying breakfast for Chloe. And Carter doing Chloe’s cleaning duty so she could leave early. Mason had sneered, muttering under his breath, “What a fake. Acting like he doesn’t like her.” Oh. So they were lying. They weren’t any different from the other boys. They both liked Chloe. With no one to model for me, I went home and slept all afternoon. When I woke up, my mom asked me to drop something off for Carter’s mom. I hugged the package and walked to Carter’s house, only to hear arguing. Carter was shouting. “Are you a dog? She ignores everyone, yet you keep pestering Chloe. You even bailed on Lily for this. Do you know how sad she was today?” Mason sounded exasperated. “Then why didn’t you stay with her? You ran over here to cause trouble too. You’re half responsible for Lily being like this.” Carter exploded. “Is that something a human says? You didn’t object back then either!” Listening to their argument, my tears fell pitter-patter to the ground. I knew. They were talking about my brain. Years ago, Carter and Mason didn’t want to play with me. They said I was a crybaby, delicate, and they didn’t play with girls. Until we were seven. They found a high wall behind the school. There was a bird’s nest on top. It was too high. Carter suggested that since I was the lightest, I should ride on Mason’s shoulders to climb up. Then, I’d pull them up. 2. I climbed up and reached down. Before I could touch them, my foot slipped, and I fell. It was high. It hurt. There was a lot of blood. Mason carried me on his back, crying as he ran. Carter, face pale as a sheet, ran alongside, holding the wound on my head. When I woke up, my reactions were a beat slower than everyone else’s. Mason and Carter seemed to grow up overnight. Like two knights, they protected me twenty-four-seven, treating me like fragile glass. I thought the three of us would be like this forever. I stood at the door, eyes red. The door suddenly opened. Mason froze. His face, flushed from arguing, turned white the instant he saw me. “Lily, when did you get here?” Carter followed behind, clearly panicked too. “Don’t cry. Mason and I were just messing around. Did you want us to model? It’s too late to draw now, how about tomorrow?” Mason pursed his lips, looking at me, and carefully reached out to wipe my tears. “Okay.” I nodded, and the two of them instantly relaxed. The next day at school, I secretly watched Chloe. She really was pretty. With her high ponytail, she walked like a proud little peacock. Almost everywhere she went, everyone’s eyes followed. I felt even sadder. Mason disappeared again this morning. Carter looked grumpy, but he still carried my backpack for me. On the way, his expression was dark, so I didn’t dare speak. Since Chloe appeared, the three of us couldn’t walk home laughing and playing like before. I should hate Chloe. But looking at her, I couldn’t hate her at all. So I wanted to cry even more. The girl was talking to someone next to her, but when she turned and saw my red eyes, she froze. I quickly looked down, but a tissue appeared in front of me. Chloe frowned at me. “Why are you crying? Pretty eyes like yours get ugly when they swell up.” I wanted to cry even harder. Why was she so nice?! How could I hate her now? I took the tissue and couldn’t help looking up at her. Another hand extended from the side. Unlike Chloe’s slender one, this one was larger, broader. I wiped my red eyes and looked over. Chloe’s family had great genes. The girl was beautiful; the boy was beautiful too, but with a cold, sharp edge. Lethally handsome. Sitting in his palm was a candy. Chloe had just given it to him. He wasn’t interested, so he handed it to me. I took it. Trying to be polite, I spoke up. “Thank you, Chloe.” Then I looked at the boy. My brain stalled, and I couldn’t remember his name. Chloe’s brother… so, brother. “Thank you, brother.” The boy’s figure stiffened instantly. His expression looked unnatural, and when he turned his head away, the tips of his ears turned red. Chloe looked at me, then at her brother, and suddenly burst out laughing. “Asher, first time meeting a soft girl, huh…” She was dragged away by her brother. Asher. I sighed. Not only was Chloe’s name pretty, but her brother’s name was nice too. After school, Carter and Mason were there, but halfway home, they both disappeared again. I knew. They went to find Chloe. But… didn’t they promise to model for me today? Walking the rest of the way home alone, I suddenly worked up the courage. I took out my phone and added Chloe on social media from the class group chat. I thought, she seems easy to talk to. maybe she would agree to my request. I wanted to ask her to share one of the childhood friends with me. Carter or Mason, either was fine. I just needed one person to keep me company. It was my first time walking home alone. I was scared. 3. Chloe said she would talk to me properly at school tomorrow. I was a little nervous. But the next day, I went to find her as requested. Chloe was sitting on her brother’s desk, legs crossed. Asher was frowning, clearly annoyed by her. “Asher, you better not look at me like that, or don’t blame me if I don’t help you later…” Before she finished, she waved at me excitedly. I walked over, my face a bit hot. Chloe said: “You cried in bed again last night, didn’t you?” Hesitantly, I nodded. Chloe said: “Why cry over two rotten pickles? If I can hook them today, someone else can hook them tomorrow. If I were you, I wouldn’t want either of them.” I felt she made sense, but I stayed silent. Chloe’s eyes darted around mischievously. Suddenly, she reached out and lifted her brother’s chin. Asher frowned deeper, raising a hand to swat hers away. But Chloe spoke first. “Since you’re lonely, I got you a new playmate.” “I’m giving my brother to you to play with. How about it? I guarantee, he’s better than those two put together.” My eyes went wide. Chloe was so generous! I finally knew why Mason and Carter liked her. Pretty, cute, and generous. If I were a boy, I’d like Chloe too. She was actually giving me her brother! Asher froze too. His hand paused in mid-air, and then his face got redder and redder. “Chloe! Stop messing around!” “Can I?” Asher and I spoke at the same time. The air went quiet. Chloe held back a laugh, walked over, and pinched my cheek. “Of course you can. Right, bro?” I heard Asher’s shout earlier. He sounded fierce. I was a little scared. “Maybe not? Is your brother unwilling?” Under Chloe’s teasing gaze, Asher’s face burned. Then, he coughed lightly. “Willing.” Chloe leaned on my shoulder, shaking with laughter. I thought she smelled nice, and her laugh was cute. But her brother’s face seemed to get darker. After school, Mason and Carter ran off again. I silently packed my bag, but a shadow suddenly appeared in front of me. I looked up. Asher was standing quietly beside me. “Packed?” I nodded. He picked up my backpack and slung it over his own shoulder. Asher was taller than Mason and Carter, his shoulders broader. My small backpack hanging off his side looked kind of cute. I followed silently behind him. We walked in single file, not speaking. Passing the snack stand at the back gate, looking at the hot pear tea, I licked my lips. “Want some?” I suspected Asher had eyes in the back of his head. He turned back and bought a cup. Holding the warm pear tea, I peeked at Asher. He wasn’t that scary. He even bought me tea. He was a good person. After that, whatever my eyes landed on, Asher bought. By the end, my hands were full. Suddenly, my hands were empty. Asher took more than half the stuff. “What do you want to eat most?” I pointed at the candy apple. He put it in my hand. “Okay. Finish that, then eat the second one.” Just like that, I walked home with a round belly. Asher handed me my backpack. I felt a little embarrassed. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” With that sentence, he left. Mason pushed open the door from my house, looking a bit grim. “Why are you back so late? I went to pick you up but didn’t see anyone. You didn’t take our shortcut?” Because I was eating too much, Asher was afraid I wouldn’t have enough time, so we took the longer route. I nodded. Mason sighed. “I’ll keep you company tomorrow. I didn’t know Carter ran off today too.” I didn’t speak. 4. Early the next morning, as soon as I stepped out, I saw Asher. He stood there quietly. I didn’t know how long he’d been waiting. I looked at Mason’s house. He said he’d accompany me yesterday, but I was afraid he wouldn’t be there again, so I left with Asher. Compared to yesterday, I wasn’t afraid of Asher at all today. I couldn’t help whispering to him about the TV drama I watched last night. Asher’s face remained cool, but surprisingly, he talked quite a bit. He listened for a few sentences, then softly agreed with me. “Really? That’s terrible.” “Really? That’s great.” “Yeah, I won’t watch that actor’s shows anymore either.” I talked more and more happily until we entered the classroom and I realized how fast time had flown. Asher put my bag on my desk and whispered a reminder. “Remember to find me if you need anything.” Chloe’s teasing voice sounded from behind. “Asher, you left before dawn. Where did you go?” Asher ignored her and went back to his seat. My eyes widened. Did Asher wait at my door before the sun even came up? During a long break, I looked at a math problem on my test paper and wanted to ask Carter. Carter was good at math. I always asked him. So I walked over and handed him the paper. Carter chuckled lightly. “This is simple. Sit down, I’ll explain it.” Before I could sit, Chloe appeared. She smiled sweetly. “Carter, my earring just fell on the playground. Can you help me find it?” Carter’s face turned red instantly. “Ah? Sure… sure.” He followed Chloe like he’d lost his soul. I stood there, at a loss. “Bring it here. I’ll help you.” Asher’s voice sounded behind me. I turned around, startled. He was amazing. He wrote out three different ways to solve it in an instant. “Didn’t I tell you? Ask me if you don’t understand something.” He handed the paper back to me, looking a bit resigned. I picked at my fingers. “I was afraid of bothering you.” He placed his hand on the desk and tapped lightly. It sounded nice. “Didn’t Chloe tell you? I’m the one she compensated you with…” I blinked. The tips of his ears were red again. “Playmate.” “Don’t feel like a burden. You can find me for anything.” Then, he quickly lowered his head and wrote out a fourth solution. I was dumbfounded. “You’re so smart!” Smarter than Carter and Mason combined. Asher’s ears turned even redder. “What are you guys doing? Lily, do you even know him? Why are you sitting next to him?” A stern question rang out. I looked up and saw Mason standing nearby. He had clearly just returned from the restroom, glaring death at me and Asher.

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I was groomed to be the perfect daughter-in-law for the Vance family since I was a child. At twenty, I married Harrison Vance. At twenty-four, I gave birth to Ethan. Ethan is just like Harrison—always silent, reserved, and not particularly close to me. Every night in the past, I would bring a glass of warm milk to both father and son before they went to sleep. But on this day, Harrison accidentally knocked over his glass, and Ethan secretly poured his down the sink. Suddenly, I felt exhausted. The moment I handed the divorce papers to Harrison. He furrowed his brow, displeased, and asked, “Just because of that?” “Yes, just because of that.” 1 “What about our son? “What do you plan to do about Ethan?” Harrison returned to his usual expressionless demeanor, asking me in a strictly business tone. I sat across from him, like a client at his negotiation table, and spoke calmly. “I will give up custody of him. “The property in the East Suburbs will also be transferred to his name, as compensation in lieu of child support.” After all, the child carries the Vance surname. Compared to being with me, he and Harrison look like the real family. Harrison lowered his gaze to look at me, his emotions barely visible, as if he couldn’t understand what kind of tantrum I was throwing. “Lily,” he softened his tone, “If you can’t get over the milk incident, I apologize. You know I was drunk last night; I didn’t mean to treat you that way.” He explained patiently, persistently believing the problem was just that glass of milk. Last night, Harrison came back very late from a social engagement. I waited up half the night, only waking up when the cold air followed him through the door. I climbed off the sofa, seeing him take off his coat while rubbing his forehead in discomfort. I immediately went to the kitchen to bring him the milk I had kept warm for hours. Usually, although our marital affection wasn’t deep, we at least maintained a decent façade. But last night, I asked one extra question: “Did you see someone? The perfume on you smells familiar.” Harrison suddenly let go of the hand reaching for the milk. I didn’t react in time. The glass slipped from our touching fingertips, shattering the silence of the room under the warm lights. Harrison’s expression turned frosty, his aura radiating irritation. He looked at me coldly and warned, “Lily, you’ve crossed the line. “In the future, don’t wait up for me at night, and there’s no need to prepare milk for me anymore.” And my son, Ethan, after seeing his father’s reaction, secretly poured his milk down the drain. When I caught him, he stood at the doorway, apologizing to me with the same lack of emotion: “I’m sorry, Mom. If Dad isn’t drinking it, I don’t want to drink it either.” Perhaps in the eyes of this father and son, this was such a trivial, insignificant matter. I couldn’t, and shouldn’t, make such a big fuss over it. 2 I offered no further explanation. I signed the papers and entrusted everything to my lawyer. I chose to end this marriage with Harrison. Harrison spoke indifferently about the division of assets. I didn’t listen closely, nor did I care much. I went back to the room to organize my things. He looked down at me. “Lily, the procedures take time. You don’t need to move out in such a hurry. I can leave this house to you.” I glanced at this man who remained steady and indifferent. Calmly, I replied using words he once said to me: “It’s better to do things cleanly and efficiently, to avoid dragging things out and leaving problems behind.” Harrison said nothing more. I never thought packing would be such a difficult task to start. The house was full of trivial items, every little detail arranged by my own hands over the years. I scanned the room, finally deciding on a simple solution. I dragged my suitcase toward the door. Harrison stopped me. “Where are you going? “To your parents’ house? “I’ll have the driver take you.” “No need,” I refused, telling him, “Remember to have the housekeeper clear out the rest of my things tomorrow. I won’t be dealing with them.” After all, their family didn’t lack people to do the work. As I stepped out the main door, I thought for a moment. I turned back and spoke to Ethan, who was standing behind Harrison with that perpetual poker face. “I won’t be picking you up from kindergarten anymore. Remember not to go with strangers.” Consider it my final duty to myself. After saying that, I turned and left. I didn’t look back once at the child I had rocked in my arms night after night, patiently soothing him when he was weaning and crying. 3 I bought a plane ticket out of New York. I randomly selected a southern city, Charleston. Since I was fourteen and told I would marry into the Vance family, my freedom and choices had been restricted. Later, after marrying Harrison, he never offered to take me out unless it was for necessary social events. My most common life routine was probably waiting for the father and son to come home every night and delivering a glass of warm milk before bed. Everyone in our circle said Mrs. Vance had raised me well, that I was a wife custom-made for Harrison. Worthy of his status, capable of taking care of his life. The only flaw was: I was too perfect. Perfect to the point of being boring, appearing a bit rigid. I once heard Harrison’s friends teasing him. “Harrison, what’s it like living like an old married couple at such a young age? “Your wife is too dull; she smiles like a mannequin. “Want us to introduce you to someone interesting? “Just a few days ago, Leo met a funny girl, really hilarious, just like Victoria used to be. How about it, interested?” Victoria. Harrison’s first love. Back then, Mrs. Vance didn’t agree to them being together, and Harrison resisted in every way possible. Later, I don’t know what happened. They broke up, and Victoria went to Europe. After that, when he was twenty-four, Harrison suddenly accepted the family’s arrangement and proposed to me. Four years later, I gave birth to Ethan. Oh, right, I remember now. The familiar perfume I smelled that night was the one Victoria used to love. A custom-blended gardenia scent. 4 After finding a place to stay in Charleston. I wandered around many places. The southern humidity, the historic cobblestone streets, everything made me tireless. Unexpectedly, on the morning of the third day, I received a call from Harrison. He seemed to have just woken up, asking me in a hoarse voice, “Lily, where is that pair of ruby cufflinks you bought me at the auction last year?” I paused. “In the second drawer of the island in the walk-in closet.” I asked him, “What’s the occasion?” Harrison: “A mall ribbon-cutting ceremony.” Me: “The matching suit is the fourth one in the second row.” Harrison didn’t seem fully awake yet. The sound of him rummaging came through the phone, along with faint complaints. I listened for a while, then asked, “Did you find it?” The noise on the other side stopped, as if he finally reacted. “Found it. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you.” I hummed an acknowledgment and said, “I know.” I instructed him, “Ask the housekeeper to reorganize your room. If you can’t find things in the future, ask them. “From now on, don’t call me to trouble me anymore.” Harrison was silent for a moment, then said, “Okay.” After hanging up, I blocked his number and fell back asleep. But this sleep was restless. I had many bizarre dreams. There was the fourteen-year-old me laughing and playing with classmates on campus. There was the sunny day when I first met Harrison at fifteen. There was the pain of my father breaking my leg when I was sixteen and tried to sneak out to race cars. And… Another piercing ringtone. I woke up with a start, irritably grabbing the phone from the nightstand. It was an unfamiliar number. I pressed answer, and a polite inquiry came from the other side. “Hello, is this Ethan Vance’s mother? “I’m Ethan’s kindergarten teacher. It’s like this, today the school is holding a robotics exhibition. Ethan is participating, but he didn’t bring his project. He said you prepared it for him. Would it be convenient for you to drop it off for the child?” The teacher was very enthusiastic. My fingers gripping the phone tightened. I closed my eyes, feeling an unspeakable exhaustion. Not long ago, I was sitting in the living room, head bowed, learning frame by frame from a video blueprint to do Ethan’s manual homework for him. I just left too quickly that day; the robot was still a semi-finished product. I looked at the blazing sun already high outside the window and replied softly to the teacher, “I’m sorry, teacher. Ethan’s custody no longer belongs to me, and I won’t be responsible for him anymore. “Also… is he right next to you?” “Ah.” The teacher was quite embarrassed. “Yes, yes, Ethan is right beside me.” I sighed. “Could you please put me on speaker?” “O-okay.” “Thank you.” The noise of the phone moving came through, followed by silence. I figured Ethan could hear me. I spoke softly, “Ethan, the robot is in the toy box in your room. “You can call your dad to bring it to you, or ask anyone else to send it, but in the future, I hope you don’t call me anymore. I won’t pick you up, and I won’t help you with your crafts. You know this—I am not your mother anymore.” After finishing, I apologized to the teacher again and hung up the phone.

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