Category: English

My husband died, but his voice didn’t. It started echoing in my head. As I checked our bank account, he was gloating. Heh. She’ll never guess I was reborn inside her own womb. She wants my money? Dream on. I already transferred the cash and the house to Claire! And I was smart enough to get a DNA test done with Claire’s kid. All she has to do is open my safe deposit box at the bank. The test will prove the kid is mine and entitle her to half my estate. Then, when Sophia is giving birth to me, I’ll find a way to make sure she dies in childbirth. The rest of the money will come right back to me! I’ll give it all to Claire, and our little family of three can finally be together! 1 When my husband, Marcus, died in an accident, I was so wracked with grief at the funeral that I collapsed. After being rushed to the hospital, the doctor wouldn’t let me leave. “You’re pregnant. Didn’t you know?” she asked gently. “This level of stress is dangerous. If you want to keep this baby, you need to stay here on bed rest. Your pregnancy is extremely unstable right now.” I clutched my stomach in shock. Before I could even process the news, my mother-in-law was grabbing my hand, her face streaked with tears. “Sophia, that baby is all we have left of our son. I’m begging you, you have to have this child.” “You just focus on giving birth,” she pleaded. “We’ll raise the baby for you. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be the light of our lives. Please, Sophia. This is your mother asking you.” A storm of joy and sorrow washed over me. This was the last gift Marcus had left me. In a rush of emotion, I agreed. But raising a child alone is expensive. A week later, I was discharged. The first thing I did when I got home was check our bank accounts. My husband had earned a good salary for years; there should have been more than enough to raise our child. But when I saw the balance, I had to rub my eyes in disbelief. “How is there only three thousand dollars?” My hand trembled as I scoured Marcus’s phone, checking every app, every account. All told, it was less than five thousand. I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I had no idea what had happened, when suddenly, I heard Marcus’s sly voice in my head. Heh. She’ll never guess I transferred the cash and the house to Claire! My body went rigid. Claire was with me for six years, never asking for money or a title. I couldn’t let her down. Thank god I got all my affairs in order. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to rest in peace. The condo at The Crestwood is prime real estate. After buying it for her, there was just enough left over to give her a nice little nest egg. I slowly lowered my head, my gaze falling to my own stomach. The voice was coming from inside me. Could it be? Had he been reincarnated… in my womb? To test this insane theory, I spoke aloud, my words a deliberate probe. “Marcus made fifteen thousand a month, and I make ten. We should have had at least three hundred thousand in savings. For there to be this little… did he cheat on me?” ! How did she guess so fast? I was so careful! She never suspected a thing! My heart sank into a pit of ice. I had to accept the horrifying truth. My husband of six years had been cheating on me. Based on what he said, the affair started almost as soon as we were married. And I was actually planning on carrying his child to term. What a fool I’d been. Once I calmed down, it didn’t take long to find the digital breadcrumbs on his phone. The woman, Claire, was his mentee at work. She had even been to our house for dinner more than once. They had been carrying on right under my nose. And now, the bastard had been reborn inside me. The thought was so revolting I had to run to the bathroom and empty my stomach into the toilet. Ugh, morning sickness. But it doesn’t matter how sick she gets. She’ll have me. She’s always been so devoted to me. Rage and grief churned inside me. I grabbed my coat, my keys, and drove straight to The Crestwood. On the way, I called my lawyer and had him pull every single one of Marcus’s bank statements. He thought he had everything arranged for his little mistress? Whatever he arranged, I was going to tear it all down. 2 The closer I got to The Crestwood, the more agitated Marcus’s voice became. She’s broke. What is she doing here? Did she find out something? But I hid it so well! Stay calm, stay calm. Sophia’s not smart enough to figure this out. She can’t do anything. I slapped my stomach, hard, and slammed my foot on the gas. At the complex, I went straight to Claire Han’s apartment. When she opened the door and saw me, a flicker of panic crossed her face before being quickly suppressed. “Mrs. Kane? What… what are you doing here?” I ignored her, walking past her and taking in the apartment. It was easy to see she wasn’t spending her own money. From the expensive flooring to the designer furniture, everything was top-of-the-line. The sofa in the living room was the exact model I had wanted when we got married, the one Marcus had refused to buy, saying it was too extravagant. And here it was. In his mistress’s home. I started toward the master bedroom, but Claire grabbed my arm and steered me back to the living room. “Mrs. Kane…” she said, cautiously pouring me a glass of water. “I know you’re grieving. Maybe we could go for a walk? Get some fresh air?” Damn it, this is all my fault. If I could have just given Claire the status she deserved, she wouldn’t have to be so timid in front of this bitch. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I decided to cut the crap. “Claire, as I recall, your salary is about three thousand dollars a month. A place here costs a fortune.” “Did you buy this apartment yourself?” “Yes!” She was clearly lying through her teeth, so desperate to quell my suspicions that she rushed to get the deed before I could say another word. “See? It’s my house. My name is on the deed, Mrs. Kane.” I let out a cold laugh and slapped the document down on the coffee table. “Your name on the deed doesn’t mean you paid for it.” She froze, staring at me for a moment before a smirk spread across her face. “What’s this? Coming here to pick a fight? You’re a little late, aren’t you? Your husband is a pile of ash. Dead men tell no tales.” I watched her, my expression unreadable. “Claire, I remember the first time we met. You were just a girl from some small town in the mountains, so clueless you didn’t even know how to use an automatic faucet.” “Marcus took good care of you these past six years, didn’t he? Better than your own parents, I’d bet.” Sophia! You sharp-tongued bitch, what are you saying! Claire is just an innocent kid! Why does a bitter widow like you have to bully a young girl? My gaze grew colder, and Claire’s face flushed with anger. But she stuck to her story. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop making baseless accusations.” “Coming all the way here to harass me… don’t think I won’t call the police and have you arrested!” That’s right! Stick to that story! I’m dead now. She has no proof! I smiled. Those two traitors really were on the same wavelength. I pulled out the bank statements my lawyer had prepared, a detailed record of Marcus’s finances for the past six years. “You think I have no recourse just because you deny it? You keep saying this is your house. Then maybe you can explain this transfer of five hundred thousand dollars from Marcus’s account to the property developer?” Seeing the evidence in my hands, Claire finally broke. “Mrs. Kane, Marcus just felt sorry for me and my daughter! We had nowhere to live! He let us stay here, he said the house was ours! It was his dying wish! You can’t kick us out!” “And besides,” she added, “his parents know all about this.” What? Marcus’s parents knew he was cheating and approved of him buying a house for his mistress? “I’ll… I’ll call them right now! You have no right to make this decision!” 3 Less than half an hour later, Marcus’s parents arrived. They exchanged a look, and then, as if they’d planned it, they each grabbed one of my arms and started pulling me toward the door. “Sophia, we knew about this. Just drop it,” my father-in-law said. “Your only job right now is to take care of yourself and give our family a grandson. Don’t worry about anything else, you hear me?” my mother-in-law added. The absurdity of it all made me laugh. This family of self-righteous hypocrites was disgusting. “Let go of me, or I’m getting rid of this baby.” That made them release me. My mother-in-law adopted a patronizing tone. “Sophia, dear, we paid for this house. We just saw how hard it was for them, a mother and daughter all alone. Don’t overthink it.” “Marcus was Claire’s mentor. Isn’t it natural for him to help his mentee with her living situation?” I turned to Claire and gave her my ultimatum. “You have three days to return the five hundred thousand dollars for the house, plus the other eighty thousand he transferred to you over the years. Or I’ll see you in court.” His parents immediately jumped to her defense. “Sophia, you come back here! Our son gave her that house, it has nothing to do with you! What right do you have to take it back?” “Just because our son is dead, you think you can call the shots? Don’t think that baby in your belly makes you the queen!” My voice was calm as I delivered the final blow. “I have proof that Marcus was having an affair with Claire Han.” “Every penny Marcus spent on her was marital property. Do you think I can’t get it back?” “Claire,” I said, my eyes locking onto hers, “surely you know the basics. The law doesn’t protect mistresses.” Claire’s face was pale as she bit her lip, unable to say a word. I turned and walked away, leaving Marcus screaming in my head. I really underestimated this bitch! God damn it, just wait until I’m born! I’ll make you pay! Vile whore! I make good money, what’s wrong with supporting another woman? Every man cheats! You take back the house and make Claire and our daughter sleep on the street? You’re a monster! I ignored him and kept walking. As I got in my car, Marcus suddenly let out a sigh of relief. Good thing I already got that DNA test done with Claire’s kid. All she has to do is open my safe deposit box. The test will prove the kid is mine and entitle her to half my estate. Even if she takes the house and the money, Claire and our daughter will be fine. My hand froze on the ignition. The tears I had been holding back finally fell. No wonder his parents defended her. Her daughter was Marcus’s. And the cruelest joke of all? I’m a senior obstetrician at the local hospital. I was the one who delivered Claire’s daughter. Those two bastards deserved to burn in hell. 4 See? She’s crying. Still heartbroken over me. I knew she was just putting on a brave face. All this drama is just because she loves me too much. But it can’t be helped. The only person I’ll ever love is Claire. The way she looks at me with those innocent, adoring eyes… I can’t resist it. It’s a look Sophia could never learn. I wiped my tears away, my face twisting in disgust. Marcus’s nauseating monologue snapped me out of my grief. I drove home and immediately found our marriage certificate. Then, I said aloud, “Marcus was always so sneaky. I wonder what he might have hidden in a bank…” AHHHH! How did she guess again?! I left so little for Claire! Is she going to take it all? How can Sophia be so conniving? Claire, forget the house! Just go to the bank, get the DNA test from the safe deposit box! At least you can get half the estate for our daughter! I’ll find a way to get the rest back for you after I’m born! Hearing the panic in his voice, like an ant on a hot pan, lifted my spirits considerably. At the bank, I used Marcus’s death certificate and our marriage certificate to open his safe deposit box. I had prepared myself, but the sight of that DNA test result still stung. Sophia! You destroy that test and I swear to god I will kill you! The creature inside me was throwing a powerless tantrum. I deliberately held the paper near my belly… “If I tear this up, there will be no one left in the world who can prove the connection between Claire’s daughter and Marcus, right?” Nooo, that’s the only proof! Don’t tear it! I’ll kick you to death! I swear I’ll break your ribs! How pathetic. A fetus was threatening me? Right in front of him, I slowly tore the paper into tiny pieces. Then I took out a lighter and burned them to ash. “Don’t worry, Marcus,” I said calmly. “I won’t let your mistress get a single penny.” “And another thing. Why should a mistress and an illegitimate child get to live their lives out in the open?” What… what is she planning to do? Using Marcus’s work account, I forwarded proof of his affair with Claire to every single one of his colleagues. Then I went to the parent group for Claire’s daughter’s school and exposed her mother as a homewrecker. Soon, my phone was blowing up with calls from Claire. “Sophia, I know you hate me! Take it out on me, but my daughter is innocent! What kind of person hurts a child?” “You push me too far, and I swear I will drag you down with me!” My reply was ice-cold. “Your daughter’s private kindergarten costs over twenty thousand a year. My husband’s salary paid for that. You still think she’s innocent?” Claire treated her daughter like the most precious thing in the world. But did she know that when she was pregnant, I was pregnant too? Marcus had claimed to be child-free, that he hated kids. He threatened to divorce me unless I terminated the pregnancy. It turned out he just hated my child. Claire was screaming on the other end of the line. “Marcus gave me that money! It’s your own damn fault you couldn’t keep your man!” “How is my daughter supposed to show her face at school now?!” I scoffed. “You should have thought of that when you were sleeping with another woman’s husband.” “Claire, if you don’t return the money in three days, your daughter won’t just have trouble showing her face. Her only remaining legal guardian will be in jail.” Claire was hysterical, but Marcus had suddenly gone quiet. It’s fine. I pretended to be a loving husband to Sophia for years. She’ll definitely give birth to me. All I have to do is make sure she dies in childbirth, and all the assets will come back to me, the sole heir! Then I’ll arrange for Claire to adopt me, and our family can finally be together again! He must be out of options now. A small smile played on my lips as I drove to the hospital. I walked to the registration desk, my smile widening, and said the one sentence that would drive Marcus insane. “I’m here for an abortion.”

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She was Seraphina Albright, the woman who traded a tenure track at The Claremont Institute—the kind of position people commit slow academic suicide for—to marry me. I was Ashton Cole, the man she’d chosen. The same hands that had snagged academia’s highest honors had made meals for me for three years. Everyone said she was madly in love with me. Until her research assistant, Jude Carver, formatted my core data right in front of my face. “What have you done?” My voice was a shaky whisper. He froze, utterly helpless, and Seraphina immediately stepped in front of him. “Jude didn’t mean to, Ash.” I stared at her hands—the hands that once held my victory trophy—now resting protectively on his shoulder. It was a searing, physical betrayal. Three years ago, my mother, gripping my hand tight from her sickbed, had rasped, “Ash, if you ever run into a wall, call her.” I took a ragged breath, the memory a ghost in the room, and pressed ‘Send’ on a message I’d drafted days ago. “Jude Carver, you are going to the inquiry board.” I spoke without raising my voice, yet the coldness made him flinch. He ducked behind Seraphina, plucking nervously at her sleeve. Seraphina frowned, easing me away from him. “Ash, stop it. You’re scaring him.” She turned, taking a seat at the main console, and started typing. I watched her back, my fists clenched tight enough to hurt. A few seconds later, she stopped. “Well?” I pressed. She stood, avoiding my eyes. “The data can’t be recovered.” The atmosphere in the lab instantly curdled into something toxic and heavy. I lunged forward, my punch aimed for Jude. Seraphina, a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, caught my arm with impossible ease and flung me aside. I stumbled, crashing into a heavy lab bench. She looked at me then, her eyes as frigid and detached as if I were a stranger. I stayed frozen where I stood. It was the first time she had ever looked at me that way. The lab door swung open just as Dr. Warren Carmichael’s booming, cheerful voice cut through the tension. “Ash Cole! I pushed my board meeting just for this! You finished the beast your mother couldn’t tame in three years. Truly, the apple didn’t fall far!” I quickly rearranged my face, trying to salvage the last scraps of my dignity. “Dr. Carmichael, I’m sorry. We’ve had a major incident with Project Triton. The sea trial is off for today.” “What kind of incident? Do you need our resources?” Seeing the genuine concern on his face only amplified my shame. Before I could offer a professional explanation, Jude blurted out, “The core control module data is just… gone.” “What?!” Dr. Carmichael’s volume shot up. A specialist quickly checked the system and his voice was ice. “Professor Cole, there are zero trace logs of the neural core algorithm running in the system’s underlayer. Academic credibility isn’t built on hypothetical data.” I spun around, stunned, to look at Seraphina. She was the only one who had touched the console. She was the only one with the skill to cleanly erase every trace. I looked at the eyes I used to drown in, and my voice came out trembling, unrecognizable. “Seraphina, why?” Every single person’s gaze was fixed on the two of us. She sighed and walked toward me, reaching out to take my hand, but I jerked away. Her hand hung in the air for a moment before she dropped it naturally, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Ash, I know I’ve been distant lately. I understand you’re upset.” She turned to the Dean, her tone laced with professional regret. “Dr. Carmichael, Ash has been under an immense amount of pressure. I think he may be experiencing some cognitive dissonance. The data might have only existed in his proposals.” “Seraphina, you’re lying.” I shrieked the words. “Jude did the format, and you, afterwards, wiped every single operation log and trace.” Jude fearfully scrambled behind Seraphina. She instinctively shifted her body, creating a barrier. That tiny, subconscious gesture was like a dagger twisting in my heart. Her expression shifted to one of sheer annoyance before settling into familiar, patronizing resignation. “Ash, let’s go home and talk about this, okay? You need to rest.” Dr. Carmichael looked utterly defeated. “Professor Cole, I will report the events of today exactly as they occurred. You are suspended from all duties pending a full investigation.” He and the others filed out. The remaining lab members quietly collected their things, avoiding my gaze, and melted away. Finally, it was just the three of us. I watched her protective stance over Jude and was suddenly thrown back three years to an image: Seraphina, black dress, gold medal, proclaiming on the stage, “My future is with him.” Now, it was clear her future had a different co-star. Seraphina opened her mouth as if to say something. I looked into her eyes, but I cut her off first. “Seraphina, we need to get a divorce.” She stepped forward, gripping my wrist without asking. “Ash, you need to cool down. You are not thinking straight.” I tried to pull away, but her grip tightened. “Stop this childishness. You are and always will be my husband.” She dragged me out, giving me no choice. Back at the house, the dining table was laid with all my favorite dishes. She served me meal, pushing the plate toward me, her demeanor eerily normal. “Eat something. You’ve lost weight.” “Seraphina,” I looked her straight in the eye. “Project Triton was my mother’s dying wish. It was my dream.” Her forks paused. She picked up a piece of asparagus and placed it on my plate. “The data is lost. With your ability, rebuilding it is only a matter of time.” Then came the knife. “But Jude just graduated. If this is pinned on him as a major accident, his life is over.” I couldn’t help the hysterical laughter that tore from my chest, and the tears that immediately followed. “His life is important, and mine isn’t? If the academic fraud is confirmed, my career is finished.” “I could go to prison, Sera. Have you thought about that?” Her expression faltered for just a split second. She reached out and gently wiped the tears from my cheek. “It won’t come to that. I will handle it. You are just exhausted. You need rest.” Watching her in complete, cold control made me feel overwhelmingly, impossibly weary. “I’m tired. I’m going up to rest.” My voice was flat, empty. She didn’t stop me. She only stood there, watching my back as I walked up the stairs, her gaze dark and complex. I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard the low thrum of her car starting downstairs. A half-hour later, a video came in on my phone from Jude Carver’s number. It was Seraphina, arms around him, soothing him, her expression a mask of gentle empathy. The video finished, and he instantly recalled it. A new message popped up right away. [Professor Cole, my apologies. Sent that to the wrong person.] I didn’t reply. I didn’t even look at it again. An hour later, I heard the door open and footsteps downstairs. Seraphina was back, quicker than I’d expected. As soon as she reached the stairs, her phone rang. She turned her back to me, her voice hushed. “What’s going on? Don’t panic, I’m on my way.” She hung up and immediately spun to leave. She stopped at the door, glancing back at me. “Something urgent came up at the lab. I have to go out.” “Don’t wait up.” I said nothing, just sat silently on the edge of the bed, watching her go. She didn’t return that night. My phone screen occasionally lit up. Picture after picture, short video after short video. Seraphina putting food on Jude’s plate in a restaurant. Jude leaning against her shoulder in the car. Under the harsh midnight light of the lab, the two of them bent side-by-side over a document, the space between them intimate and charged… Each time the screen glowed, it felt like a tiny blade slicing at an already numb heart. I thought I was past tears, but they silently began to fall again. The next afternoon, Jude showed up on my doorstep. I leaned against the doorframe, looking at him with utter indifference. My lack of reaction seemed to sting him. He tilted his chin up, a sneer forming. “Professor Cole, why the self-deception?” He curled his lip. “Whose heart Seraphina holds, who she held and comforted all night long—you still don’t get it?” “Clinging to a dead marriage—if you’re not exhausted, I am for you.” I watched him quietly until he was finished. Then I spoke, slowly. “Done? Then get out.” I slammed the front door with all my strength. Jude stared at the closed door, his eyes flashing with malice. “You’ll regret this, Ash Cole.” I looked down at the unanswered message thread on my phone, my fingers ice cold. Had my mother misremembered? Or had the contact simply vanished? Just as I prepared to try the number again, my Twitter feed erupted. #WestwoodWunderkindExposed: Academic Fraudster #ProjectTritonHead: The Professor and the Paramour #DidHeSleepHisWayToTheTop? I clicked through. My photos, my professional history, even my family background—all laid bare, paired with deeply inflammatory captions. A few comments defending me were swiftly buried beneath a torrent of insults and filth. The few brave souls who spoke up were quickly driven off. Then the School Oversight Office called. “Professor Cole, report to the school immediately for questioning.” I hung up and drove to the university. The lab’s soundproofing wasn’t great. As I reached the door, Seraphina’s voice drifted out. “Jude, I can overlook your childish impulses, but turning this into an online circus is too much.” “I’ve made arrangements. I’m sending you to the East Coast in three days. I will handle the university side. Go and finish your degree without worry.” “I’m not leaving.” “Sera, I was wrong. Just forgive me this once, okay? Please…” “Can you really bear for our baby to be born without a father?” I couldn’t stand it anymore. I shoved the door open violently. A flash of rare panic crossed Seraphina’s face. She instantly pushed Jude away and walked toward me. “Ash, wait, it’s not what you think…” My gaze dropped to her abdomen. No wonder she’d been inventing excuses to avoid me lately. She was pregnant. My voice was dead calm. “Misunderstand? Are you denying you’re carrying his child?” She looked like she’d been choked, frozen where she stood. I didn’t spare her another glance. I walked straight to my office area, scooped up my laptop, and turned to leave. I spent a full twenty-four hours in the Oversight Office before they released me. When I walked out, the online furor had vanished. As I descended the steps, a man in a baseball cap rushed at me. “Academic fraudster, you deserve to die!” A flash of steel. A fruit knife plunged into my abdomen. I clutched the wound, staggering back, my head hitting the ground with a sickening thud. When I next woke up, I was in the hospital. Seraphina was sitting by my bed, her eyes shadowed with dark circles, looking utterly exhausted. Seeing me awake, her lips parted, but no sound came out. My voice was raspy. “Just say it.” She was silent for a long time before speaking the difficult words. “The online news was already suppressed.” “But the video of your attack at the university gates was recorded, and it hit the trending list again. The public pressure is immense… The inquiry board hearing is in two days.” I barely registered anything but the words inquiry board hearing. I closed my eyes, saying nothing. “But don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She urgently tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away. “I’m tired. I want to rest.” I cut her off, closing my eyes again. Her outstretched hand froze mid-air. After a long moment, she let it fall, adjusted my blanket, and then left the room. Confirming she was gone, I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the phone on my pillow. [Mr. Cole, my apologies. The data cannot be recovered. You may request an alternative condition.] The last shred of hope in my heart shattered. Two days later, Seraphina came to pick me up. She gently straightened my collar, her gaze soft. “Ash, it will be fine. I’ve handled everything. It’s just a formality.” I barely managed a quiet “Mhm” and didn’t look at her again. The steps leading up to the courthouse were endless. I stopped, turning my head to Seraphina at my side. “Seraphina, I’ll be fine, right?” She paused for a brief second, then gripped my hand. “Of course. Trust me.” I stood before the inquiry panel. I handled every question with composure. Until my research results were displayed on the screen, and the authorship read, chillingly, Jude Carver. The blood froze in my veins. The only person who knew the full scope of those results was Seraphina. I snapped my head toward the spectator entrance. Empty. Just before the judge’s gavel was about to drop, the door flew open. Seraphina rushed in, late. My eyes were locked onto her. Her phone vibrated. She looked down at the screen, and her face instantly changed. My heart seized up. Then, under my pleading, desperate gaze, she turned and walked away. The door clicked shut quietly. The last sound in my world vanished. It took me a moment to realize where I was. My voice was a desperate, dry sound. “I request an immediate recess.” Trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. One ring, two rings… After the ninety-ninth ring, I finally gave up. Just then, a text message popped up. [Jude’s been kidnapped. It’s an emergency. I have to save him. Hold on, Ash, I’ll be right back.] Kidnapped? I stared at the words, and then a low laugh started in my throat. The laughter quickly turned into a violent cramp in my stomach. I doubled over, pressing my hands to the wound that hadn’t fully healed. So this was her ‘arrangement.’ She had abandoned me—again—for him. I looked down at the “alternative condition” text on my screen, edited a reply, and sent it back. When I stood on the panel again, my eyes were vacant. I stopped arguing. I stopped looking at anyone. I was ultimately sentenced to one year in prison. The next day, Seraphina came to visit. The look in her eyes held no guilt, only profound disappointment. “Ash, I never thought you’d sink this low—so malicious that you’d disregard a human life.” I froze, completely confused by her words. “I promised to send him away, but you still found someone to kidnap him. You are truly disappointing.” I weakly tried to explain. “It wasn’t me…” She cut me off, her voice sharp and cold. “Ash, the evidence is irrefutable. When you do wrong, you pay the price.” A few days later, a new sentencing document arrived. My one-year term was extended to five years. Two weeks passed before Eliza Holt appeared at the visitation window. “Mr. Cole. I am the person you contacted.” She passed me a file. “Your abilities fit our Institute’s requirements.” “If you join, your current identity will be erased. The world will no longer know an Ashton Cole.” I took the file, and my answer was instantaneous, requiring almost no thought. “I accept.” A week later, the news of my death from illness in prison spread. Sitting on the plane, I watched the coastal lights of San Valencia shrink to glittering pinpricks. Goodbye, Seraphina. Goodbye, my past.

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The crown prince of the elite circle hates gold diggers the most. Unfortunately, I am one. Upon hearing this, I asked Liam Xie: “What would you do if someone approached you for money?” He answered casually: “Kill them.” Me: ? Wait, how are you such a criminal? That won’t work, I’m after the money. I packed up my valuables and fled overnight. [Not pestering you anymore, I’m leaving first, wish you find a good person who doesn’t covet your money soon.] Three days later, while I was bargaining with a clerk at a luxury resale shop, a black card was suddenly placed in front of me. The man’s eyes were red at the corners. “Baby, I’ll give you all my money, pester me for a lifetime, okay?” 1 “What are you looking at, baby?” Liam had a gathering today and came home almost at eleven. When he returned, the smell of alcohol lingered on him, making me frown. I drove him to the bathroom: “No kissing me until you’re clean!” He picked me up and walked into the bathroom. Steam rose, blurring the mirror. His hand reached for my nightgown: “Let’s wash together.” I refused: “No.” He insisted. Rip— The super expensive and super easy-to-tear nightgown Liam carefully selected was split in two. His Adam’s apple bobbed: “Baby…” I was expressionless: “I said no.” “I showered before you came back, washing twice is bad for the skin.” After speaking, I gathered the broken nightgown, pushed him away, and left the bathroom. Thoughtfully closed the door for him. “Don’t tear my nightgown next time!” It’s very expensive! It’s not like I don’t let him take it off properly, he just has to tear it. He tore three in a week. Prodigal! The sound of water in the bathroom was loud; it was obvious Liam was working overtime to shower. I lay on the bed bored, scrolling through my phone. A message popped up on WeChat. Chloe Lin: [Look at this] She sent a link. [Inventory of rich family gossip you don’t know!] I replied with a question mark first, then clicked open. Skimming through a bunch of gossip anecdotes about familiar names, true or false, my eyes stopped on a certain line. [Elite circle crown prince Liam Xie hates gold diggers the most, rumor has it he once…] Chloe happened to send me a screenshot, capturing this part. Chloe: [My treasure, real or fake?] Me: [Don’t know? Fake, right?] Chloe: [Many other things in this post I know are true, why don’t you test him?] I pondered, switched back to the post, just about to read the specific description, when a hot body pressed up from behind. “Baby, is the phone more fun than me?” With a guilty conscience, I quickly closed the gossip page: “What?” Liam turned my head, pinching my chin: “Dressing like this to seduce me, hmm?” The rising tail tone was extremely alluring. I said pitifully: “Sui didn’t.” While speaking, my fingertips brushed over his Adam’s apple. “But Sui had no choice, my mother is still in the hospital…” I closed my eyes, fantasizing myself as a fragile white flower, “Mr. Xie, as long as you give me fifty thousand, no, ten thousand is enough, Sui is yours tonight.” He bit my ear: “Tonight, please me.” 2 Couldn’t please him at all. I kicked him: “I’m tired.” He grabbed my ankle and put it on his shoulder. He protected my head: “Baby rest, I’ll do it.” Rest my ass!! In the end, I couldn’t even lift my hand. Liam held me and coaxed me for a long time. I was sleepy, let him carry me to wash up. Through half-closed eyes, I saw him plant a devout kiss on my forehead in the dim light. “Baby, I love you.” I don’t know how I thought of the role-play and the gossip I saw before. I asked him dazedly: “What would you do if a woman approached you for money?” He was looking for pajamas for me. Hearing this, he answered me: “Make them disappear from the world.” I was stunned, sleepiness faded a bit: “What?” Liam put the pajamas on me, answering casually: “Kill them.” After changing clothes, he kissed my lips with satisfaction: “Alright, baby sleep.” He pressed me against his chest and said goodnight. But I couldn’t sleep now. Bad news. I approached Liam for money. How is he a criminal? 3 I have a broken family. Gambling dad, stock-trading mom. I’m an only child. They were immersed in their own worlds since I was young, caring very little about me, their daughter. Fortunately, when I was young, their careers were flourishing. In a rich family, no matter how bad it is, the daughter won’t live too poorly. Unfortunately, starting from middle school, both of them collapsed and sold all assets. Only endless quarrels and abuses were left at home. I also turned from a rich girl to a poor student overnight. This poor student life lasted until college. Not that my family became rich again, but during a fight between them, no one noticed the cigarette butt on the floor, and knocked over a few bottles of wine. The fire swallowed them. The terrible family vanished overnight. Leaving only a buttload of debt pressing on my shoulders. High-interest loans, online loans, they borrowed everything they could. After overdue, debt collectors blocked the school gate, urging me like urging for life. And published my information by the way. That time was really torture. Couldn’t do part-time jobs, no place to earn money, I was almost driven to death by them. When preparing to commit suicide, I saw my face clearly in the mirror. Young, beautiful. The only property left to me by my parents. Except for the terrible parents, the world is beautiful. I want to live. No matter what, I want to live. To be honest, being with Liam initially was for money. If he had no money, I wouldn’t even look at him. Now Liam says he hates gold diggers. I am a gold digger. I secretly opened my eyes, he was asleep. I stroked his cheek, inch by inch. “Liam…” The person with closed eyes suddenly opened them, he grabbed my wrist: “Baby, didn’t you say you were tired? Still have strength?” He turned over and pressed on me. I quickly closed my eyes: “Tired tired, really tired!” 4 In the morning, after saying good morning to Liam, I drilled back into the quilt. He covered me with the quilt and chuckled: “Little pig.” Holding back sleepiness, I threw the pillow at him: “You have the nerve, why am I sleepy!” He is an energy monster, I am not. It’s eight in the morning now, I only slept after three last night!! Why doesn’t he reflect on himself! Liam kissed me: “It’s my fault, we’ll start earlier next time.” Me: ? Can’t this segment be canceled? Probably knowing he would make me angry, Liam rubbed my head and left quickly. I slept beautifully again until noon. Woke up and checked the phone, message bombardment. First replied to Liam’s message asking me to text him when I woke up, I switched back to the main page. Chloe sent me a bunch of messages. [Did you test him?] [Did you ask, what’s the result?] [Why don’t you reply to my message?] [???] [Where are you?] [Not pressed on bed while testing, right?] [Mm, okay, confirmed, indeed.] [Forget it, remember to reply when you see it tomorrow morning.] [Oh, you might not wake up tomorrow morning, remember to reply when you see it tomorrow noon.] Me: … A little bit speechless. Don’t want to talk to her for now. I replied: [1] Chloe is also a night owl, probably not awake now. After sending the message, I stroked my chin and thought. Tested, or rather not called testing at all. I asked openly. Liam also answered me honestly. He indeed hates gold diggers very much. I sighed. Doomed. If he knows I approached him for money, I’m doomed. For him, this matter is only a question of whether he wants to do it, not whether he can do it. Besides, I feel very guilty. It would be fine if he didn’t like me, anyway, this money is just a drop in the bucket for him, finding some fun to provide emotional value for himself is also good. But Liam likes me very much, and I only treated him as an ATM at first. How does that saying go? What’s the difference between sincerity mixed with falsehood and shit in rice? If it were me, I would hate it to death. Wouldn’t he take double revenge on me? The more I thought, the colder my heart got. Doomed. How about running? Run quickly. Before he discovers the problem, slip away. Decided! Have to take things when slipping. I got up to pack things. Keep the meaningful ones, keep the ones he specially gave me. Fortunately, Liam gave a lot of things. Bought casually, new products sent directly by brands were especially many. Picked and sorted things for a day. I sorted out a pile that could be sold second-hand. After packing the suitcase, I clapped my hands, waiting for Liam to come home.

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I came from a poor background, but was vigorously pursued by the scion of a wealthy Shanghai family. After we got together, I found out that he had been live-streaming his pursuit of me online for fun. Next, he planned to live-stream our “home run” to his rich second-generation friends. Instead of getting angry, I actively agreed to spend the night with him. That night, standing in front of the hidden camera, I pretended to be drunk and said to him: “I have an even prettier side, do you want to see it?” “Julian.” Julian wasn’t him. It was his best buddy. 1 A week after I started dating Sean Song, a friend suddenly sent me a post. “Yvonne, why does this feel like it’s talking about you…” The post was titled “The Aloof Campus Belle, Nothing Special.” The blogger was a guy who made a bet with his bros on how long it would take to catch the campus belle. He live-streamed the entire pursuit process. Day 1, he said: “Honestly, I have zero interest in this kind of woman. Aloof just means not slutty enough. If it weren’t for winning the bet, I wouldn’t bother with her.” Day 10, he said: “She messaged me first, haha, what aloof campus belle, nothing special.” Day 30, he said: “Confession successful, easy win! Seeing her moved look, I almost couldn’t hold back my laughter.” The attached picture was a pair of holding hands. I was too familiar with this hand. Even the mole on the joint was exactly the same as mine. I was sure this was posted by Sean. At the end of the post, some netizens jeered: “Catching her is nothing, show us the home run if you have the guts.” Sean replied confidently: “Just wait.” 2 Sean was a famous rich second generation in our school. Relying on his money, he had endless girlfriends. But I had no interaction with him. A month ago, he suddenly pursued me with great fanfare. Everyone said Young Master Song was serious this time. I was also deceived by his pretense of deep affection. Among them, my roommate Linda Lin contributed greatly. Like now— Linda returned to the dorm. Seeing me, she immediately showed an ambiguous smile: “Yvonne, Sean asked you out tomorrow, why didn’t you agree?” “Busy.” “Oh, what could be more important than your boyfriend?” She leaned close to me, saying attentively, “Sean likes you so much, you should be more enthusiastic, otherwise I’ll feel sorry for him.” “Feel sorry? Then you date him.” Linda was choked by my words. Don’t think I don’t know, she and Sean are in cahoots. In the post just now, I saw Linda’s ID. Stream Winding Forest: [Pursuing so seriously, I’m going to be jealous~] Sean: [Just chasing for fun, if I date you, what’s left for her?] Stream Winding Forest: [Haha, we’re all bros, what are you saying.] Sean: [Others are bros, you are the ancestor.] She and Sean interacted frequently; those who didn’t know would think they were flirting. Looking back on this month, Linda brainwashed me quite a bit. I didn’t want to talk to Linda, so I turned and went into the bathroom. The door wasn’t closed tightly. Soon, Linda’s voice complaining came: “Sean, your girlfriend has such a bad temper, who is she showing attitude to!” Sean’s voice rang out quickly: “She made you angry? Don’t worry, when I dump her, I’ll definitely vent for you.” 3 I knew Sean had a small clique. Inside were a group of playful rich second generations. Linda was the only girl among them. Every night, they would play games together. Sean never invited me. But I knew the room number. At night, I pretended to sleep but hid under the covers, entering the room invisibly. Inside was chattering. Someone asked: “Sean, you’ve caught her now, what do you plan to do next?” “Find a time to dump her.” Sean’s lazy voice came. “Yvonne is quite pretty, really willing to dump her?” “Her family is poor as hell, I don’t want to do charity.” “Pretty is enough, your family doesn’t lack money.” “What do you know, matching social status is still very important.” Linda suddenly spoke up. To prevent me from hearing, she hid behind the curtain, her voice very low. “Right, Julian?” She suddenly cued this person, her tone becoming fawning. The room instantly quieted down. Seemed everyone was waiting for this person’s instruction. “Mn, important.” An exceptionally pleasant voice sounded. Like electricity running through my scalp. Linda was happy: “That means, Julian, you won’t look for a girl like Yvonne?” After a moment’s pause. Julian said absent-mindedly: “Probably not.” 4 I had heard the name Julian before. He was different from ordinary rich second generations. His family not only had money but also power. Although the small clique was arrogant and domineering, they were quite respectful to Julian. Except for Sean. The two of them always competed with each other. Julian spoke very little. After a while, he excused himself as sleepy and went offline early. Once he left, Sean let out a dissatisfied “Damn.” “Why didn’t you say so earlier, if not for him, I wouldn’t have pursued Yvonne!” “What do you mean?” “Just because he said Yvonne looks okay, I, the young master, pursued Yvonne out of spite.” So, Julian was the fuse. Everyone in the room laughed: “You still hold a grudge?” “A year ago, the girl you liked only had eyes for Julian, and you remember it till now.” “Taking away my love, can I not remember?” “It wasn’t Julian’s fault.” Sean tsked: “Forget it, since I chased her, might as well sleep with her.” Others jeered: “With Yvonne like that, she’s probably boring in bed.” “I feel Yvonne won’t sleep with you.” “Questioning my charm?” Sean smiled contemptuously, “She loves me to death now! Just wait, the day of the home run, I’ll live-stream it for you!” After hearing this sentence, I exited the room. Interesting. I hooked the corner of my lips and sent a message to Sean. “Honey, I changed my mind. “Tomorrow, I want to go out with you.”

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The night before the wedding, my sister brought me Bella’s death certificate. A climbing accident in the remote Alaskan interior. Survival rate: negligible. I shredded the paper. I flew out alone. I went to the Yukon and shredded myself, too. I battled altitude sickness, pulmonary edema, and the kind of isolation that makes you think you’re going mad. I faced down a pack of wolves, lost, staggering, all for a shadow on a horizon that held no one. Three years later, I came back—hair matted, skin like leather, a man aged a decade. All I’d found was her ID tag, buried in the permafrost. I passed a trendy bistro, and there she was. Not a ghost. Bella Keller, draped in a custom gown, laughing with Amelia, my own sister. Finn O’Connell, her junior, gave a soft, practiced laugh. “Thanks, ladies. Just because Cas said one harsh thing to me, you two went this far to back me up? And right before you were supposed to marry him, Bella.” Bella smiled, the kind of indulgent, maternal smile I used to love. “You’re our only one, Finn. You work so hard on those rescue missions, and Caspian had the nerve to call you irresponsible. This whole thing? It’ll humble him. Do him some good, really.” “But… he’s not actually hurt, is he? Cas?” “No, my people are looking out for him,” she assured him, a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’ll be fine. We’ll get married eventually. It’s what he wants most. The hardship he endured in the Yukon? He’ll forget it. It’s insignificant.” A draft blew through my empty right pant leg. The System cut in, its voice a hollow hum. [Target has agreed to marry. Mission accomplished. You may redeem one wish, guaranteed. Redeem now, Host?] A single, raw tear carved a clean path down my dirt-caked cheek. “Then let her,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat, “let her truly die in the Yukon.” [Wish received, timeline being replanned…] Through the bistro window, Bella answered a call. “Another climber is missing in the interior?” I saw her lips move. “Right. I’ll mobilize our team immediately.” I knew the System’s will was already at work. “And any word on my fiancé lately?” she asked the caller. “He’s volatile. He must have been frantic when he thought I’d vanished. It’s been three years, but keep an eye out for him.” She turned. And her eyes—eyes that hadn’t seen a real struggle in years—met mine through the glass. Her lips formed two words: Later. Talk. Bella and Mia burst out. “Cas? God, what have you done to yourself?” Bella reached up, her fingers grazing my rough, cracked cheek—a face that, three years ago, was only concerned with a clean shave for our wedding. Mia grabbed a single, broken strand of my hair, her eyes wide with shock. “You… you have gray in your beard?” I was dragged into a high-end salon. The stylist tutted, struggling to work a brush through the mess. “How long has it been since you washed this? And for a young man, your skin is so rough.” Mia and Bella exchanged a look in the mirror. Both quickly averted their gaze. The stylist glanced at Finn O’Connell, who stood by the door, observing. “But this gentleman is immaculate. Obviously a trust fund baby, no expense spared.” I gave a harsh, internal laugh. Of course he was immaculate. Bella looked after him. I remembered catching Finn three years ago, teasing her to use her expensive moisturizer. She’d pretend to scold him while meticulously applying the lotion to his face with her own hands. I’d snatched the jar away and dressed Finn down for his immaturity. Bella had smoothed things over, that same indulgent smile fixed on her face. “Finn had a rough childhood, Cas. No one to look out for him. He sees us as family in the squad. Don’t be like this.” I’d pushed back, the pain sharp and immediate. “A fiancé is family, Bella! More than a junior teammate! When have you ever fussed over my skin like that?” She’d frozen. Finn had stomped off and vanished for a month. Bella never mentioned it again, even before her “rescue mission” to the Yukon, when she’d held me tight and promised me forever. I’d thought it was over. But I saw it now. It was never over. It was the start of the plan. A cruel, calculated plan to punish me. And my sister, Amelia, delivered the weapon. I remembered Mia’s whispered words through the glass: ‘It had to be me. Cas trusts me more than anyone. It makes the illusion perfect.’ I stood up. Hair half-cut, a mess of tangled frustration. I walked out. Bella’s hand grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?” “You just got an emergency call, didn’t you?” I said, shaking her off. “I wouldn’t want to hold up the great rescuer.” A flicker of what looked like genuine pain crossed her face, her eyes welling up. “No, Cas, wait. Tomorrow is your birthday. You forgot, didn’t you? I can speed through the rescue trip. I won’t miss it.” Amelia’s gaze softened too, a sliver of sisterly concern. “Let us do this one thing for you, Cas. Let us celebrate.” I didn’t refuse. What did it matter? I knew my next destination, too. Early or late, the destination was the same. I turned to leave fully. In the reflection, behind Mia’s shoulder, I saw Finn O’Connell. His eyes were cold, calculating. Not the injured junior at all. The birthday party was lavish, an absurd spectacle. I felt like a museum piece, pulled onto a gilded stage. The warmth and smiles of the guests were a physical shock after three years of wilderness. My throat tightened. Before I could even speak, the main doors burst open. Finn O’Connell stumbled in, covered in blood, his expensive clothes shredded, collapsing in front of the horrified crowd. “Mr. Thorne,” he wailed, his voice breaking. “I promised I’d leave the two women alone! Why are you still trying to ruin me!” The “Happy Birthday” chorus died instantly. Bella and Mia lunged for him. One held him; the other ripped off her jacket to press against his wounds. Seeing the deep gashes, Mia’s face contorted with fury. “Caspian Thorne! What in God’s name did you do?!” The guests gasped, their disbelief a palpable wave. “Those cuts… they’re terrible.” “Mr. Thorne just returned, and this is what he does? His parents, God rest their souls, must be heartbroken watching this!” Bella glared at me, her teeth grinding. “I told you! I was rescued by a local guide! We spent these years searching for you! We didn’t keep my survival a secret, and Finn had nothing to do with it! Whatever you have against me, come after me! Attacking an innocent man is monstrous!” Finn crawled forward on his knees, a perfect picture of beaten puppy-dog remorse. “Mr. Thorne, I swear, I have no improper feelings for the ladies. I was abandoned as a child, starving for affection. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll never see them again. Why are you trying to destroy me?” Bella and Mia sucked in a breath at the mention of him leaving. I looked down at the pathetic creature kneeling at my feet. “You haven’t changed at all, Finn. You’re still a performance artist.” “Caspian Thorne!” Bella’s hand shot out, grabbing my throat and slamming me against the wall. She pointed at Finn’s wounds. “Who fakes injuries like this?! We told you we didn’t fake my death to hurt you! Why are you so relentless? Have you lost all decency? Did three years in the wilderness strip you of your humanity? Maybe you need three more to learn some manners!” Mia stepped in, her voice cold. “You will either apologize to Finn, sign a statement guaranteeing you’ll never harass him or try to force him out. Or, you take the same injuries he has.” The hand left my throat. I doubled over, gasping for air. The pulmonary edema I’d developed—and barely survived—in the Yukon was better, but the damage was permanent. The irony. “Stop the dramatics, Cas. We had a network watching you. You were never in actual danger.” Bella thrust a pen and paper at me. Sign the confession. I braced my shaking frame, took the pen—and snapped it clean in half. “No need,” I choked out. “I’ll take the second option.” Bella and Mia flinched. “You want to be injured? Are you insane?” The next moment, I reached down, unbuckled the socket, and detached my own right leg. I placed the prosthetic on the table with a dull thud, fighting for breath. “One leg,” I rasped. “Is that enough?” “Cas!” Amelia screamed, her hands flying to her mouth. “If not,” I continued, my voice gaining a terrible clarity, “how about an eye?” I reached up and pulled out my left eyeball. A glass prosthetic. The first time I met the pack, the fire failed, and the alpha ripped out the original. “Cas!” Bella’s voice was a ragged whisper. I clutched my chest. My lips were turning blue from the edema. I collapsed to the floor. “How… how is this possible!” Bella knelt instantly, clutching my arm, trembling violently. “I had people watching you! I told them to protect you! Why did they let this happen!” Before the blackness took me, I registered one thing: Finn O’Connell, the pathetic, injured victim, flinched when Bella said she’d had me ‘protected.’ His eyes flickered away. I woke up in a sterile room. Bella was by my side, clutching my hand. “It’s settled, Cas. It was a misunderstanding. Finn was attacked by thugs and thought you hired them.” I stared at her, waiting for the inevitable apology, the remorse. Instead, she sighed. “Don’t blame him. If you hadn’t always been so aggressive toward him, he wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” “Bella…” My voice was a choked sound. “It’s… over? All that suffering? Just dismissed as a misunderstanding?” “Cas!” She gently pressed me back against the pillows. Her voice softened, now a practiced coo. “Let’s get married. Now.” I froze. She traced the empty socket of my eye, her own eyes instantly glossy. “I’ve pushed my rescue trip back two days. Cas, I am so sorry I let you suffer. I will be your wife, and I will spend my life making it up to you.” She pressed my hands between hers. “Finn is just a teammate, a brother. If I had known you would be hurt this badly, I would have let him suffer instead.” “Bella…” Finn’s small, wounded voice came from the doorway. Bella tensed. She snapped her head toward him. “Get out.” “Bella!” “Get out!” Her brow furrowed. “I’m speaking to my fiancé. It has nothing to do with you.” Mia, still at the foot of the bed, looked surprised. “Bella…” “Get out!” Finn’s eyes were instantly red. Just like three years ago, when I’d first scolded him, he spun around and left. Mia watched him go, shaking her head with a sigh, but she didn’t follow him. “Marry me, Cas?” she pleaded. I looked out the window, a cold smile lifting the corner of my mouth. “Yes,” I whispered. Fine. She would die anyway, fulfilling the wish. And I would get half her estate in the real world. A single tear, hot and heavy, tracked down my cheek. Bella. You forced my hand. You promised me. You would never lie to me. And if you did, you deserved to die. You lied once. I won’t let you have a second chance. She didn’t wait. The news of our upcoming wedding—Caspian Thorne, the high-profile philanthropist, and Bella Keller, the heroic rescue captain—was plastered everywhere, dominating social media. The buzz didn’t last. It was quickly buried by another headline: Bella KELLER’S JUNIOR CO-WORKER: THE SECRET BOYFRIEND? The article detailed how Finn O’Connell allegedly pursued his married captain, sharing water bottles on missions, and how she applied his skincare products herself, all with photographic evidence. I blinked. I was the only one who knew those specific details. How had this leaked? The door slammed open. Bella stood there, spitting mad, a stack of the incriminating photos fluttering to the floor. “Why are you doing this to him?! He had a terrible childhood, he’s sensitive! If Mia and I hadn’t intervened, he would have killed himself!” Behind her, Finn was a mass of red eyes and tears, being cradled by Amelia. “Mr. Thorne, I only see the ladies as sisters! I’m sorry! I’m avoiding them! Why must you destroy me?” The pieces clicked. Finn had staged the whole media leak himself to provoke this exact reaction. Bella was frantic. “The media storm is out of control! Finn might be clueless about boundaries, but he’s worked hard to be where he is! You can’t just ruin an innocent person! Look at you, Cas!” I fought the urge to point out that they were the ones who pulled strings to get him into the squad. I just stared. “So what’s the solution? Do you want me to be pilloried by the media too?” “Yes,” she said, the word a flat stone. I flinched. “The only way to kill this scandal—since it originated because of you—is for me to marry Finn. A public, fast wedding to show he isn’t a homewrecker.” I thought I misheard her. Her eyes slid past my empty socket. A brief, fleeting moment of guilt. She softened her tone. “We’ll still legally marry, Cas. Me and you. After I get back from the Yukon. But for now, we have to save Finn. Don’t worry, I won’t actually sign the papers with him.” I fought for air, controlling the pulmonary strain. “Bella, do you remember the promise you made to me?” She paused. Avoided my gaze. She turned her back. “I said I’d marry you when I get back, Cas. I won’t lie to you.” Mia looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and annoyance. “You’re really testing my patience, Cas.” The two women shielded Finn and left. I watched Bella’s retreating back. My smile was a mask of coldness, but a tear slipped from my eye. Bella. You promised me. If I lie, may I die a terrible death. You lied once. I won’t let you have a second chance. The day before the “wedding,” Bella went to a quiet, gothic cathedral downtown. She looked up at the stained-glass image of Christ. She wasn’t religious. But she’d felt compelled to stop. The sorrowful figure looked down on her white gown. She whispered: “I am guilty. I deceived a man I truly love, Cas, and he suffered damage I never intended. But I had to do it. The other man—Finn—is innocent and vulnerable. I promised him my support. My sin was negligence, allowing a lesson to become a life-changing agony for my fiancé. I vow to spend my life atoning. Lord, forgive me.” A limping man entered the quiet space. Dragging my new prosthetic, I stood where Bella had been. It was strange. I was no believer, but I’d felt a pull, too. “I suppose I am also guilty,” I said, the words echoing off the stone. “I am about to cause a death. The death of my fiancée. I wished for her demise in the Alaskan wilderness. I once loved her deeply. Perhaps judging her sin is not my right. But I choose this anyway. She made the vow herself: If I lie, may I die a terrible death. If you called me here, Lord, I have only this to say: I will not recant. I will not regret. Lord, don’t forgive me.” I turned. The tap-tap of my shoe and the thud of the prosthetic were loud on the marble. I skipped the staged wedding. I only went to see Bella off as she left for her rescue trip. Finn came up, eyes red, but she ignored him, looking only at me. “Cas, a private goodbye?” Finn shot me a murderous glare. Her SUV stopped just before the freeway entrance. She got out and held me in a desperate, hard embrace. “I’m sorry, Cas. When I get back, I’m never leaving you again.” “I know,” I said, patting her back, cutting her off. “The wedding with Finn is a facade. I never wanted a life with anyone but you—” “I know,” I repeated, interrupting her again. “Go.” She walked toward the SUV, turning back to look at me three times, her face a mask of regret. As her car passed through the toll plaza, a tear slipped down my face, unnoticed by her. Goodbye, Bella. No. Farewell.

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After my 99th blind date with yet another freak, my best friend Chloe and I decided to ditch the men and keep the babies. She chose the sperm of a highly educated PhD, and I chose the sperm of an eight-country mixed-blood donor. After the babies were born, the PhD donor developed low sperm count and wanted to marry Chloe. She agreed. Watching me go to prenatal checkups alone, Chloe hugged her husband and mocked me. “You’re born to be a widow; no one wants to marry you. My husband just started a key national project; his future is limitless!” Unexpectedly, my baby’s father turned out to be a Dubai prince who took me back to be his princess. The heavy jewelry I wore weighed me down. Seeing the yacht I posted on social media, she suddenly came crying to me. “My husband’s project was suddenly suspended for some reason. We can’t even afford milk powder for the baby.” She wanted to reconcile with me and let her child call me godmother. But the moment I stepped into her house, she hacked me to death with a chainsaw. “Why is your life better than mine? Just because you chose better sperm?!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Chloe and I discussed “ditching the father, keeping the baby.” 1 “Sarah, what’s good about getting married! Let’s just have the babies and be the queens of our own lives!” My best friend, Chloe, shook me excitedly. In a trance, I looked around at the familiar laboratory and realized I had been reborn. Because I had encountered weirdos on blind dates so many times, Chloe and I decided to come to a private clinic to select high-quality sperm for IVF. Chloe’s sharp voice continued to ring in my ears, urging me constantly: “Sarah, look, here’s sperm from a PhD graduate from Ivy League schools. The baby will definitely be smart. You should choose this one!” Immediately after, she couldn’t wait to point to the information next to it labeled “Eight-Country Mixed-Blood” and said: “I’m all about looks. I love mixed babies. Sarah, you can’t fight me for this one!” In an instant, I was certain she had been reborn too, wanting to snatch the Dubai prince’s genes first. Chloe put on a facade of looking out for me: “This PhD donor obviously has good genes. You’d be losing out if you didn’t pick him.” Completely different rhetoric from her past life. I looked at her and nodded slowly. The moment I nodded, Chloe’s eyes lit up, her voice urgent and excited. “Then don’t you regret it!” What was there to regret? She was desperately persuading me to choose the sperm of the PhD, Dr. Liam Davis, simply because she wanted to go to Dubai to be a princess and live a life of luxury herself. In her past life, she said she wanted her child to be a high-IQ prodigy and chose Liam’s sperm first. Later, he developed a low sperm count and sought her out for marriage. When they held their wedding, I went to give a gift with my big belly, but she shut me out. Chloe was as arrogant as a peacock, looking me up and down with contempt, finally covering her mouth and snickering. “Ditching the father and keeping the baby—only you live in a fairy tale world. I’m going to rise in status because of my son!” “My husband was selected by the national team to lead an aerospace project! As for you, ‘eight-country mixed-blood’ sounds nice, but ugly truth is it’s just a mutt. Who knows if there’s Black blood in there!” Unexpectedly, a month after the wedding, I received an invitation made of solid gold. A white butler, six-foot-two, personally handed the invitation to me and said in fluent English: “Beautiful lady, the Prince knows you are carrying his child and wants to bring you to Dubai to marry him!” Only then did I know that the sperm I chose belonged to a Dubai prince. And after I went to Dubai, Chloe started frequently complaining about her life on social media. About some female PhD who didn’t know her place and insisted on being a seductress to hook up with her husband. She posted photos and videos of herself staking out the lab every day. Later, there were posts about her beating up the female PhD, who didn’t fight back because she was pregnant, and Chloe smugly thought it was because the other woman felt guilty. It was said that the project fell through because of Chloe’s unreasonable behavior, but she showed no remorse, instead feeling that her husband was incompetent. Mutual friends told me about their frequent quarrels. Later, because everyone knew about Chloe’s temper, no projects dared to approach Liam again, so he remained unemployed at home for a long time. After the child was born, everything required money. Liam had no job, and Chloe was originally aiming for a life of leisure, so she certainly wouldn’t share the household expenses. The couple argued every two days and had a big fight every three days. Liam started staying out all night frequently. Meanwhile, I often posted about royal gatherings, luxury cruises, and the pigeon-egg-sized diamond ring on my finger. So, in this rebirth, she didn’t hesitate to choose the Dubai prince’s sperm and persuade me to choose Liam’s. I pretended to know nothing, asking innocently: “But this eight-country mixed-blood doesn’t even specify where the mix comes from. What if the genes aren’t good?” Seeing that I had already signed, Chloe immediately interrupted me fiercely: “That’s none of your business. My son will definitely be a royal heir in the future. As for you, maybe your child won’t even have money for milk powder!” I couldn’t help but sneer in my heart. 2 Between a promising PhD with a genius son and a violent father-son duo with super-male syndrome (XYY syndrome), any fool knows who to choose! I wonder if Chloe will still be able to smile when she’s locked in a cage with a lion! In my past life, I was indeed taken back to the Dubai royal family. But that man, big and burly, threw me into the room on the spot and forcibly humiliated me. As soon as I resisted, he punched and kicked me. My body was covered in wounds, big and small. Because their women’s clothes covered everything tightly, outsiders couldn’t see. Even sitting on a chair was excruciatingly painful. Because he had the super-male gene, he couldn’t control his temper at all. Those expensive, beautiful, but heavy decorations in the room had all been thrown at my head by him. I often stepped onto the edge of death due to excessive blood loss, only to be healed by their advanced medical technology, over and over again. Even when I was pregnant, he would force himself on me. I had no one to turn to for help. Everyone looked at me like I was a slave. As for that eight-country mixed-blood child. I had already received the prenatal report before going abroad. He was not only a super-male but a super-male chimera, born to be a menace to society. The Dubai royal family didn’t allow me to abort. While still in my womb, he would kick my thin uterus hard, keeping me awake all night. Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but shiver. Confirming the procedure would take place in a few days, Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, repeatedly stroking the signed confirmation form for IVF, her eyes full of schadenfreude. ” ‘Highly educated PhD’ might just sound nice. Be careful you don’t encounter a useless loser who knows nothing. The child might turn out to be a fool too!” I didn’t react to her provocation at all; instead, I smiled kindly at her. “I heard that too much mixing can lead to mental illnesses. Chloe, you have to be careful.” Chloe always struck first, thinking that a rebirth could change her destiny. 3 Actually, she didn’t understand at all. What’s important isn’t the choice, but one’s own ability. Hearing my words, Chloe turned red, stomped her foot in anger, and pointed a trembling finger at me. “Just you wait and see whose child has worse genes!” Half a month after our IVF procedure, Liam was diagnosed with low sperm count, just like in the previous life, and found my home through the donor information. The man wore a well-fitted suit, handsome with bright eyes, smelling pleasantly of cedar. His voice was as gentle and melodious as a mountain spring: “Is this Ms. Sarah Williams?” While I was dazed for a moment, his ears slowly turned red, and he spoke somewhat flusteredly: “It might be a bit sudden, but could you please marry me?” “I won’t interfere with you after marriage…” “Okay, I agree. Shall we go get the license now?” Stunned by my frankness, Liam looked at me at a loss. Chloe’s laughter came from the phone. I was on a voice call with her just now. Chloe knew Liam would come today and couldn’t wait for me to taste the pain she suffered in her past life. “Hahahaha, Sarah, you’re in such a rush to marry! True, with that unmaintained face of yours, you definitely wouldn’t be able to marry if you waited a few more years!” “When you get married, I’ll definitely give you a big red envelope. After all, you won’t have many good days left!” Hearing the sharp, mocking female voice on the phone, Liam frowned subconsciously and retorted softly: “I won’t let you suffer…” But he was interrupted by Chloe. Her words were even meaner. “What good ending can two poor people have? Probably can’t even afford to raise a child, just arguing every day and living on welfare!” I hung up the phone directly, smiled slightly at Liam, my tone very firm. “I believe we won’t become what she said, absolutely not!” 4 We booked an auspicious day, took our household registration books, and got the marriage license. The wedding was set for half a month later. Liam accompanied me to choose the wedding dress and book the banquet, never absent for a moment. Looking at the man in front of me, I felt only relief. Isn’t a considerate, gentle husband who respects women better than a super-male freak? Chloe sent me a lot of provocative messages these days, all saying I married a useless man. But the poverty in her past life was actually all Chloe’s own doing. If that project had proceeded normally, Liam would have become the youngest authoritative expert in the world. His annual salary could easily reach millions. But Chloe’s pathological possessiveness blocked Liam’s future. She insisted on going to the lab to make noise and trouble, making those big shots unwilling to work with Liam. Thinking of this, I spoke very understandingly: “If you have project work to do, I can handle these things alone.” A flash of emotion crossed Liam’s eyes. He suddenly knelt on one knee and took out a ring. The diamond on the ring wasn’t big, but it was my favorite sky blue. Like a clear blue sky without clouds, making one feel happy at a glance. “It was abrupt a few days ago, so I wanted to make it up to you with a proposal.” “Sarah, will you marry me?” I nodded with a smile, raising my hand to let him put the ring that belonged to me on my finger. It couldn’t compare to the pigeon egg in Dubai, but my heart was filled with warmth. There, I would only be a tool for the royal family to show off their wealth. A slap, then a sweet date. For every piece of jewelry, there was a scar on my body. For amusement, they even locked me, eight months pregnant, in a cage with a lioness and poured perfume that felines love on me. So, Chloe, you didn’t want sincere love without a price, you insisted on looking for suffering.

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My boyfriend was sitting next to me while I got my nails done. I asked for the $20 basic manicure, but the technician “accidentally” covered all ten fingers in Swarovski crystals that cost $25 a pop. When I went to pay, she told me I owed the difference: $800. I was about to argue when glowing text suddenly floated across my vision like a Twitch live stream: [OMG, Lila is so smart! The villainess is too embarrassed to make a scene in front of the male lead. She’ll just pay up.] [Carter is totally going to fall for Lila’s gritty, survivalist vibe!] [That stupid side character has no idea. Lila is going to spend her money, sleep with her man, and even raise her kids!] Chapter 1 Lila held up the card reader, a smug look on her face, waiting for me to tap my card. The floating comments kept scrolling: [Lila is a genius! Now her tuition for next semester is covered.] [Poor Lila. Her dad is a gambler and she’s broke. She has to skip class to work. If only she met Carter sooner!] [Does anyone else think this is kind of… illegal? If that happened to me, I wouldn’t pay.] [Yeah, isn’t this basically fraud?] Seeing I hadn’t moved, Lila raised her voice. “What? Are you trying to dine and dash on a service?” It was rush hour at the mall. People started staring, whispering. They clearly thought I was some entitled Karen trying to stiff a worker. I ignored the stares and said calmly, “Since you applied the wrong product, just take them off one by one and put on the basic rhinestones I asked for.” I sat back down and extended my hand. earlier, when she was trimming my cuticles, she nipped my skin. I was bleeding, and she didn’t even apologize—she just rolled her eyes and said I was moving too much. I thought she was just a stressed college student trying to make ends meet. My patience, it turned out, was just an opportunity for her to scam me. “We’re out of the cheap ones,” Lila said, crossing her arms. “Look at you. Your bag is worth like two grand. This $800 is nothing to you, but for people like me, it’s life-saving money.” The text stream accelerated: [Exactly! Just pay up, you rich witch. Don’t stop Lila from securing the bag!] [Boohoo, Lila is so tragic. I want to donate to her GoFundMe.] [Carter needs to step in so the villainess pays up immediately!] [Am I the only one who thinks the heroine is gaslighting her?] Bystanders started chiming in. “Just pay the difference, miss. It’s already on your hands.” “Yeah, look at her. She spent two hours gluing those tiny diamonds on. Give the girl a break.” Emboldened by the crowd, Lila threw shade. “You’re just trying to get free stuff. These crystals are obviously real. You didn’t stop me, so that means you agreed to the upgrade.” I checked the time. My evening lab session was starting soon. “Fine,” I said, my voice ice cold. “Remove them. All of them. I’m not paying for the diamonds.” “Sure. removal fee plus lost wages comes to $400. Venmo or cash,” she said, thrusting the QR code in my face again. Chapter 2 I almost laughed out of sheer disbelief. Lost wages? I was the one who sat here for two hours getting my fingers butchered and scammed. Just as I was about to explode, a familiar voice came from behind me. “Harper? Are you done? I’m here to pick you up for dinner.” The floating text became so dense it almost blocked my vision. [AHHH! The Male Lead is here!] [Lila’s savior has arrived!!!] [Let’s see the villainess argue now. She better pay up. Lila’s time is worth way more than $400!] Carter Sterling walked up to me, sensing the tension. “Harper, what’s going on?” Lila beat me to it. “Sir, your girlfriend got a full set and is refusing to pay. Her purse costs more than my tuition. Please, just have a heart and settle the bill.” She bit her lip, forcing a few crocodile tears to roll down her cheeks. The “good Samaritans” around us sighed. “Kids these days. So rich but so stingy. Just pay it, man. It’s charity at this point.” Charity and extortion are two different things. I have money, but I’m not an ATM. And I’m definitely not paying a scammer because she’s crying. Carter put a hand on my shoulder. “Harper, it’s getting late. Let’s just let it go.” “Can I pay you back later?” he asked me, lowering his voice. “She worked hard for two hours. Everyone is struggling. Take the high road.” The text stream went wild. They were calling me a toxic villainess and praising Carter for being a “gentle king.” So, defending my rights makes me a villain? And because I’m not the “protagonist,” I have to be a doormat? Lila wiped her tears. “Sir, you really understand the struggle of the working class. How about this? If your girlfriend buys a $2,000 gift card today, I’ll comp the diamonds. And she gets 20% off future visits.” “It’s a steal. I’m doing this behind my boss’s back to help you out. Hurry, before she comes back.” She shoved the card reader at me for the third time. I scoffed and slapped it out of her hand. Clatter. “You’re out of your mind,” I said. “Since we can’t communicate, I’m calling the police. Let’s see if they call it ‘charity’ or ‘theft’.” I pulled out my phone. Carter grabbed my wrist, hissing, “Harper, don’t be dramatic. It’s on the price list. You should just pay.” The moment I mentioned the cops, Lila wilted. She looked at Carter with big, wet puppy eyes. “Sir… I’m just a student working part-time. My dad is sick in the hospital waiting for surgery money. Why does your girlfriend want to destroy me?” She tugged gently on Carter’s sleeve. The comments erupted. [Omg Lila crying is so cute and sad. I love her.] [If I were Carter, I’d hug her right now.] [Carter, save her!] Carter ate it up. He pulled his arm away from me and stood tall. “Harper, if you won’t pay, I will. But after this? We’re done. I can’t be with someone this heartless.” Chapter 3 “Great. I agree. You should pay. After all, you’ve taken way more than $800 from me over the years.” I shoved Carter away. And then I dialed 911. Both of them froze. Carter looked panicked. He realized he’d spoken too soon in the heat of the moment. His graduation thesis relied entirely on my lab data. Without me, he’d fail the year. Offending me now was career suicide. The police and the salon owner arrived at the same time. The owner was confused. She’d just stepped out for coffee. When the cops explained the situation—a technician upcharging $800 without consent—her face went pale. Her shop was next to the university. If word got out she was scamming students, her business would die. “Miss, I am so sorry,” the owner said, glaring at Lila. “This is unauthorized. The manicure is free. In fact, here’s a voucher for a free service by me personally. Please, let’s not involve the officers further.” “You need to fix your hiring process,” I said coldly. “She shouldn’t be working here.” The owner nodded, pulled out some cash, and shoved it at Lila. “Here’s your day’s pay. Get out. You’re fired.” Lila looked furious. She opened her mouth to argue, but the officer cut her off. “Miss, if the customer presses charges for attempted fraud, that’s a misdemeanor or worse depending on the amount. You want a ride to the station?” Lila shut her mouth. I accepted the owner’s apology and left. I had a lab to get to. Carter, of course, stayed behind to comfort the crying scammer. The text stream scrolled by: [Okay, the villainess was actually kind of cool there.] [Right? She was a boss. Why does she have to be the blood bag for the male lead?] [The heroine is giving major Pick-Me energy.] [Carter is comforting Lila! OMG ship it!] Let them have each other. As I walked, I read the comments closely. I realized I was a “cannon fodder” character in a college romance novel. My role? To be the rich, smart girlfriend who funds Carter’s life and does his homework, only to be dumped once he becomes successful. He would use my data to publish a top-tier paper, become a star, and I would go blind from overwork before thirty. He’d let his kids call Lila “Mom.” Not in this timeline.

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The moment Dean Harrison, for the thousandth time, tacitly allowed someone to refer to my sister-in-law as “Mrs. Harrison” during a professional event, was the moment I stopped screaming inside. I didn’t lose it. I didn’t cause a scene. I even raised my glass, a graceful arc of silence and surrender, and echoed the compliments they were lavishing on the two of them. “They really are, aren’t they? A perfect match.” Dean’s head snapped up. The shock in his eyes was naked, a raw, uncontrolled thing. “What did you just call her?” I met his gaze, my smile shallow and deliberate. “Mrs. Harrison, of course.” 1 Dean’s astonishment lasted only a second. Just as quickly, the mask of indifference settled back over his features. “Eliza, do you have to be like this?” His brow furrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. “We’re flying to New York to meet a major client for New Year’s. Sloane is coming with me.” “You stay home, and don’t even think about interfering. We are simply…” He paused, waiting for the predictable explosion. The breakdown he was so used to. I simply nodded. “I know. You two are inseparable, all for the sake of the business.” He squinted, searching my unnervingly calm face for a crack, a sign of the hysteria he expected. “She’s also the face of the new brand launch,” he prodded. “You know how crucial this is…” I smiled again, a serene expression of total understanding. “I do know. Helping Sloane build her career is part of Graham’s last request, isn’t it?” “And as his brother, you absolutely should see it through.” He froze again. He leaned in, his mouth forming an incomplete thought. “Eliza, you…” I shook my head, my composure absolute. “Relax.” “I won’t interrupt your work anymore.” 2 Whatever Dean had been about to say was cut short by Sloane Merritt’s soft, sweetly demanding voice. “Dean, darling, come on! It’s time to cut the cake!” Sloane was on the podium, playing the part of the triumphant hostess. She waved him over with a bold, proprietary gesture. Under the spotlights, her skin was luminous, a pampered, perfectly cultivated rose. The massive screen behind her then flashed an intimate, laughing photo of the two of them. The room erupted in cheers. “They’re stunning!” “The boss’s wife is absolutely killing it!” This company gala felt less like an annual corporate celebration and more like a wedding reception. Few people, given the speed of the company’s growth, even knew I was the actual wife, the one whose initial investment had made all this possible. A few older employees shot me pitying glances. Dean didn’t move. He only raised a lazy eyebrow at me. He was waiting. Waiting for me to lose control, to shriek, to smash that ridiculously oversized cake into Sloane’s self-satisfied face, just like the old days. But I simply reached into my clutch and pulled out the small, gold-wrapped box I’d carried around for months. I extended it toward him. “A belated IPO gift. Congratulations, CEO Harrison.” He was visibly startled, then his usual, languid smirk returned. “The company went public ages ago, and you’re just now thinking about it?” He took the box, his fingers brushing my skin. “Took you long enough to finally act your age.” Tucked beneath the flashy gold wrapping was a simple, bound divorce agreement. Thinking back, we started with a gift, and now we would end with one. It felt poetically complete. “Eliza,” his voice suddenly softened, the warm light above us creating a gentle, false halo around him. “Come up here with me.” Was he asking for peace? No. It was a calculated handout. A public crumb to keep me tethered to him, right in front of all these witnesses. I shook my head. “No, thank you.” The last time I’d dared to stand beside him, an employee who didn’t recognize me had unceremoniously elbowed me aside. “That’s Sloane Merritt’s spot, the CFO’s! Who do you think you are, trying to take center stage?” Dean had acted as though he hadn’t heard a thing, coldly letting me suffer the humiliation before intimately pulling Sloane to his side. The memory was a sharp, bitter draft that I instantly shut down. His eyes instantly hardened. He closed the gap between us, his voice dropping to a low, rough whisper meant only for me. “Trying to play the gracious wife? What’s the new scheme, Eliza?” His breath feathered my forehead. “Half a month ago, you were on your knees begging me not to leave. Who are you putting on this performance for?” I lifted my eyes and looked at him, clearly and calmly. “It’s not an act,” I said. My inner tsunami has finally gone quiet. All the pain, the hysteria, the desperate refusal to let go—it had all evaporated. I had no reason left to stay. 3 He tightened his jaw and turned away, stepping onto the stage where the spotlight instantly claimed him. That tall, familiar silhouette suddenly overlapped with a memory from years ago. I almost forgot that he was once the man who swore to bring the entire world to my feet. One evening, unannounced, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to see a delicate, slight figure who, with a small, manufactured gasp, seemed to stumble right into Dean’s arms just as he was leaving. He instinctively stabilized her. I still remember her tear-stained face and the ridiculous, unbelievable words she spoke. “Dean… Graham is gone…” “He never got to finish the things he promised…” “He said you would finish them for him. Is that true?” In her hand, she clutched Graham’s long, detailed “last requests.” Kissing by the Italian coast, a wedding on a cliffside… She was asking my husband to carry out the romantic courtship promised by his dead brother. And that absurd plea was met by Dean’s silence. A silence as cold as ice, creeping inch by inch into my chest. “You’re not… seriously going to date his fiancée for him, are you?” I asked, my voice thin and shaking. He instantly met my eyes, the coldness vanishing from his face as he pulled me into an embrace. “What are you talking about?” “If I’m busy chasing Graham’s girl, who’s going to take care of my wife?” My heart, which had been suspended in mid-air, settled instantly. But then… On our wedding anniversary, he flew to the Himalayas with Sloane for an “inspirational trek.” On New Year’s Eve, he went scuba diving with her off the coast of Bali. I realized, too late, that our plain silver wedding band had been quietly replaced on his finger by a custom-cut, million-dollar diamond—the exact same design Sloane wore. When I confronted him in a rage, his response was dismissive. “The dead come first.” “It’s just a list, Eliza. Graham owed her this, and I have to make it right.” He began to use work as a convenient excuse to keep her close. Vice President title, seven-figure salary, always together. It was then I understood. There was no last request. It was a man’s premeditated excuse for betrayal, and a woman’s calculated, entitled theft. And I had become the most pathetic joke in the entire game. 4 The arguments, the accusations, the screaming. I tore through the restraint and composure I’d built over twenty years. Late one night, I yelled into the phone, “The list says you have to get married! Are you going to marry her next?!” He wouldn’t answer. He just left me with longer silences and later nights. My final public breakdown happened at his Series C funding celebration. Champagne flutes reflected dazzling light. Sloane was on his arm, accepting compliments about the beautiful, successful couple they made. I stared at them and whispered. “Mistress.” My voice wasn’t loud, but the entire room instantly went dead quiet. Dean’s eyes swung toward me, the coldness in them freezing the blood in my veins. A week later, I received my dismissal letter from the university and a permanent ban notification from my professional platform account. Ten years of professional dedication and reputation, gone overnight. I stormed into his office like a maniac, slamming the papers onto his desk. “Clear this up! Dean, you need to tell them the truth—” He leaned back slowly in his chair, his eyes scanning my tear-streaked face. He looked at me the way one might appraise a failed, defective product. “Look at you,” he sneered. “You look like a lunatic.” “You’re a psychologist, aren’t you? The expert on the human mind?” He leaned forward, his voice a slow, cutting drawl. “With this behavior, how can you possibly counsel anyone else?” “I told you, Sloane is here for work. Nothing more.” He chuckled, picking up the termination letter and tossing it lightly at my feet. “You insisted on making a spectacle. Eliza, you brought this misery on yourself.” 5 Clinical therapist. Psychology scholar. The specialized knowledge I’d been so proud of, the success stories I’d written—they offered no protection, no extra calmness or courage in the face of my own betrayal. I gave a self-mocking laugh. Watching them on stage, side-by-side, I calmly turned and walked out of the hotel. My phone screen glowed. A new email notification: [Invitation for Visiting Scholar, University of Pennsylvania, Psychology Department.] Attached was a one-way ticket order to Philadelphia, departing the day after tomorrow. Today was my birthday. Twenty-eight years old. I deleted every notification reminder except for one note in my memo app. Happy Birthday, Eliza. My wish for the coming year is to never see Dean Harrison again. 6 That night, the internet exploded. The tag #HarrisonPowerCouple was trending, quickly followed by #SongGalaRomance. The photos showed him leaning down to listen to Sloane, a softness in his profile that I hadn’t seen in years. [OMG, look at the way CEO Harrison looks at Sloane—pure adoration!] [The “Don’t approach me” look and the “Puppy-dog eyes” expression on the same face! I’m dead.] [Who doesn’t know that Dean Harrison donated millions just to give Sloane Merritt a massive platform and status? Seriously spoiled wife!] [They are the definition of an epic love story!!!] Yes. For years, Dean had meticulously cultivated Sloane’s image as the “Boss Babe” entrepreneur. The character didn’t quite stick, but the manufactured romance between the two of them had the internet completely hooked. [Wait, are they married?] [I thought Dean Harrison was married? His wife doesn’t look like that?] I silently closed the trending app. I scrolled past it, my internal landscape utterly flat. A moment later, my best friend, Clara, called, her voice high and distorted. “Liz! Did you see the news? Dean Harrison actually—” “I saw it,” I cut her off, my voice even. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?!” She sounded closer to tears than I was. “Your husband is openly flaunting his affair! Are you just going to sit there?!” A key turned in the lock of the front door. Dean was home, carrying the cold, clean scent of the night air. A satisfied smirk touched his lips. He’d clearly heard our conversation. “You saw it?” He tugged at his tie, walking toward me, his eyes mocking. “Weren’t you playing the role of the incredibly detached wife? Are you going to cry now? Or maybe start throwing things?” He leaned in, his breath hot. “Eliza, you’re trying too hard. It’s a bad performance.” I looked straight into his eyes. “Do you need me to cry? I can put on a show right now if it would satisfy you.” My tone was almost polite. He visibly stiffened. “If you’re truly upset,” he straightened up, returning to his familiar tone of high-handed condescension. “I can have the story pulled off the feeds.” “No need,” I said, picking up my water glass. “I don’t mind.” His eyes darkened, finally pricked by my lack of reaction. He suddenly gripped my wrist, his strength jarring, his voice low and hoarse. “What about your consulting account? You got fired from the college; that was your last tether to your career, wasn’t it? Aren’t you afraid that this drama will wreck it completely?” The water in the glass sloshed. That account. It had been my life’s work. But the moment he chose to expose my private breakdown to the world, the moment he took the college job away, that platform was dead. His offer now was meaningless. I offered a kind, gentle suggestion. “I’m sure it was Graham’s wish that Sloane be welcomed into the Harrison family in a very public way, too, wasn’t it?” “You making her Mrs. Harrison for him would be the ultimate fulfillment of that legacy.” 7 “Eliza!” He barked my name, his jaw tight. “You think if you pretend not to care, I won’t know you’re just trying to make me jealous?” “Jealous?” I looked at the face that used to make my heart beat faster, and felt only utter clarity. “I’m not trying to make you jealous.” I heard myself speak, the sound light, almost cheerful. “I think I just don’t love you anymore.” He seemed nailed to the floor. His pupils slightly dilated. I didn’t love him. That’s why he could fly Sloane to private islands, scuba dive, bungee jump, and take photos at the Lover’s Bridge. I no longer had to scream. That’s why he could come home after half a month, with faint red marks on his neck, and I would simply hand him a glass of water and ask, “Which item on Graham’s list was that one?” Even when Clara angrily texted me that he’d bought Sloane a ridiculously expensive necklace at a charity auction, I could agree calmly. “Of course. It’s the least he can do for the woman his brother cared for so much.” He stared at me as if I were a stranger. His eyes held confusion, disbelief, and a flicker of panicked loss of control. “Eliza,” his throat bobbed, his voice dry. “Why are you… not mad anymore?” He didn’t know that I had already fought and won the last psychological battle against myself. Desensitization complete. I was ready to walk away. 8 My wishes rarely came true. Two days later, I ran into Dean and Sloane at the airport. “Eliza? You actually followed us?” Her eyes were smug, and she mouthed a silent message to Dean. Told you so. Dean’s expression was remote, but the moment he saw me, a knowing, triumphant smile touched his lips. “I thought you said you wouldn’t interrupt us?” I nodded. “That’s right. I won’t.” I tried to slip past them, giving them a wide berth. Dean’s hand shot out, stopping me. “Where are you going?” “Home,” I said vaguely. “Home? Since when do you take an international flight to go home? Couldn’t you come up with a better excuse?” Sloane snickered. “Just say it, Eliza. You’re here to stop Dean from leaving, aren’t you?” The ridicule that used to stab me felt completely dull now. I admitted it, my face blank. “Yes.” Dean grinned. “If you truly wanted to come with me to New York, you could have just said so. Why the clumsy attempt at chasing me?” “You’re right.” “Fine. I’ll buy you a ticket right now.” “Or you can go back to the house. I promise I’ll come home early to you.” I filtered out all the maddening words, responding only in single-syllable acknowledgments, eager to end the conversation. Dean’s face darkened. “Eliza, are you even listening to me?” “Mhm.” “Eliza?!” I seemed to startle awake. “You’re absolutely right.” “May I go now?” 9 “Dean, just let her go. She won’t get three steps before she comes running back to you.” Sloane’s voice drilled into my ear. I stopped. I realized I had one thing left to confirm. I turned around, and the relief in Dean’s expression was palpable. “There is one more thing I need to confirm with you.” He watched me, perfectly composed, waiting for me to falter. I asked, “Did you open the gift I gave you?” He laughed lightly, shaking his head with an air of mild exasperation. “Not yet. I’ve been too busy these past two days.” He paused, scanning my face for a flicker of anxiety or disappointment. “What, you flew all this way just to hurry me up on unwrapping a gift?” I thought for a moment. I went straight to the crux of the matter. “Dean Harrison. You once said that if we divorced, you would give up your entire fortune.” “Does that offer still stand?” 10 I remembered the time I saw the bill for the piece of jewelry he bought Sloane. The long string of zeros had rendered me speechless. He had slowly taken off his glasses, looked at me, and said, “Let’s just divorce, then.” “I’ll leave with nothing. You can take the hundreds of millions. You can buy anything you want for yourself, okay?” I had seen the madness in his eyes. I saw the disdain of a man who thought his extraordinary ability to make money meant he was superior. I also saw his absolute confidence that I would never leave him. Back then, I was consumed by a desperate stubbornness. “Is it about the money?” “How dare you try to buy me off with cash?” “No. You will never get a divorce from me!” How foolish I had been. Money was excellent. Especially since, legally, a significant portion of it was mine anyway, built from my original investment, no matter how much it had been diluted. 11 His eyes hardened again. “Eliza, you are never going to let this go, are you?” “You want a divorce? You really think you can handle that?” “She’s probably just mad about that tacky yellow tiger’s eye necklace, Dean,” Sloane scoffed. “It was something I was going to trash anyway, and I guess he just gave it to you instead.” “Next time, we’ll make sure the gift we pick out for you is expensive enough, alright?” I felt a small sting of disappointment. So, the full asset transfer wasn’t real. That was a shame. I looked down and quickly forwarded all the evidence to my lawyer. File for divorce. I’m done waiting. 12 I pulled my suitcase, slowly moving toward the security checkpoint. I heard Dean say something behind me, but the noise of the airport crowd swallowed his words. The loud, rhythmic chime of the New Year’s clock began to ring, and bright lights flashed in the distance. Philadelphia. The name rolled off my tongue, carrying a long-forgotten tremor of anticipation, a feeling that belonged only to me. The mecca of clinical psychology. I had planned this trip countless times, packing and unpacking my suitcase, booking and canceling my ticket. Each time, Dean had an excuse to postpone. Too busy. Next time. Or a sudden, urgent crisis involving Sloane would effortlessly wipe away all my plans. Now, the final obstacle—the one named Love—had been completely removed from my heart. The path ahead was clear. Just then, my long-dormant professional account suddenly received a comment. [Dr. Eliza, I’m in love with a toxic man but can’t leave him. I keep going back. I feel pathetic. What do I doooo?] I was surprised anyone was still posting on the account. I realized I’d spent the last few years stuck in that exact cycle. It was like looking at my former self. My finger paused, then I began to type: [Adopt a Player Mindset. If you can’t leave, stay. But stop tying your self-worth to his affection. Extract the emotional comfort you need, and nothing more. Your pain is real, and it doesn’t need his validation to prove it. Remember, you’re temporarily lost, not permanently cheap.] Send. It was the final answer I gave to the person I used to be.

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The day before New Year’s, I stumbled across a goodbye post from a guy online. He wrote that he’d been diagnosed with cancer, and the woman he loved was about to marry someone else. The raw ache and profound regret woven into every sentence stopped me cold, and I felt a pang of sympathy for a total stranger. It wasn’t until I recognized the familiar user profile picture that my blood ran cold. The man posting was my best friend, the brother I’d been inseparable from for more than two decades: Leo. He ended the post with a final, devastating line: “I left a letter for her—my last will, maybe—and I won’t be at the wedding.” “Sometimes, parting ways is the only way to be together forever.” Panic seized me. Without a second thought, I rushed to find my fiancée, Scarlett. I had to convince her to help me track down Leo before he did something drastic. Instead, I found what I was looking for, tucked deep inside the pocket of her winter coat: the thousand-word letter Leo had mentioned. And I, Dean—the man scheduled to get engaged to Scarlett on New Year’s Day—was holding it. 1 My frantic, ragged breathing eventually began to steady. My fingers—sweat-slicked and trembling—clutched the envelope I’d taken from Scarlett’s coat. My mind was a dead zone. She was currently in a meeting, just steps away. The script on the front, elegant and achingly familiar, belonged to my lifelong best friend, Leo. A visceral fear coiled in my stomach. If this was the letter Leo had written, the will he mentioned… then Scarlett was the woman he loved, the one he couldn’t be with. My heart hammered against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate to escape. I slipped into the nearest restroom, feeling like a thief, and tore open the seal. All my desperate prayers for a misunderstanding turned to ash the moment my eyes scanned the contents. Leo, my closest friend, and Scarlett, my fiancée, had been betraying me for the last three years. In his final words, Leo detailed how they used burner accounts to talk through the night. How they’d planned a future while I remained clueless. They had even adopted a stray dog behind my back. They named it together, then lied to me, pretending it was a chance encounter. I read, word by painful word, the entire, intricate history of their profound entanglement. The letter ended with the paper stained with his tears and his despair. “Scarlett, I can’t bear to watch you exchange vows with Dean.” “You and Dean are the people I love most. I hope you both find your happily-ever-after.” “I can’t let Dean down. Falling for you was the single most pathetic, selfish thing I’ve ever done.” “Maybe fate is punishing me, taking back the rest of my life. I’m not doing the chemo. I’ll tell Dean I’m leaving the country. You don’t need to mourn me.” “Scarlett, forget me. Be good to Dean. Next life, just choose me first. How great would that be?” I stumbled back, bracing myself against the cold tile wall, sucking in air in huge, shallow gasps. Leo was dying. And so, he had decided to “give” Scarlett to me. The sheer absurdity of the thought made me want to scream.

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During the Christmas shopping rush, my husband, Mark, threw a fit. “You buy way too much stuff every time you go visit your parents!” he snapped. “I make more money than you, but you spend way more. This isn’t fair. From now on, we’re splitting everything 50/50. We’re going Dutch.” I didn’t hesitate. “Deal.” But I laid down three ground rules. “From now on, we sleep in separate rooms. You take care of your parents, I take care of mine. And if you want me to cook or clean, you have to pay a service fee.” One year later, Mark—now living paycheck to paycheck—knelt before me, begging to cancel the agreement. I smiled and handed him the divorce papers. “I think it’s better if we split… permanently.” Chapter 1: The Calculator My husband, Mark, stared at the pile of Christmas gifts stacked against the wall, his brow furrowed. “Do you really need to buy this much for your folks?” His interrogating tone rubbed me the wrong way, but I patiently explained, “I bought two of everything. One set for my family, one set for yours.” In our three years of marriage, I had never played favorites. I always treated both sides equally. But even with me being perfectly fair, Mark wasn’t satisfied. He looked at me with a sneer. “I make $6,000 a month. You only take home about $4,000. Why should the stuff for your family cost the same as the stuff for mine?” “Why do we have to average out the surplus of what I earn? You earn less but spend more. Is that fair?” I felt a lump form in my throat. It was just Christmas gifts. Did he really need to make it a class war? Did we have to rank our families based on income? Seeing my silence, Mark kept going. “My mom has mentioned this a few times. I didn’t care before, but looking at it now, you really are insensible about money.” “So, to be fair and impartial, from now on, we split all expenses 50/50. You spend your money however you want, and I won’t ask questions.” I looked at Mark in disbelief. This was the man I’d slept next to for three years? It seemed he’d held a grudge about our finances for a long time. My mother-in-law had probably been poisoning his ear behind my back, too. I didn’t hesitate. I agreed immediately. “Fine. 50/50 it is. But we’d better set some ground rules so there’s no confusion.” Mark didn’t expect me to agree so quickly. His face lit up. He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. Clear rules are best. Otherwise, my family will feel cheated.” Cheated? Over daily expenses? I calmly listed the details. “Starting today, we sleep in separate rooms. Rent and utilities are split down the middle. You are responsible for your parents, I am responsible for mine.” “You wash your own boxers and socks; I’m done doing them. If you need me to do laundry or cook, you have to pay me a separate service fee.” “If I cook, the standard is $20 per person per meal. If I do all the housekeeping, you need to pay me $1,500 a month.” I threw out a few numbers, and Mark jumped up. “Fifteen hundred?! For a little housework?” I leaned back on the sofa and gave him a cool look. “If you hire a maid, it’s at least $2,500 a month. You’re free to choose. I can keep my own room clean; I won’t touch the rest of the house.” “If you want to save money, that’s fine. You can wash the dishes, sweep, and mop every day, and dust the furniture once a week…” Before I could finish, Mark interrupted impatiently. “Fine! I’ll pay! Happy now?” I smirked. If I didn’t make him bleed a little cash, he’d really think I was free labor. I pointed to the wall. “I bought those gifts with my salary. You need to go buy your own gifts for your side of the family.” Chapter 2: The Empty-Handed Visit On Christmas Eve, we showed up at my in-laws’ house empty-handed. Mark walked in and immediately sat on the couch to scroll through TikTok. I did the exact same thing. My mother-in-law’s face dropped instantly. “You two are getting ruder by the day. Coming home for Christmas without a single gift? Do you think you’re a princess?” In the past, I would have taken over the kitchen immediately. I would have bought the groceries early in the morning, cooked the entire feast, while the three of them sat and waited to be served. Now, the kitchen was cold and empty. Were they still counting on me? My father-in-law, who had a short temper, started shouting. “Sarah! Look at you! What kind of daughter-in-law acts like this? You don’t even know basic manners anymore?” “We thought you were decent before, but I guess you were just faking it. Now you won’t even keep up appearances?” Watching them jump around in anger actually made me feel great. I used to give them my heart and soul, and I never got a ‘thank you.’ Instead, my mother-in-law would nitpick everything I bought. “These gifts aren’t practical. You don’t know how to run a household! Mark works so hard for his money, seeing you spend it like water hurts my heart!” “Look at this dust. You clean worse than a cheap maid. I don’t know what Mark saw in you.” See? If I do it, I get criticized. So, I might as well do nothing. When they ran out of insults, I spoke up calmly. “Mom, Dad, don’t look at me. Mark proposed we live a 50/50 lifestyle. We agreed: whoever’s parents they are, that person takes care of them. Gifts included.” “We also agreed that my labor isn’t free. So, for tonight’s Christmas dinner, how much is your family planning to invest?” Last year, to ensure my parents had a good holiday, I booked a table at a five-star hotel. It was supposed to be a happy joint family gathering. But my in-laws ruined it. They spent the whole meal bragging about how capable their son was, hinting that I was mooching off Mark. They called me wasteful for booking such an expensive dinner. My mom had fought to pay the bill ages ago—they didn’t need to be so dramatic. The most annoying part was the pressure to have kids. “Sarah, you make so little money and work so much overtime. Is it worth it? This family relies on Mark anyway.” “Since you don’t earn much, you should just focus on your health, have a baby, and stay home to serve the boys.” They looked down on me because my salary was lower than Mark’s. I have hands, I have feet, and I like my job. Why should I sacrifice that? What made it worse was Mark’s attitude. He agreed with them! “Yeah, I cover the mortgage and most of the bills. Does your job really matter?” He made a decent salary, but he acted like he was Elon Musk. Hearing that I wanted to charge for cooking Christmas dinner, my in-laws exploded. My mother-in-law, specifically, started spitting venom. Mark, looking embarrassed, whispered to me, “Just cook first. I’ll give you the money later. Do we have to make everyone miserable today?” I sat on the sofa, unmoved. “We have a deal. Payment first, then work. No credit.” My mother-in-law was about to scream, but my cold glare stopped her. “You guys always say I spend too much. Why don’t you go to the market and see how much holiday groceries actually cost?” “Since we’re going 50/50, you should pay for the ingredients, too.” You care about saving face? Let’s see how long you can keep it up. Chapter 3: The Expensive Grocery Run Usually, Mark’s grandparents, his uncle, and his uncle’s whole family would come over for Christmas dinner. I deliberately didn’t mention buying groceries today. I was waiting for this moment of chaos. Otherwise, they’d just sit there and enjoy the fruits of my labor. My mother-in-law shrieked. “There are ten people coming to eat! How much will that cost?! It’s already afternoon; the markets are closing!” Panicked? Good. I shrugged. “I thought Mark told you. We’re splitting finances. House matters on this side aren’t my problem.” I’d never seen parents like this—just waiting comfortably for their kids to serve them. Whenever we visited, they prepared nothing. Meanwhile, my parents would cook a feast of my favorite dishes and send me home with bags of leftovers. The contrast was chilling. My mother-in-law was pacing like a cat on a hot tin roof. I just played Candy Crush. If I hadn’t seen Mark’s texts to his mom two days ago, I might not have been this cruel. Mark: [Mom, done! Sarah and I are totally separate now. No more worrying about her wasting my money!] MIL: [Oh, finally! I told you that woman was just after your cash. She was probably secretly buying expensive stuff for her parents behind your back!] Mark: [Exactly. Thanks for the heads up, Mom. I didn’t realize how much she was taking advantage of me!] MIL: [With her salary? Why should her family get the same gifts as ours? They don’t deserve it!] Reading those texts made my blood boil. It was time to prep dinner, and there wasn’t even a head of lettuce in the house. Mark couldn’t take it anymore. He dragged me out the door. The regular markets were empty. We had to go to Whole Foods—the only place still open. I didn’t care. I grabbed whatever I wanted and threw it in the cart. King crab, organic ribeye, imported cheeses. Every time I tossed something in, Mark’s face got paler. “Do we need this much? This is too expensive! Can’t we get cheaper cuts?” Oh, now that it’s your money, it hurts? In previous years, I spent over a thousand dollars just on groceries, not counting the imported fruit. Who felt sorry for me then? I stopped the cart and looked at him. “Dinner for ten people. Do you want to serve them hot dogs and beans? I don’t care. It’s not my reputation on the line.” Whole Foods isn’t cheap. Two organic cucumbers cost ten bucks. When I used to buy lobster and grouper, they never complained about the price. My father-in-law even called me stingy for not buying enough. Mark gritted his teeth and let me shop. At the checkout, I grabbed a pack of holiday money envelopes. “Don’t forget the cash gifts for your parents and grandparents. I usually give $500 per person.” “Oh, and for your cousin’s kid? I usually give $100. You figure it out.” Mark looked like he was attending his own funeral. Chapter 4: The Service Fee On the drive back, I told him the cooking fee was $100. Mark’s hand jerked, swerving the car. I said calmly, “Hiring a private chef for a holiday meal is usually $300 minimum. I’m giving you the family discount.” Mark was stuck. Everyone knew his mom’s cooking was hazardous to human health. He gritted his teeth and Venmo’d me $100. I accepted the transfer and went to cook. After dinner, the whole family moved to the living room to watch the football game. I started to follow them, but Mark grabbed me. “Dishwashing is $15 a load. I’ll transfer it now!” I stopped his hand. “$15 is the price for two people on a Tuesday. Look at this mess. Pots, pans, plates for ten people.” “$50. Or do it yourself.” Mark turned purple. He hissed at me in the corner. “Sarah! All you care about is money now? You’re a daughter-in-law of this family. Shouldn’t you do chores?” Oh, now I’m family when there’s scrubbing to do? I glanced at him. “You proposed the 50/50 split. You agreed to keep things clear. What, can’t handle it?” “Why do you have to be so petty?” he argued. “It’s just dishes!” “It’s your house,” I shot back. “Why don’t you do it? Do I owe you labor?” I wasn’t going to be stupid anymore. Mark took home $6,000. His mortgage (his pre-marital asset) was $2,000. He gave me $500 for household expenses and kept the remaining $3,500. I paid for utilities, internet, groceries, cooking, and cleaning. I subsidized both sets of parents. I bought the gifts. When you did the math, I was funding his lifestyle while he built equity. And they still thought I was the leech? Mark didn’t want to lose face in front of his relatives, so he resentfully transferred the $50. Halfway through the game, the grandparents were getting tired. My mother-in-law shot me a look. “Sarah, everyone’s leaving. Get the gifts!” Mark’s cousin’s kid ran over, hands out. “Auntie Sarah, where’s my Christmas money?” Looking at their expectant faces, I realized how idiotic I had been in the past. I used to curate gifts for everyone. I spent thousands. And I got labeled “wasteful.” Let them spend their own money. I patted the kid’s head. “From now on, Uncle Mark is in charge of gifts and money. Go ask him.”

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