Category: English

While waiting for my husband in the parking garage, I stumbled upon a viral post on a local online forum. The title was: “What do you do when your wife is too clingy?” Amidst a sea of syrupy sweet humblebrags, one comment from a female user caught my eye. “Easy, you play the incompetent card! My childhood sweetheart was forced to marry someone he didn’t love. I gave him an idea: for five years, he pretended to be pathologically directionally challenged.” “Then, when his wife got pregnant, he secretly mixed lubricant into her shower gel. She slipped and fell. On the way to the hospital, he pretended to get lost again, deliberately driving in circles on the outskirts of town. She miscarried and is now permanently infertile.” “Today is his wife’s tenure review day. He’s insisting on driving her, but it’s just another act. He’s going to ‘get lost’ to make her miss it, so I can get the position instead.” “Once she fails her review, he’ll persuade her to quit her job, turn her into a helpless housewife, and then kick her to the curb.” The chilling familiarity of the story sent a tremor through me. Before I could process it, my husband’s voice, thick with guilt, sounded beside me. “Ava, honey, I think… I’m lost. We’re not going to be late for your tenure review, are we?” I turned my head and met Kevin’s gaze, his eyes a murky, unreadable pool. “The review starts in ten minutes. I’m not going to make it.” Kevin squeezed my hand, his face a mask of apology. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I swear I went over the route a dozen times this morning. The GPS didn’t even say I took a wrong turn.” He sighed dramatically. “Maybe it’s a sign from the universe. A sign that the world is just as heartbroken as we are about the baby we lost. Maybe this is its way of telling us to focus on our family.” His words echoed the forum post, each syllable a hammer blow against my heart. He’d faked it for five years. He’d made me lose our child on purpose. And now, he was trying to manipulate me into quitting my job, to make me dependent and useless, just so he could discard me. A faint, cold smile touched my lips. “You’re right. In that case, you should quit your job today. We can stay home and work on our relationship.” Kevin choked, speechless. After a long silence, he let out a soft sigh. “Ava, you’re still angry with me about the baby, aren’t you?” “He was my child, too. It broke my heart.” “You’ve always known I get lost easily. When it happened, you should have called 911 yourself instead of waiting for me to drive you!” His complaint was so absurd I almost laughed. He claimed to be directionally challenged. That’s why a twenty-minute drive from his office to our home would take him four or five hours. Sometimes, he’d just text and say he was sleeping at the office. Yet Chloe’s apartment, nearly an hour from his work, was a drive he could make in thirty minutes flat. Dates with me were always prefaced by hours of waiting because he’d “gotten lost.” But a single call from Chloe, and he could cross mountains and rivers to be by her side in an instant. I can’t count the number of times I screamed at him for it. But every single fight ended with me apologizing. Torn between rage and the fear of losing our ten-year history, I was trapped in a cycle of madness and remorse. When I finally got pregnant, the thought of leaving him vanished completely. I thought if I just loved him a little more, one day he would see my worth. He would change. We could still be a happy family. Until one month ago, when his “getting lost” made me miss the critical window for medical intervention. I had wanted that baby for five years. And in the end, I couldn’t protect him. In a twisted way, maybe it was for the best. At least now, he could be reborn to parents who would truly love him. Hearing my hollow agreement, Kevin’s expression shifted. Before he could say anything else, his phone rang—the custom ringtone I knew belonged to Chloe. He answered, and her ecstatic voice flooded the car. “Kevin! I got the professorship! Come pick me up from the university later. We have to celebrate tonight!” Kevin’s eyes flickered toward me. I smiled. “Go ahead. I’ll get a cab.” I got out of the car without a second thought. I could feel his gaze on my back, but I didn’t turn around. The moment I got home, a text from him arrived. I’ll be home early tonight. Please wait for me. We need to talk. I didn’t know what he wanted to say. But I knew one thing: he wouldn’t be coming home. As expected, he didn’t. I was used to it. Before Chloe moved back, Kevin and I had been happy. Back then, he hadn’t yet developed his “pathological directional disorder.” He would take me to trendy spots every weekend for photoshoots, and we’d explore food stalls, trying everything I wanted. He knew I loved fairytales, so he proposed at Disneyland. In front of a cheering crowd, he got down on one knee. “Ava,” he’d shouted, his voice thick with emotion, “this city is full of lights and noise, but without you, it’s empty. A place without you isn’t a home. Will you give me a home?” I’d said yes without hesitation. He’d spun me around, swearing to the world, “I, Kevin, will love only Ava for the rest of my life. I will take care of her and only her. I hope Ava will be mine forever.” How could I have known that his “forever” would only last a few short years? I knew he had a childhood sweetheart before we got married. He told me Chloe had settled abroad and would probably never come back. He said she was just like a little sister to him. But shortly after our wedding, she suddenly returned. With Kevin’s help, she became my colleague at the university. And just as suddenly, Kevin forgot the way home. When I confronted him, he turned it on me. “You think I want to be like this? It’s because you’re always picking fights, keeping me on edge! It’s caused this rare neurological condition!” “Chloe needed help finding a job. Of course I was going to help her.” “Ava, for God’s sake, you’re a university lecturer. Can’t you be less insecure? Is it so impossible for a man and a woman to have a platonic friendship?” “Just because you didn’t have a childhood best friend doesn’t mean I can’t have one!” “If I had known you were this jealous, I never would have married you.” If I had just walked away the first time he said those things, maybe none of this would have happened. But there are no do-overs in life. It’s for the best. After being hurt time and time again, letting go doesn’t feel like tearing my own heart out anymore. Now, I was just weaning myself off him, waiting for the right moment to cut the cord. I just didn’t expect that moment to arrive so soon. I was in the middle of a lecture when a swarm of reporters burst into my classroom, cameras flashing in my face. “Are you Professor Ava Ross?” one of them shouted. I frowned. “Who are you? I’m in the middle of a class. Please leave immediately!” They didn’t move. Instead, they shoved their microphones in my face. “Professor Ross, do you have any comment on the allegations of academic fraud and plagiarism?” “Did you deliberately skip the tenure review because you had something to hide?” “Do your students know their esteemed professor is a fraud?” For a second, I thought I was mishearing them. But the suspicious looks from my students told me it was real. I stared at the hostile faces of the press. “I have never committed academic fraud!” I declared, my voice ringing with conviction. “And I have never plagiarized anyone’s work! If you continue to spread these lies, I will sue you for defamation!” As my words faded, a snide laugh came from the crowd. “Professor, give it up. Your own husband has already issued a public apology on your behalf!” That paper… I had spent six months of my life on it, poring over countless sources. Kevin knew. He knew how much it meant to me. I called him frantically, desperate for an explanation, but he didn’t pick up. Just like that, I was suspended from my duties. Kevin finally came home that evening. The second he walked through the door, I slapped him. The sound cracked through the silent apartment. “Kevin, I already gave up the professorship for Chloe. Why would you help her frame me like this? Why are you doing this to me?!” His head snapped to the side. To my surprise, he wasn’t angry. He slowly ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek and chuckled. “Ava, I knew it. All that understanding and grace you’ve been showing lately… it was all an act.” “See? All it took was a little push, and the real you came out.” I stared at him, my eyes red, my heart pounding with disbelief. “So you ruined my career… just to prove a point? Kevin, you’re insane!” He shook his head. “Not just for that.” “Chloe just made professor. She needs a high-quality publication to solidify her position. Your paper was perfect.” “Don’t look at me like that. You should be flattered I found your work worthy. I know this is a little hard on you, but don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you in time.” “Besides,” he added with a chillingly casual air, “you just had a miscarriage. This is the perfect opportunity for you to take some time off and rest.” I was shaking with a rage so profound it left me speechless. He, on the other hand, started humming a cheerful tune as he walked into the bedroom. A moment later, I heard his voice, soft and gentle. “Chloe, don’t worry. I’ve handled Ava. She won’t cause you any trouble.” “You just focus on preparing for the international symposium next week.” “I promise, as long as I’m here, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Hearing the tenderness in his voice, a cold, hard hatred began to bloom in my chest. Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Chloe. [Ava, that paper of yours is really well-written. Thanks!] [The paper, the professorship, Kevin himself… if I want something, you’ll never be able to compete.] [So, if you have any self-respect left, you’ll just disappear. Don’t wait until you’ve lost absolutely everything.] That was it. The last thread of my sanity snapped.

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Just like Nana always cursed, I was finally gone. Yet, late that night, she opened my journal, whispering into the dark. “Harper… you should come back as a boy next time. Just be a boy. Girls are born to suffer these things.” “Boys have it good.” 1 My body was found the next morning. The scene was packed with onlookers. Nana, on her early morning grocery run, stopped at the edge of the crowd to gossip. When she heard a young girl had passed away, she shook her head. “Weak. If the girl in my house dared to jump, I’d break her legs myself.” I watched her walk away, muttering under her breath. “Waste of money feeding them all those years. Just for nothing.” “Early morning too. Couldn’t she have done it somewhere else?” A little later, I saw Nana coming back. She had the freshest bacon, the best eggs, and a box of glazed donuts—Mason’s favorite. I didn’t need to count. I knew there were exactly eight inside. None for Pop-Pop. None for Nana. None for me. All for Mason. I followed Nana home. Usually, she heads straight for the kitchen, but today she stomped toward my room. “Just because it’s the SATs today doesn’t mean you get to sleep in! If you don’t want to go to college, get out and flip burgers!” She shoved the door open and slapped the light switch. The bed was empty. The sheets were thrown back. She started cursing again. “Damn kid left without saying a word. No manners.” Yeah. I was the damn kid. And I was gone. Only my wandering soul was left to watch them. The family found out I was gone during breakfast. A neighbor recognized me and brought the cops to the door. I watched Nana panic, trying to explain. “You guys made a mistake. That brat has a test today, she left early.” But when they saw the photos—my broken form, the face still recognizable—all three of them froze. Pop-Pop’s eyes bugged out. He turned on Nana, screaming. “Are you blind?! A whole person goes missing and you don’t know?!” Nana, who never liked me, collapsed on the floor. She finally realized the “girl” she gossiped about was me. “How was I supposed to know she’d actually do it? How dare she? We spent so much money on her and she hasn’t paid back a cent! How dare she jump?” Nana made a move to get up, raising a trembling hand as if to slap my body in the photo. The officer and Mason held her back. “We found a journal and a pen on the roof. Only her prints. Handwriting matches,” the officer said. “This is an old building, no cameras. It looks like a fall from the seventh floor, but there are some scuff marks on the roof. We aren’t ruling out foul play. Investigation is ongoing.” My journal… I didn’t want them to see it. But I couldn’t stop them. Nana couldn’t read well, but Mason and Pop-Pop were reading. Mason went silent, his eyes turning red. Pop-Pop read two pages and immediately raised his hand to hit Nana. “Why are you always telling her to go die?!” Nana didn’t understand, dodging the blow while the cops tried to separate them. Pop-Pop was screaming, his old bones shaking as he tried to kick her. “Do you have no shame?! She was a child! You pushed her to this!” Nana was angry and confused. “What did she write? Mason, what did your sister write?” Mason didn’t speak. He just kept turning the pages. Pop-Pop was an accountant. Nana barely finished middle school. She suffered from feeling inferior, so she never won an argument against him. But my notebook was full of words. How could she think it was only about her cursing me? I wrote about how she didn’t love me. How everything good went to Mason. I had nothing. I wrote about her hitting me, screaming at me. I wrote about begging Pop-Pop for help, but he just looked annoyed that I woke him from his nap and slapped me for being loud. I wrote about how Mason already had everything, yet still fought me for scraps. Even a bag of chips—he’d take them to share with friends rather than leave me a single crumb. “Mason! What did she write? Is it all lies? Blaming everything on me? That wretched girl doesn’t let us have peace even when she’s gone! I should have strangled her at birth!” “Nana!” Mason’s voice trembled. “I need to call Dad.” Oh. I wrote about Dad and Mom too. But they divorced eight hundred years ago. Mom had a new family. Would she even come back? 2 Dad came back first. He hadn’t smoked in years, but he sat there in silence, staring at the journal, chain-smoking. Dad loved coming up with “business ideas.” They always failed. Money was always tight. Pop-Pop was in the living room cursing out Nana. Nana sat at the table mumbling to herself. Mason locked himself in his room. “She’s gone, so she’s gone! Why don’t you just kill me too then?” Nana suddenly snapped back. “I’ll beat the life out of you!” Pop-Pop grabbed his belt, but Dad stopped him. Dad frowned, looking exhausted. “Dad, Mom, stop it. You’re tired. Just rest.” “Tired? You know I’m tired? I’ve been a slave to this family for decades! I haven’t had a day off since I married you! Now she’s dead and you blame me? How is it my fault? You didn’t raise her right!” Nana pushed Dad away, tears streaming down her face. “What good girl goes and jumps off a roof? Writing all this trash to curse me? I say good riddance! She deserved it!” “Mom!” Dad was always a mama’s boy. I think that was the first time he ever yelled at her. Immediately, his face crumbled into a begging expression. “Mom, she didn’t curse you.” “Harper was my daughter. She’s gone now. We pushed her until she broke. Mom… I don’t have a daughter anymore.” Dad buried his face in his hands and squatted down. The living room went quiet. I noticed for the first time how much gray was in Dad’s hair. His back was bent. In my memory, he was always in a crisp suit, looking important, going to dinners, traveling everywhere. But they always told him I was bad. I remember the time guests came over. Nana told me to cook. I was going to listen. But I looked up and saw Mason, only a year younger than me, playing video games on the couch. I refused. So, she took all the books and trinkets in my room, shredded them, and burned them in a metal bin. We fought that day. She called me horrible names. I cried and fought back. I obviously lost. But after that, I never called her “Nana” again. She went to Dad. Said I was getting rebellious. That I was trying to fly away. When Dad talked to me privately, he liked to show me the scars on his hands from his “hard work.” He’d say, “Harper, you aren’t small anymore. Why can’t you just let your brother win? Dad works so hard out there, it’s not easy. When will you grow up?” I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his scars, crying, refusing to speak. I felt guilty. I was a burden. I was sorry for his pain. I thought I was too much. I wrote that in the diary too. I blamed myself for being immature. But I couldn’t let go of the resentment, which made me feel even worse. Dad must have read that part just now. Nana wiped a tear. “Fine. I won’t speak. But don’t blame me. The cops said someone might have pushed her. It has nothing to do with me.” She pushed herself up, her seventy-year-old body swaying. Pop-Pop muttered, “You’re the one who didn’t watch the door. You let her out.” Nana wanted to argue, but Pop-Pop slammed the door and left. I wanted to check on Mason. I walked through his wall. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. His phone rang. It was Mom. Mason picked up. Her voice came through the speaker. “Sweetie, I’m just driving your little brother to school. What’s up?” Mom’s voice was so gentle. But she wasn’t my mom anymore. She was Mason’s mom. And that new little brother’s mom. 3 “Mom… Harper is gone.” I heard Mason’s voice. He was choking up. But shouldn’t he be happy? He could finally have everything. No more worrying about me taking a tiny corner of his world. But he looked sadder than I imagined. “Mom!” Mason’s voice cracked, rising into a cry. “Harper is dead.” Mom fainted. Her current husband picked up the phone to tell us. Turns out, Mom’s best friend died of cancer two months ago. Mom was emotional. She hadn’t recovered from that, and now she got the news about me. The stepdad scolded Mason for being insensitive. Mason just nodded, saying “sorry” over and over. I crouched beside him, a ghost in the room, crying. I was so bad. I was torturing Mom again. Back when Mom used to visit, she liked to tell me, “Birthing you took so much out of me. It hurt like hell. I was barely eighteen, and your dad didn’t have a dime.” “Harper, I carried you for nine months. You are a piece of my heart. How could I not love you?” I believed she loved me. I was sorry it hurt so much to have me. But every time she talked to me, after mentioning the hardships, she only talked about that new little brother. I knew he didn’t eat fat on his meat. No onions. No eggs. No milk. I knew he wet the bed at eight. I knew he had a crush on a girl named Bella. I knew he liked to sleep next to Mom. She told me all of it. I had never met him. Mom didn’t really like talking to me because I was boring. I just listened silently. I never knew what to say. She loved chatting with Mason. Everyone said Mason had a sweet mouth. By the time Mom arrived, my body had been prepped. She leaned over the viewing table, crying without sound. It hurt to watch. Dad tried to support her. She slapped his hand away. “Why did she jump?! How were you taking care of her? Why? Why did she do it?” Mom was gasping for air, her words broken. Nana started to speak. Pop-Pop cut in, his voice cold. “You’re the mother, and you blame us? She wrote that you didn’t like her. Said you only loved your son. That you didn’t want her. She couldn’t take it, so she jumped.” Mom froze. Her mind seemed to shatter. She stumbled backward. “She… she said that about me?” Her beautiful face was streaked with mascara. I didn’t! I rushed forward, trying to explain. I just wrote that Mom loves the little brother so much. I wished Mom loved me like that. I wished she talked about me like that. Pop-Pop lied. Mom collapsed to the floor, wailing. I tried desperately to lift her, but my hands passed through her shoulders. Thankfully, Mason and Dad caught her. Mom hugged Mason and screamed, pounding her chest. I was awful. Mom was going to blame herself forever. Losing a best friend, then a daughter. I couldn’t imagine how broken she was. The crematorium was burning my body. I went back home. I tried again and again to burn that diary, but I couldn’t touch it! Wind blew through the open window, flipping the pages. It landed on an entry: “It’s great. Dad bought a condo. Three bedrooms. Pop-Pop said to put Mason’s name on the deed so he can get a wife later.” “I didn’t dare ask if there was a room for me. They never looked at me when they talked about it.” “But that’s okay. Dad worked hard for it. I’ll save money and buy my own house one day.” 4 I didn’t have a funeral. Pop-Pop said my death wasn’t honorable. Guests would laugh. A lot of people in the complex were already moving out, selling their units. Mom didn’t stay at the house. She got a hotel nearby. Dad offered her my room. But my room was a converted storage closet. No windows. Just stacks of dried beans in the corner. Small and messy. I was glad Mom didn’t stay there. That night, I sat in the living room, staring at the notebook, willing it to rot. The house was silent. Around midnight, I heard a noise from the grandparents’ room. Nana, holding the wall for support, walked out in the dark. She picked up the diary from the table, went into my room, and gently closed the door. She clicked on the light. I watched her turn the pages, her wrinkled face almost pressed against the paper. “You wrote so much just to curse me. Did you hate me that much?” I saw a tear hit the paper. She quickly dabbed it with her sleeve, trying not to ruin the ink. She wiped her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She sat on the edge of the bed. The yellow light highlighted the ivy-like wrinkles on her face. Nana looked so old. Her eyes were hollow. She whispered, “But isn’t this how everyone lives?” “Harper… my mother taught me this. Boys have to be taken care of better than girls. Was I really wrong?” “You’re gone now. Why are you still scolding me? Why didn’t you tell me when you were alive?” I looked at her pain and didn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t have said anything alive. I put everything in the book because no one in this house would listen. To them, my feelings were rebellious. Incorrect. “Harper, be a boy next time. Just be a boy. Girls are born to suffer these things.” “Boys have it good.” Nana’s voice was low, repeating it over and over. The room had no windows. The air was suffocating. Nana was bound by the chains of her generation. She never went to school. She worked in the house all day. She didn’t know that the ideas everyone followed in her time were obsolete. Her educated husband never told her. Her educated son just wanted to be ‘filial.’ The world moved on, but Nana was held back by the old ways. Left behind. She truly believed boys were more precious than girls. Maybe Nana wished she had been born a boy, too. I had some memories of Nana being good to me. Not many, but they existed. When I was little, we were poor. Other kids had candy; I was envious. If they dropped a piece, I’d check if anyone was looking, pretend to pick up a toy, and pocket the dirty candy. I’d wash it in the sink at home and eat it. It tasted like tap water, but it was sweet. Mason didn’t have to do that. He had allowance. One day, I was eating a washed candy while Nana picked vegetables. She asked if I found it. I smiled and said yes. “It’s good.” She said, “Don’t pick stuff up anymore. You don’t know if those people have diseases.” I didn’t know if they had diseases, but I was sickly. I drank bitter herbal concoctions all the time. It was so bitter it made me want to vomit. But after that day, every time I drank the medicine, there was a piece of candy. Small, but enough to kill the bitterness. I found out later Nana brought them home from weddings or diners. She’d shove handfuls of mints into her pocket, ignoring the weird looks from other guests, just to bring them to me.

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On the seventh day of the cold war with my arranged marriage husband, I vomited. Good news: I’m pregnant. Bad news: He’s infertile. I ran back to my parents’ house overnight and threw the pregnancy test onto my brother’s bed. My mom saw it and fainted on the spot. My dad was so angry he gave him a beating, demanding he bring my sister-in-law home. Sorry, big brother, you’re taking the blame for this one. Later, when my best friend and I went to the hospital to consult about an abortion, we bumped into my arranged marriage husband. I cowardly proposed a divorce: “I’ll leave with nothing. I won’t let you be a ‘happy’ father.” His face was deadly cold as he tightly gripped my wrist: “Letting my daughter call some wild man ‘daddy’? In your dreams.” 1 Ethan Zhou is eight years older than me. Cold personality. And old-fashioned. Even my brother complained that every woman in the elite circle lusted after his face, but no one wanted to marry him. Not long ago, my family’s company was on the verge of bankruptcy. It was he who stepped in and cleared a debt of three hundred million. My dad was so grateful he almost knelt down to him. Then Ethan proposed a condition: marrying into my family would waive the three hundred million debt. He’s a man, my brother’s a man. So the only one he could point to was me. These years I’ve been lying flat and leeching off my dad, feeling a bit guilty, so I agreed to the marriage. A month later, I married into the Zhou family with great fanfare. Because Mrs. Zhou isn’t Ethan’s biological mother, their relationship is very cold. So I didn’t have any troublesome mother-in-law issues. No one urged me to have children either. Until I saw Ethan’s physical examination report, I learned he had azoospermia (infertility). No wonder he never mentioned children, but did it fiercely. Turns out he couldn’t have them. But my small frame couldn’t stand his nightly torments, so I often rejected him. Ethan didn’t force me, solving it himself in the bathroom. Life after marriage was quite comfortable, but there were accidents. Once, hearing me complain to my best friend about being bored at home, Ethan took it upon himself to sign me up for many hobby classes. In the evening, I had to report to him, standing in front of him like an elementary school student, performing. If I didn’t learn well, he would keep a straight face and hit my palm with a ruler. What made me speechless was when I was bewildered by him in bed, calling him “hubby” in a sweet voice. He suddenly whispered in my ear asking me “how to say hubby in French.” That day I couldn’t bear it anymore, kicked him off the bed directly, had a big fight, and started a cold war. Today is the seventh day of the cold war. 2 Ethan sat at the dining table, holding coffee in his left hand, looking down at his tablet. The scratch on his forehead had turned light pink. That day I had just finished Taekwondo class and kicked him off the bed. His forehead hit the corner of the cabinet, cutting a one-centimeter bloody gash. I ignored him; he went downstairs to apply medicine himself. In the following days, he went back to the room to sleep as usual, but just didn’t talk to me. Petty man. I took two bites of the meat bun, felt a bit greasy, and threw it onto the plate casually. Ethan suddenly looked up, then lowered his head again, still silent. My phone buzzed constantly. My best friend kept sending messages warning: “Don’t talk to him first!” “I tell you, old men love to pretend, wanting you to apologize first. Just ignore him for a few days.” “Besides, his desire is so strong, he definitely can’t hold it. You must make him admit his mistake to you.” My best friend got angrier as she spoke, sending voice messages directly later. I accidentally pressed play, causing the person opposite to look up. Ethan’s eyes were pitch black, his gaze slowly falling on my face. Stared for a few seconds, suddenly stood up, pulled out the chair, and left. Prepared for a big fight, I was stunned directly. He just left like that? Like punching cotton, making me unhappy. Angered me into hunger, grabbed the bun and ate a few bites, but saw Ethan’s assistant suddenly walking over. Respectfully said to me: “Madam, Sir asks you to pay attention to protecting his privacy and not discuss his private matters with your friends.” I was so angry I gave him the middle finger and stormed out of the dining room. Just back in the room, nausea rose in my stomach. I rushed into the toilet and vomited all my breakfast. For the whole day, I vomited whatever I ate. Lying in bed sighing, I messaged my best friend. “I’m sick.” “Babe, you’re not pregnant, are you?” My best friend’s horrifying question scared me. I quickly ordered a pregnancy test online. Good news: I’m pregnant. Bad news: He’s infertile. This child isn’t Ethan’s! 3 Just a week ago. I skipped French class and went to a bar with my best friend to have fun. On the dance floor, I met a pure male college student, Ryan Guan. Very handsome face, although not comparable to Ethan, but sweet-mouthed, coaxing my best friend and me into elation. Ordered tens of thousands worth of drinks, treating him and his friends. At the end, Ryan asked for my WeChat. My best friend encouraged me to add him. But just as I took out my phone, a superb but cold face suddenly jumped before my eyes. I put away my phone and rejected him. That was the first meeting. The second time was actually in bed. That day I went to a dessert class and met Ryan. He was the dessert teacher’s assistant. Because we knew each other, he took extra care of me. Unexpectedly, it aroused the jealousy of a female student who drugged my milk tea. In a daze, I seemed to beg Ryan to take me to a hotel, and soon my body reacted. Ryan kept calling me, asking me to wake up. I hooked his neck and kissed him eagerly: “My husband ignores me…” Don’t know if it was an illusion, felt like after saying this sentence, Ryan’s aura suddenly had a trace of aggression. That big hand held my waist, hot and smooth. “Only proactive after being drugged?” I couldn’t make a sound, hugged by him, turned over and pressed under him. That night the lights didn’t go out. Like floating on a boat, dizzy from shaking. Opening eyes again, Ryan was gone. Even the scent disappeared completely. After returning home, I soaked in the bathtub for three hours, coming out only when my skin was wrinkled. At night Ethan wanted to do it, I refused. He didn’t solve it himself like before but pulled my hand and tossed until midnight. The next day my wrist hurt so much I couldn’t hold chopsticks. When Mrs. Zhou asked, I blushed not knowing how to respond. Could only glare at Ethan. Ethan, who always disliked talking to Mrs. Zhou, spoke lightly: “You don’t need to ask about private matters between husband and wife.” Mrs. Zhou understood instantly, hurriedly changed the subject, talking about the illegitimate son I never knew about. She chattered on, but didn’t cause any fluctuation in Ethan’s emotions. His expression was calm, blocking Mrs. Zhou’s mouth with one sentence. “Let him behave himself until graduation, then I will give him a chance to recognize his ancestors.” “Otherwise, even you will have to move out of the Zhou family.” That was the first time I witnessed his temper. 4 I looked down at the pregnancy test, feeling cold all over. If Ethan knew the child wasn’t his, I would be kicked out of the Zhou family too. Even worse. I packed my luggage overnight and ran back to my parents’ house, accidentally bringing the pregnancy test back too. Before being discovered, I threw the pregnancy test onto my brother’s bed. My mom fainted directly upon seeing it. My dad was so angry he beat him up, asking him to quickly bring my sister-in-law home. My brother shouted injustice while dodging: “I really don’t have a girlfriend… stop hitting me…” “Sister, sister come out and save me!” Sorry, big brother, you take the blame for now. Back in the room, I messaged Ethan. [Hubby, my mom misses me, I’m staying home for a few days, don’t miss me.] Unexpectedly Ethan replied quickly: [How many days?] Me: [Three hundred and sixty-five days.] Typed it out as I thought it. I quickly retracted: [A month.] Ethan: [Are you hiding something from me?] The veins on my forehead jumped wildly, frantically typing: [No no, you focus on work.] Ethan didn’t reply again, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then started worrying, how to quietly get rid of this child? Couldn’t think of a way, I went to test my best friend. She scolded righteously: “Is this woman crazy, actually played until pregnant!” I said weakly: “What if this woman is me.” My best friend was silent for a long time. “But then again, is Ethan faultless?” “He does it for so long every time, you didn’t get pregnant, is he sick?” “You just made a mistake that all men in the world make, wanting to leave him a child, although this child isn’t his…” My best friend couldn’t continue, and I couldn’t listen anymore. So I said: “I decided to abort this child.” My best friend suddenly asked: “Then do you want to ask the child’s biological father, that male college student named Ryan?”

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The day Marcus Cole realized I hadn’t filed an expense report with the family office for a whole week, he assumed I’d finally grown out of my ‘small-minded’ habits. With a dismissive, almost charitable air, he tossed an American Express Centurion Card onto the mahogany dining table. “I’ve covered your father’s final dialysis bill,” he said, his voice flat. “Just try not to bore me with these pathetic peasant dramas anymore.” He paused, sipping his twenty-year-old single malt. “I know that bottomless pit of yours is hard to fill, but as a Cole, you need to learn to manage your appetite. Your manners are hideous.” What he didn’t know was that the moment I reached for the black card, I had already signed the divorce papers and my full-body organ donation consent form. The clothes on my back were the same pilling, five-year-old college hoodie he’d once mocked me for wearing. No one would believe that the wife of Marcus Cole, the man who controlled half the resources in the entertainment industry, had to snap a photo of a receipt for a five-dollar box of tampons and upload it to his assistant’s phone for approval. It was his ‘rule.’ He believed that a gold-digger like me would instantly go feral and start spending wildly the second I held real money. A week ago, my father needed an emergency procedure after a massive stroke. I knelt and begged Marcus for twenty thousand dollars. His executive muse, Cassidy Shaw—the woman he’d almost married in college—had deliberately pulled my transfer application from the queue. She’d even smiled as she did it, claiming she was helping me break my habit of “insatiable greed.” Marcus had no idea I endured this humiliation only because my father was dependent on the state-of-the-art life support in his private hospital wing. Now, they’d pulled the plug after a missed payment. My father was ashes in a box. I had no reason to keep playing his obedient, caged pet. 1. My phone vibrated on the reclaimed wood of the kitchen island. Marcus’s message popped up, dripping with that usual air of lofty condescension. “Your father’s treatment is reinstated. Now be a good girl and stop inventing emergencies to demand extra funds. I know where you come from, but my money isn’t that easy to fool.” I stared at the two lines, feeling a startling, almost transcendent calm. I typed a single word: “Understood.” I set the phone down and slid the signed divorce agreement across the counter. Marcus probably thought my three days of silence and lack of expense reports meant I was attempting a ‘cold war.’ It was his favorite word for any attempt I made at asserting myself. For three years, I had lived like a dog on a leash for the sake of my father’s medical bills. I had no independent income. Marcus had forbidden me from working, claiming the Cole name was too prestigious for a wife who ‘paraded herself in the marketplace.’ Yet, he gave me no allowance. Every single cent I spent had to go through his corporate Expense Reporting System. Groceries required approval. Toiletries required approval. Even the three dollars for a subway ride necessitated a photo of the receipt. The Approver? His personal, long-time Executive Assistant: Cassidy Shaw. The woman who had been his “Red-Headed Confidante” since college, the one everyone knew was the Perfect Standard I could never meet. Three days ago. The hospital delivered a Code Blue. My father’s stroke had worsened, requiring immediate, emergency brain surgery. Two hundred thousand dollars. To Marcus, it was the cost of a single bottle of wine for one of his parties. I called him, frantic. Ten, twelve, fourteen calls. When it finally connected, it was Cassidy’s voice. “Ellie, honey, Marcus is in a high-level strategy meeting. Is everything okay?” Her voice was smooth, like warm honey poured over ice. I didn’t care about propriety. I sobbed into the phone. “Cassidy, please, let me talk to him! My father is dying. I need two hundred thousand dollars for the surgery now!” I heard a soft, pitying laugh on the other end. “Ellie, you know the Cole Corp protocol.” “Two hundred thousand is a major withdrawal. You have to run it through the ERP system, darling. Marcus hates rule-breakers, especially when money is involved. You’ll just upset him if you try to bypass me.” “Hurry up and submit the request. I’ll look at it as soon as I can.” The line went dead. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. I logged into the damned ERP system. Reason: Emergency Brain Surgery. Amount: $200,000.00. Attachment: Critical Condition Notice. Submit. I stared at the screen. One second. Two seconds. Ten minutes later. The phone dinged. Not a bank alert, but a system notification. REJECTED. Rejected by: Cassidy Shaw. Reason for Rejection: Attachment format unclear. Please re-scan and upload. All the blood in my body turned to ice. 2. I re-photographed the notice. My hands were trembling, the image slightly blurred. I took another one. Every second was a hammer blow against my father’s life. I submitted the request again. Five minutes later. REJECTED. Reason for Rejection: Requested amount is excessive. Must supplement with detailed itemized breakdown of costs, accurate to the exact price of each medication. I felt a surge of hysterical madness. The surgery hadn’t even started; the doctors were fighting to stabilize him. How was I supposed to get an itemized breakdown accurate to the milligram? I messaged Cassidy on her private line. “Please, I beg you. Approve it first. It’s life-or-death money!” “I’ll send the breakdown later. Cassidy, this is a human life!” She sent back a cute, animated bunny emoji. “Sister, I want to help, but I can’t. Financial policy is financial policy. You used to be so lax with money. Marcus is trying to help you, you know. He said we have to teach you some discipline.” I sank to my knees outside the operating room doors, the phone still clutched in my hand. I felt like a stray mutt whose spine had been pulled out. I texted Marcus. I sent him voice notes. “Marcus, I’m begging you.” “Just approve the money, and I’ll do anything you say. I’ll never fight with you again. I won’t be jealous of Cassidy. Please, save my father.” Half an hour later. Marcus finally sent a short voice note. The background was loud and boisterous—music, laughter. His voice was slurred with an impatient annoyance. “Do what Cassidy says. Don’t bother me.” At that exact moment. The light above the O.R. door went out. The surgeon walked out, pulled down his mask, and shook his head with profound regret. “I’m sorry. If the payment had gone through even ten minutes earlier, we could have administered the clotting agent…” I didn’t hear the rest. The world went eerily quiet. The man who had raised me, the man who had worked two jobs and sifted through trash to pay for my physics tuition, the only family I had left—he was dead. Killed by a piece of paper that wasn’t in the “correct format.” The body grew cold. My love for Marcus Cole chilled along with it. For the last three days. I handled the funeral. Cremation. The scattering of ashes in his favorite park. I didn’t tell Marcus. There was no need. He was so afraid I would cheat him out of money. Now, I would never ask him for a single cent again. I looked at the ‘charitable’ text message he’d sent moments ago. A tiny, cold smile touched my lips. He thought I was angling for attention again. He had no idea this was the final courtesy I was offering him. A red notification popped up from social media. It was Cassidy. The photo was a shot of an exclusive sushi bar, and a man’s hand wearing the limited-edition Patek Philippe watch I had once planned to save up and buy Marcus for his birthday. The caption: “Thanks to the Boss for improving my dining experience. Some people just keep reaching for handouts, so distracting.” I tapped the ‘like’ button. It was the first and last time I would ever endorse Cassidy Shaw. The phone rang immediately. Marcus. He must have seen the ‘like’ and thought I was being passive-aggressive. I didn’t answer. He texted. “Ellie, who are you being sarcastic to? Don’t let people misunderstand Cassidy. She was only doing her job.” “Un-like that post immediately, or I’ll shut down your primary credit line.” Doing her job? Doing her job murdering my father? I laughed, a dry, rasping sound. I clicked back to the post, and under Cassidy’s arrogant caption, I typed a comment: “Cassidy, the secretary who got ahead by holding up the Boss’s wife’s emergency medical payment until her father died. That’s some smart career climbing. Enjoy your blood-money apartment. You and the Boss are a match made in hell. Lock it up, you two deserve each other.” Post. Block. Power off. The world was finally, blessedly quiet. 3. I started packing. There wasn’t much to gather. I had lived in this so-called home for three years. The things that were truly mine were laughably few. The dressing room was immense. The left wall was a monument to Marcus’s bespoke suits. The right side held several locked glass cabinets. They housed the jewels, the designer bags, the limited-edition shoes. The keys and biometric access were controlled by Cassidy Shaw. Every time I had to attend a high-profile gala, I had to request the items from Cassidy, like borrowing a costume from a prop house. When I was done, I had to return them. Once, I accidentally snagged the hem of a gown. Cassidy, in front of the housekeeper, made me write a three-thousand-word letter of apology and docked my allowance for the following month. Marcus had watched, unmoved. He’d just said, “Cassidy is teaching you a lesson, Ellie. These things are expensive. You can’t afford to replace them.” He was right. I couldn’t afford it. I was the orphan, the working-class girl in their eyes. I pulled open the door to my own small corner of the closet. Inside hung a few pilling sweaters and a couple of faded pairs of jeans. The only piece of clothing that felt significant was the plain, off-white cotton T-shirt I had worn three years ago on the day I married him. Back then, I wasn’t just Marcus’s wife. I was State University’s youngest Physics Ph.D. candidate, a genius prodigy with an open-ended career in academia. Marcus had said he loved that cool, clear fire in my eyes. “Ellie,” he’d promised, “marry me. I’ll give you a real home.” I had believed him. I gave up my chance for an international research fellowship. I ignored my professor’s pleas. I traded my lab coat for an apron, and in this golden cage, I had made myself a walking joke. I peeled off the cheap, pilling hoodie Marcus hated. I pulled on the faded white T-shirt. My jeans felt a little loose. I had lost twenty pounds over the last three years. I hauled out a battered old suitcase. Inside, I carefully placed a few heavy textbooks, a handful of family photos, and my father’s small, black wooden urn. Everything else in the mansion—the art, the crystal, the silk—was irrelevant to me. I walked down the grand staircase. Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, was polishing an antique vase. She spotted me dragging the suitcase and rolled her eyes. “Leaving us again, Mrs. Cole?” “Mr. Cole said if you walk out this time, don’t bother coming back.” She straightened up, dusting her hands. “Oh, and the Boss wants his miso soup for dinner. Don’t forget to make it.” Even the help looked down on me. They knew their monthly salary was higher than my personal spending allowance. I stopped and looked at Mrs. Gable. “Make your own soup, Mrs. Gable.” “Or better yet, ask Cassidy to make it.” She froze, stunned by the coldness in my voice. “What kind of attitude is that? Do you want me to report you to the Boss—” “Be my guest.” I pulled the suitcase to the massive, wrought-iron front door and walked out. The afternoon sun was blinding. I raised a hand to shield my eyes. Three years. I had finally walked out of that mausoleum. 4. Marcus returned faster than I anticipated. He must have seen my comment and the steam had burst out of his ears. He wasn’t here to reconcile. He was here to defend his precious Cassidy. I couldn’t hail a taxi at the gates of the exclusive Cole Estate. A black Maybach screeched to a halt in front of me. The door flew open. Marcus stepped out, his face a mask of furious frost. Cassidy scurried out behind him, her eyes red, playing the part of the deeply wronged victim. “Ellie, what the hell is wrong with you?” Marcus grabbed my wrist, his fingers biting into my skin. “Apologize to Cassidy. Now!” “What kind of insane lies are you spreading on social media? What good does it do you to ruin her reputation?” I looked at the face that had once made my heart do acrobatics. Now, I only felt revulsion. “Am I lying?” I wrenched my arm free and turned my gaze, cold and steady, on Cassidy. “Cassidy, you tell him. Am I lying?” Marcus was momentarily taken aback. He didn’t know the exact details—only that I was asking for a huge amount of money and Cassidy had advised against it on principle. He instinctively looked at her. Cassidy’s body trembled, and tears welled up instantly. “Marcus… I didn’t mean to…” “I was only following the company’s strict financial policy, Marcus. And… and Ellie’s tone was so hostile; I didn’t realize it was life-or-death money at the time.” She sniffled. “Besides, I told the finance team to prepare the funds right away, and I was going to push it through, but Ellie never resubmitted the form!” What a flawless performance. What a cunning spin on “never resubmitted.” The man was dead. Was I supposed to resubmit the form to the Grim Reaper? Marcus’s frown deepened. He turned back to me, his eyes full of crushing disappointment. “Ellie, you have truly let me down.” “Cassidy was professional. How can you be so vicious? Your father had a chronic condition; how critical could it have been?” “You’re slandering Cassidy online over this paltry amount of money. Where is your dignity? Your breeding?” Dignity? I was supposed to have dignity when facing a killer? I laughed, the sound hollow. “Marcus, you are hopelessly blind.” “Since you trust her so implicitly, there is nothing left to discuss.” “The divorce papers are on your study desk. Sign them.” I reached for my suitcase. My attitude enraged him. He snatched the battered case and slammed it onto the asphalt. The old zipper burst. My few belongings spilled onto the pavement. A few threadbare sweaters, a stack of books. And one small, black wooden box. The urn rolled a few times, stopping right at Marcus’s Italian leather loafer. Marcus froze. He stared at the box, his pupils contracting violently. “What is this?” I bent down, carefully retrieved the urn, and brushed the dust from the simple wooden surface. “It’s my father.” “Marcus, are you satisfied now?”

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My husband, Henry, had a terrible temper. He was rarely home, and when he was, he’d storm in like a king, ordering everyone around. It’s why my best friend was always telling me to divorce him. In my last life, I listened. I screamed back at him, and after the final, explosive fight, I packed up my parents, my son, and left. But I never imagined how impossible it would be to support my family alone. When I tried to crawl back to Henry, I found him with her—my best friend. She’d tricked him into becoming her little puppet, and he’d handed over every penny he had. Only then did I realize she’d wanted him all along, plotting to steal him for herself. My world shattered. Driving home in a daze, I was hit by a truck. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the moment Serena first started poisoning my mind, urging me to leave him. This time, without a second thought, I blocked her number. Then I turned to my husband, who was in the middle of ranting about how my clothes were a disgrace and my taste was garbage, and I smiled sweetly. “You’re right, honey. I’ll go change right now. Whatever you want.” 1 In our two years of marriage, it was the first time I’d ever met his anger with a smile. It actually stunned him into silence for a second. While he was still processing, I’d already slipped out of my t-shirt and jeans and emerged from the walk-in closet in a silk slip dress. The hard lines of Henry’s face softened. “That’s better,” he said, his voice losing its edge. “Don’t wear those ugly things again. They do nothing for you.” Who wears a slip dress to lounge around the house? No one. But Henry liked to see it. If I didn’t do exactly what he wanted, his words turned to daggers. I used to burn with indignation. We’d fallen in love on our own terms, we were both actors in the same industry—why did a marriage certificate suddenly make me his subordinate? I refused to accept it. Every time he criticized my clothes, I fought back, hard. One fight, then another, and another. He’d always end up red-faced with fury, and I’d be left with a bitter taste in my mouth. Afterward, I’d vent to my best friend, Serena. Her advice was always the same. “I’m just saying, Clara,” she’d start, “we live in an age of equality. What man gets to act like a tyrant in his own home these days? Other guys treat their wives like queens, terrified of hurting their feelings. And then there’s Henry. He thinks dropping a little money every month makes him lord of the manor. It’s one thing for you to put up with it, but making your parents walk on eggshells? That’s just cruel. If I were you, I’d divorce him. Find some hot young actor and see how he likes that.” As angry as I was, I always hesitated. “But… I’ve been out of the industry for so long. And Leo is only a year old. If I leave him now, how will I find work?” Serena would cut me off. “Are you kidding me? You’re just as talented as he is, if not more. Besides, I’m still in the business. I can get you auditions. We don’t need a man to survive.” Despite her words, the thought of divorce terrified me. I let things drag on with Henry, stuck in our cycle of fighting and making up. Then came the time he went to shoot a film deep in the mountains and was gone for three months. A nasty flu swept through the city, and everyone in my house—my parents, my son, and me—came down with it. I was burning up, my fever spiking to 103. When I called Henry, I could hear the chaos of the film set in the background. He barely let me get two words out before he exploded. “Clara, for God’s sake, you’re a grown woman! Go to a doctor! Hire a nurse! What do you think I give you all that money for? I’m in the middle of nowhere, I can’t just drop everything and come back. Why are you calling me and adding to my stress?” Listening to the symphony of coughs and cries from the living room, I felt a wave of fear and self-pity wash over me. My voice trembled. “Henry, I just… I needed to hear your voice. I needed some comfort.” “I don’t have time for this!” He took a sharp breath; I could hear a director yelling for him in the distance. He reined in his anger. “Figure it out yourself, Clara. The whole crew, hundreds of people, have been waiting for this snowstorm. We have to shoot. Don’t call me for the next few days. I’ll text you when I’m free.” He hung up. Then, he blocked my number. I stared at the red exclamation point on my screen, my heart fracturing. Just then, Serena called. When I told her what happened, she rushed over and helped me get my parents and Leo to the hospital. After everyone was settled, she sat beside me, sighing dramatically. “See? What did I tell you? That man is useless. Besides throwing money at you, what good is he?” I was numb, unable to speak. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a dozen videos from her—all about how to leave a man who isn’t there for you when you need him most. As I watched, the idea of leaving Henry started to feel less like a threat and more like a promise. What I didn’t know was that Serena had her own agenda. I’d forgotten that without Henry, I’d also be without the $50,000 he deposited into my account every month. The money Serena dismissed as “useless” was what gave me, my parents, and my son a life of comfort and ease. So, when I opened my eyes to this second chance, Henry’s role in my life was redefined. He was no longer my husband. He was my patron, my ATM, my golden goose. If I had to flatter a boss to keep a job, what were a few harsh words from the man who funded my entire life? With that clarity, I forced a smile onto my face. “You must be exhausted, honey,” I said, looking at him. “Let me run a bath for you.” He just nodded, his anger deflating into confusion. 2 In the bathroom, I drew a steaming bath for him, even testing the water with Leo’s little rubber duck to make sure the temperature was perfect. When Henry came in, his eyes were still on me, searching. “Clara.” “Hmm?” “Are you still mad at me? I told you, I had to block you. It was an emergency. You’ve been on set, you know the pressure when hundreds of people are waiting on you.” He spoke quickly, his voice tight. “We drove hours to that remote location just for that one snowstorm. If we missed the shot, the whole production would have been delayed. I couldn’t let that happen. You, of all people, should understand.” He was getting worked up again. In my past life, this would have been my cue to plant my hands on my hips and let him have it. So, your job is more important than your wife and child? Our whole family is in the hospital, and you’re mad that I called you? But now, I understood. Henry was a simple man. Like most men, he wanted a wife to make his life easier, not harder. The thrill of the chase was for dating; marriage was for comfort, for peace, for enjoying the warmth of a home without any effort. I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around his neck, nuzzling him like a cat. “I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I was panicking and wasn’t thinking about what was happening on your end. You just spent months roughing it in the mountains. You need to relax. Get in the bath. We can talk about it after you’ve rested, okay?” I stroked his cheek. I could feel the tension drain out of him. For once, he didn’t lash out. He let out a long sigh, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Clara, if only you were always this understanding.” 3 I knew why he said that. I was eight years younger than him, practically still a kid when we got married. When we were dating, he’d spoiled me rotten, giving me anything I wanted. After I got pregnant, my parents moved in. As their only child, they doted on me, turning me into even more of a princess. Henry used to joke that he felt less like he’d married a wife and more like he’d adopted a daughter. I thought it was a sign of his love. Then I saw him with Serena. She was so subservient to him that when his shoelace came undone, she would drop to her knees and tie it for him. Henry would look at her, his heart melting. “You don’t have to do that. I can get it.” Serena would just smile. “I know. But I want to take care of you. You had it so rough with Clara. Let me be the one to love you now. Let me spoil you.” Her words were like a magic spell. He would pull her into his arms, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, baby. I never knew what love was until I met you. Come on, let’s go to the mall. I’ll buy you a new Louis Vuitton.” Serena would feign protest. “Oh, honey, you work so hard for your money. You don’t need to spend it on me.” But she never said no. Instead, she’d kiss him deeply. I watched them like a creep, a ghost from his past, as they strolled hand-in-hand through the luxury boutiques. Henry, who was always so quick to anger with me, was a sea of calm with Serena. If he ever raised his voice, she would gently place a hand on his chest and whisper, “Easy, honey. You’re scaring me when you talk so loud.” And he would instantly soften, docile as a puppy. Watching her masterful performance, I finally understood how naive I’d been. Henry was a catch. Parents deceased, ruggedly handsome, and a titan in the industry. Marrying him had been like winning the lottery. He’d moved my parents into the sprawling mansion he’d bought, and we all lived under his roof. He was gone for months at a time filming, and the $50,000 he sent every month was more than enough for us to live in luxury. On top of that, there were the diamond necklaces, the designer bags, and the million-dollar checks he’d write for my parents at the end of the year. He wasn’t reckless with his fortune, either. He invested in real estate and had set up a massive education fund for our son. He was a perfect man, aside from his foul temper. Why on earth had I ever thought of letting him go? I wanted to slap myself for being so foolish, for ruining my life and the lives of my family. This time, I would take a page out of Serena’s book. I would conquer him with softness. I refused to fail again. 4 The next day, Henry slept in until noon. Just like they always did, my parents kept his breakfast warm in the oven, waiting for him to wake up. I put Leo down for his nap and ate a couple of pastries. My mom sidled up to me, nudging me in the ribs. “Well, look at you. Being a good girl today? Not a single complaint about Henry sleeping in?” In the past, my patience would have worn thin by 10 a.m. I would have stormed into the bedroom, ripped the covers off him, and yelled at him for disrespecting my parents by not eating with the family. This time, I just smiled at her. “He’s exhausted from filming, Mom. Let him sleep. I’m a mother now, I can’t keep acting like a child.” “Oh, honey, come listen to this!” my mom called out to my dad, laughing. “Our daughter says she’s grown up!” Watching my parents chuckle together, a familiar ache bloomed in my chest. In my last life, when I’d insisted on the divorce, we had very little money. To maintain our standard of living, they’d both had to find jobs in their old age. I couldn’t imagine how they managed after I died. And Leo. He was just a baby, left without a mother. The pain was so sharp it brought tears to my eyes. Just then, Henry opened the bedroom door and saw me, my face streaked with tears. Something in his chest clenched. He walked over. “What’s wrong? Who upset you?” I quickly wiped my eyes and shook my head. “No one. I was just thinking how lucky I am, how happy this life is.” Henry stared at me, another flicker of surprise in his eyes. After he showered, he took his seat at the head of the table. I served him a plate of food and a bowl of soup. “Mom was simmering this all morning. Try it.” He took a sip, his face stern. “It’s good. But a bit heavy on the garlic next time.” My mom smiled awkwardly. “Oh, but the pork belly needs garlic to cut the richness.” “Then find another way,” he said dismissively. “The French cook without garlic all the time and their food is incredible. You have to think outside the box, not just stick to the old ways.” There it was, that familiar, overbearing tone. I felt the old anger rising in my throat. I took a deep breath, forcing it down. “Okay, we’ll try a different recipe next time. I hope you still like everything else. The fish is really good.” I placed a piece of fish on his plate. The rest of the meal was tense. Everyone but Henry ate carefully, cautiously. Afterward, he was heading out for a meeting. He grabbed his phone. “Clara, I transferred $500,000 to your account. Go buy something nice for your parents.” He paused at the door. “Director Zhao wants to go over a script with me. I might be home late.” He’d just gotten back last night, and he was already leaving again. He hadn’t even seen Leo. My first instinct was to ask him to stay a little longer, to at least say hello to his son so the boy wouldn’t forget his face. But then I thought better of it. Of course the golden goose had to go out and make more gold. 5 By the time Henry left, it was already evening. With my parents at home watching Leo, I grabbed my purse and headed to the mall. I’d been suffocating for too long. In the six months between the divorce and the car crash in my past life, I hadn’t bought a single new thing for myself. I walked into the designer boutique and bought every single item I’d seen Henry buy for Serena. I was just stepping out, my arms loaded with bags, when I saw her walking toward me. Serena’s eyes flickered over my haul, a flash of envy in their depths. “Clara, why did you block me?” I met her gaze, my voice cool. “I just didn’t feel like talking.” “We’ve been best friends for five years. You can’t just cut me off like that.” “Yes, I can.” “But why? Clara, you at least owe me a reason.” “We’re just too different.” The last thing I needed was someone constantly whispering in my ear, telling me to leave my golden goose. But Serena wouldn’t give up. She grabbed my arm. “I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve this. Unless… unless it’s because I gave you some advice when you and Henry were fighting. But I was just trying to help you! A man like Henry, what good is he, really?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “If he’s so useless, why is he so coveted?” Serena’s face paled. “Who… who’s coveting him? Are you saying… he’s cheating on you?” “Oh, I think we both know who I’m talking about.” I was done with her. I turned to walk away. But I had underestimated her shamelessness. Two days later, she showed up at my door, arms full of gifts, acting as if nothing had happened. My parents, unaware of our falling out, welcomed her in with smiles. “Serena, you’re here! Clara and Henry are still asleep. Would you like to wait?” Serena didn’t answer right away. Her eyes scanned the enormous house, lingering for a moment on the new Hermès bag I’d left in the corner. I came down the stairs just in time to catch the envy on her face. “What are you doing here?” She snapped back to the present. “I came to explain.” Before she could continue, Henry came downstairs, dressed in casual loungewear. A faint love bite was still visible on his neck from our fooling around the night before. Serena’s expression soured. “Honestly, Henry, you two are a little much. There are parents and a child in the house. You could at least try to cover that up.” Henry never liked being criticized, especially in public. He shot her a glare. “This is my house. What I wear is none of your business.” Serena realized her mistake. She forced a conciliatory smile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just came by because Clara was so upset when her parents were in the hospital. She said some pretty awful things about you, and I was worried about your marriage.” At her words, Henry’s face darkened with rage. “Clara, you talked about me behind my back?” Serena jumped in. “I told her you had your reasons, but she wouldn’t listen. I think she resents you, feels like you think you can just buy her off. She said you’re a terrible husband and a worse father, always busy with work and never there when it counts. She said any random man off the street would be more useful than you.” 6 As Henry’s expression grew stormier, my mom couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Serena, are you here to mediate or to pour gasoline on the fire? Every word out of your mouth is poison.” I gently held her back. “Mom, you and Dad go upstairs. I’ll handle this.” Once they were gone, I turned to Serena. “Serena, did you really come all this way just to tell him that?” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I was worried you couldn’t handle your husband. We’re best friends. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” “Right.” I walked over to Henry and looped my arm through his, my first priority to diffuse his anger. “I’m so sorry, honey,” I said softly. “I had a fever that day, I wasn’t thinking straight. The words just came out.” I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading. “You can yell at me, hit me, whatever you want. Just don’t be angry. Please, let’s get you some breakfast before your stomach starts hurting.” Henry’s face was a stone mask, but he didn’t pull away. I led him to the dining table and ladled a bowl of oatmeal for him. “You love the artisanal pickles, let me get you some.” His voice was hard. “No. First, explain what she was talking about.” His hand was hot, his muscles coiled with tension. He was barely holding his anger in check. If I had tried to defend myself out of pride, it would have erupted into a full-blown war. But this time, I just focused on him, my voice trembling with concern. Then I knelt beside his chair, taking his hand and pressing it against my cheek. “Henry, do you know what happened that day? Leo’s fever shot up to 105. He had a febrile seizure. The doctor said if we’d been a few minutes later, it could have been… permanent.” Tears started to well up in my eyes. “My dad was vomiting blood, my mom had an inflammation of the heart… it felt like my whole family was knocking on death’s door. And I was alone. I was trying so hard to hold it all together, and when Serena showed up, it was like she was a lifeline. I just… I broke down. I said things I shouldn’t have.” Fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I rested my head on his knee. “I know I was wrong. I should never have tarnished your reputation like that. Please… punish me. I’ll never do it again. I’m so sorry, Henry, I’m so, so sorry.” I sobbed, my body shaking. Showing weakness, turning on the waterworks… I’m a Juilliard-trained actress, after all. A few tears are nothing. At first, Henry just watched me, his expression cold. But as my crying intensified, my nose turning red, my breath catching in ragged gasps, he finally moved. He let out a deep sigh and pulled me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me. “Okay, okay, stop crying,” he murmured into my hair. “It’s fine. I’m not mad anymore.”

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1 My background is a secret. My knowledge of the law is not. No matter who you are, if you break the law in front of me, I will report you. On the first day of my reunion with my wealthy birth parents, they tried to lock me in the basement to “reflect on how to be a proper lady.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, officer? I’d like to report a case of false imprisonment.” My fiancé, a domineering CEO, wanted to have my corneas transplanted into his childhood sweetheart. On the operating table, I calmly addressed the surgeon. “Doctor, removing an organ against a person’s will carries a sentence of over five years, ten if it results in serious injury. Would you like to stop now, or would you prefer to do hard time?” The doctor’s hand trembled. My fiancé, Julian, was enraged. “In this city, I am the law. What’s the big deal about taking your eyes?” I pulled a recording pen from my pocket. “Excellent. That’s solid evidence of involvement with organized crime. The RICO task force is always looking for textbook cases like you.” … I pressed the stop button and waved the pen at him. “Mr. Polson, that part where you said ‘I am the law’? The audio quality is crystal clear.” “You—!” Julian Polson couldn’t believe I’d dare to threaten him at a time like this. He lunged for the pen, his face contorted with fury. “Give that to me!” I vaulted off the operating table in one smooth motion. “Robbery, defined as the taking of property from another by force, is a felony punishable by up to three years in prison.” At that exact moment, the doors to the operating room were kicked open with a tremendous crash. BANG! The sound was followed by a voice of righteous authority. “Freeze! Police!” Detective Miller, the officer who’d taken my call, burst in with three other cops. The dark, unblinking lens of a body camera was aimed squarely at Julian and the surgeon still holding his scalpel. “Officer, thank God you’re here!” I feigned innocence and ducked behind Miller, pointing at Julian. “This man claims to be the law of this city. He was threatening me with a weapon, intending to forcibly harvest my organs for that woman over there, Tia Harrington. The doctor is his accomplice. I have the entire conspiracy recorded on this pen.” Julian froze, staring at the uniforms. He’d lived a life of privilege and power; he’d never been in a situation like this. “This is a misunderstanding! It’s a family matter! I’m Julian Polson, the CEO of Polson Industries…” Miller let out a cold laugh and produced a pair of handcuffs, snapping one onto Julian’s wrist with a sharp click. “Polson, is it? I don’t care if you’re a CEO or the King of England, you answer to the law. And there’s no ‘family matter’ exemption in the Penal Code. Take him away!” As I looked at Julian’s face—a bruised, disbelieving mess—I straightened the collar of my hospital gown and offered a polite, educational smile. “Mr. Polson, be sure to study up while you’re inside. I’ll send you a copy of the complete Penal Code. Prime delivery, on the house.” It was late by the time I finished giving my statement at the station. Julian’s team of high-powered lawyers managed to get him out on bail, citing “medical distress” and posting an exorbitant bond. But his reputation was in tatters, and for now, he was holed up in a hospital, too busy licking his wounds to bother me. That didn’t mean I was safe. The moment I pushed open the door to the Harrington family mansion, a bone china teacup came flying at my head. CRASH! It shattered at my feet, sending shards skittering across the marble floor. My birth mother, Mrs. Harrington, stood in the foyer, her perfectly preserved face twisted into a grotesque snarl. “You ungrateful little witch! You’ve been back one day and you’ve already sent your fiancé to jail? You’ve dragged the Harrington name through the mud!” On the sofa, my birth father, Mr. Harrington, ground out his cigarette in an ashtray, his expression grim. “What are you waiting for?” he barked. “Lock the doors!” With an audible click, four hulking bodyguards emerged from the shadows, blocking my only exit. Mr. Harrington rose to his feet, looking down his nose at me. “In this house, I’m your father. That makes me God. Since you love calling the police so much, you can spend the rest of your days rotting in the basement. Men, take her phone, her recorder, any electronic devices she has. And then teach her a lesson she won’t forget.” Two of the guards grabbed my shoulders, their meaty hands digging into me as they forcibly emptied my pockets. My mother snatched my phone and smashed it on the floor, grinding it into pieces with the heel of her stiletto. “Go on, record that! Call the cops now! Let’s see you try!” Faced with this suffocating violence, I didn’t cry or scream. I remained calm, even taking a moment to mentally appraise the shattered phone. “That was a custom model. Worth about twenty-five hundred dollars. The recorder was three hundred.” I lifted my head, my gaze sweeping coolly over my parents and their hired muscle. “Right now, in a confined space, you are forcibly seizing my property through violent means. According to the Penal Code, that’s called home invasion robbery. It carries a ten-year minimum sentence.” “Ha! Robbery?” Mrs. Harrington shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “I’m your mother! What’s wrong with taking something of yours? I have every right to discipline you! In this house, family law is the only law that matters! Do it!” A bodyguard raised his hand to strike. I ducked my head, bit down on a black button that looked like a simple decoration on my collar, and yanked it hard. “WEEEEEE-OOOOOO-EEEEEE!!!” An ear-splitting, high-decibel alarm shrieked through the house, piercing enough to be heard across the entire wealthy neighborhood. It was a military-grade personal alarm, audible from a quarter-mile away. The bodyguard recoiled, clutching his ears in pain, his grip on me slackening. I seized the opportunity, lunging for the floor-to-ceiling window and grabbing a chair. CRASH! Standing in the shattered frame, I took a deep breath and yelled out to the neighboring mansions. “HELP! HOME INVASION! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL ME!” My scream was bloodcurdling. The man living next door was none other than retired Supreme Court Justice Albright, a man famous for his zero-tolerance policy on crime. In that instant, the color drained from my parents’ faces. Five minutes later, the familiar squad car pulled up, and the familiar Detective Miller stepped out. He looked at me, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Miss Lawton… have we met before tonight?” I calmly pointed to the wreckage of my phone on the floor, then to the bodyguards. “Detective, your timing is perfect. These men physically restrained me and violently robbed me of my personal property, valued at over two thousand dollars. I have reason to believe they are part of an organized criminal enterprise. Oh, and by the way, the micro-camera hidden in my cufflink recorded the entire incident. It’s automatically backed up to the cloud.” I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the tiny lens, which glowed with a faint blue light. Mr. Harrington’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted on the spot. After my eventful evening, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington weren’t arrested, but after a stern lecture from Detective Miller, they were forced to sign a domestic violence injunction. The stress sent them both to the hospital with heart palpitations. I thought I might get a moment of peace, but trouble, it seems, never sleeps. The next morning, my brother, Leo, kicked over my suitcase, grabbed my black laptop, and smashed it on the ground before stomping on it for good measure. Tia, the girl who was supposed to be waiting for a cornea donation, rushed to his side, feigning concern. “Leo, don’t! She just came from the countryside. I know the computer is old, but she saved up for it for so long by doing odd jobs…” “So that’s what that weird smell is. You think this piece of trash she bought with garbage money belongs in our house?” Leo smirked, satisfied with the shattered screen, and tossed a wad of cash in my face. “Ten thousand dollars. That’s enough to buy ten of your broken computers. Take the money, and go kneel and apologize to Mom, Dad, and Tia.” Tia covered her mouth, a little giggle escaping. “He’s just looking out for you, sis. Out with the old, in with the new, right?” My lips twitched into a smile. I applauded. “Impressive, Leo. World-class computer-smashing technique.” I knelt and picked up the remains of the laptop with a sigh. Leo frowned. “Cut the crap. Is the money not enough?” I held up a finger. “This was a custom, military-grade workstation. The hardware alone cost eighty-eight thousand dollars. More importantly, it contained three years of core research data I was running for a national laboratory. It was the only copy. No backup.” I flashed him a bright, white smile. “According to legal precedent, the destruction of scientific data is assessed by its replacement cost. The value of this data set is… approximately seven hundred thousand dollars.” Leo’s smirk froze on his face. “Seven hundred thousand? Who are you trying to scam?” “The Economic Crimes Division and a state appraiser will determine whether it’s real or not.” I pulled out a backup phone and dialed 911. Because the amount was so substantial and the act so malicious, Leo wasn’t even eligible for bail. As he was led away in handcuffs, Tia screamed. The family butler, who had just arrived, looked like he’d seen a ghost. A family, after all, should stick together. My fiancé was out on bail, my brother was in jail, and my parents were in the hospital. The scorecard was looking pretty good. The Harrington family was in ruins, but Tia’s resilience was truly something to behold. Minutes later, she was live-streaming from the hospital hallway, tears streaming down her face like a soap opera star. “Everyone, my sister just got here and she’s already sent my brother to jail and put my parents in the ICU… Why would she do this to us? Do people who grow up poor all have hearts of stone?” The comment section exploded with people calling me a monster. Donations started rolling in. Tia seized the moment, displaying a QR code. “To save my brother and pay for my parents’ medical bills, I’m willing to accept any help you can offer…” I stood in a corner, recording everything. Once I had enough evidence, I walked up and tapped her on the shoulder. “Great performance. The Academy owes you an Oscar.” Tia jumped, then shrieked into the camera. “It’s her! Everyone, this is the woman who’s trying to destroy our family!” Facing the vitriol of millions of viewers, I calmly held a payment receipt up to the camera. “First, Mom and Dad’s medical expenses are fully covered by their insurance. You don’t need to fundraise.” “Second, my brother was arrested for destroying national scientific data. The evidence is conclusive.” “And third,” I said, pointing to the personal account number that was rapidly accumulating funds, “you are fabricating a story to fraudulently solicit money from the public. According to the Penal Code, that’s called felony fraud. I took a quick look, and it looks like you’ve already passed the fifty-thousand-dollar mark. That’s a minimum of ten years. Congratulations.” “This… these are gifts! Not fraud!” Tia stammered, her face pale. “You can explain that to the police.” Right on cue, Detective Miller appeared with his colleagues from the Economic Crimes Division. They escorted a stunned Tia away for fraud and slander. As she was placed in the police car, the tide in the live stream turned instantly. The screen was flooded with comments: “The Law Queen is a badass!” And with that, the entire Harrington family was neutralized. I had just left the hospital after dealing with Tia when I felt a sharp, sudden pain in my neck. A taser. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I heard Julian’s cold, menacing voice. “You had your chance to do this the easy way. Take her.” I woke up to a bucket of ice-cold water splashing over my head. The salty tang of sea air, the blinding glare of a spotlight, and an endless expanse of black ocean. My hands and feet were bound to an iron pole with heavy-duty zip ties, tied so tightly they cut into my flesh. We were in international waters. On Julian’s private yacht. “You’re awake?” Julian sat on a leather sofa, swirling a glass of red wine. Behind him stood two dozen burly mercenaries, the bulges at their waists indicating they were armed. And next to him, fresh out of the ICU, sat Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. Mrs. Harrington saw my predicament and burst into triumphant laughter. “You little bitch, you love calling the cops, don’t you? Go on, call them! We’re in international waters! Twelve nautical miles out, nobody’s laws apply to us!” Mr. Harrington’s face was a mask of pure hatred. He slapped a file against my cheek. “Sign this ‘Property Transfer Agreement’ and this ‘Psychiatric Guardianship’ form. Sign over all your shares to Tia, then jump overboard and feed the sharks. If you do, we might even give you a proper memorial!” They had searched me thoroughly. No phone, no recorder, even the alarm button on my collar was gone. They had learned their lesson and cut off all my lifelines. Julian sauntered over, tilting my chin up with the toe of his expensive leather shoe, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Zoe Lawton, don’t even bother. This yacht is equipped with a full-spectrum signal jammer. Right now, there are no police, no cameras, and no laws.” “In this lawless place, what are you possibly going to fight me with?” It was a hopeless situation. Utterly and completely hopeless. It was so perfect, I couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you laughing at? Have you gone mad?” Julian frowned. I slowly lifted my head, my eyes glinting with excitement. “Thank you, Julian.” My voice was raw, but it carried a bone-deep chill. “Ever since I came back, being forced into this ‘long-lost daughter’ role… it’s been exhausting.” “Dealing with scum, I had to cite the law. Facing violence, I had to call the police. I had to maintain this ‘law-abiding citizen’ persona, even calculating the force of my self-defense so I wouldn’t cripple you and have to pay damages.” Julian froze. “What are you talking about?” “You said it yourself. These are international waters.” “No signal. No cameras. No police.” I took a deep breath, savoring the taste of freedom. “That means… whatever I do to you… isn’t illegal, right?” “You’re insane! Get her! Kill her!” Julian scrambled backward, his voice cracking with fear. The two dozen mercenaries surged forward, brandishing iron rods. With a sharp snap, I broke the nylon zip ties. I took off my broken glasses and tossed them into the sea. I rolled my wrists, producing a series of loud, popping cracks. Looking at the thug leading the charge, I offered a standard-issue smile. “I forgot to introduce myself properly.” “Before I took up studying the Penal Code, my day job was… a combat instructor for mercenary units in North Africa.” “Since the law can’t touch you here…” I exploded into motion, a phantom blur, and sent the first man flying ten feet with a single punch. “…tonight, I am the law.” THUD! The 250-pound man crashed onto the deck with a sickening crack of breaking ribs that echoed across the water. The air went dead silent. Julian stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “You… how is that possible…” He waved frantically at the other thugs.

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The night of our wedding, my husband—all sinew and raw, hardworking muscle—left for the City to find work, and I didn’t hear a peep from him again. I was left in that tiny, forgotten town, running on fumes, rising before the sun and crashing after the owls. In one short year, the drudgery had hollowed me out, turning me from a woman of substance, a curvy girl with a lucky star, into a gaunt, exhausted shadow. Just when I felt I couldn’t lift another bucket, my birth parents tracked me down. They said I was the daughter who had been swapped at birth and they wanted to bring me to the City to live a life of comfort. But I hadn’t even finished the drive in their sleek black sedan when a crew of men stopped us and dragged me out. They threatened my parents: Pay the ransom, or they’d end me! I was shaking, absolutely terrified. But when the blindfold was ripped off, I looked up at the gang leader and froze. It was my runaway husband. 1 “Honey!” The name burst out of me, and every eye in the room snapped to focus on me and Rhys Owen. Rhys’s face instantly flushed crimson. I couldn’t make out his expression through the shadows, but I was too excited to care. I pumped up the volume and yelled it again. “Honey!” The rugged men stared at me, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, for a long moment, then erupted in laughter. “Boss, did we scare this one senseless?” “She just yells ‘Honey’ at anyone? Hey, sweetheart, how about me?” “You? Don’t you see the size of the Boss? Look at his build compared to yours!” “The Boss has all the luck—getting a rich heiress to throw herself at him even while he’s on the job!” Rhys glared fiercely at his crew. When he looked at me, his brow furrowed. “Stop yelling. Who are you calling your husband?” I was stunned. He didn’t recognize me! He’d abandoned me on our wedding night to seek fortune, promising to return and give me the good life, but he hadn’t even called once. If my birth parents hadn’t found me, I’d still be in that village, stuck playing Penelope. The thought of it all brought my fury to a boil. “You rotten, heartless man! You walked out and left me to fend for myself, and now the first thing you do is kidnap me? Do you have no soul?” “Do you know how I’ve been living? Starving, freezing—I nearly died of cold in that village last winter!” I wallowed in the drama of my past misery, screaming the accusations until tears streamed down my face. The men exchanged bewildered, uncertain looks. “No way. Is that really the Boss’s wife?” “Damn, Boss just hit the jackpot—a wife and a ransom!” “You can’t forget your crew when you hit it big, Boss!” A skinny guy, Mac, sidled up to Rhys with a leering grin. “Boss, we were supposed to kidnap her, but I think she’s here to kidnap you!” Rhys finally snapped out of his daze and shoved Mac away in disgust. “All of you—shut your mouths!” He then strode over, intentionally roughing up his voice, and grabbed my chin. “You open your eyes and look at me. Who is your husband? I’m known as ‘The Rattler’ on the street, and I stand by my name!” “And besides, I have a wife! She’s a curvy girl, a woman of substance! You may sound like her, but those stick arms and legs? Do you think I’m blind?” “Don’t try to play games with me, sweetheart, or I’ll cut out your tongue!” After his menacing threat, he turned away and mumbled under his breath. “Dressed so nice, trying to pretend to be my wife? What an actress! Good thing I don’t fall for that.” I was already livid that he wouldn’t admit to knowing me. Hearing that, I instinctively glanced down at myself. My hourglass figure was now a slender, toned shape; my full curves had melted into a streamlined silhouette. I’d lost over seventy pounds. No wonder he didn’t recognize me. For the first time in my life, I wanted to cry over being thin. “I really am your h—” Before I could finish, he sealed my mouth shut with duct tape. “I’m warning you, we’ve been living on a knife’s edge for years—we’re stone-cold killers. Your little beauty tricks won’t work on me!” “Cooperate and wait for the ransom, or I won’t go easy on you!” With that, he tapped the blade of a knife against my cheek. His action completely shocked me. I froze, unable to move a muscle. Once he was out of earshot, I sniffled. The more I thought about it, the more miserable I felt, so I just started yelling obscenities. “Rhys Owen, you low-down, no-good jerk!” But with the tape over my mouth, no one understood what I was saying. After a long while, I calmed down and looked around the room. The men were all bulky and rough, covered in fake tattoos and scars—they looked like the usual ne’er-do-wells you’d see hanging around town. Watching Rhys lecture his crew in the distance, I sank into thought. He was supposed to be in the City doing construction, so why was he here with them? And why was he kidnapping me? My heart ached as I watched the man I’d missed for years. Honey, you’re just getting yourself into trouble… 2 A phone ring broke my reverie. Rhys glanced at me and lowered his voice. “Ms. Harrington, the job is done.” Ms. Harrington? Skye Harrington? Wasn’t that the sister I’d been swapped with? Did she hire Rhys to kidnap me? I immediately perked up my ears. “Don’t worry, we didn’t hurt her, just gave her a good scare.” “We’ll make sure she backs off and doesn’t interfere with your life.” Those two simple sentences were all I needed to figure out their entire game. So, they just didn’t want me to come home, huh? I rolled my eyes. Since my life wasn’t actually in danger, I had nothing to fear or worry about. My priority now was to give my clueless, wife-blind husband a good lesson. Once he hung up, I kicked the skinny guy next to me, Mac, signaling him to rip the tape off my mouth. Mac, clearly eager for more entertainment, actually did it. He must have wanted to see what I’d do to Rhys next. The moment my mouth was free, I deliberately cleared my throat. “Honey~” The syrupy-sweet sound instantly made the surrounding men turn red trying to stifle their laughter. Rhys’s broad shoulders tensed. He turned back, his expression tight. “I told you not to call me that!” I pouted with a wicked glee. “Why are you so mean? I’m thirsty.” “Even a kidnapper can’t let the hostage die of thirst, can they?” I put on my best hurt expression. Rhys took a deep breath and tossed a bottle of water, which landed right beside me. Thinking about how he’d abandoned me for so long, I fluttered my eyelashes. “Oh dear, I’m all tied up, I can’t get it. Honey, come help me.” He walked over like a man resigned to his fate and held the water bottle to my lips. My eyes lit up. I gulped hard, staring at his wide shoulders and that impressive eight-pack. He sensed my stare, and his face instantly went wary as he tried to shield his chest. “Are you drinking or not?” I quickly pulled my gaze back. “Drinking, drinking, of course, I’m drinking.” I guzzled half the bottle and let out a satisfied burp. Seeing him about to stand up, I quickly adjusted my tone. “Sweetheart~” My overly dramatic voice nearly made his knees buckle. “For heaven’s sake, what do you want now!” “A person needs food to live, Honey. You’ve had me tied up for ages, aren’t you going to feed me?” He covered his ears with a look of pure disgust and retreated ten feet. “Just wait!” The crew of ‘thugs’ couldn’t hold back anymore and doubled over with laughter. “Boss, I don’t think the missus wants food, she wants you!” “Why don’t you just take one for the team, Boss, and take her in!” Rhys angrily slammed the remaining half-bottle of water onto the ground, scattering water everywhere. “All of you, shut up!” “I’m telling you one more time—I’m a married man! If anyone says something like that again, I’ll take it personally!” Seeing his genuine anger, the crew immediately straightened up. My lips curved up, and I nodded, pleased. My husband might be a little dense, but he certainly had high standards for fidelity. Rhys must have felt my gaze, because he spun around, his eyes narrowed menacingly. “Take her into the back room! I’m going out to get food!” The men immediately ushered me into the inner room. I wrinkled my nose. “You want me to sleep in this?” Mac raised an eyebrow, a suggestive smile on his face. “This is the Boss’s room! A private room! And only one bed!” “Oh.” I gave him a knowing look and smiled back. “Don’t worry, buddy. When this is all over, the missus won’t forget your help!” I sat down quietly. After what felt like ages, just as I was about to fall asleep, Rhys finally returned. “Here, eat this!” Looking at the bag of bagels and hard-boiled eggs, I felt a momentary softening of my heart. “Feed me.” His face darkened, and he was about to blow up, but I held up my hands, which were still tied together. “I’m tied up like this, and you expect me to peel an egg myself?” He was stumped. He reluctantly sat down beside me. After carefully peeling the shell off one egg, he held it to my mouth. I leaned back slightly. “I don’t eat the yolks.” He let out a defeated sigh, but his body moved automatically. The two halves of egg white were soon offered to my lips. “Happy now?” His sun-kissed skin looked even darker against the pure white egg white. He was a muscle man, but his fingers were surprisingly long and defined. I unconsciously swallowed. When I opened my mouth, I accidentally brushed his finger, and my heart started beating like a trapped bird. Rhys was busy chewing on the yolk and didn’t notice the change in me. “I’m a kidnapper, and you’re giving me your food preferences? You must have a death wish.” I gave him an innocent look and defended myself. “My husband taught me that. He gets whatever I don’t like.” Rhys paused mid-swallow. His wife didn’t like egg yolks, either! Could this woman really be his big, curvy wife? But the next second, he shook his head, pushing away the absurd thought. His wife was cute and plump; she couldn’t possibly be this bone-thin heiress. Absolutely not! 3 After it got dark, Rhys made the bed and turned to lay a blanket out on the floor. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ll keep watch.” My heart warmed a little. I curled up on the bed and hummed softly. “You’re so good to me, Honey.” He shot me a glare but said nothing. I decided to push my luck. “Then help me untie the ropes, too. My wrists hurt~” His guard immediately went up, and his eyebrows tightened. “No way! What if I untie you and you run away in the middle of the night? Don’t even try to beg; my answer is final!” His stubbornness annoyed me. I scooted toward the edge of the bed to make room and shot him a seductive look. “Then you can just hold me in your arms all night, and I won’t be able to run, right?” He closed his eyes in exasperation, pretending to neither hear nor see me. I wasn’t going to let him off that easy! Since he wouldn’t speak, I extended my foot and brushed my toes against his thigh. Rhys shot up with a gasp, his head smacking the low ceiling beam with a dull thud. He let out a muffled groan of pain. I sat up in feigned concern, only to realize his ears were bright red. Grinning, I lay back down, striking a pose, and pouted my lips. “Sweetheart, if you don’t untie me, I don’t know what I might do next, you know~” He wrapped himself tightly in the blanket, his neck stiff with stubborn resistance. “I don’t believe you can cause that much trouble!” I scoffed. “I won’t cause that much trouble, but I can definitely make sure you don’t get a wink of sleep.” I was a little nervous, this being my first time acting so flirtatious, but he didn’t reply for the longest time. That made me even angrier. Hello! I’m a beautiful woman now! I spun my head away in frustration, only to see him gripping his fists tightly, muttering under his breath through gritted teeth. “Do not harm the asset, do not harm the asset…” I had to clench my stomach to keep from laughing. Rhys suddenly deflated. “Fine, untie them. Just please, stop torturing me.” He turned to me with a look of utter defeat. “Promise me, if I untie you, you’ll behave and stop driving me crazy!” I nodded obediently. “Whatever you say, Honey.” He shuddered with disgust and grudgingly started working on the ropes. He didn’t see the sly look in my eyes. The moment I was free, I pounced on him, wrapping myself around him like an octopus. “Ah, I’ve been tied up all day, time to stretch my body.” He froze, his eyes wide with panic. “You… you broke your promise!” I found it hilarious. My finger traced his V-line, gliding up to his abdominal muscles. I let out a satisfied sigh. “Honey, your body is absolutely dynamite!” He looked genuinely terrified, on the verge of tears. He carefully pushed my hand away and struggled. “Get off me! Or I’ll really lose my temper!” “I don’t care if you’re a hostage or not, I swear I’ll throw you out!” “What if my wife finds out about this? I’m an honest man!” I refused to let go, clinging to his broad back. I straightened up slightly. I bit his ear, grinding my teeth a little. “Rhys Owen, do you really not recognize me?” If he dared to say no, I was going to bite his ear right off! Rhys froze as if struck by lightning. He turned his head slowly to look at me, his eyes wide. “You’re…”

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My best friend lured me to that seedy club. There were fourteen other people in the private room. Fifteen including her. I don’t remember much after that. I just remember my broken, abused body being sent home. My dad’s hair turned gray overnight; my stepmom passed out cold. Kaelen somehow got the news. He snuck away from his doctors abroad and came back, deceiving everyone. Only our family of four knew the truth: Kaelen—the stepbrother my stepmom brought into the family—was completely unhinged. I floated as a spirit beside Kaelen, sticking close, desperate to see what he would do. He went to the morgue first to see me. His eyes were rimmed red, concealing a terrifying, overwhelming rage. Carefully, gently, he lifted my mangled hand and pressed it tight against his cheek. “Lily…” It was the first time he’d ever used my nickname. Before, he always impatiently called me “Nuisance.” I instinctively answered, then realized he couldn’t hear me. I awkwardly touched my nose. “Brother is going to avenge you.” “All fifteen of them. I won’t let a single one get away.” His venom-laced voice sent a tremor through my soul. When we were small, every time I trailed behind him calling “Brother,” he’d look annoyed: “Who’s your brother? Get lost!” After a while, I stopped calling him that. “Brother…” I zoned out for a second, and the next instant, Kaelen had already walked out. 1. Kaelen bought a razor-sharp hunting knife. First, he kidnapped the girl who tricked me. [Content redacted: Extreme violence] Then, he used her phone to invite the remaining fourteen people back to that club. Those fourteen had powerful parents who managed to get them out on bail during the investigation, which only made things easier for Kaelen. When they arrived at the club, laughing and joking, they were met with a nightmare scene and Kaelen, covered in blood. Everything I had suffered, Kaelen returned to them, one by one. When someone begged for mercy, crying out in pain, Kaelen just laughed coldly and grabbed their hair. “Did you ever stop to think that my sister felt pain when you did this to her?” Screams, begging, cursing, confessions… The chaotic chorus of voices sent all fifteen of them straight to hell together. Kaelen never planned to escape. By the time the bodies were discovered, he was already standing on the roof of the city’s tallest skyscraper. He stepped off the edge. “NO—” I screamed involuntarily, reaching out to grab the empty air. An instant later, sharp pain hit me, and I blacked out. When I opened my eyes, I saw my familiar canopy bed. Stunned, I walked to the mirror and touched my face. It was me at ten years old. 2. My dad, still having a full head of hair, pushed the door open. It was jarring to see; he went bald a few years later. “Lily, your brother Kaelen has arrived downstairs. Go down and say hello. You’ll be living together from now on.” I scrambled out of bed, not even bothering with shoes, and thundered down to the second-floor landing. Downstairs, a thin, sharp boy stood ramrod straight in the living room, looking up at us with a mix of disdain and intensity. I leaned over the railing, meeting his hostile gaze. Stepmom nudged him slightly. “Kaelen, say hello to your sister.” Kaelen tugged the corner of his mouth in a challenging smirk and slowly said, “Nuisance.” Dad and Stepmom’s faces dropped, but I ran down the stairs barefoot, pat-pat-pat, right up to Kaelen and hugged him fiercely around the waist. “Not a nuisance. I’m your sister.” I looked up, letting the tears stream down my face unchecked. “Brother, this time, I won’t let go of your hand no matter what.” 3. Kaelen was unstable. I knew this from the time he butchered that meat rabbit we bought for dinner. In my past life, when he came to our house, he was covered in thorns, pushing me away time and time again. When Kaelen came to pick me up from school, my classmates would laugh and scatter. “Song Lily, your psycho brother is here. Are you a psycho too?” My face would burn red with anger. I’d turn and see Kaelen’s frosty expression. He’d toss my backpack onto his back, hesitate, then stiffly reach out his hand to me. Slap! In my anger, I’d slap his hand away and run off. After running a bit, realized he wasn’t chasing me, I went back to find him. I saw him cornering the classmate who mocked me, hands around their neck. I hurried over to pull him off, terrified inside by this volatile brother. Thinking back now, I realize there was no real malice in Kaelen’s eyes then, and his hands weren’t applying pressure. It was just because that classmate insulted me behind my back, and Kaelen was warning him not to bully me again. Again and again, the rift between Kaelen and me grew deeper. Until Stepmom suggested sending him abroad for “treatment.” The family voted. Kaelen voted no. Dad and Stepmom voted yes. It was two against one. They just needed my vote for Kaelen to stay. But I deliberately avoided Kaelen’s hopeful gaze and turned to look at Stepmom. Whispering the words: “I agree.” The light in Kaelen’s eyes instantly extinguished. Thinking about it now, if Kaelen had stayed back then, those fifteen people would never have been able to hurt me later. Because I had the best brother in the world. 4. I held onto Kaelen tightly, refusing to let go. Kaelen’s hands hovered over my shoulders, wanting to push me away, but he hesitated. He craved a warm hug too, didn’t he? Kaelen’s face turned bright red. It took him ages to squeeze out a sentence: “Nuisance, are you trying to frame me for assault?” I burst out laughing, snot splattering onto his pristine white shirt. Mortified, I covered my face and ran off, but kept looking back at him. He looked down darkly at his soiled shirt, but slowly grabbed a pair of fluffy slippers from nearby and threw them at my feet. “Put them on!” Oh. I just realized I was still barefoot. I put on the slippers, turned back, and gave Dad a brilliant smile. “Dad, Stepmom, I really like Brother Kaelen!” Maybe now, they wouldn’t reject Kaelen so much and would treat him better? I was plotting how to make his life better, never expecting that the cold, hard teenager behind me had ears burning red. The frost was melted by the blazing sun; the boy’s thorns dissolved by an embrace.

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“Max, I’ve taken care of you for two years. Now that you’re finally awake, will you marry me?” He took the flowers calmly. Standing in the corner, I stiffened, lamenting that my two years of devotion were all for someone else’s benefit. But then, Max kicked her away. “No! Get out! I was in a coma, not dead.” “You want me to marry you? Keep dreaming. No, wait! Don’t even dream about it!” 1 I took care of Max Sterling for two years after the car accident that left him in a coma. Today, he finally woke up. At the entrance of the Sterling Estate, I was blocked. Serena Cross looked down her nose at me and sneered: “Nora, you can’t compete with me!” “So what if you took care of Max for two years? Do you believe me? If I go propose to him right now, he’ll say yes without hesitation. Don’t forget, I’m the one he loves.” I believed her. Max and Serena were childhood sweethearts. They grew up together, the golden couple of the city’s elite. Before the accident, Max gave Serena whatever she wanted. It wouldn’t be strange for him to accept her proposal now. But I had cared for him for two years. I wanted to see him awake with my own eyes. While the family doctor examined Max, I stood quietly in the corner, watching. As the exam finished, the double doors opened. Sunlight flooded in, and Serena, dressed in a white gown and holding a bouquet, walked toward Max bathed in light. “Max, I’ve taken care of you for two years. Now that you’re finally awake, will you marry me? Let’s be together forever.” Max rubbed his eyes and didn’t speak. Serena continued her heartfelt confession: “Max, I love you so much. You slept for two years, and I cared for you for two years. I did everything personally, never leaving your side. I finally waited for you to wake up. We should have been married two years ago. It’s not too late now. My suffering has finally turned to joy. It’s wonderful!” Max stopped rubbing his eyes and reached out to take the flowers from Serena. Sure enough, Max agreed. Just as I was thinking my efforts were wasted on someone else… Max suddenly sat up and kicked Serena in the chest. “Joy my ass! Serena, I was in a coma, not dead! How do you have the nerve to say you suffered?” “You took care of me for two years? You’re a damn liar. You come here proposing while pregnant with someone else’s kid… do I look like a fool to you?” “Get the hell away from me!” Me: …Wow. 2 Serena was stunned. She probably didn’t expect Max to be so fierce. “Max, what… what are you saying?” “Can’t you understand English? Do I need to repeat what you said while moaning with your boyfriend in my hospital room?” “Max, I didn’t! Let me explain!” “Didn’t?” Max’s face flushed red with anger. He was probably dizzy from sitting up too fast and lay back down. “Wasn’t it you who brought guys to hook up in my room? Wasn’t it you who said it was more exciting doing it next to me? Wasn’t it you who got pregnant? Wasn’t it you who called me blind and stupid behind my back? And now you propose to me? Do you have no shame? Isn’t this embarrassing?” Although Serena was Max’s childhood sweetheart, she never visited him after the accident. I thought she just wanted to steal credit for my work, but I didn’t know she had done that. The amount of information was overwhelming. I was dumbfounded. Serena’s face turned green, then white. Even now, she refused to give up and tried to pin it on me: “Max. It wasn’t me! Nora did those things! I love you so much, how could I do that? I’m Serena! The Serena you loved!” “I know you’re Serena. If I didn’t know you well enough, I wouldn’t be sure it was you. Besides, liking you before was my karma catching up to me.” “Max…” Serena wanted to say more, but Max cut her off. “If you don’t leave, I’m releasing the hounds.” 3 I realized Max truly loathed Serena now. Serena was terrified of dogs. Max used to keep his favorite Doberman in the basement just to accommodate her. He would only let the dog out after she left. Later, Max’s dog had puppies. Serena came over when Max wasn’t home, saw the puppies, and had them thrown out. They froze to death. Max was furious, but even then, he never threatened to set dogs on her. Now, he wasn’t holding back. “I’m serious!” “Waking up to see Serena… my eyes hurt.” “No, go buy ten vicious dogs right now! If I see this woman again, sick them on her!” “And throw out all the sofas, cabinets, curtains, and furniture nearby. Disinfect the room ten times. Who knows if she has a disease?” Serena looked unwell but only dared to whisper a complaint. “Max, we’ve known each other since we were kids. There’s no need to humiliate me like this!” “Of course there is! This is humiliation?” Max scoffed. “Did I hook up with someone in front of you? Who’s humiliating whom?” “I…” Max ignored her and shouted to the butler standing by. “Alfred! Go get Buster! Let him loose!” Alfred, who had watched Max grow up, immediately went for the dog. Terrified, Serena gathered her skirt and ran, shooting a glare at me before she left. She was probably going back to the Cross family to tattle, claiming I poisoned Max against her. I didn’t stop her. The show was over. It was time for me to leave. I tried to slip away from the corner unnoticed, but Max caught me. “Nora?” I froze. He called my name. I was nervous. In the fourteen years I lived with the Cross family, I was completely ignored. Max only ever had eyes for Serena. I only dared to like him from the shadows. I thought he might say he didn’t know me, or ask if I was Serena’s sister. But he fidgeted as he walked toward me, complaining: “Nora, my head hurts. Why didn’t you come hug me? Do you not like me anymore?” He made a pitiful face. “And Nora, why didn’t you kick that gold digger out? I slept for two years, and the first thing I see is her. I almost fainted again. Do you know how much I wanted to see you? But you tried to run away. Do you only like me when I’m lying still?” “If you really prefer that, I can go back into a coma. But can you say yes to my proposal first?” Me: “…” Did Max sleep himself into a love-struck fool? He stopped in front of me, leaning against the wall for support. “Nora, I love you. I want to marry you!” Me: “?” I couldn’t understand why Max was proposing to me. He just rejected Serena, and we barely interacted before his accident. He seemed to sense my confusion and started explaining. “Nora, I know you took care of me for two years. I know you like me. I remember you crying in my ear when Alfred wasn’t around. You wiped my hands with warm towels, put lotion on me, and washed my face.” “When I was conscious but couldn’t wake up, I decided right then. If I ever woke up, I would be with you, spoil you, and marry you.” “Now I’m awake. My legs are a bit weak, but give me some time. Once I recover, let’s get married immediately, okay? Then we can cuddle. Hehe.” He looked a bit ridiculous leaning against the wall, body trembling. I reached out to steady him. He leaned his weight on me, beaming with joy. “I knew Nora cared about me. Here, take these flowers. Serena is awful, but she has good taste in flowers. They look good on you.” Me: … I suspected Max had been body-swapped. The old Max was calm and cool. He would never talk like this. “Nora, why aren’t you talking? Will you marry me?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Max frowned and lifted my chin. “Nora, what’s wrong with your voice?” I remained silent. 4 Max dragged me to the hospital for a checkup. The doctor’s diagnosis was the same as before. Vocal cord damage from the car accident two years ago. Loss of voice due to lack of timely treatment. Hearing this, Max’s eyes turned red. “Nora, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. If not for me, this wouldn’t have happened. I should be the one suffering!” Seeing him so distraught in his wheelchair, I thought back to the accident. Max truly loved Serena then. She had returned from a dance competition abroad, and Max drove to pick her up. My father, Richard, ordered me to tag along to carry Serena’s luggage. That day, a storm hit. On the highway, a truck with failed brakes flew straight at us. Before I blacked out, I thought I was dead. But I woke up. Investigators said Max’s reflexes saved me. If he hadn’t swerved at the last second, I would have died. Instead, only my vocal cords were damaged—something treatable if caught early. But Max fell into a coma. My mute state wasn’t his fault. He saved me. I took his hand and typed on my phone screen: It’s not your business. It’s not your fault. I only lost my voice because I wasn’t treated in time. He was still sad, but his focus shifted quickly. “If it was treatable, why didn’t the Cross family treat you? You’re both daughters. Serena gets a seven-million-dollar piano, but they wouldn’t fix your voice?” The Cross family wasn’t short on money, and Serena and I were indeed sisters. But I was the invisible one. To comfort Serena, who was sad about Max’s accident, they completely ignored me. Perhaps they didn’t even know I couldn’t speak. Max didn’t know my thoughts, but he held my hand, angry yet determined. “Nora, I will fix your voice. Every bit of suffering the Cross family caused you, I will make them pay back!” I was about to tell Max about my history with the Cross family when Richard called.

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My wife, Sienna, is a concert pianist. I spent five years of my life trying to win her over, a devotion that bordered on the absurd. She finally agreed to be with me, but after we married, she insisted she couldn’t have children. She always claimed it was for her career—her art—the grueling practice schedule, the touring. I knew her ambition; I was also tired of waiting. So, I did the unforgivable: I subtly compromised the barrier between us. I poked a few tiny holes in the rubber. Sienna finally got pregnant. Twins, no less. Just as I was drowning in the sheer, dizzying joy of becoming a father, I scrolled through her colleague’s social media feed. It was a screenshot of a pregnancy test—Sienna’s actual results—and a caption. “Thank you, Sienna, for finally making my dream of fatherhood come true.” “So excited for my twin babies!” The words hit me like a lightning strike. I felt the floor drop out from under me. I was a punchline. I had been living a joke. I packed my bags that night, during her colleague’s birthday party. I took all my clothes, my books, my chargers—everything that was definitively mine. The only thing I left on the writing desk was the signed divorce agreement. 1 Sienna came home and found me sitting on the living room sofa, my phone still displaying that screenshot: the positive test, the congratulatory post by her mentor’s student, Caspian. She was six months pregnant, moving with a noticeable, heavy waddle, but her face held a deep, pleasurable contentment. As always, her eyes drifted to the entrance table, waiting for me to place the slippers and bring a warm glass of water. But this time, I didn’t move. She paused, then bent to change her shoes herself, the enormous swell of her belly making the action clumsy and difficult. Her fingers managed to brush the laces, but she couldn’t undo them. Watching her struggle, a raw ache twisted in my chest. Any other day, I would have been on my knees in an instant, helping her off with her shoes, running her bath, maybe even massaging her back. But today, my limbs felt bound by invisible chains, completely immobilized. She looked at me, a flicker of confusion and then a slight, wounded expression in her eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Usually, that simple, soft tone, that look of innocent vulnerability, was all it took for me to melt and cater to her every need. After a few excruciating seconds of delay, the ingrained habit won. I stood, walked over, and slid the comfortable indoor slippers onto her feet. Maybe it was habit. Maybe, despite everything, it was still love. My utter silence finally broke through her pleasant fog. “Grant, seriously. What is it? You look completely miserable.” I didn’t answer. I just handed her the phone. The screen glowed with the undeniable evidence. Her gaze fixed on the image and the accompanying caption. The smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure blankness, swiftly followed by a flash of panic. Then, the script was ready. She chose her words carefully, a deep breath steadying her before she spoke. “Caspian has always desperately wanted a child,” she began, her voice low and rehearsed. “You know Sylvie passed away before they could have a family. He says he’ll never remarry, and he feels it would be wrong, maybe even illegal, to just use a surrogate.” “I’m his student’s peer. We’ve known each other for years. We share a history.” “Besides, Professor Ellington has done so much for my career, asking nothing in return. When he finally asked this one thing of me… I couldn’t refuse him.” “It was just… a medical procedure. In vitro.” “As soon as the babies are born, they will go to Caspian to raise.” A desolate chill swept through me. I thought back to the nights when I had first found out about the pregnancy, ecstatic and unable to sleep. I had worried that she would be furious at my deceptive act, that she would refuse to keep the twins. But then I saw her joy, and I believed she had finally had a change of heart. I thought she wanted our family. Now, I knew. It was all a terrible, soul-crushing misunderstanding. When I was smugly congratulating myself for my clever little trick, she was probably just breathing a sigh of relief that the initial hurdle was cleared. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. I felt like the biggest fool alive. “So you decided to hide it?” My voice was dangerously flat. “You let me run around like an idiot, fussing over you every day, planning nurseries, thinking these were our children!” “Do you have any idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this? How much joy I felt?” “And now… now I find out that I’m just collateral damage. That I’ve been living a joke!” Tears streamed down her face. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling dramatically. I felt a confusing mix of white-hot anger and deep, agonizing pain. She had been my everything; my happiness was something I’d spent half a decade fighting for. Now, it was a shattered illusion. She lifted her head, all soft, fragile pleading. “Please, Grant, don’t be angry. This was only about repaying the kindness and mentorship of Professor Ellington.” “When I deliver this baby, I promise, we can have as many of your own children as you want. I’ll give you everything you need, okay?” 2 I wanted to scream, No! I wanted to walk out and slam the door, to wipe the entire nightmare away. But in the end, all those impulses condensed into one long, hollow sigh. I succumbed to the reality of the situation—and to the last dying embers of my love and reluctance to lose her. Then, her abdomen spasmed violently. Her face turned chalk white. Panic took over. I scooped her up immediately, rushed her to the car, and drove like a maniac to the nearest emergency room. Her hand gripped the passenger seat strap, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. “Call Caspian… quick, call him…” My heart seemed to clench, hard and painful, but I did as she asked. I pulled out my phone and dialed Caspian’s number. At the hospital, the doctor wheeled her into the examination room. Moments later, Caspian came sprinting down the hallway, his face a mask of frantic concern. He didn’t spare me a single glance. He headed straight for the door and slipped inside. I stood outside, glued to the spot. Through the partially open door, I saw a scene that twisted my insides. Sienna lay on the examination table, still pale, but the moment she saw Caspian, her eyes softened with a look of absolute, reliant devotion. She grabbed his hand, her voice thick with tears. “Caspian, I’m so scared… are the babies going to be okay?” He leaned over her, gently stroking her hair. His voice was a tender murmur, capable of dissolving any fear. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m here. You and the children will be fine. I promise.” I was the outsider, the invisible man. Watching their intimate exchange, the last fragile wisp of hope I’d been clinging to evaporated. She possessed a tenderness and dependence for him that she had never shown me. My heart felt like it was being fed into a grinder. I stood there, still clutching her patient file and lab reports, realizing I was utterly superfluous. I took a step toward the table, but Caspian shifted his body, a silent, definitive barrier between Sienna and me, as if I were the trespasser. His voice, though still gentle toward Sienna, carried an edge of cold, non-negotiable authority. “Sienna, you need to rest. Don’t get emotional.” He finally turned to me, his eyes cool and dismissive. “I’ve got it from here, Grant. You can go home now.” I opened my mouth, a pathetic attempt to argue, but Sienna spoke first. “Honey, why don’t you go? With Caspian here, I’ll be fine.” Her tone was a soft, urgent plea, making it clear that his presence was the one she actually required. Caspian remained where he was, a human wall standing firmly between the two of us. My heart felt suddenly hollowed out. I stood there, awkward and utterly useless, the patient file suddenly heavy in my hands. The only thing I could think to say was pathetically mundane. “Is there… anything you want to eat? I could go get something.” “I’ll buy you that seafood chowder you love. And fresh strawberries. How does that sound?” Caspian cut in immediately, a faint note of mockery in his tone. “She doesn’t like that anymore. Her tastes changed in the second trimester. Didn’t you know that?” I froze. I looked at Sienna, desperate for a rebuttal, a defense. She only lowered her head, nervously twisting the corner of the hospital sheet. Her voice was weak. “Hmm… yeah. I don’t really want that right now. It sounds kind of heavy.” My heart sank. I’d bought her that exact chowder just a few days ago, and she had eaten every spoonful, thanking me with a kiss. Now, she was telling me she was sick of it. 3 The misery was a suffocating weight, but I forced my voice to remain calm. “Then what do you want? I’ll go get it right now.” Caspian preempted me again, pulling a beautifully packaged box of pastries from his pocket. He offered them to Sienna. “I made a quick stop. These are your new favorite flavors, aren’t they? Try one.” Sienna took the box, a genuine, delighted smile lighting her face. Her voice was suddenly lighter. “Thank you, Caspian. You always know exactly what I want.” I stumbled out of the room, shell-shocked. Was this the “no influence” she had promised? Caspian stayed with her the entire time she was admitted. On the day she was discharged, I drove to the hospital early, a massive bouquet of her favorite white lilies in my hand. But when I pushed the door open, the scene inside struck me motionless. Sienna was already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed. Caspian was kneeling, lacing up her shoes. Professor Ellington, her esteemed mentor—the elderly man who had always been polite to me—stood nearby, holding a small overnight bag, a subtle, satisfied look on his face. “Sienna, the car is waiting downstairs. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go.” Sienna nodded, looking like a dutiful student. “Ready, Professor.” I stood in the doorway, the lilies suddenly feeling like a heavy, absurd prop. A profound, aching emptiness washed over me. “Sienna, I came to take you home.” She glanced up at me, her eyes completely devoid of warmth or recognition. “Grant, the Professor says I should stay at his home until I deliver. My due date is close, and it’s getting difficult to move around.” “It’s not that you couldn’t manage, but… the Professor’s house has a larger staff. They can look after me better.” Her tone was utterly matter-of-fact, as if this was a simple scheduling update that required no discussion. I was an afterthought, someone she was merely notifying, expecting my cheerful agreement. “Sienna…” I tried to speak, but the Professor was already picking up the bag, and Caspian was helping her stand. She finally met my eyes, and a flash of impatience crossed her face. “With the Professor and Caspian looking after me, what exactly do you have to worry about?” “Besides, they have a dedicated housekeeper. How can one man possibly provide the same level of care?” The Professor’s voice broke in again, edged with subtle urgency. “Let’s go. The driver is waiting.” Sienna nodded and moved with them toward the door. As she passed me, she didn’t even offer a glance, acting as if I were nothing more than a coat rack. I stood there, holding a bouquet of slowly wilting lilies, completely gutted. Back home, I sat in the echoing silence of our living room. I stared at the dead lilies in my hand. The image of the hospital room—Sienna’s coldness, Caspian’s smugness, the Professor’s condescending authority—kept replaying in my mind. It was in that moment that the decision became absolute. I needed a divorce. Just as I sank into the black hole of my confusion, my phone rang. The name on the screen made my eyes snap open. Sienna. Already? Did this mean she hated staying at the Professor’s house? Was she calling to come home? 4 The sudden rush of hope completely overwhelmed the misery. My voice was tight with an unwarranted surge of joy. “Sienna, are you—” She cut me off before I could finish. “You need to bring me a few changes of clothes. I can’t stand these borrowed robes.” “Also, Caspian’s birthday is coming up. The gift I bought for him? I need you to bring it over.” My throat suddenly went bone-dry. I knew exactly which box she meant. When I first saw it—beautifully wrapped, elegant—I assumed it was my own delayed birthday gift, since Caspian and I were born only a month apart. I let out a silent, ragged laugh. Tears pricked my eyes. I had been delusional. I forced a tight smile onto my face, saying only, “Alright.” When I arrived with her clothes, Professor Ellington’s home was a flurry of activity—they were setting up for Caspian’s party. Most of the guests were music colleagues, fellow students, and prominent figures in the local art scene. The party space was exquisite, romantically lit, with soft, classical music playing. Sienna was seated next to Caspian, a violin held in her hands. He was at a grand piano, his fingers hovering over the keys. Their music began, intertwining perfectly, an undeniable, breathtaking harmony. They were the very definition of a Golden Duo. Their eyes met constantly, exchanging a profound sense of recognition and history, as if the rest of the world had dissolved and only the two of them existed in a white-hot spotlight. The crowd erupted in applause. People whispered, their voices carrying easily in the silent afterglow. “They truly are a perfect pair! A match made in artistic heaven.” “I heard they grew up studying music together. They’ve always shared this soul-deep harmony.” I stood frozen in the corner. The more beautiful their music became, the more profoundly I felt my own displacement. The sheer, overwhelming feeling of being an intruder, of being utterly irrelevant, crashed over me like a tidal wave. I turned silently and left the party. I started packing my belongings into my suitcase, the movements mechanical and numb. Finally, I walked to the desk, pulled out the drawer, and retrieved the divorce agreement. The pen in my hand trembled slightly, but I pressed down and firmly signed my name. I placed the agreement on the desktop, next to a small, single key. It was the key to our home, and it was my final goodbye. I wheeled my suitcase out the front door and didn’t look back. But just as I reached the sidewalk, my phone started ringing again. 5 I stared at the name flashing on the screen, feeling it stab and twist in my heart. The tears I had held back finally broke free. It was Sienna. I didn’t want to answer; I was terrified I’d waver. The phone rang until it fell silent. Then, a text message alert. From Sienna. “Grant, why aren’t you answering your phone?” “You drop off my things and leave without a word? That is incredibly rude!” “I was just talking about you to the Professor, telling him you’re a sharp businessman, tactful and well-mannered. You just completely made me look bad!” The sheer self-absorption in her angry text was a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, killing the last flicker of hope. In love, the person who cares the most is always the one who loses everything. I bought a ticket and returned to New York City. My life was not what Sienna believed. My mother is the legendary concert pianist, Minerva Stone. My father is the celebrated composer, Rory Stone. My parents had wanted me to follow in their footsteps, but I had absolutely no musical talent and fiercely rejected the art world. I went to business school to escape their control, creating a rift that lasted years. That’s why I hadn’t returned home. When Sienna and I got married, I hired actors to play my parents. Sienna met them a few times, but finding no common ground with the stiff, fabricated relationship, she slowly drifted away from them. I focused entirely on our small, isolated life, only maintaining the bare minimum of contact with my real family. Sienna once told me she idolized Minerva Stone. At the time, I’d considered revealing the truth to her. But then my parents started calling, urging me to come back for a business engagement, and I decided against bringing Sienna into that world. Now, she had clearly found her true path, her shared legacy, with Caspian. It was time for me to go home. Standing before the familiar mahogany front door, I felt a mix of anxiety and excitement. Years had passed, but the house felt utterly unchanged. I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately. My mother, Minerva Stone, stood there in an elegant silk dress. Her eyes rested on my face for a few seconds, then instantly welled up. “Grant? You’re finally home…” My throat tightened. “Mom, I’m back.” My father, Rory Stone, came out of the living room, a musical score in his hand. His hair was streaked with gray, but his eyes were still sharp. He looked at me, his voice low but with a hint of undeniable emotion. “Welcome home, son. Welcome home.” The familiar sound of piano music drifted from the living room, mixing with a faint scent of cedarwood and polish. My mother took my hand, her voice laced with gentle reproach. “All these years, not a single visit. Do you know how worried your father and I have been?” “If you hadn’t come back soon, we might have disowned you.” I lowered my head, guilt washing over me. I had been stubborn, foolishly convinced I needed to completely detach from their influence. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have come back sooner.” My father interrupted, his voice kind and accepting. “It’s over now. You’re here.” “We won’t dwell on the past.” My mother nodded, a bright smile returning to her face. “That’s right. And speaking of which, Vivian is here today. You two haven’t seen each other in ages, have you?” “Vivian?”

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