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I chased after Julian for ten years. He loathed me, never sparing a kind glance or a gentle word. Until I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Suddenly, he started to care. He doted on me, even planning a grand, public proposal that swept me off my feet. Just when I thought my years of suffering were finally being rewarded with love… He placed an organ donation agreement in front of me. “You don’t have much time left anyway,” he whispered, coaxing me like a lover. “Why not give your heart to Winnie? It would mean so much.” He lowered his voice, sounding so sweet, so reasonable. Julian will never know. On that very day, I discovered my diagnosis was a mistake. I accepted a job offer on the other side of the ocean and finally decided to leave him for good. Chapter 1 When I walked out of the hospital, I was burning up with a fever, my mind in a fog. Julian called. “Where are you? Didn’t I tell you Winnie’s heart condition is unstable? She can’t be left alone!” I blinked, and two hot tears rolled down my cheeks. My chest felt like it was being ripped open. I wanted to say, Can’t you be nice to me just for once, Julian? I have terminal cancer. I’m going to die soon. But I knew better. In Julian’s eyes, I was just a desperate dog who had been tailing him for a decade. He only had a heart for Winnie, his fragile “white moonlight”—his first love with the weak heart. “I’m coming. Don’t be mad,” I whispered. Even in the final stretch of my life, I was still protecting him, terrified of annoying him. When I arrived at Winnie’s apartment, I was soaked to the bone from the rain. My clothes clung to my shivering body. Winnie sneezed delicately. Julian shot me a look of pure disgust. “You’re dragging all that damp air inside. Winnie can’t handle the chill.” I bowed my head, clutching my bag tighter to hide the terminal cancer diagnosis buried deep inside. My heart twisted in agony. “I know. I’m sorry.” I wiped away a tear mixed with rain. Winnie and Julian were at the grand piano, playing a duet. Four hands, one melody. Watching their intimate silhouettes from behind, I had never felt so superfluous. “Chloe,” Winnie turned her head and smiled at me. “Can you go upstairs and fetch a painting for me? Please?” When she smiled like that, nothing good ever happened. Last time, she “accidentally” shattered a wine glass into my palm, then tearfully told Julian I was clumsy. The time before that, she mixed crushed peanuts into my food, sending me into anaphylactic shock. My shoulders trembled involuntarily. “Hurry up,” Julian scoffed, his gaze cold. “Why are you so slow today?” Sure enough, as I was carrying the painting down the stairs, Winnie, who had come up to “help,” let go without warning. I tumbled down like a ragdoll, landing in a heap of shattered glass. My back was sliced open by the shards. “Ah!” Winnie screamed, as if she hadn’t just pushed me. “I loved that painting!” She started sobbing, looking pitiful and fragile. Julian rushed over. He picked up the ruined canvas, not even sparing a glance to see if I was alive. “It’s all your fault! You’re so clumsy. Can you do anything right?” He sneered, nudging my leg with his foot. But when Winnie made mistakes, he never spoke like that. When I was hospitalized from the peanuts, he told Winnie, It’s okay. Chloe is tough. She won’t die that easily. But I was going to die. Really. I struggled to stand. Between the high fever and the blood loss, the room spun. Julian frowned, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He reached out a hand, almost instinctively, to steady me. “My chest… it hurts,” Winnie gasped, clutching her heart. Julian’s attention snapped back to her instantly. “Stop acting,” he barked at me. “If you’re hurt, go clean it up. Standing there bleeding isn’t going to make me feel sorry for you.” I turned away. That’s when I saw it. On the table sat my original music score. It was my composition, the one I prepared for the national competition. I hadn’t shown it to anyone. “Where did you get this?” I snatched the sheets, hugging them to my chest. Julian didn’t hesitate. He ripped them from my hands. “Winnie has her solo piano recital coming up. She needs a piece.” I understood instantly. The key to my apartment… I had only ever given one to Julian. When I shyly played this piece for him weeks ago, pouring my love into every note, was he moved? Or was he just thinking how perfect it would be for Winnie? Tears erupted like a fountain. Then, a thought hit me. I was dying. I had stage four cancer. I didn’t need a career. I didn’t need accolades. It’s all worldly possessions. Let her have it. I don’t care anymore. I smiled through my tears—a broken, resigned smile. The smile seemed to trigger Julian. “Why are you so stingy? It’s just a song.” Behind him, Winnie looked at me with triumphant mockery. The stimulus was too much. My knees gave way, the fever spiked, and I collapsed into darkness. Chapter 2 When I woke up, I was alone in the hospital room. My backpack, containing the diagnosis, hadn’t been touched. I sat up slowly and thanked the nurse for stitching up my back. “The gentleman who brought you in paid for it,” she said, looking at me with pity. Julian… When Winnie was sick, he stayed by her bedside all night. He had never done that for me. Did this mean he cared, even just a tiny bit? My phone buzzed. It was the bakery owner, reminding me that the custom cake I ordered for Julian was ready. Right. Today was his twenty-seventh birthday. I met him ten years ago. My parents worked for the Sterling family and died in a factory accident. Old Mr. Sterling took pity on me and took me in. Back then, I cried every night. It was Julian who knocked on my door and fed me ice cream. He used to be kind. Until he realized I loved him. Then he turned to ice. “Being loved by someone so poor and low-class… it’s humiliating,” he told me once. “We are not from the same world, Chloe. Don’t mistake pity for love.” The next day, he brought Winnie home. I shook off the memories, exhausted, and went to pick up the cake. This might be the last birthday I spend with him. Regardless of everything, I wanted him to be happy. Julian’s birthday party was loud. His inner circle was all there. Standing at the door, I heard them joking. “The lapdog isn’t here this year? Did she finally give up?” Another guy laughed. “Chloe? She’s more loyal than a Golden Retriever. Ten years and you still can’t kick her away.” Julian let them talk. Then I heard his voice, cold and detached. “Ten years ago, we made a bet. How long until my cold shoulder made her quit? Turns out, she’s still here.” Laughter filled the room. I turned to leave, but Winnie spotted me. “Why don’t you come in? Did you finally realize you don’t belong?” Her eyes danced with malice. My tears hadn’t dried, but I looked her in the eye. “At least I’m not cruel.” Still, I hid the cake box behind my back. Comparing my humble gift to the ten-tier masterpiece Winnie ordered made me feel pathetic. “Sister-in-law is here!” Winnie announced loudly as we walked in. Julian frowned and told everyone to shut up, but he let Winnie sit right next to him. “Julian is so secretive. His mom already told us about the engagement.” Everyone’s eyes darted to me. I straightened my back, raised a glass of wine, and forced a smile that felt like a grimace. “Congratulations to you both, then.” I downed the wine in one gulp. “Are you crazy?” Julian grabbed my wrist, looking tense. He remembered I was allergic to alcohol. But last time, when Winnie and I argued, he forced me to drink to apologize until I got alcohol poisoning. His cruelty always outweighed his kindness. Death felt like a relief compared to loving him. “Julian,” Winnie called softly. He turned away immediately, dropping my hand. After the cake, the crowd chanted for Julian to open gifts. His friends were all old money; I was the charity case. When he got to mine, his expression darkened. It was a jade bangle. The quality wasn’t top-tier, but it was the only thing my mother had left me. I once told Julian that if I ever decided to die, I would leave this bangle to him. “What is this drama? First you play sick, now this cryptic goodbye crap?” He exploded in anger. “I underestimated your manipulative tactics.” Right. To him, I was always acting. I wiped my eyes. “I won’t be able to stay by your side anymore. I wish you and Winnie eternal happiness.” Even if my future was a blank void. Julian turned his back on me, practically shaking with rage. “Don’t be mad,” Winnie cooed, tugging his sleeve. She reached out a hand. “I think the bangle is pretty. Can I have it?” Julian looked down, then slid the bangle onto her wrist. Winnie flashed me a provocative smile and mouthed three words: You don’t deserve. I sat in the corner, and the love I held for Julian shattered into dust. My phone pinged. An email from Ethan. [Chloe, I’ve opened a music studio in New York. Do you want to come on board as a partner?] My hands trembled. “What are you looking at?” Maybe realizing he’d gone too far, Julian leaned over to look at my screen. I swiped away quickly. His eyes darkened. Then he saw my shopping app, still open in the background. In the cart sat a diamond ring. Expensive. Fiery. “Still pretending? You say ‘bless you’ with your mouth, but in your head, you’re still fantasizing about marrying me.” He smirked. The room erupted in laughter. They called me delusional. A toad lusting after swan meat. I locked my phone, face expressionless. “Think whatever you want.” I didn’t care anymore. Chapter 3 If only I had received that email sooner. Before the diagnosis. I would have packed my bags and left Julian forever with joy in my heart. I realized then that I had wanted to leave him for a long time. But it was too late. I had no future. Back home, I took off the amulet I had worn for ten years. When I was seventeen and gravely ill, Julian had hiked up a mountain to a temple to beg for these. One for him, one for me. The amulet didn’t work. Loving Julian didn’t work. Mrs. Sterling, Julian’s mother, messaged me to come to the main estate. I owed the Sterlings my life, so I never refused her. When I arrived, Julian was arguing with his family, refusing to look at me. Mrs. Sterling smiled. “Just in time. Rumors are spreading that Julian is engaged to Winnie.” She frowned. “I don’t like that girl. Heart condition, fragile, too needy.” She liked me, not for my personality or talent, but because I was healthy, obedient, and loved her son like a religion. “I called you here to discuss your marriage to Julian.” Julian crossed his arms and scoffed. “Her? Mom, are you senile? You care about status more than anyone.” He shoved me lightly. “What potion did you give her, Chloe? You’re really unscrupulous.” I looked him in the eye, calm. “Let go of me.” Julian froze. In ten years, I had never used that tone with him. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sterling. We aren’t suitable. You can’t force this.” Julian blinked. “Chloe, you…” I pulled the diagnosis paper from my bag. “Three days ago, I was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. The doctor says I have less than a year.” Julian went limp. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he couldn’t support his own weight. He snatched the paper, reading it over and over. “We’ll see another doctor. It can be cured. It has to be cured.” His hands shook violently as he leaned his forehead on my shoulder. I felt the wetness of tears soaking my shirt. “It can’t be cured! Do you know what stage four means? I’m going to die. I won’t pester you anymore. Are you happy now?” I pushed him away, wiped my eyes, and broke down sobbing. Julian’s phone rang relentlessly. It was Winnie. “What do I do? My condition worsened. The doctor says I need a healthy heart donor immediately.” On the other end, Winnie wept pitifully. “I… I have to go to the hospital. She needs me. Once she’s settled, I’ll take you to a specialist.” The warmth in my heart turned to ice instantly. “Sure. Once she’s settled, bring her to burn incense on my grave.” I laughed coldly. It was always like this. Winnie’s needs were always priority one. My life was priority zero. I had learned not to expect anything. Shortly after Julian left, Winnie posted on social media. She tagged me. Photos of Julian running errands for her, feeding her, holding her hand while she got an IV drip. I left a comment: He’s trash, you’re cheap. A match made in heaven. I wasn’t living long anyway. Might as well burn bridges. Chapter 4 Three days later, Julian called. “Meet me at the beach where we first met. Please?” Julian was once kidnapped on that beach. The kidnappers took the money and threw him into the ocean. I jumped in and dragged him out. He had stopped breathing. I did CPR until my ribs ached. The first thing he did when he woke up was push me away. “Why is it you? Where is Winnie?” Recalling the past, I smiled bitterly. But my heart still clenched instinctively. I didn’t want him to be hurt. The sea was calm. Julian stood there holding a massive bouquet of flowers, looking handsome and clean. It was a grand, solemn proposal setup. I had run there sweating, without even putting on lipstick. I had told him a hundred times: If you propose, tell me beforehand. For the most important moment of my life, I want to be ready. I want to look beautiful. People who don’t love you never remember what you say. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have been so cold. Please, give me one more chance to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Will you?” Julian dropped to one knee. He opened the ring box. Inside was the exact ring from my shopping cart. He remembered. Maybe because the diamond was so bright, my dead heart fluttered. I covered my face, trying not to sob. This scene… it was what I had dreamed of for ten years. Just as I reached for the flowers, Winnie screamed— “NO!” She forgot her “heart condition” and sprinted over, kneeling in front of me. “Please don’t guilt-trip him! I know dying of cancer is sad, but he has no obligation to be with you…” Julian frowned, a flash of shock in his eyes. “Winnie, get up. I’m doing this voluntarily. Chloe didn’t force me.” I crossed my arms, watching them bicker. I hadn’t planned to say yes. But seeing Winnie’s desperation triggered my rebellious streak. I snatched the ring from the box. Take that, Winnie. Seeing me take the ring, Julian exhaled in relief. He held my hand with his left, and Winnie’s hand with his right. “The three of us… we’ve been friends for ten years.” He looked at me with earnest, pleading eyes. “Chloe, after we marry… sign an organ donation agreement, okay? You won’t live long anyway, and Winnie needs a heart.” Ah. There it was. My heart turned to stone. I understood now. The proposal wasn’t for me. It was for the vessel that carried Winnie’s spare part. It was pathetic, but I didn’t even feel sad. I was just numb. Used to it. Winnie looked at me like it was the obvious solution. I shook off their hands. “I think you misunderstood.” I stood tall. “Even if I toss this heart to stray dogs on the street, I will never give it to Winnie.” I laughed and turned to leave. Julian grabbed my waist from behind. “Chloe, don’t be impulsive! I love you!” After ten years, I finally heard him say he loved me. Too bad I didn’t give a damn anymore. My phone beeped. A text from the hospital. [We apologize deeply. There was a mix-up with patient records due to a similar name. Your scan results are clean. You are perfectly healthy.] An overwhelming wave of joy crashed over me. Only after facing death do you realize that love is nothing compared to life. I quickly replied to Ethan’s email and booked a flight for tonight. I accepted the job. Julian’s eyes flashed with panic. Maybe people sense when they are about to lose something forever. I didn’t say anything about the text. I just hugged him. “Darling, I accept your proposal. Go prepare the wedding.” “I have some business to handle abroad. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before the wedding date.” I lied. I was never coming back. But after all the humiliation he put me through, I wanted him to stand at the altar alone, waiting for a bride who would never arrive. That was my final revenge.

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Twenty years of knowing Rhys. On the eve of our wedding, he sent me a message: “I’m doing this with someone else right now. You want to hear it?” The text was merely a warning. Before I could process the words, Rhys immediately started a video call. My reflex was to smash the screen to hang up. The tremor in my hand shocked even me. Call after call came in. The last one was a 60-second voice note. The instant I pressed play, the unbearable sounds shredded my eardrums. In total despair, I texted Rhys: “Why?” Rhys replied, his breathing still ragged: “We’ve done it so many times secretly, and you never noticed. It was getting boring.” The wedding dress I’d spent hours organizing, the one that lay on the bed, seemed to instantly deflate, transforming into a pile of cheap cloth. 1 Five minutes later, a loud knock rattled my hotel room door. Rhys stood outside, his collar undone, a glaring, crimson mark on his neck. He had been in the room right next to mine, with another woman. Yet I had been completely oblivious; he had to tell me himself. When he saw my red-rimmed eyes, he let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Anya, you’re so dense. How are you ever going to be my wife?” My voice shook as I asked him: “How long?” Rhys sighed, sounding genuinely weary. “I thought I was deliberately leaving so many clues for you.” “The day we went dress shopping? The minute you went into the changing room, I said work called me away. Really, the girl was throwing a fit and needed me to placate her.” “She’s not like you—she’s not a good girl. She always gives me a headache.” He said ‘headache,’ but the smirk never left his face. I had felt something was wrong. I have severe psychological trauma. For twenty years, Rhys was the only person I could tolerate being near. I hadn’t wanted a wedding at all, but Rhys insisted. He said he wanted to see me in a white dress, which is why we started planning a small, intimate ceremony just for us. He’d been so excited to go with me to pick out the gown. But on that day, he’d rushed off before he ever saw me put it on. “All those photos you sent me later? The ones of you trying on the dresses? I didn’t look at any of them. She picked this one out for you.” “So, what do you think? Happy with her choice?” A thick, invisible hand seemed to grip my throat, suffocating any sound. Rhys walked in without waiting for an invitation, his fingers brushing the train of the gown. “Well, looks like she wasn’t focused when she picked it. This dress is pretty mediocre.” The custom-made, illuminated monogram on the wall glowed crimson, threatening to bleed. The fluttering ribbons seemed to tighten around my neck. Ten minutes ago, I was lost in the fantasy of marrying Rhys tomorrow. This was the closest I had ever been to happiness. Rhys had built that sanctuary for me with his own hands, and now, he had personally torn it down. Tears burst forth like water from a broken dam, uncontrollable. My blood felt frozen; my whole body was numb. I whispered, lost: “Why tell me now?” Rhys made a tsk sound. “Because you’re too compliant. And too dense.” “If I wanted to hide it, I could have for the rest of our lives.” “But keeping up the act every day is exhausting.” He pressed his hand on top of my head, an action indistinguishable from petting a small dog. I woke up, jolting backward several steps until my spine hit the cold wall. Only that frigid surface offered a sliver of safety. Rhys seemed oblivious to my terror and fragility, advancing slowly. Cornered, I finally screamed at him: “Don’t come any closer!” In that moment, I was six years old again. Only this time, the person inflicting the harm was Rhys. He stopped, his feet rooted to the spot. “Fine. I won’t.” “You do need to calm down.” He paused, then added: “Don’t worry. I haven’t said I don’t want you. I just don’t want to pretend anymore.” “The wedding tomorrow is still on. Everything you’re entitled to, you’ll get.” Rhys said more things, but I couldn’t hear them over the deafening, suffocating buzz in my ears. He left me there. Someone next door was waiting for him. December was too cold. The air felt like it would kill me. I fumbled for the hotel lighter and, in a daze, set the wedding dress on fire. The blaze was hot, illuminating my pale face, yet it did nothing to dispel the deep cold around me. I was reminded of another huge fire Rhys had set when I was sixteen. When I was six, my parents threw me out into the snow. I hid inside the small-town diner his family ran. Rhys was the one who found me, huddled and shivering like a stray. After that day, whenever my parents kicked me out, I could always go there for a hot meal. When I was sixteen, Rhys’s stepfather cornered me in the back when no one else was home. Rhys was the one who knocked his stepfather out with a brick, then set the diner ablaze to cover our escape. He took me and ran. Rhys was eighteen then. We boarded an old Amtrak sleeper car, huddling together for warmth in the corner when there were no seats. He told me: “Don’t be scared. You have me. No one will ever hurt you again.” After that day, I developed a severe psychological barrier. Except for Rhys, I couldn’t bear anyone’s touch. I always believed Rhys was my savior, a gift from heaven. Now, I felt I should have just died in the snow when I was six. The smoke alarm triggered, and hotel guests fled in a panic. When the police led me away, Rhys was holding that girl in his arms, shielding her from the flashing cameras of the gossip reporters. 2 I spent the night in a cold holding cell. In the haze of a high fever, Rhys posted my bail. News about him meeting a mistress on the eve of his wedding was all over the internet, yet he was the one who looked annoyed and disappointed. “God, Anya, you need to learn from the society wives. Why are you such a liability?” He didn’t seem to notice I was sick, or perhaps he noticed and simply didn’t care. I saw no compassion in his eyes, only a profound annoyance. I curled up in the back seat of the car. The heater was blasting, but I was still cold. Five years ago, when he was just starting out, he’d taken me to a high-society event. Even dressed by professionals, my poor social presence was glaring among the wives draped in diamonds. People whispered and pointed. The countless stares made it hard to breathe; I felt like fleeing. Rhys had wrapped his arm around me then and said: “It’s because I haven’t had the time to properly cultivate my woman yet.” His light remark shut everyone up. He truly did ‘cultivate’ me. I became graceful and chic, and no one looked at me with pity anymore. Instead, they looked with envy. When I struggled with my outfits, he’d tell me: “You don’t have to compare yourself to them. No matter how well they dress, in my eyes, they’re not worth a fraction of you.” I trusted Rhys implicitly. I still couldn’t figure out when he had changed. The wedding was called off. Rhys brought me home. The girl who opened the door was wearing only a sheer silk slip. Her pale skin was dotted with red marks. Scattered clothes littered the floor inside. I didn’t need to ask what had happened last night. Seeing me, the girl’s smile faded. “Didn’t you say the wedding was canceled and you were going to spend the whole day with me?” She whined and draped herself over Rhys with practiced ease. He stroked her hair, exactly as he used to do to me. “Tomorrow, Bianca. Didn’t you say you wanted to see the Aurora Borealis in Norway? I’ve already arranged everything.” Bianca seemed appeased. She started changing right in front of Rhys and me, without any shame. I stared at her, lost. She noticed my gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I just came to help break in the bed for you two. Wishing you a swift and happy conception.” The wedding was canceled, making the words ‘happy conception’ absurd. Her tone dripped with mockery. I realized something staggering: the girl in the hotel parking lot yesterday, the one Rhys was holding, was not this girl. Bianca left. My strength failed me, and I collapsed to the floor. Everything blurred. I reached out a trembling hand to Rhys. He just stood there. “It’s not worth being this shaken, Anya.” “You need to learn to get used to it.” I passed out. I woke up in the bedroom. I had been changed into a new set of clothes. The house doctor had given me a shot to break the fever. I had been unconscious for an entire day. Rhys’s voice sounded, annoyed: “Why are you so stupid? If you’re sick, why not say something sooner?” “Fine. You rest up here. I’m leaving.” If I had known Rhys would leave the moment I opened my eyes, I would have stayed asleep. I called his name from behind, forcing myself up. “Are you going to see her?” Rhys didn’t turn around. “I promised her. I can’t go back on my word.” But Rhys had also promised me that he would make me happy forever. How could he go back on that? I didn’t have the courage to break up with Rhys. Twenty years. He was a part of my soul. I didn’t wait for him to return. Instead, his social media updated with a photo of him and Bianca in Norway. Under the brilliant Aurora, they looked to all the world like a couple passionately in love. I hired a private investigator and found the woman Rhys had been with in the hotel. Her name was Sloane, a minor social media personality. I put the photos in front of her. “You might not know this, but Rhys isn’t only with you.” Sloane barely glanced at the photos and laughed scornfully. “Mr. Rhys has truly kept you sheltered, Anya. You’re so naive.” The tiny shred of hope I had clung to was crushed by her words. It turned out everyone but me knew Rhys had countless lovers. I was afraid to sleep in the master bed, unsure how many women Rhys had brought home. I was simultaneously lucid and dazed all day. Desperate for sleep, I unknowingly consumed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. 3 That night, of all nights, Rhys came home. He saw the empty bottle by the bed and immediately rushed me to the hospital to get my stomach pumped. He had saved my life again, yet I felt worse than dead. Rhys’s face was dark with anger. “Is it worth trying to kill yourself over this?” “Look around, Anya. Is there a single man in our circle who only has one woman? How can everyone else cope, and you can’t?” The way he framed it, it made everything sound like my fault. I lay on the hospital bed, whispering weakly: “We’re not like them.” The year Rhys and I ran away, he had already been accepted to Manhattan University (MU). He didn’t enroll. Instead, he found a high school for me. He said: “I’m eighteen. I can go work.” He worked multiple jobs. But after my night classes, he would still come to my school to see me. One evening, I walked out of the school gates and found him leaning against a tree, fast asleep from exhaustion. He didn’t wake until I wrapped my arms around him. I told him I didn’t want to study anymore; I wanted to work with him, even for less pay. But he told me: “You study hard. Get into MU, and you study my share, too.” MU was a dream he’d mentioned more than once. For me, he could give up his dreams. So why was he giving up on me? Rhys’s voice was cold. “What’s the difference? We’re just a man and a woman.” “Anya, we don’t have that kind of love anymore. I keep you here because you’re family. You need to learn to be fine with that.” “You need to start acting like it.” I was out of immediate danger, and Rhys didn’t stay by my side. But he hired two people to monitor my movements constantly. Rhys continued to move between different women, only now, he didn’t bother hiding it from me. Gossip about him was delivered directly to my phone. I realized the news hadn’t been absent before; Rhys had simply paid to bury it all. Day by day, I wasted away. The house doctor contacted Rhys, but he didn’t come back. The doctor just put me on an IV drip for nutrition. Then, one day, the scheduled gossip reports suddenly stopped. Rhys brought a new, much younger girl home. The moment she saw me, she gave a saccharine call: “Hello, Sister.” I didn’t cry or scream. I simply had no energy left. Perhaps seeing my skeletal state, Rhys felt perfectly comfortable leaving the girl alone with me. Her name was Skylar. She was a student at MU, with a brilliant future ahead of her. I asked her, bewildered: “Don’t you know how many women Rhys has? You have a better future than this.” Skylar shook her head. “Sister, how can you be so naive?” “Don’t you understand? I can get more from a few nights with him than I could earn in a lifetime.” She said this without caring if Rhys overheard. In her words, even if Rhys grew tired of her one day, she was young and could use the resources he gave her to find someone else. I knew Rhys had coached her to say that to me. Skylar and I were different. She could leave Rhys with a shrug. Leaving Rhys would kill me. I expected Rhys to replace her soon enough. But before long, Rhys proposed a breakup. He spoke the words lightly, as if discussing the weather. “She’s different from the others. She thinks she’s a canary in a leased cage, always ready for me to open the door.” “Even though I’ve cut off the other women for her, she still believes that as long as you’re here, I’ll eventually get rid of her.” Rhys smiled as he spoke. I knew then that he had developed real feelings for Skylar. No wonder I hadn’t seen any gossip lately. Skylar, in his description, was so vibrant, while I felt like a dying old woman. All my turmoil and struggle were meaningless to Rhys. The hole in my chest tore wider. A cold wind whistled through me. A part of my soul was being peeled away. “Rhys, even you are giving up on me.” Rhys just said: “We’re still family.” He gave me a massive amount of money, more than I could spend in a lifetime. He also gave me several properties in the city. “Come back if you run out.” “If Skylar hadn’t loved this apartment so much, I actually would have left it for you.” I couldn’t hold back the nausea any longer. I bent over, dry-heaving, tears and saliva mixing. My jutting spine scraped painfully against my clothes. Rhys patted my back and offered a glass of warm water. “Let’s end this well, Anya. I want you to be okay.” I smacked his hand away. The place where he’d touched me was agony. Nauseating. So nauseating. I wanted to die right there and then. I didn’t wait for Rhys to hurry me. I left that apartment that was no longer mine immediately. Even if I died, I wouldn’t die pathetically in front of Rhys. As I walked out, Rhys called out, sounding genuinely concerned: “Do you want me to take you to a hospital first?” I waved him away painfully. From that moment on, my life had nothing to do with Rhys. 4 I moved to a different city. The day I settled in, I used a surgical blade to scrape his name off my forearm. Rhys. His arm had my name, too. When we got them, he said: “A marker. We belong only to each other.” The next time I saw Rhys’s name in the news, it was media celebrating him and Skylar as a perfect, made-for-each-other couple. Their names even sounded harmonious. I was plagued by nightmares every night. My abusive parents, the man who’d attacked me, and the faces of countless strange women circled me, emphasizing over and over: Rhys doesn’t want you anymore. I smashed and replaced the things in my apartment repeatedly. Time and again, I flirted with death. And time and again, I pulled myself back. I realized I was sick. I went to the hospital alone. After hearing my story, the doctor scheduled me for MECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy). After the treatment, I would lose all my previous memories, forgetting all the pain. I felt as though I’d grabbed a lifeline, practically begging the doctor to start immediately. The doctor advised me: “You might want to write down things you don’t want to forget.” I shook my head frantically. I didn’t want to remember anything. Rhys’s goal was achieved. After the breakup, Skylar stopped planning to leave him. Instead, she became increasingly clingy. The girl was full of creative, childish notions. At first, Rhys found it charming. Later, he started to feel overwhelmed. After a while, he realized, it was just fine. He started sleeping with other women again. One day, he met a woman who looked five parts like me. She wore a familiar, eager-to-please expression. Rhys’s rage was sudden and unexpected. “Don’t use that face to charm a man!” He stopped, stunned by his own outburst.

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The internship ended, and I broke up with him. Owen Maxwell looked at me, a hint of an almost-smile playing on his lips. “Miss Sterling, is this really necessary?” The cold, sharp light of the high-rise office outlined his defined profile. “All this because I helped her close a client instead of you?” I nodded. “Of course it’s necessary. I’m breaking up with you.” He propped his chin on his hand, one eyebrow faintly raised. “Have you even kept count of how many times you’ve done this, Harper?” 1 I paused. He was lounging in his oversized leather chair, the picture of practiced ease. “The eighth? Ninth? Or the tenth?” He let out a low chuckle, his usual air of control fully intact. “Stop the drama. We’ve known each other for twenty years, Harper. You can’t leave me.” Seven years old when we met, twenty years of ingrained understanding—he genuinely believed I was essential to him, and he to me. I shook my head. “There’s no such thing as ‘can’t leave.’ Everyone survives just fine without anyone else.” “Oh, that’s your take, is it?” His lip curled, a touch of amusement in his eyes. “Fine. Don’t regret it.” “Never.” I turned to walk away, just as Willow Davis pushed the door open. She was holding a file. “Owen, the Launchpad project… I, I’m still a little unsure about the proposal. Could you possibly look over the strategy again?” Willow’s voice was soft and gentle, the perfect pitch of vulnerable appeal. Owen gave a noncommittal response, his attention still fixed on me. In the past, I would have coldly demanded, Your project. Why should Owen drop everything for you? But having this same fight, again and again, had simply exhausted me. I started to leave, but Willow reached out and lightly touched my arm. “Harper, please don’t misunderstand. Owen and I are just colleagues,” she said, a troubled look on her face and wide, innocent eyes. “I’m inexperienced, and this project is critical for my conversion to full-time, so I only asked Owen for some guidance. Please don’t fight with him over these small things. He stayed up several nights helping me outline the strategy, and it made his stomach problems flare up again…” I couldn’t stop myself. “Oh, ‘ordinary colleagues’ who text each other every night for ‘details’?” “‘Ordinary colleagues’ who insist he accompany you to every client dinner?” “‘Ordinary colleagues’ who make him test-drive your new car?” “‘Ordinary colleagues’ who call to ‘report on work’ specifically on our anniversary?” “Are you brainless or just have no boundaries? Since you know you’re the intern his mother pulled strings for, not his girlfriend, did that basic professional boundary you’re supposed to keep with colleagues just fly out the window?” Willow froze, her face instantly draining of color. She lowered her eyes, her long lashes fluttering as if she’d been subjected to some unimaginable cruelty. “Harper Sterling.” Owen got to his feet, pulling a tissue from his desk and holding it out to Willow. He sighed. “I know you’re headstrong, but do you always have to pick on someone who’s just trying to get by?” Willow’s lips trembled, and her eyes quickly filled with tears. The sound of her heavily suppressed sobs echoed in the quiet office. Suddenly, a profound, crushing flatness settled over me. I turned and left his office. 2 I slept for a few hours in my apartment and woke up deep in the night. I checked my phone, and the first thing I saw was Willow’s latest Instagram story. “The project is finally gaining traction. First time being brought to a high-end dinner like this—a little nervous! Thank you for the mentorship and believing in me. A scholarship kid from a small town truly understands that connections are never a shortcut, but a ladder to growth.” The accompanying photo: A high-angle shot from a sophisticated restaurant window overlooking the city lights. A woman’s hand, clearly Willow’s, is holding a slender Champagne flute. Next to it, a masculine hand, also holding a glass. On that hand, he was wearing the custom-made watch I gave him. At that moment, my phone buzzed. “Send me the final proposal for the Launchpad project. I’ll make sure it’s solid.” Seven hours. It took him seven hours, after finishing dinner with someone else, to finally think of me. I stared at his profile picture for a while—the one I’d chosen for him, a picture of the stray cat we adopted together. He hadn’t changed it in all these years. I tapped the screen, then blocked the familiar number. A half hour later, I went downstairs for a coffee. The local deli owner looked at me. “Woah, sweetie, why are your eyes so red?” I mumbled, “Too many late nights.” “You young people need to watch your health even when you’re chasing a career,” the owner said, recognizing me. “Still, that Owen Maxwell is quite the success. Running the core family projects right out of school. He’s set, but you’re working until dawn just to be in the same building as him. I get tired just watching you.” I ripped open the coffee packet. “Actually, I put in a transfer request, Ma’am. I’m moving to the divisional office in a few days.” The owner looked surprised. “But the Group’s HQ is here. The division is in California. What about you and Owen?” “Career and a relationship. I know which one to prioritize.” I took a sip of my coffee. “The opportunities are better out west. The moment the transfer is finalized, I’m gone.” She didn’t press further. My phone buzzed again. It was my best friend, Savannah, telling me to meet her at the yoga studio. “Go on, clear your head,” the owner said, waving me off. “You’ve been strung too tight lately.” 3 I got to the yoga studio twenty minutes later. Savannah told me to change, and as I was stuffing my bag into a locker, I heard a familiar voice from the adjacent lounge area. “I said relax, Maxell. Why are you still glued to your phone?” “Got blocked,” came Owen’s dismissive voice. “By who? Who dares to block you, Mr. CEO?” “Who else? My high-maintenance princess.” His voice held a note of weary inevitability. “Harper Sterling,” the other person realized. “Honestly, with her firecracker temper, I don’t know how anyone but you puts up with it.” Owen let out a low laugh. “My own doing. What can I do? I deal with it.” “What was it this time?” “I helped Willow with a project.” “That’s it?” The friend sounded incredulous. “Harper really has the smallest heart.” “But truly,” another voice cut in, “when we talk privately, we all agree. If we were choosing a girlfriend, we’d pick someone like Willow—gentle, understanding, considerate, a real caregiver…” I didn’t stay to hear more. I headed straight to the meditation area. When I met up with Savannah, I saw her arguing fiercely with Willow, who was wearing the yoga studio’s front-desk uniform. Of course. The universe found a way. Willow was working here part-time. “We booked VIP Room 3. Why did you assign us to a public class? You know Harper hates crowds!” Savannah demanded. Willow’s face was bright red. “Tonight is overbooked, and the system had a glitch…” “Then switch us! What do you mean you can’t switch us?” Willow saw me, as if I were a lifeline. She rushed forward. “Harper, I know I made a mistake with the booking, but I’ve already messed up twice tonight. If I make another error, I’ll lose this job… You, you don’t need the money, do you? Just help me out and manage in the public area tonight. Please?” I unrolled my yoga mat without looking up. “Are you confused? I don’t like public classes. You made a mistake. Why should I make accommodations for it? I didn’t fill out the form incorrectly.” “I’ll pay you the difference between the VIP and public class! I’m begging you, as a colleague…” Her tone was near-pleading. “I’m not like you. I need this money for rent and a down payment. This job is important to me…” “If it’s so important, why did you mess up? And why should someone else bear the consequences of your mistake?” My tone was impatient. “If Savannah hadn’t noticed, we would have been fighting for floor space in the crowded class. Now, I’m not even in the mood for it. I haven’t even filed a complaint, and you want me to pay for your error?” Savannah backed me up. “Seriously, that’s an insane demand.” Despite the fact that Willow was clearly in the wrong, her expression shifted to one of deep humiliation. “So you people with money and influence, you really think you can look down on everyone else…” She abruptly snatched the reservation sheet from the desk and rushed out, nearly colliding with a group of men entering the studio. “Willow?” one of them, sharp-eyed, called out. “What’s wrong? Who upset you?” Willow shook her head, but her tear-filled eyes immediately sought out Owen, who was standing behind the group. “What’s going on?” Owen walked toward us. “She messed up the reservation, canceled our VIP room, and refused to switch us, insisting we squeeze into the public class,” Savannah explained. “It wasn’t intentional,” Willow muttered, head bowed. “It’s just a misunderstanding, everyone here is connected,” someone tried to smooth things over. “You two ladies can’t just pay for another VIP slot?” “It’s not ‘just’ a misunderstanding! You know Harper hates crowds! She almost had an anxiety attack at the company retreat because the ballroom was too packed.” Owen looked into the room and saw me. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “Did you touch her?” I scoffed. “You hope I touched her, don’t you? I wouldn’t give the studio the trouble.” He walked closer, softening his voice. “Enough. It’s not like there was a scene in the public area. Why are you fighting? She didn’t do it on purpose. Take your anger out on me, not someone who’s just trying to make it. It’s not easy for her just starting out.” “Mr. Maxwell, do you truly think your face is the only thing that matters? I’m taking my anger out on you? Are you blind or deaf? The person who messed up is the victim in your story?” “It’s fine, Owen. I’ll try to coordinate and see if there are any other empty VIP rooms.” Willow sniffled, gently tugging his sleeve. “I don’t want my commission for tonight. Don’t, don’t cause any trouble…” Seeing her play the role of the martyr, my temper flared. “Who asked you to play the good Samaritan? You’re the one who made the mistake, yet you’re acting all self-sacrificing. Where do you get the nerve?” “Harper Sterling.” Owen’s voice went dangerously low. “That’s enough. Don’t take it too far.” He turned to Willow. “Book them another VIP room. Put the cost on my personal tab.” “No need,” I said, gathering my mat and handing it to Savannah. “Owen can donate to charity on his own time. Savannah, let’s go.” “Tch, what a temper,” someone muttered under their breath. 4 Savannah and I walked out together. “I’m sorry, Harp,” she said, frustrated. “I should have just let it go and booked another VIP room myself. Then you wouldn’t have had to deal with Owen again.” “Why should I let it go?” I walked quickly. “Just because she knows how to look pathetic, her mistake becomes someone else’s problem?” “Besides,” I stopped walking. “I broke up with him this afternoon.” Savannah walked silently beside me. “You don’t believe me?” She sighed. “To be honest, Harper, no one will believe you’ve actually broken up with Owen Maxwell for good.” “And anyway,” she looked at me. “Can you actually let him go?” Sitting in the cab on the way back, Savannah’s words echoed in my mind. Can you actually let him go? I asked the driver to pull over a block from my apartment. I needed to walk. The first time I saw Owen was on this very tree-lined avenue. I had just been brought back to the city by my aunt, and the neighborhood kids always pointed and whispered about me. “Heard her parents divorced and neither of them wanted her?” “Her mom ran off, and her dad doesn’t care about her…” “Tsk. A rootless wild child.” That evening, I avoided everyone, walked to the river embankment, and climbed over the rail. I thought that if I were gone, my aunt wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. I don’t know how Owen appeared, but he grabbed the back of my jacket and held on for dear life. From that day on, the seven-year-old boy constantly trailed me, as if he was afraid I’d find another opportunity to jump. The change in my family made me sensitive and stubborn. I bristled, I yelled, I cursed, I even shoved him, but he never got angry. And he never left. When the Maxwell adults called him home, he’d look up at them with his small face and say he couldn’t leave, because he had to stand guard, to make sure his particular star didn’t burn out or fall into the river. Idiot, I thought. In elementary school, some girls laughed and called me a rootless wild child. Owen charged at them like a small leopard. “Who said she doesn’t have a family?!” His face was scratched, but he yelled, head held high, “My home is her home!” The crowd dispersed, and I looked at him coldly. “Your home isn’t my home.” “It will be,” he tried to smile, but winced from the pain of his injury. “You’ll marry me later, won’t you?” The wall around my heart cracked right then. I reached out and helped him up from the ground. Two small, dirty hands clasped together, and they stayed that way for twenty years. Until our sophomore year in college, when Willow Davis came to the Group for an internship. She was a scholarship student funded by Owen’s mother. Because she showed decent aptitude, she was placed in the corporate summer program. The first time I saw her was after the celebration party for Owen’s first independent project. I went to his apartment with a gift, planning to surprise him, but I heard him talking to Willow in the hallway. “This, this is just a small token of my appreciation—a scarf I knitted for you myself.” Willow’s voice was humble. “It’s certainly not as expensive as what Harper gives you, but… it’s the result of several all-nighters.” “Thank you. Sincerity is the most precious gift,” Owen said. A spark of raw anger shot through me. I pushed the door open. “What do you mean, ‘not as expensive as what I send’? Send what you want, but why do you have to step on me? Are things I buy with money suddenly void of sincerity?” “I, I didn’t mean that.” Seeing me, she jumped, quickly trying to explain. Owen walked her out. “What’s the big deal?” He closed the door, smiling as he ruffled my hair. “I don’t like her.” “Her family has had a rough time—father passed away, mother is often sick. It wasn’t easy for her to get into a top university and land this internship. My mom asked me to mentor her.” He said it would only be a few months. But those few months became the period when we argued the most. Willow would always show up during my dates with Owen, either asking for advice on a proposal or needing him to introduce her to clients or handle a difficult account executive. When I gave her the cold shoulder, she would just lower her eyes and remain silent. Everyone who saw us assumed I was bullying her. Even Owen thought I was overreacting. “It’s just a small favor, Harper. Why can’t I help her out? I don’t like her. Why are you always so jealous?” But she just got under my skin. She called him away on his birthday, claiming her project had an emergency she couldn’t handle. She ruined a client meeting and made Owen go bail her out, while I waited for him at the restaurant until the food was cold. She’d hound him every night to help her revise her presentations; sometimes, I’d be standing right behind him, and they would be so focused they wouldn’t even notice. Everyone told me not to be petty. She has a hard life. Just help her. But the splinter in my heart couldn’t be pulled out. I’d fought, given him the silent treatment, and broken up with him. But every time we separated, I’d suffer from insomnia, and inevitably, I’d be the one to swallow my pride and ask to reconcile, even trying to convince myself to be more accommodating. Savannah was right. I couldn’t let go. It was true. Twenty years of entanglement was rooted in my very marrow; every attempt to peel it away was agonizing. I feared the pain, so I compromised repeatedly. Until last month. My critical project was maliciously attacked by a rival firm and ended up in a stalemate. I called Owen over a dozen times; no answer. I fought alone until past midnight, relying on my own years of networking to barely stabilize the situation. Afterward, I learned he was preparing a crucial presentation for Willow and had his phone on silent. He had no idea my project was about to collapse. In that moment, I suddenly felt that breaking up, actually, might not be that hard.

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My granddaughter was brutally assaulted by her classmates. But instead of apologizing, the bully’s parents were incredibly arrogant. I went to the school, but the school was too afraid to intervene. I went to the police, but they told me to let it go. With nowhere left to turn, I took out the two Distinguished Service Crosses left behind by my son and daughter-in-law, and I collapsed in front of the military base gates. Six years ago, when the General delivered these medals to my home, he said something I never forgot. He said my son and his wife gave their lives for this country. That they were heroes. That they were the pride of the nation. Now, I want to ask him one question: Why is it that when a hero’s daughter is humiliated and abused, no one cares? 1 Because my granddaughter, Lily, is an orphan, she became the perfect target for the school bully. She was dragged into a bathroom and beaten for seven hours. Now, she lies in the ICU, fighting for her life. But Bella, the ringleader of the bullies, showed no fear. “I don’t care if you sue me. I know the law. I’m a minor. Worst case scenario, I get a slap on the wrist and some community service. I won’t go to prison.” She chewed her gum loudly, looking bored. There was not a shred of remorse in her eyes. The bully’s father was even more dismissive. “Look, old lady, you’re dragging this out because you want a payout, right?” “I can give you money. But you have to sign this settlement agreement. It states that your granddaughter’s injuries were accidental, caused by a fall, and have nothing to do with my daughter!” He pulled a stack of cash—ten thousand dollars—from his designer bag and threw it in my face. He smirked. “Your grandkid takes a beating, and you walk away with ten grand. You hit the jackpot, Grandma.” I stood there, hunched over, trembling as I looked through the glass at my granddaughter. She was covered in wires and tubes. Under the hospital gown, her body was a map of agony. Burns, cuts, bruises—layer upon layer. I couldn’t imagine the despair she felt during those seven hours. She is a human being. But to these people, her pain was just a number on a check. My heart felt like it was being shredded. I grabbed the edge of his expensive suit jacket, my voice shaking. “No. I want justice. You have to answer for this!” Bella’s father looked disgusted. He shoved me away violently. I lost my balance and hit the cold hospital floor hard. Crash. The bottle of blood pressure pills in my pocket shattered. My crumpled dollar bills scattered across the floor. And with them, two heavy, cross-shaped medals fell with a metallic clatter. I scrambled to pick them up, but his polished leather shoe stepped right on them. He sneered. “You crazy old hag. If you don’t like it, sue me. But let me tell you, the Chief Judge is my cousin. Good luck with that.” The school principal, standing nearby, signaled for them to leave, urging them not to “agitate the victim’s family.” Father and daughter walked away, laughing. I carefully picked up the medals, now smudged with dirt from his shoe. I looked at my unconscious Lily, and the tears I had been holding back finally broke free. 2 The principal helped me up, putting on a mask of fake sympathy. “Eleanor, look. The Thorne family has money and power. You’re an old woman living on a pension and recycling cans. How can you fight them? Just sign the paper, take the money, and let it go.” “If you keep making a scene, it will only damage the school’s reputation. What will the other parents think?” I was shocked. His first thought was the school’s Yelp review, not justice for a child. This man was an educator. My granddaughter was put in the hospital by a sadistic bully, and he was talking about reputation? This was assault. This was a crime! “Money? You think this ends with money?” I cried. “Shouldn’t the abuser be punished?” Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, the principal lost his patience. “They are willing to pay! What more do you want? Do you want to ruin a young girl’s future?” He pulled a file from his briefcase and threw it onto my lap. “If you don’t sign the settlement, Lily can’t attend our school anymore. We have a zero-tolerance policy for drama.” I couldn’t believe it. To protect the bully, the principal was expelling the victim. He laughed coldly. “Like Mr. Thorne said, his family runs the legal circles here. You won’t win a lawsuit. And the school isn’t going to offend a major donor for a charity case like Lily.” Clutching Lily’s file, I leaned against the cold hospital wall. A suffocating darkness pressed down on my chest. We didn’t do anything wrong. Why are we the ones being punished? 3 After composing myself, I went back into the room. When Lily woke up, she curled into a ball under the sheets, refusing to come out. Seeing her trembling form, my heart broke all over again. I gently pulled the blanket back and hugged her. She buried her face in my chest, sobbing. “Grandma, it hurts… everything hurts…” “Bella and her friends… they said I have no mom and dad, so I deserve to be beaten. But I do have parents, right?” “Mom and Dad said they would come back when I turned ten. I’m fifteen now. Why aren’t they back? Did I do something wrong? Do they hate me?” “Is it because I stole that candy when I was little?” “Grandma, please tell them I’m sorry. I won’t eat candy anymore. I’ll be good…” “I miss them so much… If they were here, nobody would dare hurt me…” Her innocent cries were like knives stabbing my soul. I clutched the medals in my pocket, the sharp edges digging into my palm. Six years ago, when the military officers gave me these medals, I hid them. I never let Lily see them. If she saw them, she would know the truth: that “missing in action” was a lie. That they were never coming home. I bit my lip, forcing the tears back. Oh, my sweet child. How can I tell you that your heroes are gone forever? “Grandma, you said bad kids get punished. I didn’t do anything. Why did they hurt me?” I stroked her hair, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Lily, you are a good girl. They are the bad ones.” “And bad people will get punished. I promise.” Lily looked at me with tear-filled eyes, desperate for hope. Once she fell asleep, I rode my rusty tricycle to the police station. But the officer’s response sent me plunging into despair. Mr. Thorne was the wealthiest developer in the city. His family had deep ties to local government. The police looked at my faded clothes and my hands, calloused from years of hard labor. The officer sighed heavily, pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, and pressed it into my hand. He looked at me with pity. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. We can’t do much without hard evidence, and there were no cameras in that bathroom. His cousin is the District Attorney. Even the state senator knows him. You should just… try to move on.” Even the police were helpless. I walked out of the station, feeling like the sky was collapsing on me. Just then, my phone buzzed. I opened the message, and my blood ran cold. It was a video. A video of Lily being tortured. 4 In the video, Lily was cornered in the bathroom stall. A group of girls took turns slapping her face. My granddaughter was curled in the corner, crying helplessly. “Look at her,” a voice sneered. “No daddy, no mommy. She was born to be our punching bag.” The camera zoomed in on Lily’s terrified face. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone. I couldn’t watch anymore. A text message from Bella’s father popped up below the video: [Mr. Thorne]: Enjoy the show, old woman? If you don’t sign that paper, I’ll post this everywhere. I’ll make your granddaughter a viral joke. Then, he sent another photo. A picture of a skinned rabbit. Lily was born in the Year of the Rabbit. It was her favorite animal. I shook with rage. “How can you be so cruel? Do you have no conscience?” I texted back. [Mr. Thorne]: Conscience? Conscience doesn’t pay the bills. I own the court. My daughter could end someone, and she wouldn’t see a jail cell. Your granddaughter is going to live in fear forever. When I tried to reply, I got a notification: You have been blocked. I spent the next day calling every law firm in the city. Every lawyer gave me the same answer: “We can’t take this case. It’s a conflict of interest.” Or simply, “We don’t want trouble with Thorne.” Was there really no justice for Lily? Lily’s mental state was deteriorating. She couldn’t sleep. When she did, she woke up screaming. She told me she was afraid to close her eyes because she saw Bella’s face. I held her as she shook. “Grandma,” she whispered. “I dreamed of Mom and Dad.” “I dreamed we were at Disney World. But then… they got a call. They said the country needed to ‘borrow’ them for a while. They said they’d be back when the mission was over.” “Grandma… when does the mission end? When will the country give them back to me?” “If I could just have them for one day… just one day…” “Why don’t the bad guys get punished, Grandma?” I patted her back, unable to speak. The feeling of powerlessness was drowning me.

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The email confirming my resignation was barely in my inbox when Sabrina hit the ‘send’ button on her message to the all-hands chat. “Nolan is leaving us,” her text read, tagging every single member of the company. “He’s treating the entire firm to dinner tomorrow night. You all pick the spot.” I froze, phone in hand. The entire firm. Veridian Tech had over a hundred employees, and not a single person had given me a heads-up. The group chat instantly exploded. Hundreds of replies instantly scroll-flashed across the screen. “That new Omakase place, five hundred bucks a head. He won’t be our boss anymore, so why not bleed him dry?” “Seafood feast! Lobster and King Crab! Let’s eat back his project bonus—I heard he cleared a fortune last month!” “He’s already out the door. We have to make this final stab count!” Watching the torrent of messages, my expression didn’t change. I slowly typed in the address for the most exclusive, high-end fine dining spot in the city—The Meridian Penthouse—and hit send. Then I picked up my cell and dialed the travel agent. “I need a ticket to the Maldives. Tomorrow morning. As soon as possible.” 1 By the time I hung up, the group chat was already hysterical over the location I’d dropped. “Holy cow! Nolan is actually going to bankrupt himself!” “He’s been so quiet, but finally, he’s treating us right on his way out? It’s about time.” “Exactly! His commission from those last few mega-deals could cover ten dinners like this!” “@Nolan, what time tomorrow? I’m starting my fast right now!” I ignored the continuous stream of messages, flipped the phone facedown on my desk, and started cleaning out my cubicle. Three years. I’d given this company countless days and nights. I’d bought into the future Sabrina painted for me. “Nolan, you’re the only one who can carry this project…” “Nolan, just a little more effort, darling. It’s for our future…” “Nolan, you are my biggest asset and my greatest hero…” But when I submitted my application for promotion, the only thing I got back was a dismissive, “You need more seasoning.” The next day, the position I bled for was air-dropped to Brock, a golden boy whose spreadsheets looked like abstract art. That was when I knew: my three years of tireless dedication were just a gilded carpet, rolled out to pave the way for the man she actually cared about. And now, they still wanted to set me up. They wanted me to pay out of pocket to feed that venomous couple and a hundred parasitic colleagues who were thrilled to see me fall? Fine. If that’s the game, I wanted every single one of them to remember exactly what that meal tasted like. “Hey, Nolan.” The smarmy voice hit me from behind. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Brock. “I didn’t know you had it in you, man.” He stood there, arms crossed, sizing me up with a fake, condescending grin. “I thought you’d be in Sabrina’s office right now, begging her to withdraw your resignation. Didn’t know you were such a shark.” “The Meridian Penthouse? She took me there once—it’s a mortgage payment on a plate.” I didn’t dignify his words with a response, focusing instead on packing my things, one by one. Being ignored didn’t seem to bother him. He reached out and placed his hand, not heavily but deliberately, on the folder I was organizing. “Hold up, man. Don’t be so hasty. I actually came here about something important.” He kept the phony smile on his face, pushing his laptop toward me with his other hand. The screen showed a disastrously formatted quarterly summary report. “Sabrina needs the department’s consolidated report first thing tomorrow. Just tweak it for me, will you? It’s easy for you.” I glanced at the corporate catastrophe on the screen. “Brock, a reminder: my resignation is final. What you’re asking for is outside the scope of my responsibilities.” The smile on his face dimmed a fraction. “Come on, Nolan. Don’t be like that. I know you’re upset about leaving, but this report impacts the entire department’s review. If it looks sloppy, Sabrina might think you didn’t complete a proper handover, right?” “The handover was confirmed with a signed checklist.” My voice was flat. I pointed out a few glaring, amateur errors in the presentation. “And these are basic mistakes. They have nothing to do with the handover process.” My bluntness finally shattered his facade. “Nolan! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His voice rose. “I might not be as experienced as you, but Sabrina trusts me now. She gives me the important work, not you…” He grew more agitated. “You don’t like it? Tough. I’m the Project Manager now, and I’m the one who will be by Sabrina’s side later! You’re just a stepping stone for me, man! I don’t need your evaluation of my competence!” Colleagues around us glanced over. I couldn’t be bothered to watch his performance and kept packing. “Time will prove your competence, Brock. It doesn’t require my opinion.” “You—!” He choked on his next word, finger pointed right at my face. “What are you two arguing about?” 2 Sabrina’s irritated voice cut in. Her brow furrowed, but her gaze instantly softened when it hit the agitated Brock. “Baby, what’s wrong? Who’s upsetting you?” “Sabrina…” Brock instantly found his anchor, his face a mask of wounded fury. “I just asked Nolan to look over the report, and he… he insulted me, said I was incompetent, that my work was garbage… He said I stole his spot… I just want to do a good job. I don’t want to disappoint you…” He sounded utterly distraught, as if I had subjected him to some heinous abuse. “Sabrina, am I really useless? Should I not have taken this position? Am I making things difficult for you?” He was, admittedly, a master of gaslighting and revisionist history. Hearing his plea, Sabrina’s frown deepened. She patted Brock’s back reassuringly. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re doing great. This position belongs to you, and no one has the right to second-guess that.” She then turned to me, her face hardening, her eyes full of cold reproof. “Nolan, what is your problem? Can’t you leave quietly? Brock was asking for guidance. Even if you don’t help, you don’t get to insult him! Look at how upset he is! You will apologize to him immediately!” Her voice cut clearly through the quiet office area. Everyone looked over, their attention fixed on me, waiting for my reaction. I looked at the couple before me: one a talented liar, the other a willing, biased listener. For three years, similar scenes had ended with my silent retreat. Not today. “Sabrina, I’m not the one who needs to apologize.” My tone was final, my eyes level with hers. Sabrina seemed taken aback by my defiance. She stared at me for a long moment, then lowered her voice. “Nolan, come into my office.” She closed the door, cutting off the outside view. Leaning against her desk, she tried to soften her tone. “Alright, Nolan. It’s just us. Stop being dramatic.” “The dinner tomorrow—that was just a formality. A way for you to save face. I’d never actually let you pay that much.” “I know you’re hurt that Brock got the position. That’s why you impulsively resigned. Look, I’ll bump your salary by fifteen grand a year. How about that?” “You can stay on as Brock’s deputy. We’ll go back to how things were. I’ll value your loyalty, Nolan, and rely on you.” “With your competence, you can keep the projects stable. That keeps the team steady and the company secure.” She squeezed my wrist, her thumb stroking the back of my hand, adopting a posture of concerned patronage. I looked at her face and felt a wave of nausea. I pulled my hand back sharply, the touch feeling like something unclean. “Sabrina, my resignation was a thoroughly considered decision. I am not playing games.” Her practiced smile faltered. Her tone carried a hint of disbelief. “So, you’re telling me you’d rather drop a hundred thousand dollars on a dinner for the whole firm just to spite me?” She scoffed. “Nolan, who taught you accounting? Why would you want to be such a fool?” My voice was flat. “Sabrina, I’ve run the numbers. Some investments, when they’re guaranteed to fail, you just cut your losses.” “Cut your losses?” A muscle twitched in Sabrina’s cheek. She slowly raised a hand to adjust the collar of her suit jacket. “Fine. Very well.” “Since you’re so wealthy, why don’t you do one last good deed?” She leaned forward, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “The quarterly earnings for your biggest project—The Prescott Account—just give the credit to Brock. You’re leaving anyway, so you won’t get the commission. Why not leave a good impression?” 3 I stopped packing and just looked at her familiar face. The last sliver of hope I had held onto—that she might possess a single ounce of decency—shattered. “I spent eight months locking down The Prescott Account.” “The contract was finalized last week, and the first payment hit the accounts yesterday. By company policy, those quarterly earnings belong to me.” The faint smile on Sabrina’s face vanished. “Policy is policy, but people are people.” “Brock is taking over all your clients. If his first quarter looks terrible, how is he going to command respect? You’re leaving. Leave on a high note. It’ll be better for your reputation in the industry.” “Sabrina.” I cut her off, meeting her eyes. “I personally believe my reputation doesn’t require such a costly sacrifice.” My repeated refusal finally ripped away her mask of benevolence. The anger in her voice was barely contained. “Nolan! Don’t push your luck! I’m trying to give you an out! What are you without Veridian? Who in this industry hires a man who torpedoes his relationship with his old firm?” “What I am, I’ll find out after I leave Veridian. I don’t need your concern, Sabrina.” “As for that dinner…” I allowed a small, cold smile to curl my lips. “The address is sent. You set the time.” Sabrina had clearly never been defied by me like this. Her face flashed from red to white. It took her a moment to grind out the words. “Nolan, you have guts! Fine, we’ll see you tomorrow night! I’m eager to see just how generous you can truly be!” When I walked out of the office building, the evening sun was setting. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a new message from Sabrina, again tagging the entire company. “Tomorrow at 6 PM sharp, everyone be there. Bring your families and friends—the more the merrier! Anyone who doesn’t show up is disrespecting Nolan, and disrespecting me! @everyone.” Beneath it was another rapid-fire stream of “Got it,” “Thank you, boss,” and excited emojis. I calmly swiped away the notification. No reply needed. I knew that however high they jumped tonight, they would fall that much harder tomorrow. At six the next morning, I walked through airport security with my suitcase. Sitting at the gate, I saw a self-righteous message pop up from Sabrina. “Nolan, you can still come back now. Apologize to Brock, finalize the Prescott handoff, and I’ll pretend yesterday never happened.” The same arrogant, exasperating tone. I hovered my finger over the screen for a moment, then swiped left and deleted the entire thread. Ten hours later, the plane touched down in Malé. The heavy, humid air of the tropics—salt and sun—hit me like a physical wave. I activated the local SIM card I’d purchased in advance. 4 The red unread numbers on the work group icon kept ticking upward. “Charge! I’m on the way! Eating back all his money tonight!” “I’m stuck in traffic! I’m so anxious—I want to be there early to order the most expensive dish!” “Who’s there already? Snap a picture of the wine list! I heard they have a $10,000 bottle of reserve Bordeaux?” “Screenshotting this! We’re eating him broke tonight!” Brock theatrically posted a mirror selfie. “Just tidying up a little. Can’t embarrass Sabrina.” Sabrina replied with a hug emoji. “You look handsome no matter what you wear, baby.” Below them, a string of “Perfect match” and “Power couple” messages followed. I continued to scroll, an amused expression on my face. “I’m here! Holy crap, this place is legit!” “Where’s Nolan? Has anyone seen Nolan?” “He’s not here yet, right? The lead always makes a dramatic entrance!” “Exactly. Maybe he’s at the bank. Eighty or a hundred thousand—he probably needs a whole briefcase of cash.” Sabrina sent a voice note. Tapping it, I heard her mocking tone. “What’s the rush? Nolan said he’s treating. He’ll show up. Go ahead and order. Get whatever you want. Don’t worry about the price tag today.” “You’re the best, Sabrina!” “I won’t hold back! Waiter, ten orders of the top-grade Kobe beef!” “Lobster! The biggest one you have!” “The wine! That $10,000 bottle—open two of them!” The chat was soon flooded with pictures of dishes: colossal King Crab, artfully arranged sashimi platters… Brock seemed to want more attention, posting a photo on his personal feed of himself and Sabrina clinking wine glasses, the glittering city lights spread out behind them. “Another evening of fine dining with my girl Sabrina. Life is good.” I glanced at my watch. It was four o’clock in the Maldives. Seven PM back home. The last message in the group chat was a direct question from Sabrina. “@Nolan, where are you? The entire company is waiting.” A faint smile touched my lips. I still didn’t reply. After all, the show was just beginning. I walked with my luggage toward the pre-booked ocean-view villa. The phone in my pocket vibrated a few times, but I ignored it. I changed into a comfortable pair of swim trunks, ordered two bottles of iced beer, and only pulled out my phone an hour later, settling into a lounger facing the ocean. By this time, the tone in the group chat had shifted. The food pictures had stopped. They were replaced by anxious inquiries. “What time is it? Is Nolan actually coming?” “Still going straight to voicemail. The phone’s off.” “No way he just stood us up, right?” “Don’t say that! How much is all that food and alcohol going to cost?” “I just discreetly asked the waiter… The current tab is already north of a hundred thousand dollars.” The messages started flying, punctuated with exclamation points. “The waiter just came by again asking who’s paying. He looked really uncomfortable…” “Should we… should we just split it? Let’s settle the bill and leave?” “Split it? A hundred thousand! I don’t even make that in six months!” “Sabrina said we could order whatever we wanted. It should be on her, shouldn’t it…?” The chat quickly devolved into a furious internal squabble and mutual accusations. The focus of the attack was shifting toward Sabrina. I took a long drink of the cold beer a server had just delivered. I took a photo of the stunning ocean view in front of me and dropped it into the group chat. Then I pressed the voice note button and spoke slowly. “My dearest former colleagues. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to dinner.” “Sabrina said you could pick any restaurant. I did. The address was sent. As for who is paying…” I paused for a deliberate second. “You ordered it, you own it.” “Enjoy your meal, everyone.”

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I was the last man standing from the original crew. I’d shared one slice of pizza with Vivian Hale in the basement of our first office, slept on the folding cot for three years, and drank myself into the ER more times than I could count to land her big deals. But on the day the entire company flew out for the annual Miami retreat, she left me behind. My assignment: stay in the empty Chicago office and reformat the pitch deck for her new intern. I didn’t complain. I honestly thought it was a test—a sign of the ultimate trust she had in her co-founder, the one who kept the lights on. That thought lasted until I found the personnel confirmation list crumpled up in a trash can. My name was there, crossed out with a thick, angry swipe of red marker. Next to it, three words were scrawled in cheap ballpoint pen: Too much of a downer. In that moment, I didn’t rage. I didn’t call her. I just quietly finished pizza, packaged up the five years of meticulously kept, off-the-books ledgers, and then dialed the number of our main competitor. Vivian, can you handle a fifteen-million-dollar welcome gift? 1 I was the last man standing from the original crew. I’d shared one slice of pizza with Vivian Hale in the basement of our first office, slept on the folding cot for three years, and drank myself into the ER more times than I could count to land her big deals. But on the day the entire company flew out for the annual Miami retreat, she left me behind. My assignment: stay in the empty Chicago office and reformat the pitch deck for her new intern. I didn’t complain. I honestly thought it was a test—a sign of the ultimate trust she had in her co-founder, the one who kept the lights on. That thought lasted until I found the personnel confirmation list crumpled up in a trash can. My name was there, crossed out with a thick, angry swipe of red marker. Next to it, three words were scrawled in cheap ballpoint pen: Too much of a downer. In that moment, I didn’t rage. I didn’t call her. I just quietly finished pizza, packaged up the five years of meticulously kept, off-the-books ledgers, and then dialed the number of our main competitor. Vivian, can you handle a fifteen-million-dollar welcome gift? Chicago in January is a bone-deep cold. The central HVAC unit in the high-rise office had long since cut off. I, Asher Reed, sat at my isolated desk, bundled into the same black winter coat I’d worn for three years. He was eating the cheapest pizza, which was already cold. My phone screen flickered to life. The company group chat, “Nova Creative Outreach,” was blowing up. A photo. Sunshine, beach, bikinis. Dead center was Vivian Hale, the CEO, stunning in a flowing bohemian maxi dress and oversized sunglasses. She held a flute of champagne, grinning wider than the Miami sun. Tucked right next to her was Zane, the intern who had only been with us for three months. Zane was shirtless, flashing a peace sign, his teeth unnervingly perfect and white. The caption: “So grateful to Vivian! And the company! The Nova family, nobody gets left behind! Love you all, xoxo!” My finger hovered over the screen. Nobody gets left behind? I lifted my gaze to the pitch-black office. Only the fluorescent light over my desk was on, humming like a forgotten ghost. Three days earlier, Admin had announced that since we hit our quarterly metrics, Vivian was footing the bill for a three-day, New Year’s Eve getaway to Miami. I had been reworking that goddamn pitch deck for Vivian until three in the morning. I was thrilled, thinking that after five years of working like a draft horse, I was finally getting a chance to breathe. On the morning of the departure, the charter bus was waiting downstairs. I walked toward it with my small backpack, only to be intercepted by Zane. Zane smiled, all false innocence, but his voice was loud enough for the whole bus to hear. “Oh, hey, Ash! What are you doing here?” I blinked. “Isn’t this the all-staff retreat?” Zane dramatically clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops! Did Admin forget to tell you? Vivian said we can’t have the office completely empty. Someone reliable needs to hold down the fort. You’re the veteran, Asher—who else could handle this kind of responsibility?” The window of the bus rolled down. Vivian’s face—sharp, elegant, and chillingly indifferent—appeared. She didn’t even look up from her phone. Her voice was flat. “Asher, the client for the ‘Horizon Account’ is hassling us for the revised data. Go keep an eye on it. You can do Miami later. I’m not cheap; I’ll cut you a bonus for the airfare.” The bus door hissed shut, and exhaust fumes choked me as it pulled away. Now, looking at the celebratory emojis and the stream of comments like “Vivian’s a legend” and “Best boss ever,” my stomach turned. The noodles were completely cold. I pushed the food away and stood up to dump the congealed mess. As I walked past Zane’s pristine desk, my foot clipped a small, overturned trash bin. A crumpled sheet of A4 paper spilled out onto the floor. I hadn’t intended to stop, but my eyes caught the printed header: Nova Creative New Year’s Miami Trip Personnel Confirmation List. Driven by a morbid curiosity, I bent down and picked it up. I smoothed the paper flat. The list was long, from CEO Vivian Hale down to the front desk intern. Even Martha, the weekend cleaning lady, was on it. Right in the middle, a single line was viciously scored through with a red Sharpie. My name: Asher Reed. The mark was so heavy it had torn the paper slightly. Next to that blinding red slash was a sloppy, hurried note, written in ballpoint: Keep him back to work. Don’t bring. Too much of a downer. The handwriting was messy, but I recognized it. It was Zane’s. And below that note, there was a signature—a quick, confident flourish from the approving executive. Vivian Hale. She had placed a small, neat checkmark right next to the note “Too much of a downer.” My hands started to shake. It wasn’t just the cold. The tremor started in my fingertips, crawled up my arms into my chest, and made my teeth rattle. Five years. I had been there since the three-person startup phase. Back then, to save money, we’d split a single takeout container. I ended up in the emergency room with a bleeding ulcer from drinking with a client. Vivian had cried by my bedside, promising, “Asher, when I eat the pizza, I will never leave you with just the crust.” Now, she was eating the pizza. And I, Asher Reed, was not only left without the broth but was dismissed as “a downer.” The phone suddenly rang, the sound jarringly loud in the empty office, like an alarm. The screen displayed two words: Vivian Hale. I took a deep breath, fighting for control, and answered the call. “Hello, Vivian,” I said, my voice hoarse, betraying nothing. I could hear the sound of the ocean, loud music, and laughter on the other end. Vivian sounded slightly tipsy, and her tone carried an undeniable arrogance. “Asher, you’re at the office, right?” “I am.” “Zane just told me there are some data issues with the Horizon Account proposal. The client is flipping out; they said if they don’t see a revised final draft by midnight, they’re walking. I need you to drop everything and send it over, now.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten-thirty at night. “Vivian,” I gripped the crumpled list until my knuckles were white, “Zane was responsible for the Horizon Account. He spent the last week buying swim trunks and sunscreen. He only put the data in yesterday. I warned him there were errors, and he told me to mind my own business.” A second of silence, then Zane’s whiny, wounded voice—clearly right next to her phone—cut in: “Vivian… I didn’t think the client would be this demanding. And Ash didn’t explain the issues clearly. If I knew it was a big deal, I wouldn’t be here celebrating…” Vivian’s tone instantly turned glacial. “Asher, what is that supposed to mean? Are you pushing responsibility? Zane is new. You’re the veteran. Is it so hard to mentor him? Or are you just bitter that a younger guy is succeeding?” “Bitter?” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Vivian, this is a business, not a playground. He screwed up. Why do I have to clean up his mess? I’m a person, too. It’s a holiday. I want to rest.” “Rest?” Her voice ratcheted up, becoming sharp and cruel. “Asher, get this straight: you’re not on vacation. We’re paying you overtime! Earn your money and do the job! Stop with the self-pity!” “I won’t do it.” It was the first time I had ever been this firm. “Excuse me?” She sounded genuinely shocked. “I said, I won’t do it. Whoever made the mess cleans it up.” The line went silent. After a few tense seconds, Vivian let out a cold chuckle, her voice dripping with threat. “Fine, Asher. You’ve grown a backbone. I’m telling you now: if we lose this account, you can kiss your annual bonus goodbye! And when we do our personnel review after the New Year, you can forget about that VP spot you’ve been chasing!” Click. She hung up. I held the phone, listening to the dial tone, which sounded like the five years of my life being flushed down the drain. Annual bonus. VP spot. Those two carrots had been dangling in front of me for three years. Every time I felt like quitting, she’d wave them. I used to believe her. Now, I looked at the crumpled list, the red checkmark, and the words “a downer.” Suddenly, the whole situation felt absurd. Just then, the group chat buzzed again. Zane had tagged everyone and sent a large cash bonus. Zane: “Hey, team! I messed up and upset Vivian about a work thing. Drinks are on me! Grab this cash and let’s not let a little corporate drama kill the mood! Cheers!” The chat instantly flooded with “Thanks, Zane!” “Best manager ever!” “Love you, Zane!” No one asked about the guy who was still sitting in the freezing Chicago office, alone. No one knew that “the work thing” required me to pull an all-nighter. With a stone-cold expression, I crumpled the list again and tossed it back into the bin. Then, I walked back to my computer. Not to work. I opened a deeply hidden folder. The file name was simple: Backup. It contained five years of core client data, original pitch drafts, and records of some highly questionable financial dealings Vivian had done. And of course, it held Zane’s raw, disaster-prone data for the Horizon Account. My first impulse had been to fix it. If the project imploded, the company would take a big hit. But not anymore. My fingers flew across the keyboard. I pulled up the faulty file Zane had sent to the client. I didn’t correct the mistakes. I simply highlighted a few of the more subtle, catastrophic logical flaws that Zane had tried to hide, making them glaringly obvious in the final review. Unless the client was blind, they would instantly see they were being treated like idiots. I packaged the file and sent it to Vivian’s email. In the subject line, I wrote one sentence: “Vivian, as per your instruction, this is Zane’s ‘final draft.’ I haven’t touched it. Pure, uncut.” I closed my laptop. I stood up, switched off the light, and locked the door. Walking out of the high-rise, the wind felt like a knife on my face. But I realized that in five years, I had never felt this exhilaratingly free. The first day after the New Year’s holiday. The office reeked of expensive cologne and the cloying sweetness of duty-free souvenirs. Everyone wore that look of exhausted but satisfied post-vacation bliss, exchanging gifts: artisanal chocolates, custom-blended coffee, and cheap, colorful trinkets from Miami. “OMG, look how tan you got!” “It’s the healthy look! Vivian was amazing; we had a suite overlooking the ocean!” I walked through the bustling office like an invisible man and sat down at my desk. It was piled high with documents that had accumulated over the break. No gift. Not even a single piece of chocolate. Sarah, the accounting supervisor next to me—for whom I’d covered countless reports and even helped her kid with his geometry homework—was showing off a box of high-end skincare to the front desk girl. “Vivian specifically picked this out for me. Anti-aging magic, she said.” When she saw me sit down, Sarah’s voice dropped. Her eyes darted away, and she turned her back, pretending to organize her space. The awkward silence was worse than a direct insult. Everyone knew I hadn’t gone. Everyone was pretending I wasn’t there. “Well, look who decided to show up early!” Zane’s voice, smug and self-satisfied, came from behind me. He was wearing a brand-new, impeccably tailored designer suit and carrying a few high-end shopping bags. He strutted to the center of the office and clapped his hands. “Everyone, quiet down! We had a blast, all thanks to Vivian. To show our appreciation for all your hard work, Vivian bought a special New Year’s cash bonus for everyone! Every single person gets one!” A cheer erupted. Vivian emerged from her corner office. She was flawlessly made up, her bold red lipstick adding to her powerful aura. Zane followed her like a well-trained puppy, carrying a thick stack of bonus envelopes. Vivian handed them out, one by one. “Sarah, great job last year.” “Mike, keep up the hustle.” “Martha, the floors look great. Here you go.” Even Martha, the cleaning lady, received a fat envelope and smiled, her face wrinkling with joy. Finally, Vivian arrived at my desk. Zane’s hand, holding the remaining envelopes, was completely empty. The boisterous energy of the office suddenly choked, replaced by a suffocating silence. All eyes were locked on me and Vivian. Vivian didn’t appear embarrassed in the least. She adjusted her hair and looked down at me with cool indifference. “Oh, Asher. I’m so sorry. The envelopes were packaged according to the trip roster. Admin must have forgotten to include you. Since you weren’t in Miami, you know.”

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I’m a simple woman with simple tastes: money and hot guys. When the campus heartthrob, Ethan Vance, confessed his love to me, I accidentally saw the livestream chat comments floating in thin air. [Omg, my heart breaks for the male lead! He’s only dating someone he hates to make the female lead jealous!] [Don’t worry, besties! The male lead will only have a platonic relationship with the antagonist.] [Exactly! The antagonist is just a tool. Our boy will stay pure!] Me: “Can we kiss?” Ethan: “I want to start with a spiritual connection. I can give you money.” Me: “Oh, pass. Sounds like a waste of time.” Ethan panicked. That very night, he lost his purity. After getting my fill, I swiped his Black Card. “He only lost money, but I lost love!” 1 Convenience Store. The cashier gave us a weird look. “We have extra small, small, medium, and large. Which one do you need?” I side-eyed Ethan. “You’re not an extra small, are you?” The man’s face flushed crimson. “Give me the extra large!” I smirked and grabbed the box. “Don’t forget to pay.” 2 Ethan Vance was the university’s golden boy, a viral sensation on TikTok just because someone uploaded a candid photo of him drinking coffee. Countless girls were eyeing him like a snack. Talent scouts literally camped outside the campus gates hoping to sign him. And today, this guy not only delivered himself to my doorstep but was also ready to drop serious cash. Delicious! 3 I hummed a tune, glancing at the floating comments only I could see. [Oh no, oh no! The male lead is walking into the tiger’s den!] [What happened to staying pure? All I see is a hungry wolf!] [My poor Sophia is watching from the corner, she’s shattering!] I turned my head to look at a dark corner. The female lead, Sophia Sterling, had red eyes and was twisting a handkerchief. She looked like a tragic heroine. To avoid any complications, I grabbed Ethan’s tie and dragged him toward the hotel. As the door closed, comments flashed rapidly before my eyes. [Sophia, don’t eavesdrop! We don’t want a used man anyway!] [Am I the only one jealous of the antagonist? With the male lead’s face, she’s eating good tonight!] I chuckled and opened the door. Sure enough, Sophia was standing there, looking like she wanted to speak but couldn’t. “Can you help me tear open the wrapper?” I asked. Sophia nodded subconsciously and did it. I smiled gratefully at her. “Don’t listen at the door, okay? It’ll only make me more excited!” The door closed again. Soft sobbing could be heard from the hallway. Ethan looked confused. “What’s that noise?” I measured the length of the plastic wrapper in my hand. “Probably the kettle next door just boiled. By the way, can you really fit into this thing?” Ethan snatched it away. “If I can’t fit, I’m a dog!” My eyes lit up. Ethan didn’t need to prove anything. In my eyes, he was already my puppy! Amidst the screaming comments in the air, I pounced. That night, the heartthrob was corrupted. 4 I tidied my clothes and casually picked up a Black Amex card from the table. There was a note on the card: [Voluntary Gift.] Signed by Ethan. I tucked the card into my pocket with a dramatic sigh. “He only lost money, but I lost love!” I clutched my chest, but the corners of my mouth were harder to suppress than a sneeze. The comments reappeared after a long blackout. [Who cut the feed?!] [I paid for the premium membership! What can’t I see?] [My heart aches for Sophia! She listened at the door all night!] I scratched my head, picked up an unopened pack of XLs, and opened the door. “Sophia, I tested it for you. Ethan can indeed handle the Extra Large. As expected of the man you like—great looks, great performance!” I gave a thumbs up, my teeth brighter than a toothpaste ad. The woman stood there dumbfounded, her eyes swollen like walnuts. I patted her shoulder and walked away with swagger.

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During a critical surgery, my husband’s girlfriend suddenly called. He abandoned the anesthetized patient and left the operating room for a full 40 minutes. I tried to stop him: “The surgery isn’t finished. If you leave now, what if something happens?” My husband, the lead surgeon, sneered coldly: “If something happens, it’s your problem as the anesthesiologist. I’m the lead surgeon, but I haven’t cut yet. If the family wants to sue or attack anyone, it’ll be you and the attending physician. What does it have to do with me?” Afterward, Chloe Sterling, his wealthy mistress, arrogantly told me: “See? All it takes is one word from me, and your husband will drop everything to come to me.” It turned out Chloe called him away just to spite me? I didn’t say a word. I silently contacted others and began compiling a dossier of evidence… 1 I am an anesthesiologist, and today was my shift. The moment I saw the schedule, I frowned and asked the Chief of Anesthesiology, “Why am I paired with Dr. Pierce?” The Chief smiled, avoiding my gaze. “There were some last-minute changes. Dr. Pierce needed to move his surgery up, and you were available.” I pressed him. “Does the hospital not have a policy against spouses operating together?” Although there’s no explicit law forbidding immediate family members from being in the same OR, it’s an unwritten rule in the industry to avoid it. The risk of personal conflict affecting professional judgment is too high. Our hospital had specifically listed this rule in the employee handbook. “Heh, special circumstances require flexibility…” The Chief chuckled, trying to smooth things over. I despised Ethan Pierce. I pretended not to understand the Chief’s hints and kept citing the rules, insisting I wouldn’t work with him. Annoyed by my persistence, the Chief dropped his smile. “Dr. Lin, rules are dead, people are alive. That rule is meaningless.” My brow furrowed. “Spouses have conflicts, sure, but don’t colleagues? Don’t dating couples?” he argued. “If a doctor and a nurse fight, do we ban them from surgery? Think about it. How many doctors and nurses are secretly dating? If we had to police that, the whole hospital would shut down.” “Besides,” he added with a meaningful smirk, “before you and Dr. Pierce got married, didn’t you partner up all the time?” “Not only did you two work well together, but when Dr. Pierce was dating Nurse Sarah Jones, he brought her into every surgery. The work got done, didn’t it? No accidents.” I clenched my fists, a bitter taste in my mouth. Ethan Pierce was my husband, but I wasn’t his only woman. Sarah Jones was a nurse, one of his many conquests. When they were “in love,” Ethan took her everywhere, flaunting their relationship to the entire hospital. The Chief was using Sarah to needle me, likely annoyed by my lack of cooperation. Knowing there was no room for negotiation, I took a deep breath and looked down. “Understood.” Leaving the Chief’s office, I returned to my desk, trying to convince myself: It’s just one surgery. It’ll be fine. Before we were married, Ethan and I were a seamless team. As long as we stuck to our roles, nothing would go wrong. But my eyelid kept twitching. I had a bad feeling. My phone buzzed. A text from Chloe Sterling. [When are you divorcing him?] Short, rude, no greeting. My temples throbbed. Ethan had many women, but Miss Sterling was the most arrogant. Chloe Sterling was Ethan’s new “student.” She had returned from studying abroad with a degree in Landscape Architecture—completely unrelated to medicine. Yet, through some “special program,” she was slotted into a residency under Ethan. In three years, she’d be a doctor. Ordinary people lose their hair studying for a decade just to get a foot in the door. To get a residency under a top surgeon like Ethan, you usually need to be a top-tier med student from an Ivy League school. But Miss Sterling, a graduate of a third-rate foreign college with a non-medical degree, was stepping over everyone. Not only that, she somehow had several SCI papers to her name. A glittering resume built on money and connections. When I learned about her family background, her “excellence” made sense. That’s why I never thought she’d sleep with Ethan. When rumors first swirled, I laughed. “No way. Someone like Miss Sterling would choose a husband who matches her status. Dating Ethan would be a stain on her family name.” Ethan was successful, sure. But he was over 40, married, with a 7-year-old child, and a reputation for sleeping around. Chloe was young, beautiful, and filthy rich. Why lower herself? Did she like that he didn’t shower often? If she wanted his influence to gild her resume, money and power were enough. She didn’t need to sleep with him. Ethan wasn’t exactly a man of high moral standing; pay him enough, and he’d do anything. But the jaw-dropper was that this heiress actually fell for him—and got pregnant! It was absurd. For her, Ethan quickly cut ties with other women, playing the role of the doting partner, and started pressuring me for a divorce. 2 Thinking back on Ethan and Chloe, I suppressed my anger and typed back: [Miss Sterling, I will not divorce Ethan.] When I first discovered Ethan’s infidelity, my instinct was to leave. But the bastard wanted me to leave with nothing—no assets, and he wanted full custody of our daughter. So, I refused. I was going to drag this out until it destroyed him. As soon as I hit send, Chloe called. “Lacey, don’t be ungrateful.” I replied coldly, “You’re the one who needs a reality check, Miss Sterling.” Chloe laughed. “Me? You’ve already been demoted from Team Lead to a regular anesthesiologist. Still don’t get it?” My heart sank. She hit a sore spot. I used to be the lead anesthesiologist for the ICU team. After my conflict with Ethan over Chloe began, I was demoted. I gritted my teeth. “Since you guys stripped my title, I have even less reason to divorce. Let’s see who breaks first.” “Lacey, I think you’re mentally ill,” Chloe sneered. “You’re fighting a losing battle. Your marriage is dead. Why not divorce and live freely instead of watching us be happy? You’re asking for pain.” “Who said our marriage is dead?” I scoffed. “We’re great. Don’t try to drive a wedge between us. During the last board inspection, we were even praised as a ‘model couple.’” The term “model couple” made me want to laugh. Because we actually were praised. Since we weren’t divorced, Ethan had to bring me to high-profile events. Chloe finally got angry. “‘Model couple’? Stop lying to yourself. Ethan loves me. You can’t control him, but I can. One phone call, and he’ll be by my side. I’ll prove it to you…” She was so childish. At her social level, arguing with me over who a middle-aged philanderer truly loves was pathetic. It was about money and power, yet she insisted on packaging it as romance. “Oh, really? Amazing,” I deadpanned. “You don’t believe me?” “No, I don’t.” I hung up. I had a surgery to prep for. I entered Operating Room 6. The nursing team was already prepping. The room was sterile, instruments laid out perfectly. The nurse nodded at me. I went to my station. The patient was already on the table—an 8-year-old girl, just a year older than my own daughter. She had a congenital heart defect. Two previous surgeries had failed. Her parents had sold their house and traveled across the country to our hospital, specifically for Ethan. They believed a famous doctor guaranteed safety. Ethan did have skills; you don’t become Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery without them. I spoke softly to the girl. “Don’t be scared. You’ll fall asleep quickly, and when you wake up, it’ll be all done.” She nodded obediently. “I want to get better soon so Mommy and Daddy stop worrying.” An angel. “You will,” I smiled. I injected the anesthetic. Soon, she was unconscious. “Anesthesia complete.” “Let’s begin.” Ethan walked in, scrubbed and gowned. He picked up the scalpel without looking at me. I focused on the monitors. We were strangers now. Suddenly, a phone on the side table rang. A specific ringtone. I recognized it immediately. It was Chloe’s ringtone, customized by Ethan. It rang twice. Ethan barked at the nurse, “My phone. Bring it here.” The nurse held it to his ear. I don’t know what was said, but Ethan’s face changed dramatically. He put down the scalpel and marched toward the door. “You too, come with me!” he ordered his assistant surgeon. 3 The nurses and I were stunned. The patient was under, the incision site prepped. Why was the surgeon leaving? And he took his assistant. With both doctors gone, no one could operate. We were left waiting. The nurses looked at each other in panic. Remembering Chloe’s threat, a chill ran down my spine. I bit my lip and chased after him. The automatic doors closed behind me. The hallway was empty except for Ethan and his assistant. “Wait!” I called out. Ethan turned, frowning. “What do you want?” “The patient is on the table,” I said. “Why are you leaving?” “Something came up,” he said curtly. “What sort of thing?” Ethan sneered. “Who are you to demand a report from the Chief of Surgery?” I choked back my anger. “When will you be back? You have to give us a time.” He laughed, a dismissive sound. “How should I know?” How should I know? My eyes widened. “If you don’t know when you’re coming back, what about the patient?” Ethan smiled again, a cruel, mocking smile. “That’s your responsibility as the anesthesiologist. Until I return, you keep the patient stable. Understood?” Cold sweat broke out on my back. If a surgeon delays, the anesthesiologist has to keep the patient under. But prolonged anesthesia carries huge risks. If something went wrong, I would be the primary person responsible, not the surgeon who hadn’t cut yet. Was he doing this just to punish me? “Ethan, be clear. Are you doing this to get back at me?” He raised an eyebrow, didn’t answer, and kept walking. I ran in front of him, blocking his path. “Ethan! You cannot play with a patient’s life for personal reasons. Go back!” “I have an urgent matter. Stop acting crazy,” he spat. “If something happens to the patient, you can’t escape responsibility!” Ethan smiled slightly, spreading his hands. “I haven’t even made the incision. If something happens, what does it have to do with me? You’re the anesthesiologist. You’re liable.” I was shaking. In big hospitals, if there’s an anesthesia accident, the family sues the anesthesiologist and the attending physician. Even if the delay caused the complication, the blame shifts. “Do you have no conscience?” I trembled with rage. Ethan’s face darkened. “I said I have business. Get out of my way!” He shoved past me, taking his assistant. Defeated, I walked back to the OR. I tried to rationalize it. Ethan was a scumbag, but he cherished his reputation as a top surgeon. He wouldn’t joke with his career. Maybe it really was an emergency. 4 Looking at the little girl on the table, my heart was heavy. “Dr. Lin, when is the Chief coming back?” a nurse asked. I shook my head. “He didn’t say.” The nurses exchanged worried glances. I kept my eyes glued to the monitors. Everyone was anxious. Minutes ticked by. My phone vibrated. It was Chloe. I declined the call. I wouldn’t take personal calls during a crisis. A moment later, a WeChat message popped up on my screen: [See? All it takes is one word from me, and your husband will drop everything to come to me.] I stared at the message in disbelief. He really left because Chloe called him? He abandoned a surgery just to help her bully me? I took a deep breath and typed: [Is there an emergency?] My phone rang again. Chloe. I answered. “Lacey,” her voice dripped with arrogance. “Do you see the difference between us now?” “What is wrong with you?” I hissed. “He was in surgery! The patient is anesthetized on the table! Why call him away? What if something happens?” “I didn’t know he was in surgery,” she sniffed. “Besides, what do I care if a patient lives or dies?” Liar. When Ethan answered the phone, everyone in the OR heard him say, “I’m in surgery.” I didn’t have time for this. “Send him back. Now.” “He’s the Chief,” she giggled. “I’m just a student. I can’t order him around.” She hung up. My chest tightened. She wouldn’t let him return. A patient was waiting, life hanging in the balance, and they were playing games to hurt me? I looked at the girl. It was my fault. If I had refused to work with him more firmly… No. Stop blaming yourself. Solve the problem. I called the Chief of Anesthesiology and reported it as an incident. “It’s only been 10 minutes,” the old man said. “Wait a bit longer. Dr. Pierce has urgent business.” “Chief,” I snapped, “Chloe Sterling called him away. They are doing this to spite me. They are gambling with a patient’s life!” “Dr. Lin,” he chided. “Don’t spread rumors. Don’t let your emotions dictate your professionalism. Who will want to work with you if you act like this?” I choked. The schedule change. The pairing. It was all a setup. “It’s been 10 minutes,” the Chief repeated. “It’s normal for a surgeon to step out.” “He took his assistant!” I yelled. That was the smoking gun. If a surgeon steps out, the assistant takes over or preps. Ethan took everyone who could cut. “Maybe they’ll be back soon,” the Chief said, dismissive. I hung up, helpless. Ten more minutes passed. The nurses knew what was happening. Some were silent, others furious. But no one dared to speak up against Ethan Pierce.

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At the Christmas party, Bella Snow, a Gen Z intern in my department, suggested we go to an exclusive private restaurant. Under the table, she rubbed her foot against my calf. “Director,” she purred, “if you don’t have a few too many drinks tonight, how am I supposed to get my chance to move up?” To avoid any suggestion of impropriety, I made a point of arriving late. When I walked in, I found they had ordered ten king crabs and two bottles of Louis XIII. The moment she saw me, Bella stood up, a triumphant smirk on her face, and led the other interns towards the door. “Oh, the Director’s here! We kids won’t disturb your meal.” “You can get the check, though,” she added with a wink. “After all, you’re the one making six figures.” They giggled as they scurried out, even snatching a few unopened boxes of expensive cigars on their way. I looked at the bill, my face impassive, and paid with my card. Then, I took out my phone and sent a message to the department’s group chat. “This year’s Christmas team-building event was a great success. Thank you all for your participation.” “As per company policy, the budget for this event was $1,000, which I have paid in advance.” “The remaining $14,000, which exceeded the budget, will be split among the 12 participating colleagues. That’s $1,167 per person.” “Please transfer the amount to me by the end of the workday tomorrow. I will provide an itemized receipt.” 1 The day before Christmas, Bella Snow was livestreaming from her desk, her phone propped up right next to her company monitor. She swayed her hips for the camera, the hem of her short pleated skirt threatening to fly up as she spoke in a syrupy-sweet voice. “Hey everyone! Tonight, I’m going to show you what a super-exclusive private dinner looks like.” “And while I’m at it,” she giggled, “I’m going to conquer our uptight, sleazy old director.” The comments section exploded with encouragement. The department’s administrative assistant walked over with a form, whispering a reminder. “Bella, you need to submit the restaurant choice for approval in advance for team events. And the budget is capped at one hundred dollars per person.” Bella snorted. “This is a private dinner hosted by Director King for us interns. Your little rules don’t apply to him, do they?” The assistant, flushed with embarrassment, retreated with her form. I was in the break room making coffee and saw the entire exchange. The dinner was set for seven, but I deliberately waited until eight to leave. Pushing open the door to the private room, I was hit by a wall of alcohol and seafood fumes. The massive round table was a wasteland of empty glasses and plates, dominated by the shells of a dozen enormous king crabs. Several gift-wrapped boxes of premium bird’s nest soup were stacked in a corner. Seeing me, Bella showed no sign of awkwardness. Instead, she rose to her feet like the hostess of the party. She dangled a set of car keys and shouted to the group of tipsy interns. “Alright, ladies, next stop, karaoke! Director King is here to pay the bill!” A male intern, his eyes glazed over, slapped the table. “Thanks, Director King! You’re the man!” As Bella passed me, she paused and whispered, her voice meant only for me. “Wyatt, consider this meal the down payment for pursuing me.” “Too bad,” she smirked, “I’m not interested in old men.” With that, she and her entourage swept out of the room in a chorus of laughter. A waiter approached with a credit card machine and the bill. “Sir, your total is fifteen thousand dollars. Will that be card or digital payment?” Diners at nearby tables cast curious glances, their whispers reaching my ears. I ignored them, pulled a black card from my wallet, and handed it to him. “Card. And please print an itemized receipt for me.” The waiter’s hand faltered for a second before his professional mask slipped back into place. On the way home, I pulled over and opened a file from the company’s internal server. The employee handbook, Chapter 3, Article 12, “Team Building Expense Reimbursement Policy,” was clear: Departmental team-building events have a per-person budget cap of $100. All expenses must be submitted to the administrative and finance departments for prior approval. I took a screenshot. Late that night, I posted a message in the main department group chat, tagging everyone. “This year’s Christmas team-building event was a great success. My thanks to Bella Snow, Jessica Lee, Mark Chen… and the other 12 colleagues for their enthusiastic participation.” “As per company policy, the budget for this event was $1,000, which I have paid in advance and will be reimbursed by the company.” “The remaining $14,000, which exceeded the budget, is to be split among the 12 participating colleagues. That’s $1,167 per person.” “Please transfer the funds to my Venmo or PayPal by 9 AM tomorrow when you arrive at work.” “I will forward the itemized receipt to each of you shortly.” The chat went dead silent. The interns, who had just been flaunting their lavish dinner on social media, were nowhere to be found. Half an hour later, an intern named Jessica meekly typed a message. “Director, you make a seven-figure salary. Are you really going to nickel-and-dime us interns over this? We only make three thousand a month.” I picked up my phone and typed a reply. “I earned my money through skill and hard work. It didn’t fall from the sky. I have no intention of paying for someone else’s vanity and greed.” “This is a workplace, not your parents’ house.” “If I don’t see the money by 9 AM tomorrow, our legal department will be in touch.” Bella remained silent in the group chat. But two minutes later, a colleague, Liam, sent me a screenshot. It was Bella’s social media post, a picture of her flipping off the camera in a karaoke room. The caption read: “Warning: avoid this sleazy, gross old man. Tried to get me to sleep with him, and when I refused, he’s trying to make me split a $15,000 dinner bill. So disgusting! Ugh!” The post was hidden from my view. I looked at the screenshot, a faint smile playing on my lips. 2 The next day, I walked into the office right on time. A group of interns from the dinner were huddled in a corner. They scattered the moment they saw me, their eyes a mixture of resentment, contempt, and schadenfreude. At nine o’clock sharp, the morning meeting began. Bella clicked in on her high heels at 9:05. She walked straight to the associate director’s chair next to mine, sat down, and started touching up her makeup. I glanced at her but said nothing, launching directly into the day’s agenda. “Bella, where’s the first draft of the marketing proposal I asked for yesterday?” She snapped her compact shut with a click, checked her reflection, and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Director King, I was so disgusted by a certain cheapskate last night that I couldn’t sleep a wink.” “How could I possibly have the energy to think about proposals?” “Besides,” she added with a sneer, “we Gen Z are here to fix the workplace, not to be slaves for capitalists. Stop rushing me.” “Yeah! I’m in a bad mood, no inspiration.” “This is our silent protest against exploitation by unethical management!” another chimed in. I ignored their outburst and turned my attention to another intern, Mark. “Mark, what about the competitor analysis report you were assigned?” Mark leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and pulled out his phone to play a game. “Director, Bella said we’re all on strike today. You can deal with it.” I opened my laptop, my fingers tapping a few keys, and accessed the company’s security system. I clipped and saved the footage from yesterday afternoon: Bella’s livestream, the admin’s attempt to intervene, and this morning’s footage of them all arriving late and playing on their phones. I packaged it all into an email to the Head of HR. The subject line read: [Regarding Serious Breaches of Labor Discipline and Attendance Irregularities by Interns in the Creative Department]. The meeting ended on a sour note. As I was getting water from the break room, I passed the smoking lounge and heard Bella on the phone, her voice loud. “He just wants to sleep with me! I’m telling you, from my very first day, he was staring at me with those creepy, leering eyes!” “That dinner was a trap. He wanted to get me drunk, but luckily, I was smart enough to get out of there.” “Now that he sees I didn’t take the bait, he’s furious. He’s using the dinner bill to pressure me. Isn’t that disgusting? What a pervert!” I leaned against the doorframe, cup in hand, and waited for her to hang up. “Bella,” I said calmly, “slander is a criminal offense. Are you aware of that?” She jumped, startled, but quickly composed herself with a sneer. “Well, well, Director King eavesdropping on private conversations? How tacky.” “I’m warning you,” I said, my voice low, “you have a few hours left before the deadline for the transfer.” “Think carefully. Is it better to lose a thousand dollars, or to lose a whole lot more?” Bella burst into exaggerated laughter. She suddenly whipped out her phone, opened her streaming app, and shoved the camera in my face. “Everyone! Everyone, come and see! This sleazy old man is threatening me now!” “Just because I wouldn’t let him harass me, he’s threatening to sue me for slander! Everyone, come and judge for yourselves!” Thousands of viewers flooded the stream, and the comments scrolled by in a blur of insults directed at me. “Wow, that guy looks decent, but he’s such a creep.” “Go girl! Sue him! Ruin his career!” “Get out of there, sister! People like that will retaliate!” I didn’t flinch or try to grab her phone. I even managed a slight smile for the camera. “Hello, I’m Wyatt King.” “You’d better not end this stream,” I said, my voice even. “This is all evidence for the court.” With that, I turned and walked away, leaving her stunned and speechless. Back at my desk, I sent a text to my personal lawyer. “Get ready. Slander suit, with a civil claim for damages attached.” At five-thirty, the workday ended. The group of interns strutted past my desk, making a point to snort contemptuously. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a Venmo notification for $1,167. From Liam. He included a message. “Director, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for this to happen. Bella forced us to go.” “She said anyone who didn’t go wasn’t a team player and would be ostracized…” I stared at the message for a few seconds. Then I hit “Decline Payment.” I replied: “You don’t need to pay this. Don’t do anything. Just watch.” 3 The next day, I was jolted awake by the frantic ringing of my phone. It was the company’s PR Director, her voice laced with panic. “Wyatt! What on earth did you do to that intern? The entire internet is filled with stories about you!” I hung up and opened Twitter. The third trending topic was a single hashtag: #AdAgencyDirectorHarassment. I clicked on it. It led to a long, detailed article, complete with photos, posted by a gossip account with over a million followers. The headline was sensational: [EXCLUSIVE! Renowned Ad Agency Creative Director Wyatt King Accused of Luring Female Intern with Position, Attempting Assault, and Extortion!] The article painted me as a lecherous middle-aged man who preyed on young, beautiful interns, constantly harassing them. The “proof” was a series of carefully cropped chat screenshots. For instance, I had asked Bella: “Is the proposal finished? If you have time tonight, let’s discuss the details.” The screenshot only showed: “Do you have time tonight?” Another example: I had said, “That skirt you’re wearing today is a bit too short and unprofessional for the office. Please be mindful of the dress code.” The screenshot only showed: “That skirt you’re wearing today…” followed by a drooling emoji. The most damning piece of evidence was a so-called “candid photo.” It was from the restaurant. My pen had fallen on the floor, and I had bent down to pick it up. The photo, taken from an incredibly misleading angle, made it look like my head was buried under Bella’s skirt. The caption read: “He was touching me under the table! I was so scared my legs went weak!” The comment section was a cesspool of thousands of comments, all of them personal attacks. “This guy should be chemically castrated!” “He looks so respectable, I can’t believe he’s so disgusting!” “That Bella girl is no angel either, wearing a schoolgirl skirt to work?” The story spread like wildfire through the industry. The CEO of a pre-IPO company I was courting for a major merger sent a direct email. “Mr. King, in light of the current negative press regarding your personal conduct, we have decided to suspend all collaboration to mitigate risk. We wish you the best.” I had spent six months on that project, worth hundreds of millions. It vanished in an instant. And then, a greater blow fell. My wife, her eyes red-rimmed, threw a set of divorce papers in my face. “Wyatt, you’ve completely humiliated me!” “My mother called, asking if you’re keeping a mistress!” “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Let’s just separate for now. I need time to think, to reconsider our entire relationship.” She didn’t give me a chance to speak. She just dragged her suitcase out and slammed the door behind her. Then came the messages from several headhunters I’d worked with for years, simple “sorry” emojis. The word was already out. I was blacklisted from the industry because of a sex scandal. The moment I got to the office, my door was kicked open. Bella and her cronies strode in. She slammed her phone down on my desk. It was open to the article slandering me. “So, Director King, how does it feel? It’s not too late to get on your knees and beg.” She looked down at me, her face a mask of undisguised triumph and greed. “Here’s the deal. You’ll forget about the dinner bill, and you’ll pay each of the twelve of us one hundred thousand dollars for emotional distress.” “Then, you’ll post a public apology on the company website and your personal Twitter, admitting that you harassed me first.” “Do that, and I’ll be the bigger person and ask the gossip site to take down the article. What do you say?” I had only one word for her. “Out.” The smile froze on her face. I ignored her, locked my office door, and closed the blinds, shutting out the frantic knocking from the PR and HR departments. From my drawer, I took out everything I had prepared. The itemized receipt from the restaurant, officially stamped. The video footage of their collective work stoppage from that morning. And a digital voice recorder, containing Bella’s extortion attempt from just moments ago. I took a deep breath and dialed 911. “Hello, this is Wyatt King. I’m calling to report a case of online slander and blackmail.” After hanging up, I sent a text to Liam. “My office. Now.” A few minutes later, Liam slipped in, looking nervous. I didn’t waste time. I pushed a file across the desk to him. It was a detailed bank statement I had acquired from a private investigator. The account holder was Bella Snow. For the past six months, there had been a regular monthly deposit of thirty to fifty thousand dollars from the corporate account of that very same private restaurant. “This is proof that Bella was using her position to steer clients to that restaurant in exchange for a hefty kickback on their alcohol sales.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto his. “It’s called corporate embezzlement. It carries a sentence of three to ten years.” “She used you as a pawn. Are you still going to cover for her?” “Think carefully. Do you want a full-time job with a modest salary, or do you want to go to jail with her as an accomplice?” The color drained from Liam’s face. His lips trembled, unable to form words. With a shaking hand, he pulled out his own phone and played an audio file. “Director… I recorded this at the dinner…” “I just wanted to have it as a memory…” I took the phone and pressed play. Bella’s cloying, syrupy voice filled the room, crystal clear. “Go wild, girls! Order the most expensive things on the menu!” “This old man is all about saving face. There’s no way he won’t pay!” “He wants to sleep with me, does he? Well, tonight we’re going to make him bleed! Teach him that I’m not that easy!” “Why’s he so jumpy? It’s just my foot, it’s not like he’s going to get pregnant. What a prude…” I picked up my own recorder from the desk and smiled.

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At the wedding, Lucas Thorne’s childhood sweetheart showed up with their child. She knelt on the ground and begged me, “I have a terminal illness, and this child is my only hope.” Lucas asked me to make a choice. Fearing I would refuse, the childhood sweetheart threatened to take her own life to keep the child with him. She cried to Lucas: “I don’t have long to live anyway. If I die now, it will prove that we are innocent.” “The child will forget I was his biological mother, as long as you are happy.” The next second. She waved a knife at herself but was stopped by the security guards I had prepared in advance. I smiled and said: “Don’t die. The wedding is off. It’s best for the child to be raised by his biological parents.” In my previous life, I was forced to become the child’s stepmother. And the death of the childhood sweetheart became an insurmountable chasm between Lucas and me. He even imprisoned me as revenge. Causing me to die of depression. So this time, my life will not be dictated by anyone. 1 “Mia Stone, do you take Lucas Thorne to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part?” These wedding vows are so old-fashioned. I curled my lips and counted down silently in my heart: five, four, three… Lucas whispered to remind me, “Mia, it’s your turn.” Two, one. As the last number fell, two figures, one large and one small, appeared at the church entrance. I turned slowly. We meet again. Chloe Brooks dragged her son, Chase, to me and knelt down without a word. Then she started crying: “Miss Stone, please help me! “This is Lucas’s child, Chase.” The crowd was in an uproar. Chloe hurriedly explained: “Miss Stone, don’t misunderstand. I’m not here to ruin your wedding with Lucas. “I have a terminal illness and won’t live long. This child is my only hope. I hope you can keep him and treat him as your own.” She pushed Chase towards me, “Chase, call her Mom!” Chase glared at me hatefully, “No! She’s not my mom, she’s a bad woman! She stole my dad. Bitch, go die!” Chloe waited until Chase finished cursing before scolding him: “Chase, don’t talk nonsense!” She looked at Lucas with tears in her eyes, “Lucas, hurry up and promise Miss Stone that you don’t love me anymore. “As long as your family of three can be happy, I’m willing to die right now! “I don’t have long to live anyway. dying now can prove that we are innocent.” “The child will forget I was his biological mother, as long as you are happy.” Lucas turned to look at me, “Mia, I’ll listen to you.” “…” The child is so big, dying can’t prove innocence, right? Before I could speak, Chloe suddenly pulled out a fruit knife from behind and raised her hand to stab her stomach. “Miss Stone, if I die now, it will definitely not affect your wedding with Lucas!” This scene was too familiar to me. In my last life, it was like this. Chloe died at my wedding with Lucas. By the time I reacted, I was forced to be Chase’s stepmother. Chase cursed me as a bad woman every day. Lucas hated me deeply, blamed Chloe’s death entirely on me, and even imprisoned me, torturing me daily. I died in that small, dark basement. So in this life, I hired bodyguards in advance. At the same time, let everyone see with their own eyes that this drama was created by Lucas and Chloe, and I am not to blame. The bodyguards on the side were ready to go. The next second they rushed up, one kicked the knife out of Chloe’s hand, and the other pinned her to the ground. I took a step back, pretending to be frightened, “Oh my God! If you want to die, die somewhere else. How could your death here not affect the wedding?” “Forget it.” I shook my head and smiled: “Don’t die. The wedding is off. It’s best for the child to be raised by his biological parents.” 2 After my words fell, the first to react were Lucas’s parents, Arthur Thorne and Sarah Thorne. “Mia, don’t say angry words. The wedding is about to end.” “Don’t worry, even if this child is really Lucas’s, our Thorne family won’t acknowledge him. No one can threaten your status.” I looked at Lucas again. His dark eyes were deep, making it impossible to see what he was thinking. I raised my eyebrows slightly, “Lucas, is this your attitude too?” Lucas opened his thin lips slightly, “I…” “Look how pitiful she is.” I looked at Chloe who was still pinned to the ground, “How much courage does a woman need to make a scene at a wedding for you? She loves you so much, are you really unwilling to give her a wedding?” Lucas looked surprised, “Mia, you…” “This child is also quite pitiful, growing up in a single-parent family. Lucas, you should give him a complete family. After all, he is your own flesh and blood.” Lucas’s tense face finally cracked, “Mia…” I walked up to Chase, bent down and looked into his eyes, “Kid, I returned your dad to you. Don’t say I’m a bad woman anymore.” Chase blinked, “You’re willing to return my dad to me?” I sighed and looked at Chloe on the ground with condemnation, “You too, how can you teach a child these messy things? If you want your child to acknowledge his ancestors, you can just tell me directly. I’ll withdraw. Is it necessary to teach the child to swear and call me a bitch?” Chloe struggled to deny, “I didn’t, I didn’t teach him!” “You didn’t teach him?” I frowned slightly, somewhat disgusted, “Then your child learned these words on his own, which is indeed quite uneducated. You better teach him well.” I looked at Lucas again, “See, a child can’t do without a father. He is still young and should be salvageable. You take him back and educate him well, don’t let people scold your child behind his back for having a mother but no father to teach him.” Lucas’s face was as black as the bottom of a pot. Without looking, he could also feel the strange looks from the relatives and guests present. I walked down to my parents and removed myself from this embarrassing drama. “Mom, Dad, let’s go. This is the Thorne family’s business, and it’s not our place to manage it.” “Let’s go.” My dad maintained his dignity on the surface, but his aura vividly conveyed his anger and displeasure to everyone. Arthur and Sarah walked over quickly, looking anxious and pleading. “Old Stone, the wedding is about to end, we are all family…” My dad snorted coldly: “We haven’t got the marriage certificate yet, so we aren’t family. You have a daughter-in-law and a grandson now, and you still want my daughter to live with their family of three?” “Not a family of three!” Sarah was anxious, losing her usual elegance, and hurriedly called Lucas, “Lucas, what are you doing? Hurry over and clarify!” Her tone carried a hint of reminder, “Say it, say you only like Mia, hurry up!” Lucas swept a cold glance at Chloe, took long strides, and walked towards me confidently. He looked at me solemnly and affectionately, “Mia, rest assured, my wife will only be you, and the mistress of the Thorne family will only be you.” Chloe screamed: “Lucas, you can abandon me, but you can’t abandon our son…” Lucas turned his head slightly, his voice low, “Shut up.” He turned back, “Mia, I’m sorry, it’s my fault for not handling my history cleanly. Rest assured, I will give you an explanation.” The chill and hatred in my heart intertwined and surged continuously. So he also knew he couldn’t break up with me directly now. Because he needed the marriage alliance with me to consolidate his position, and the entire Thorne family needed the pull of our Stone family. So in the last life, he chose to marry me, and only after getting everything he wanted did he start torturing me. Disgusting. I sneered, “A man who doesn’t even want the person he loved deeply and his own flesh and blood? Do you think I would want such a man?” 3 After I left with my parents, those who came to the wedding for our family’s sake naturally left too. It is said that after I left, the wedding scene was desolate. Before Arthur and Sarah could speak, relatives from both the Thorne and Stone families began to complain. “The wedding didn’t happen, and the Stone family is thoroughly offended. What do you say we do?” “Those big shots didn’t give our family any face. Once the Stone family left, they all followed!” “Give our family face? Our family is nothing!” “We finally climbed up to such a big backer as the Stone family, and now it’s all ruined…” … These complaints were like sharp knives, stabbing Lucas all over. He fell out with Chloe on the spot, “Who gave you the courage to make a scene at my wedding? Did I tell you I would solve Chase’s problem? Did you take my words as a breeze past your ears?” Chloe sobbed aggrievedly, “How do I know if you were coaxing me? I got sick, and my biggest worry is Chase. I did this for Chase’s good! “I also told Miss Stone that Chase would treat her as his own mother. I gave her a big son for free, what is she unwilling about?” Relatives of the Thorne and Stone families began to talk all at once. “Lucas, hurry up and coax Mia back.” “What kind of taste do you have to have a child with such a woman.” “Mia is right, this child is just uneducated!” “What does a child know? Those words sounded like they were taught by an adult.” “Miss Chloe, you don’t need to deny it, don’t treat us as fools.” … Chloe became the target of public criticism. In fact, she originally thought Lucas would stand by her side. She grabbed Lucas’s arm, tears streaming down her face, miserable and pitiful, “Lucas, I really just want to fight for a good future for our son…” Lucas flung Chloe’s hand away and roared: “Then why did you teach Chase those words? Now that the Stone family people are driven away, who do I marry? Marry you? Not to mention you have a terminal illness and are dying, even if you weren’t sick, what can you help me with?” Chloe also knew she couldn’t help Lucas even a little bit, lowered her head and cried. “Cry, cry, cry, you only know how to cry!” Lucas was impatient to the extreme, “Stupid and disobedient, Chloe, fortunately you won’t live long, otherwise I would be dragged to death by you!” He pointed at Chloe, “Behave yourself. If you dare to act rashly again, I won’t care about the son.” Glaring at Chloe fiercely, Lucas promised the relatives on both sides: “Don’t worry, I will coax Mia back. She loves me very much and won’t reject me so easily.” 4 I heard all this afterward. At that time, I was crying in my parents’ arms. My parents were furious, comforting me while scolding Lucas. “Mia, don’t cry, this isn’t over!” “My daughter has grown up without suffering any grievances. Who do the Thorne family think they are? Daring to make my daughter suffer in front of so many people, I think they don’t want to live!” But my parents didn’t know, I wasn’t crying because of today’s grievance. In my last life, after Lucas and I got married, Lucas acted in front of me at first. Until I completely let down my guard, the Stone family and the Thorne family united for better development… Lucas got everything he wanted, revealed his true colors, and locked me up. Before I died, I didn’t even see my parents for the last time. I dared not think about how sorrowful they would be seeing my corpse in the last life. I hate Lucas, and I hate myself. It was me who let my parents taste the most extreme pain in this world. I wiped away my tears and drilled out of my mom’s arms, “Mom, Dad, I’m not aggrieved, nor sad. I just feel sorry for making you lose face.” My dad paused, “You cried like this just for that?” My mom also breathed a sigh of relief, “What’s a little loss of face for me and your dad? Don’t cry. “But tell mom the truth, do you… still like Lucas?” I shook my head, “No.” My mom and dad looked at each other and nodded with satisfaction, “Good, our daughter isn’t lovestruck.” “This isn’t being lovestruck. A man with such loose morals simply can’t be wanted.” My dad’s tone was full of disdain. Seemed like there was also a pride in his own super morals. I was still crying, but burst out laughing upon hearing this, then stood up, “I’ll go back to my room to change clothes.” Dragging the huge wedding dress back to the room, I took a shower and removed my makeup first. Just after changing clothes and going downstairs, I saw Lucas. He strode over, stopped at the stairs, and looked up at me. “Mia, I came to apologize to you.” I looked down at him, “What are you apologizing for?” Lucas’s affectionate eyes were full of apology, “I made you suffer. Losing such face at our wedding today, I deserve to die. “But Mia, this was also an accident to me. “The child thing was indeed my fault, but that was a long time ago. Chloe and I broke up long ago.” Hope overflowed from the bottom of his eyes as he tentatively said: “Mia, everyone has history. You won’t break up with me because of a relationship I had a few years ago, right?”

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